enjin's never been the type to stay past what’s convenient, and you're the first girl who makes him hesitate at the door. for once in his life, leaving doesn’t feel like the right move.
tags ⭐︎ frat!enjin, fem!reader, college au, he's lowkey an asshole but redeems himself, enemies (if you SQUINT) to situationship to lovers, some very suggestive parts, pretty light angst with a happy ending, he uses a lot of pet names, plus a lot of swearing, reader has a strong personality/sense of self, mentions of recreational drug use and drinking, the tiniest bit of violence, not beta read
wc ⭐︎ 14.2k
a/n ⭐︎ if you saw me post this fic earlier this morning and then proceed to take it back down…no you didn't. lets get you back to bed grandma. anywayssss, happy valentines day everyone! i saw someone post something a bit ago about enjin needing the frat!jo treatment…so here's my first work to branch out into the fandom hehe. i know it's a total 180 from what i usually write (and my first fic outside of the l&ds fandom), but i had so much fun making this!! i hope you enjoy reading it just as much as i enjoyed writing it <33
The party’s already out of control.
Some kid launches himself off the beer pong table and completely eats shit. Enjin watches him crash; and August’s the only one cheering and hyping him up for making a fool of himself.
He looks over at Gris, sprawled next to him on the couch, still working on the same drink he’s had since the party started. They watch the house unravel in real time.
“Swear they’re gonna get the cops called,” Gris says.
Enjin shakes his head. “We’ve got an hour till we get busted.”
Someone’s yelling from the bathroom about a person passed out—possibly dead? Possibly needing narcan?
Gris gives him a look.
He exhales. “Okay. Forty-five minutes.”
The bass rattles the walls like the house might give up, and someone stumbles past the couch sloshing beer onto the floor. Enjin shifts his feet to avoid it—then freezes.
“Hold up.”
You’re by the kitchen, caught in the spill of cheap LED lights. You tilt your head, hair slipping over one shoulder as you laugh at table flip boy curled up and crying on the ground. Glitter clings to your hair and skin, the rhinestones on your top catch every flicker of color the lights give. Low-rise jeans, bare collarbones, glossy lips.
Enjins sold.
He nudges Gris with his knee. “Who is that?”
Gris follows his line of sight and squints. “Her? Oh—yeah… She’s in my eight a.m.”
He watches you move and sparkle, letting out a low whistle under his breath. “Jesus.”
“Don’t.”
“She’s hot.”
Your head tips back as you drink, throat working, gloss shining with liquor on your lips. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s staring. “I’m gonna go talk to her.”
Gris laughs, patting his back. “You have fun with that.” Enjin stands, sitting his drink down and rolling his shoulders like this is just another Friday night—because it is. “C’mon. I’ve pulled harder.”
“Yeah, man. I’m sure.”
He doesn’t hear him. He’s already weaving through the crowd, confidence locked in, 100% convinced this is about to be another easy as hell win.
He stops in front of you with a smooth smile.
“Hey, mama.”
You snap your head around. Oh great, of course—it’s that guy. Campus womanizer. Certified asshole. Enjin.
It’s hard not to know who he is. His name floats through the ladies on campus like a bright red and flashing warning label—passed around in group chats, whispered in bathrooms, dropped mid-story with a don’t do it! More girls than you can count have slept with him, and none of them came out unscathed. Even fewer have anything nice to say after.
He’s basically the face of his—unfortunately this frat—even without an exec title. They know exactly who they’re selling to: hot chicks and underclassmen guys desperate to rush whatever looks coolest.
Either you wanna fuck him, or you wanna be him. Doesn’t matter the gender, he has sex appeal that applies to all. How inclusive of him!
And yeah. As much as you hate it, you can see why. Blonde hair always pushed back and messy like he just ran a hand through it, piercings, tattoos wrapping his arms and disappearing under his shirt like there’s plenty more you’re not seeing (there is, you’ve seen more than enough of his shirtless gym photos). Sharp but pretty eyes, and a face that hits before you can stop yourself.
But you’ve heard enough. The stories about the mixed signals, no text backs, the way he treats attention like a game and women like placeholders. That alone is enough to have you back away and run for the hills.
You’re not stupid.
Your response to his unwelcome presence is immediate. “What.”
He squares his shoulders like he’s warming up for a mating dance, and his grin turns lazy. “Damn that’s cold. I was just saying hey.”
“Yeah, I heard you.” You roll your eyes. “Fuck off.”
“Feisty—thats my bad. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Still isn’t leaving. How nice! You have the ever so unfortunate pleasure of being tonight’s diamond.
You down whatever’s left in your drink and drop it to the floor, where it joins the sticky corral of crushed cans. You look back at him, eyebrow raised—you done yet? Apparently not, since he takes this as encouragement. Enjin leans against the wall, crossing his arms and trying to flex his biceps. Ugh.
He leans in, “You always this mean, or am I just lucky?”
“Lucky.”
“See, I like a girl with attitude.”
“That’s nice dude,” You glance past him, scanning for your friends. “But I don’t think I remember asking.” Something shifts in his expression—interest firing up, big ego kicking in. He steps a little closer, lowering his voice like that’s supposed to work. “Lemme get you another drink.”
“And let you spike it? That’s gonna be a hard pass.”
He laughs at that one. “Aw, c’mon, pretty girl. You really think I’m like that?”
You just tap a finger to your chin, fake it for a second like you’re weighing the evidence—then shrug. You spin on your heel to leave.
He goes to call out after you. “Yo, wait a sec—“
You glance back over your shoulder, flash him a quick smile—
Then flip him off and keep walking.
Enjin turns to look at the couch where Gris is posted up, who’s mid-laugh and already coughing into his fist like he knew exactly how that was gonna go. Enjin laughs with him, dropping back down next to him and sprawling out like he didn’t just eat shit with you five seconds ago. Arms tuck behind his head, looking way too pleased with himself.
“You look real proud for a guy who just got curved,” Gris passes him his drink back. He takes it and chugs like it’s water. “Nah. She’ll crack.”
“You hear yourself?”
Enjin just grins, tipping his head back against the couch and settling in again.
Most girls laugh at his corny jokes, or soften when he smiles and leans in with low lidded eyes. He is the king of seduction after all. Or at least pause long enough to let him work. You, however, didn't hesitate. Didn’t even give him a single second to adjust, and zero to work with. Just flipped him off and disappeared back into the crowd like he was nothing.
But he has the determination of a soldier and the ego of a dirtbag. Which suddenly makes him want you so bad it’s almost funny.
He reaches up, pulls the cig from behind his ear, and sparks it like the night’s still going exactly according to plan. Takes a slow drag, eyes drifting back across the room to where you’re now dancing with your friends.
You’re not checking to see if he’s watching, and you certainly don’t care if he is.
Enjin hums. He’s already thinking ahead—running into you on campus, catching you between classes, seeing if you’re just as feisty sober. He doesn’t need it to happen tonight. He’s patient when he wants to be.
And now? He really wants to be.
Gris shakes his head. “You’re gonna get punched one of these days.”
He exhales the smoke, smiling. “Worth it.”
~
The universe is bored and decided to mess with you.
Because somehow, some way, you didn’t just end up in a class with one of his friends—you landed two. Which means divine intervention is clearly not on your side. If anything, whatever higher power is running this place has favorites, and Enjin is one of them. Man, how come he’s the blessed one?
You walk out of class with Semiu—your lab partner—to a sight that immediately spikes your blood pressure.
Enjin, leaning against the wall outside.
Of course.
He straightens when he sees you, grin kicking up a notch, eyes dragging over you like he chooses not to be subtle.
There she is!
Luck really does love him!
“You didn’t tell me you had the hottest girl on campus as your lab partner,” he says, pushing off the wall and walking toward you. “What’s that about? Holding out on me?”
Semiu deadpans, “Try focusing on why you’re here.”
“You owe me lunch. Last time I checked, I saved your ass—”
She cuts him off with a raised hand. “Unfortunately. But I know damn well your phone works, so use it to text me next time.”
Enjin's attention slides right back to you, though to be fair it never really left. He walks backward for a step just to keep you in his line of sight. “So,” he looks you up and down again, “is flipping people off for fun something you always do, or is that activity special and reserved for little ol’ me?”
You don’t answer, and that only makes him smile wider.
“Oh, come on,” he teases. “You can’t act like we weren’t having a moment.”
“I think you’re schizo.” Your voice is flat. God, does he know how to shut up?
“I call it like I feel it, sweet girl. Eye contact, hand gestures—you can’t deny we have some mad energy.”
Semiu cuts him off again. “You done? We’ve got plans.” Enjin’s eyes flick between the two of you, and something clicks into place. He has to stop himself from smiling too hard. No way. This is easier than anything he’d planned to find you again.
“Oh,” he says, slow and amused. “I see.” You don’t like that tone. At all.
“So this is girl time?” You don’t even get to blink before he’s beside you, completely uninvited. “I can crash. I’m free.”
“No,” you snap immediately.
“Relax, mama.” His hands slide into the pocket of his hoodie. “I’m not gonna bite. Unless you ask.”
“Where we headed?” he asks, already strolling lazily at your side.
What Enjin doesn’t expect is the library.
You and Semiu slide straight into work mode, laptops out and talking over each other about a lab report about biology or something.
Yeah, alright. Fine. He can do a library, he’s not above it. And if sitting around for an hour while you drone on about science means getting into your pants, then whatever. He’s done worse for less.
A man's gotta do what he’s gotta do.
Not to mention you’re a nice view. You look different now—even better, somehow. At the party everything on you was glitter and sparkles (which is hot, don’t get him wrong), but this is quieter. Your hair’s tucked behind your ear while you focus on your laptop, the glow from the screen and the library lights catching your face in a way the frat’s dim lighting never did. Sweater, sweatpants, bare minimum effort—and still, it’s working on him.
Shit, he thinks. She’s actually really pretty.
Though he prides himself on his conditional patience, he can’t help but get bored—shifting in his chair and asking you questions every ten minutes.
“So what’s your major?”
One word.
“Got a boyfriend?”
A look that could kill.
“What do you do for fun?”
A shrug.
He even throws out the good ol’ fashioned, “Come here often?” like it might land this time. It doesn’t.
He sighs, taps his fingers on the table, and continues to watch you—and it’s really starting to piss you off.
“You don’t have to be here,” you point towards the door. “Exits that way.”
Enjin just grins, leaning back like he’s perfectly comfortable right where he is now that you’ve properly acknowledged him. “Nah,” he says. “I’m good.”
“I’m done anyway,” Semiu snaps her laptop shut. “We can finish this after lecture on Thursday.” She points at Enjin. “Where you will not be.”
He leans toward you, grin already loading. “Wherever she is, I am.” You physically recoil. “Ew. Gross. Back up.”
Semiu slings her bag over her shoulder. “Be careful,” she says. “It’s cold out tonight.”
“Thanks. I will.” You smile at her.
Enjin watches you stand, eyes narrowing just a bit. “You walking?” Your smile falls, turning into a scoff. “No. I’m teleporting.”
Semiu doesn’t even wait for a response—just gives you a look that says good luck and disappears toward the elevator. Internally, you’re begging her to come back. How did she pack up that fast? Is teleporting actually real? Can she teach you, so you can avoid him?
“I can drive you.” His voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Your head snaps over to him. “Hell no.”
“C’mon,” Enjin is already grabbing his keys off the table. “It’s late. I don’t want you walking.”
“That’s not your problem.”
“It is now, it’s dark.”
“Still no.”
“And it’s late—and getting colder.”
“You don’t even know where I live.”
“I’ll learn.”
You stop walking just to glare at him. “Why are you like this?”
He shrugs, almost sheepish, but not really. “Because I don’t want anything bad happening to you.”
“Try again.”
“Okay, because I like you?”
“Wrong answer.”
“I’m serious—I’ll take you home, I can behave.”
“I said no—” You push the door open and the cold hits immediately, straight through your clothes. You stop short, breath catching, instantly regretting everything.
Enjin steps out behind you, hoodie already half-off, holding it out like he planned the weather himself. You stare ahead for a long second, jaw tight. Then you exhale.
“You can drive me.”
He nods. “Called it.”
“Enjin, say one more word and I’m walking.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He mimes zipping his lips, then opens the passenger door and makes a whole production of ushering you in like he’s a chauffeur. “So,” He’s behind the wheel, hands planted like he’s about to take off, “where to?”
You stare out the windshield. “Pull out and turn left. I’ll tell you.”
“Can I get your address?”
You laugh once. “Fuck no.”
He takes that in stride. Lets you pick the music—because he knows girls like that, likes watching them scroll and decide. You cue something up.
It makes him pause.
“…I haven’t met anyone else who listens to this guy.”
You look at him, actually surprised. Not what you pegged him for. Against your will, a smile slips out. The first one directed towards him. “Really? He’s one of my favorites.”
“That so?” he says, keeping his eyes on the road like he promised, but failing to hide the way he lights up just a little at your pretty smile. A few minutes later, “Stop here.”
He hits the brakes. “What?”
“I’ll get out here.”
He looks around, whistles. “Damn. Big house.” You’re already opening the door. “No. I live down the street.” Something flashes across his face—pure panic. Did he mess up? Say something wrong? He tried so hard to be on his best behavior. It’s so obvious it makes you laugh.
“Dude,” you're laughing now (but only at his expense), “your face. I just said I’m walking, not calling you a slur.”
He blinks. “But—why?”
“I told you I wasn’t giving you my address.”
“Babe, it’s cold.”
“It’s less than a block.”
He rubs a hand over his jaw, contemplating. “Can I get repayment for driving you?”
You narrow your eyes. “I didn’t realize this was transactional.”
“Either I drop you in your driveway and walk you to your door like a gentleman—”
“Absolutely not.”
“—or,” he continues smoothly, “you repay me.”
“God, you men. Fine. What do you want?”
His grin is all teeth and confidence. “A date.”
You scoff. “Absolutely the hell not.”
“Then get back in,” he says, nodding toward the street. “Which one’s your place?”
You stare at him, exhausted. Four hours. That’s all it took for him to completely derail your night. And still—there is no universe where he learns where you sleep.
You drag your hands down your face. “When and where?”
He hands you his phone, contacts app already open. “Don’t worry your pretty head. That’s for me to figure out, and you to show up for.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?”
You slam the door shut before he can say anything else.
~
First of all: giving him your number was a terrible idea. A catastrophic one. You should’ve gotten a burner phone. Or a fake number. Anything.
For someone with an aggressively busy social life, Enjin somehow has an insane amount of time to blow up your phone. You don’t even know how one man has this much to say, but apparently texting you about every thought that crosses his mind is now a daily ritual. Nonstop.
No matter how many times you leave him on read, he just keeps on going.
A picture of food he swears you’d like—sent.
Updates about his class—sent.
Something dumb one of his frat brothers said—sent.
A sunset photo with almost as pretty as you ;)—unfortunately, sent.
You don’t respond. You don’t encourage it. And you are not asking for updates.
Doesn’t matter.
Because if there’s one thing Enjin has, it’s determination.
Second: Okay, listen, you really didn’t have high hopes for this date.
Like—come on. He’s a slutty frat boy. How inspired could this possibly be? You were fully braced for the worst: an invite over for “a movie” (sure), you showing up to him shirtless in gray sweats, maybe a blunt passed over before he scrolls Netflix for thirty seconds and picks the first thing that pops up.
Twenty minutes in—if you’re being generous—the movie’s forgotten. So are the sweats.
You tell yourself all of this while getting ready, mostly as preparation. He didn’t even give you a dress code. Didn’t give you anything, actually. No hints. No context. Just a time. Meeting him at eight o’clock on the sidewalk down the block from your place.
That’s it.
So when he shows up fully clothed—properly clothed—and borderline dressed nice while holding actual flowers?
You just stand there for a second, genuinely appalled. You certainly didn’t expect a well-thought-out plan.
But Enjin didn’t plan on half-assing this.
If he was gonna win you over, he was gonna do it right. You’re stubborn. You might even hate his guts a little. But you’re also a woman—and women love effort, whether they want to or not.
So he actually cleans up. Red sweater—the expensive one by his standards. Black slacks. Boots. His nice pair, not the ones that’ve seen too many party floors. He checks his reflection twice before leaving, grabs flowers on the way because yeah, duh.
He takes you to this hole-in-the-wall place first—one you’ve never heard of, which already earns him a point (good start!). You end up in the back corner, tucked into a booth against a wall that’s been completely claimed by past customers—layers of Sharpie notes, doodles, dates, half-legible confessions. The two of you try to decode the inside jokes scattered about. The food’s good and the live band’s low and warm.
You really enjoy it.
You even kind of enjoy him.
When he’s not being a flirtatious menace, he’s… Fine? Funny, even. He gets a few real laughs out of you, and you don’t immediately try to take them back. If even Semiu can stand being friends with him, then maybe—in some distant, alternate reality—you could see yourself tolerating him too.
Maybe.
He asks about you. Starts with the surface stuff—where you’re from, why you picked this school—and the follow-ups too. He listens when you answer, and doesn’t interrupt. When you talk about your friends, your family, the things you really care about, he stays with it.
You’re animated now—hands moving as you talk, eyes lighting up as you don’t think for once to guard every word against him. He sits back and lets you keep going—he really wants you to keep going.
Enjin’s still doing everything he can not to spook you, you’re still a feral cat and he’s trying not to get bit (not like he’d mind it though, he’s a freak like that).
He ends the night by taking you to a park with benches lined up along the edge, overlooking the city. You step up to the railing and stop short.
“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve never seen it like this before. It’s so big!”
The city stretches out in front of you, lights blinking and glowing, your hair whipping around in the wind. You start pointing things out without even thinking—random buildings, little landmarks you recognize. The night you and your friends got so drunk you tried convincing strangers at Taco Bell that the earth was flat. The building with the mural where you knew the artists, so they let you paint a couple flowers along the edge.
“Those flowers were yours?” he asks.
You nod, grinning wide. “Yup. All me.”
“That explains why they looked a little messed up.”
You smack his shoulder, laughing. He doesn’t mind your sass and annoyance, but he likes this version of you a lot—the bright one, the storyteller, the you when you’re letting your guard down.
You quiet down after a while, eyes fixed on the skyline. The wind hums, the city moves, and for once the silence isn’t pointed. It’s not you ignoring him or him pushing for more.
“I’m guessing you like the view?”
He’s still looking out at the city, not at you—and you take the chance to look at him instead. His face is softer like this. Calm and stripped of the usual arrogance. It suits him much better.
“Yeah,” you breathe.
You wonder just how many girls he’s taken on dates like this, or even brought them here. How many of them ever made it past a night like this—past the charm, the effort, and the gestures. How many even got a date in the first place?
A shiver runs down your spine at the thought.
“Cold?” Enjin can already see the goosebumps on your skin, the way you clench your jaw just enough to keep your teeth from chattering. You shrug. “Eh. A bit.”
He doesn’t have anything extra to give you this time, so instead he slips an arm around your shoulders. It’s a move he’s pulled countless times, but you perfectly fit against him. You’re all nice and soft.
Normally, this is where he’d start drawing lazy circles on your shoulder, then letting his hand trail down your back, settling at your waist. He’d brush your hair away from your neck, lean in close, murmur something low and suggestive—Wanna get out of here?—and that would be that.
But he doesn’t do any of it. Part of him knows it wouldn’t work on you anyway—he’d just earn a fist to the jaw. But more than that, he doesn’t really want to. He likes this. The quiet. The city humming below. The way you’re warm under his arm.
You don’t push him away either, which surprises him. You stiffen for a second, just barely, then relax—leaning into him the smallest amount. His body heat cuts through the cold, and you take it without comment. You’ll take what you can get. And he smells good—spicy cologne, clean laundry, the faint lingering trace of cigarettes.
He drives you home and you stop him at the same spot as before—though not without some whining on his end.
“Thanks for tonight,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow and laugh. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”
“I’m just glad you actually showed up instead of ghosting my ass.”
“I tried to.”
Enjin leans forward across the console, pushing his luck now that you’re already halfway out the door, hand on the handle. “So,” his voice is hopeful and obnoxious, “do I get a goodnight kiss?”
There it is. The arrogance, right on cue.
You scoff. “C’mon, Enjin. You were so well-behaved tonight, too.”
“Hey,” he says, grinning, “I can be a good dog. So where’s my treat?”
“You’re so gross.”
“Please, ma?” A dramatic pout. “Just one kiss. Short n’ sweet.”
“No.”
He sighs, finally leaning back in his seat. “I’ll get you next time.”
“There will be no next time,” you’re already shutting the door. “I don’t owe you anymore.”
“Next time!” he calls through the glass, voice muffled.
You walk away shaking your head—and you hate that you’re smiling.
~
A giant, obnoxiously loud, extravagant bouquet is waiting on your desk at 7:50 a.m.
It is far too early for this shit. Be so for real.
Tied to it with a ribbon is a note:
Could next time be today after your classes? —Enjin ♡
You feel someone looking at you. Well, a lot of people are. Gris is fully side-eyeing you from his seat, and you immediately glare at him. He winces, flashing you an apologetic smile.
You and Gris have followed each other since freshman year. You’ve seen the party photos—Enjin throwing up fours, Gris holding up beers. Both of their pages are basically a highlight reel of the two of them. Same energy, same circles—except Gris lacks the aggressive arrogance and proud douchebag streak that Enjin wears like a badge of honor.
You know who put the bouquet there.
Pulling out your phone, you snap a photo.
You:wtf is this
He responds immediately.
asshole :/you like them?
You:no! everyone in my class is staring at me now
pretty sure they think my mom died or something
You:oh great i think my professor is about to give me her condolences
i’m going to need them after dealing with your bitchass
You:also how am i supposed to carry these to the rest of my classes today
asshole :/i’ll come get them after your class then
i’ll give them back when i see you later
You:do not come to my class. i will carry them.
also i’m not hanging out with you later
You:enjin DO NOT COME TO MY CLASS
asshole :/<3
Much to your dismay, he’s waiting outside at 9:45 on the dot.
He’s leaning against the wall with Gris, mid-conversation. You take this as an opportunity to try and speed-walk past them, ducking your head like that might help.
It does not. Not when you’re holding a bouquet roughly three times the size of your head. You’re impossible to miss—and Enjin is downright delighted watching you try.
Just as you almost slip by, he reaches out and grabs your sleeve, tugging you back. You stumble straight into his side, and he’s quick to loop an arm around your shoulders.
You reflexively hunch in on yourself, attempting to hide behind the flowers. Because really—what’s worse? Being seen as Enjin’s girl of the month (which was already far longer than what any other girl got), or getting stared at like you’re auditioning for a botanical garden exhibit? 100% both at once.
Enjin can feel the heat coming off you, pure irritation bundled under his arm. A sane person might back off—
But he’s not sane. What was it he thought again? Oh yeah—he’s a freak like that.
“Gris,” he says, gesturing to you like he’s presenting a prize, “have I introduced you to this sexy lady?”
“I think you’re forgetting we just walked out of the same class.” Gris nods at you, polite smile in place. “But hey.”
“Lucky motherfucker, wish I got to see this pretty face first thing every morning—”
You shove the bouquet straight up into his face. He chokes, coughing and sputtering as petals go everywhere. He snatches the flowers from you before you can do it again, then smoothly pivots the two of you away from Gris, already steering you down the hall.
You’re groaning and whining trapped in Enjins grasp. “I’ve got class in like fifteen minutes. Can you please let go?”
He doesn’t. Instead, the two of you fall into another one of many quick back-and-forths—him trying to angle for when he can see you again, you shutting it down every time. Tonight? No. Tomorrow? No. He’s annoyingly amused by all of it.
“What about Friday?” he asks, finally. “You gonna be at the party?”
“In your dreams, lover boy.”
Enjin smirks like he’s heard something else entirely. “Oh,” he adds, holding the bouquet out toward you. “When should I give you these?”
You glance at the flowers—crushed, bent, a little worse for wear thanks to being shoved into his face. “Never. They’re mangled.”
He sighs dramatically, plucking a single flower from the bunch and holding it out. “Fine. Just one.”
“You’re impossible.”
But you snatch it from his hand anyways and finally shake his arm off, shooting him a warning look as you break away toward your building.
~
For the first time in his life, Enjin is bored at a party.
He’s standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while August yells next to him about some cheap starter clothing line he’s been working on. Whoever he’s talking to looks trapped, nodding along like they’re waiting for an exit that isn’t coming.
Follo—nice kid, Gris’s little—stands on his other side gripping his beer so hard his knuckles are going white. Still learning how these things work. Gris isn’t even here. Off being responsible, staying in to work on a project. Lame.
Normally, this wouldn’t bother him. He’s a social butterfly—could talk up a wall if he felt like it. Parties usually entertain him.
So why is he so bored out of his goddamn mind?
He downs another drink, chases it with a cigarette.
“I thought you couldn’t smoke inside the house—” Follo starts. Enjin claps a hand on his shoulder. “Right. You can’t smoke inside the house. But this is my house.”
Follo opens his mouth, then thinks better of it.
Then—finally—a blonde wedges herself between him and August like she’s been waiting for the opening. If he looks down he’s seeing straight down her shirt—her lashes bat up at him like she knows the script. He knows it just as well.
Enjin smirks as she presses in close. He doesn’t say a word—just slides an arm around her hip, pulls her in and turns them so she’s backed against the counter and there's no room left for Christ. She laughs, breathy, tilting her head and leaning into him. Mid-motion—his eyes drift.
Past her shoulder, out the kitchen window and to the back patio.
You.
The blonde keeps smiling up at him, oblivious and waiting. Clearly expecting him to either fuck her there or at least take her upstairs. He does neither.
Instead, he pulls away just as quickly as he pulled her in, leaving her standing there high n’ dry.
You’re standing by yourself on the patio, blunt balanced between two fingers in one hand, drink in the other. Your friends have fully abandoned you. Girl code was apparently optional tonight—how dare they leave you alone at a frat where you’re very aware you’re being actively hunted by your biggest problem.
You hear him before you see him.
“Am I dreaming, or is that really you?”
Dammit.
He strolls up and you’re caught off guard by the look on his face. He looks genuinely happy. Like seeing you here just fixed something that’d been off all night.
It surprises him too. The fact that he’s excited just to see you—no alternative motives with an endgame in mind. That’s new.
You look insane. Hair done, eyes smoked out, shirt doing very little to help his focus, bangles clinking every time you lift your wrist for a hit or a sip. He’s pretty sure you’re the most attractive person here. Maybe the most attractive person he’s ever seen (which is saying something, he’s seen a lot of girls).
“You’re dreaming,” your voice is better music than the DJ could ever play. “And you’re gonna be late for class. Wakey wakey!”
Enjin laughs, leans in, presses a quick kiss to your temple. “You look really good, babe.”
You freeze—just for a literal milisecond—and he takes advantage of the moment to laugh and swipe the blunt from your fingers. He takes a drag while you smack his arm and snap something at him, already annoyed.
When he pulls it away, he notices the lipstick mark on the paper.
That’s hot.
“Y’know,” he teases, “that was kind of an indirect kiss.” You scoff and laugh at the same time. “What are you, twelve?”
“Close enough.”
You wince, playful. “I don’t know if this’ll work then. I don’t really fuck with younger guys.”
Now, he’s talked to you enough—against your will, unfortunately—to know exactly how much he can push. He lifts an arm, resting it against the railing behind you, close enough that his side brushes yours. “Really? And what’s this?”
You pause, mouth opening, closing—coming up empty.
That hesitation only makes him bolder. Your smartass mouth has finally run out of ammo.
He leans in, close enough that you can smell the weed and alcohol on his breath, the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes, his cologne you’ve come to enjoy underneath it all.
“I’m grown,” he murmurs. “So you gonna fuck with me?”
He’s so close now it’s dizzying.
The seltzers you slammed earlier thrum in your head, tangled with the high and how close he is—how hot he suddenly feels. Was he always like this? Your gaze drops to the soft skin where his neck meets his shoulder, the ink that decorates it.
Enjin is insufferable. The campus fuckboy. But dear god in the heavens above did he so look good. He thinks you look better.
You swallow. “Do you wanna dance?”
The smile that spreads across his face is slow and satisfied.
He’s won.
Grabbing his hand and dragging him inside, you bring him straight into the heat of it—bodies packed tight, bass rattling ribs, air thick with sweat and smoke. You pass the blonde who was all over him earlier—she’s already moved on, grinding on someone else in the corner.
You let go of his hand without looking back and slip into the center of the crowd, hips rolling naturally with the beat. The open back of your top calls his name, and his gaze drags down the length of you without shame.
Fuck.
You don’t look back—just lift one hand and curl a finger, commanding.
He’s on you immediately.
You keep your back to him as he closes the distance, chest to spine, hips fitting into yours. One of his hands settles at your waist—the other slides lower, rougher, fingers digging in.
Reaching back, you scrape your nails down the buzzed undercut at his nape. You feel him shiver behind you, sucking in a sharp breath like you punched it out of him.
Slowly, you guide him down until his mouth is near your neck. Breathing you in, his lips barely brush your skin—a ghost of a touch that sends heat straight through you. You move together and it’s downright filthy, bodies slick with sweat and hips grinding to a song neither of you are really paying attention to. His grip tightens, then loosens, like he’s trying to keep some sort of control not to fuck you right there on the middle of the floor.
He’s a known vice, but with the way you’ve got him hypnotized with the scent of your perfume alone combined with your body against his—he’s almost convinced the tables have turned.
Maybe you’d won.
You’re fully aware this is a decision you’re going to regret in the morning—when the hangxiety hits like a truck and your head feels like it’s splitting in two. But right now you’re not exactly thinking straight, and honestly? If sleeping with him means he’ll finally leave you alone—maybe even walk away satisfied with getting some of the best dick on campus—then you’ll deal with the consequences later.
Neither of you is sure how long you’ve been dancing—minutes, hours, something in between—but eventually whatever restraint you had left in you finally snaps. You turn to face him, giving him that look. The one he’s seen plenty of times before. But seeing it on your face hits different. Way different. It looks unreal on you.
Sliding one hand up his chest, you feel the heat there alongside his racing heart—while the other wraps around his bicep, solid muscle flexing under your grip. The sensation sends something hot straight through you, pooling low in between your thighs and making your mouth water.
You hook a finger into the chain at his neck and tug him down just enough to meet your eyes.
“Do you want your kiss?”
You don’t even get a chance to blink before you’re in a dark hallway, away from everything else. The only things around are the dim lights and a few unlucky stragglers slumped over on the floor—people who didn’t quite make it to the bathroom before the night caught up to them.
Enjin gives you no time to think before he slams you into the wall, his mouth crashing into yours with a low groan. The kiss is messy and hungry—all teeth and tongue, no patience at all. He’s vocal and grabby—hands everywhere, panting into your mouth as he grabs at whatever he can reach.
He never stops moving against you, grinding in desperation for more friction, and you whine into the kiss, instinctively chasing his hips to match him.
One of his hands slips under your shirt, groping your tit, while the other tangles in your hair—yanking your head to the side so he can drag his mouth down your neck with hot, wet, open mouth kisses.
You gasp at the contact, breath stuttering, and before you can stop yourself you whine his name out loud.
The sound of it makes his heart kick up hard. He wants to hear you say his name again—wants it repeated, pulled out of you like a mantra. It’s one of the best sounds he’s ever heard.
The way you’re pressed beneath him, fingers fisted in his shirt. The feel of your lips, the taste of you—it’s nothing like anything he’s known or felt before. He’s solely thinking about the nearest room he can get you into to fuck you dumb—when a thought cuts through everything else.
Not like this.
It stops him short. Makes the devil on his shoulder—the one that’s always winning—start shouting obscenities in protest.
Not like this. He doesn’t want it to happen this way.
And he doesn’t know why. This is what he’s wanted from the start, isn’t it? So why does it suddenly feel wrong to take it like this?
He pulls back and really looks at you—lips swollen, eyes glassy, breath still uneven. You already look fucked out and so beautiful it hurts his heart and his dick
“The bathroom’s over there,” you pant, barely getting the words out.
He averts his eyes. “No.”
“Okay… isn’t there a bedroom upstairs—”
“Not gonna happen.”
Your brow furrows. “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”
His answer is already written all over his face, and it makes your heart sink. Panic creeps in fast and unwarranted. What did you do to make the campus hooker of all people stop short? He’d sleep with anyone with a pussy—so what about you made him hesitate?
He finally looks back over, and the sight of your face hits him square in the chest. You look crushed. Like a kicked puppy. When you mumble, “Did I do something wrong?” it’s quiet enough to almost break him.
“Oh my god, no.” He shakes his head hard. “No—the opposite, actually. Fuck, ma, please don’t look at me like that.” He drags a hand through his hair, exhales sharply through his teeth, like he’s trying to get control of something that’s already spiraling.
“This isn’t a you thing, you didn’t mess anything up.”
You’re still watching him, trying to decode what changed.
He exhales. “I’m just not doing it here. That’s all.”
Enjin’s eyes flick over your face like he’s checking something—making sure you’re okay, or at least not hurt.
“I’m not backing out,” he adds quickly, like he doesn’t want you filling in the silence yourself. “I just—” He stops, jaw tightening, then shrugs. “This isn’t how I wanna do it.”
He kisses you again—slower this time, and gentle. Your mouths fit together stupidly well, the same way you felt tucked under his arm.
You pull away first.
He licks his lips, like he’s trying to hang onto the taste of you. “You good?” he asks.
You nod, hands dropping from his shirt as you give him space. He steps back fully, then smooths your hair, tucking a loose strand behind your ear. “Want me to walk you home?”
You shake your head, say you’ll call a friend. The answer shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t smack him the way it does. Where did that come from? You’re just some chick.
You turn to leave. Make it a few steps before he speaks again.
“Hey.”
You pause, look back at him. “I’ll text you,” he promises. “Okay?”
You nod once and disappear back into the crowd.
And suddenly—even with bodies everywhere, music shaking the floor and the house still alive as ever —everything feels empty without you standing there.
He doesn’t text right away. Tries not to think about it. He doesn’t usually do stuff like that, texts back and everything.
Later that night, once he’s home and the adrenaline’s finally worn off, he gives in.
asshole :/you get home alright?
Read 3:47 a.m.
~
Enjin’s a chronic ghoster. It’s one of his specialities, a defining trait that comes with his package (in every way that matters). He’s never really seen the point in keeping up conversation once he gets what he wants. Everyone knows how it works. If a girl expects more, that’s on her.
What he’s not used to is being ghosted.
Text after text goes out to you, all of them met with nothing. At some point you either turned your read receipts off or stopped opening his messages altogether. At first, he’s offended. Like… What? This is his move. He’s the one who disappears. Not the other way around.
But it doesn’t sit right with him. Because before—even when you were displeased with his existence—you’d still send something back. A snarky remark, a dry response. Now it’s radio silence. That’s when it starts to get uncomfortable.
He tells himself you’re probably pissed he didn’t sleep with you. People don’t love getting turned down, especially when they didn’t see it coming. And yeah, it probably doesn’t help that a guy with his background suddenly decided to stop things.
Still… it feels like more than that.
If he’s being honest—just a little—it didn’t look great. And if he wants you talking to him again (which, begrudgingly, he does), he should maybe clear the air. Say something that isn’t a joke or a half-assed text.
Problem is, that would mean admitting he hesitated—and even if he’s not fully sure why, he knows that’s not something he’s good at explaining.
But to his own surprise, he misses you bad.
So instead of overthinking it—or owning up to anything—he goes with what he knows.
The second lecture ends, Gris is already at your seat while you’re packing up.
“Listen,” he grimaces like this is physically painful for him, “can you just text him back?”
You snort. “What’s he got on you?”
He exhales through his nose and pauses, clearly choosing his battles.
“I don’t wanna do this any more than you wanna talk to him,” he admits. “But I’d really like him off my ass sooner rather than later.”
“Oh good,” you stand abruptly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “At least he’s on someone’s ass.”
You start to put your earbuds in. Gris gently catches your wrist before you can. “When it comes to women, Enjin’s a piece of shit. And yeah—I know you’re embarrassed. Anyone would be.”
You click your tongue.
“But,” he continues, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. Not with a girl.” He shrugs. “I’m not saying it means anything, and I’m definitely not trying to hype him up—but he’s been real worked up. And I’m tired of listening to him bitch every time you leave him on delivered.”
You stare at him for a second.
“…You’re really selling this,” you deadpan.
“Just—think about it?”
Later that night, you’re home, staring at your phone and your thumb hovers over his contact. The last thing he sent was from last night—a photo of him at some chapter meeting, looking exhausted and another message complaining about them still trying to rope him onto exec next semester.
It’s not one of his usual selfies. He’s just got droopy eyes and messy hair, tie loosened with the top buttons undone. You can see the dip between his throat and collarbones.
Which is unfortunate.
Because now you’re thinking about the party. About having your mouth right there. About the way his lips felt against your own neck, his hands hot and insistent on your skin.
You groan, toss your phone onto the couch, grab the nearest throw pillow and scream into it.
Earlier, you’d screenshotted the text and sent it to Semiu—because if you’re gonna spiral, you might as well involve Enjin’s own people. She replies almost immediately.
coolest lab partner
weird he sent that and not a dick pic
You ask what she means.
She sends back a shrug emoji. Great!
So he bailed on sleeping with you and—according to both of his best friends—is now acting differently with you than he does with other girls. Which means what, exactly?
This whole thing is just straight offensive. He crawled six feet up your ass trying to charm his way into your bed, only to bail the second things got close. After you let him get close, no less. Dropped the bitch act, let your guard down—and apparently that was the dealbreaker. Maybe the rumors are true and he really can’t stand needy women.
Except—he did say another time. He rainchecked your hookup.
Who does that? Certainly not men like him.
And yet here you are, staring at your phone, wondering when the hell that became your problem.
You’re still annoyed, still stewing—but at this point you’re out of pride to lose. You open his messages again and, after a long pause, react to the photo with a thumbs down.
You don’t even get a full minute before your phone starts ringing.
Asshole :/
The audacity! You answer anyway.
“She speaks!” Enjin’s joyful voice comes through the phone.
“Say shit like that and I’m hanging up.”
He draws out a dramatic, wounded, “Nooo—I didn’t mean it like that! Don’t go, I missed hearing your pretty voice.” You scoff. “Why did you call?”
“Because you texted me and confirmed you don’t hate me.”
“I sent you a thumbs down.”
“Hey,” he says, voices echoing faintly in the background, “after days of nothing? I’ll take it.” You turn the volume up and sink back into the couch. “You sound busy.”
“Nah. Never too busy for you, mama.” A pause, some shuffling. “Just got a few guys over.” Someone shouts something unintelligible. Then Gris, unmistakable even through the muffling—
“He’s got his girl on the phone.”
Enjin doesn’t correct him. “I’ll be right back,” he tells them. More movement, then a door closes, and it’s quieter now.
“Hey,” his voice is softer this time. You tilt your head to stare at the ceiling. “Hi.”
“Am I allowed to say I’m sorry?”
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
He exhales a small laugh. “I dunno.”
Silence stretches. Then, “I’m sorry.”
You sort through the million things you could say. You land on one. “For what?”
“The other night.”
“What about it?” you say. “Nothing happened.”
“C’mon,” he replies gently. “Let me make it up to you.”
You hum, noncommittal. Actually fucking me this time would be a good place to start.
“Let me see you again, baby. Please?” His voice is hopeful. “I’ll be good, promise. I’ll take you anywhere—your pick.”
You sigh. “Do you do this with all the girls you fuck up with,” you ask, turning his own words back on him, “or am I just special?”
Silence. Special isn’t a word he uses.
“…Special.”
~
You let him see you again.
A lot, actually. More than you meant to.
You can’t deny you started enjoying his presence, mostly because it became clear his advances weren’t leading anywhere any time soon. It stopped feeling like he was hovering around just to get something out of you. Sometimes it actually felt like he just liked just being around you.
He took you out constantly—places you already loved, places you’d never heard of. He even let you plan things sometimes: random craft afternoons at the park, wandering the mall for no reason. Before long, it became routine for him to grab you after class and drag you off to lunch, or sit with you while you studied (even if you bitched about it the first few times).
What started as him trying to win your attention back slowly turned into the two of you just finding excuses to spend time together. Sometimes that meant going out, sometimes it meant doing absolutely nothing—just sitting in his car at night, passing a joint back and forth while music played low through the speakers as you talked about anything and everything.
"Do you think dihydrogen monoxide should be allowed into the water supply?"
“What the hell are you saying to me right now—”
Enjin, surprisingly, was capable of being decent. His presence started to feel like it was somewhere between homeboy and something far too similar to boyfriend.
You knew better than to ask questions, though. Honestly, you weren’t even sure you wanted the answer. You were hanging out all the time, hovering somewhere between friendship and something more, and the space in between felt way too uncertain to risk asking the worst question.
What are we?
The first time he kissed you again after the party happened late one night at his place (you still never let him come to yours).
He’d somehow convinced you to bake with him, which felt far too domestic for whatever the two of you were doing. You’d rolled your eyes, complained about it the entire drive over, but still showed up. By then, he’d officially worked his way onto your good side, and it was getting harder to say no—especially when he asked the way he did, all soft smiles and pleases.
Your shared playlist hummed quietly through the speaker in his kitchen while you stood side by side mixing cookie dough, arguing over measurements you weren’t really following anyway. At some point, without warning, he grabbed your hands and pulled you into the middle of the floor.
“Hey!” you laughed, nearly losing your balance as he started swaying you to the music. “I don’t really think this kind of dancing goes with a Journey song.”
He spun you around. “Trust me, you can dance to anything if you try hard enough.”
You giggled harder, flour dusting both of your clothes, and when he dipped you—overdramatic, barely coordinated—you reached up and wiped the streak of flour off his cheek with your thumb. It was painfully cliché.
You looked up at him while smiling wide with bright eyes, and something in his chest tightened in a way he didn’t quite know how to deal with. He found himself thinking, almost absently, that he wanted so many more nights like this—more of the simple, stupid, warm moments that had nothing to do with anything else.
But he was just as afraid of that question as you were.
He lifted you up onto the counter, stepping between your knees, laughing as you tried to shove him away. He kissed you—soft at first, then again, and again, scattered across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth—just to hear you laugh louder.
It slowly turned into kissing you hello and kissing you goodbye, picking you up and spinning you around every time he saw you. He was always showing up exactly when you needed him, always ready before you even had to ask. He was at your beck and call.
Favorite soda when he picked you up? Already waiting in the cupholder, along with whatever candy you’d mentioned liking once weeks ago. Sitting through hours of your favorite show just so you could ramble about theories and plotlines—even though it bored him half to death. He’d still sit there, nodding along, way more focused on watching your lips move and the way your face lit up when you got excited than anything happening on the screen. He loved listening to the way your mind worked.
Enjin was almost the polar opposite of the guy he used to be, and the strangest part was that he didn’t even notice it happening. He was so caught up in you that everything else started to feel like background noise. In the few months you’d been hanging out, he had become wrapped around your finger.
You’d been introduced to all his friends—something he never would’ve even considered doing before. Girls usually came and went in a single night, never sticking around long enough for introductions to matter. There was never a reason to blur those lines.
But you were different. You were around all the time now, folded into his circle until it felt like you’d always been there. His friends liked you, you liked them, and before long it didn’t even feel like you were “Enjin’s guest” anymore—you were just part of the group.
Hell, August even put you on the Instagram page for his clothing brand, insisting you were the best model he’d had so far. Enjin had pretended not to care, but he definitely saved the post.
He was constantly on your own mind now, showing up in the smallest moments. When you passed a place the two of you had eaten at, when a song from your shared playlist came on, when you caught yourself reaching for your phone to text him something dumb before you even thought about it.
One night in particular, you were completely, horrifically shitfaced after going out with your friends. Like—sitting on the curb outside the bar, blinking slow because the world wouldn’t stop spinning, kind of drunk. Your legs were bare, freezing in the night air, feet aching from shoes you’d long since kicked off somewhere, head floating three seconds behind your body.
All you could think about was Enjin. He was always so warm.
You didn’t even remember calling him.
He picked up almost instantly. “To what do I owe the honor of hearing from you, beautiful? Thought you were out tonight.”
“Enjiinn—” you slurred, dragging his name out, swaying slightly where you sat. Hearing his voice somehow made your head feel even fuzzier. “Miss you s’much.”
He paused. “Baby, how drunk are you?”
“Nooo… m’ not drunk.” you said, then immediately giggled. “Well. Maybe a lil’. Tiny bit. Like… microscopic. That’s a big word…”
“Are your friends with you?”
“Yesss… they were… they’re waiting for the Uber…” You turned your head slowly, squinting into the street lights. “Wait. Where did my friends go…?”
“Where are you?”
“Mmm… I dunno…” you hummed, words running together. “Have I ever told you how handsome you are? Like… soo handsome. I’m gonna eat you up.”
He laughed softly. “You can eat me up when I get you. Where are you, ma?”
You blinked hard, trying to focus on the street sign above you. “Think it’s the bar on South Street. Maybe.” A pause. “Maybe not. I dunno. I can’t really… see right now.” You started giggling again, shoulders shaking. “Everything’s blurry.”
He muttered something under his breath, then came back louder. “Stay exactly where you are, okay? Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.”
Not that moving was really an option anyway—you were already half-curled on the curb, phone clutched to your ear.
Somehow, some way, he found you.
When his car pulled up, you gasped like he just performed a miracle.
“My handsome boy!” you squeal the second he steps out, delight all over your face while worry was written all over his. The compliment makes his cheeks warm despite himself. You were always extra affectionate when you were drunk—clingy and sweet in a way he certainly didn’t think he deserved.
You try to stand so you can run to him, but your knees wobble immediately. You barely make it two steps before you start tipping forward—only for him to catch you, hands landing firmly around your waist.
“You’re so strong,” you murmur, leaning into him without hesitation. “That’s so hot.”
He laughs under his breath, steadying you as he guides you toward the car while you keep rambling nonsense into his shoulder. “You’re like… my knight n’ shining armor. Always saving me.”
“Yeah?” he says, opening the passenger door.
He helps you slide into the seat, making sure your legs are tucked in before stepping back. “Anything for you, princess.”
“I like that. Say it again.”
He leans down, presses a quick kiss to the crown of your head. “My princess.”
You grin, already melting into the seat. “Yeah… that’s gonna do it.”
Unfortunately, Enjin still doesn’t know where you live, so the next best option is bringing you back to his place.
“Why does my apartment look different?” you mumble. “I really gotta fix the feng shui in here…”
He laughs quietly, guiding you down the hall and into his room before handing you one of his shirts and a pair of pajama pants. “Can I trust you to dress yourself?”
“You’re not gonna help me?” Leaning forward, you dip just enough that your dress shifts lower than it should. “I think you’d kill me in the morning if you found out,” he says, unimpressed but definitely not unaffected.
“Mm… but me right now wants you to help me.”
He shakes his head, gently steering you toward the bathroom. “Go get changed. I’ll stand outside the door in case you fall and bust your ass.”
Normally, Enjin would’ve jumped at the opportunity. You did look way too good—would’ve unzipped the back of your dress slow, let his mouth trail down your spine, dropped to his knees before you even realized what was happening—
He runs a hand through his hair and exhales hard, forcing the thought away while he waits outside the door, doing his best to keep it together.
But it takes every ounce of restraint in his body not to lose it at the sight of you in his clothes. Especially with how his shirt hangs off you—way too big, collar slipping just enough to expose your shoulder the tiniest bit.
You flop face-first onto his bed, already half-asleep, and he tries to gently roll you over and tuck you in the right way. He turns to leave—planning to grab a blanket and crash on the couch—when your hand suddenly shoots out and grabs his arm, yanking him down with you.
Damn, he thinks. She’s strong.
“Woah—” is all he manages before you’re climbing over him, straddling his lap. Your lips find his neck, messy and unfocused kisses trailing along his jaw—a guttural groan slips out before he can stop it when your hips grind down against his. His hands instinctively land on your thighs, gripping like he’s trying to hold onto what little self-control he has left.
You whine his name all needy, and he shuts his eyes for a second—because fuck, that sound does something to him.
“Ngh—hey, c’mon now,” he gently tried to guide your face away, hands cupping your cheeks.
You pout. “Please, Enjin… wan’ you so bad…”
Yeah, the feeling’s mutual. But even he’s not enough of an asshole to take advantage of you like this.
“Shh. I know,” he says, pressing his thumb lightly to your lips to quiet you—only for you to lazily suck it into your mouth. His breath catches, hips thrusting up before he can stop himself, and he curses under his breath when you smirk, clearly proud of yourself.
He shakes his head, grabbing your waist instead. “Don’t do this to me. We’re not doing this right now.”
“You don’t like me…”
“You’re dramatic. And drunk.”
You give a sleepy little hmph before collapsing forward, laying across his chest—still very much straddling him. He tries to move you, tries to tuck you back under the covers, but you groan and cling tighter, arms locking around him like a koala.
“You gotta go to bed, ma.”
“I am,” you whisper. “Right here. Womp womp.”
He sighs, giving up, arms settling around you instead. His hand drifts to the back of your head, gently smoothing your hair, and it doesn’t take long before your breathing slows and evens out.
He’s stuck now.
Which means he’s sleeping here too—something he’s never done. Sleeping in the same bed as a girl always felt way too intimate, too personal. Either they left, or he did.
But right now, there’s nowhere else he wants to be anyway.
~
You’d started showing up to almost all of their parties, only skipping when you had academic responsibilities (as Enjin called them) to deal with.
“You gotta stop being so smart,” He would complain, flopping back dramatically whenever you told him you couldn’t come. “I’m gonna be bored without you.”
Things got weirdly dull when you weren’t around. He could hang with the guys, drink, laugh, do the same stuff they always did—but sooner or later he’d catch himself wondering where you were, what you were doing, whether you were already home or still out somewhere.
The guys gave him endless shit for it too—the campus fuckboy suddenly acting whipped over a girl. Most of the time he just laughed and ignored them. But every once in a while it stuck in his head, and Enjin thinking too hard about things was never a good sign.
He’s sat up on the couch playing makeshift poker with a deck of half-bent cards and a pile of spare change in the middle of the table. It kept him busy enough—mostly because the guys around him were getting increasingly pissed every time he won another round.
Follo tossed his cards down. “Nah, that’s insane. Again?” Enjin didn’t even look up, just dragged the winnings toward his pile. “You guys are just predictable.”
“You don’t even know the rules.”
“Neither do you,” He shot back. “So relax.”
Gris leans back in his chair, squinting at the table. “I’m pretty sure we’re playing this wrong.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Enjin shrugs. “Money’s still mine.”
“I swear you count cards or something.”
“If I was counting cards, you’d already be broke.”
Follo groans, digging more coins out of his pocket. “I’m done playing after this hand. You’re hustling us.”
“You volunteered. Don’t blame me cause you keep funding my night.”
Corvus clears his throat beside him. “Pretty sure your lady just walked in.” Enjin’s head snapped up instantly, attention gone from the cards in his hands. “Follo, your wallet just got blessed. I’m done playing.”
Follo let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “I owe her my life.”
You felt Enjin before you even spotted him—the way his presence pulled your attention across the crowded room like a compass. You waved as you walked over. “Hi, guys!”
“The woman of the night has finally arrived,” Gris says, grinning.
“You’re too sweet,” you coo, sliding into the open spot next to Enjin and curling against his side. His arm wrapped around you without hesitation, like it had become second nature. It didn’t go unnoticed—some of the girls lingering nearby shot you nasty looks. They came from knowing they’d never gotten that kind of loving from him. You couldn’t deny the major ego boost it gave you.
There wasn’t a label on whatever this was, but you had something they didn’t: his full, undivided attention. Had him locked down like a dog on a leash, and no title was needed for people to see that.
You nod toward the pile of coins and bills on the table. “So where are you taking me with all these winnings? At least make your gambling addiction useful.”
Corvus laughs from the other side. “You should feel honored. You just got prioritized over beer and cigarettes.”
Enjin smirks, squeezing your shoulder lightly. “I was gonna spend it on you anyway.”
You reach up and pinch Enjin’s cheek.
“Careful,” you tease, “your ego’s getting kinda insane tonight.” He grabs your wrist with a grin, but Gris leans forward first. “Wait—where have you been? We thought you dipped.”
“I had to pregame with my friends, y’all start parties way too early.”
“You missed Follo trying to manipulate the DJ. Whole house rioted.”
“Oh my god, not this again.” He groans. “Dude, it was one suggestion.” You perk up immediately. “Wait—what did you play?”
He hesitates like he knows he’s about to get jumped. “…The 1975.”
“Oh my god, yes.”
They all groan in unison. “It was Somebody Else!” He tries to desperately defend himself. “It’s a good song!”
You point at him, nodding. “He’s so right.” Gris shakes his head. “Next thing we know the whole party’s gonna be crying in the kitchen.”
“C’mon, Follo, we’re going back up to the DJ booth,” you say, already starting to sit up. “If I flash him, he’ll play it. Trust.”
August nearly chokes laughing. “Damn straight!”
Before you can get too far, Enjin takes his arm around your waist and pulls you back down against him. “Yeah, no. The entire house does not need to see your tits tonight.”
“You’re so lame—now everyone’s gonna miss out on a banger cause of you.” He just squeezes your waist, sticking a tongue out at you. Across the room, you spot a girl from one of your classes waving you over, already holding up a drink like an invitation.
“Who’s that?” Enjin asks.
“Friend of mine, I’m gonna go say hi and grab a drink—”
As soon as you’re upright, his hands land on your hips, stopping you for a second. He looks up with an exaggerated pout. “Let me come with you.”
“I’m a big girl, I can make it,” you laugh, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be right back, kay’?”
He lets you go, but his eyes stay on you as you cross the room, watching you laugh at something your friend says.
“Didn’t know Enjin was capable of settling down,” a voice says from the wall nearby.
He glances over—one of the regulars who hung around.
“Settling down?” Enjin takes a drag of his cigarette. “We’re not together.”
The guy whistles low. “Damn. That pussy must be crazy then to have you acting like this.” He smirks. “If you’re not together, you mind if I take a shot?”
Something in him goes cold fast.
“Shut the fuck up.”
The guy raises his hands in mock defense, but the smug look stays. “Relax, man. I’m just saying—she’s bad as hell. And if you don’t have a claim—” He continues, staring off at you. “Not to mention, girls who mess with you are always easy.”
Enjin doesn’t even remember standing. One second he’s sitting, the next he’s in the guy’s face.
“Say another fucking word about her.”
Corvus is behind him not even a second later, hand clamping down on his shoulder. “Enjin, you gotta back up, bro.”
He’s seething.
It’s stupid. It shouldn’t bother him this much. Guys say dumb shit at parties all the time. Normally he’d laugh it off, maybe throw something back twice as disrespectful and move on. But the thought of that guy even looking at you like that makes something ugly crawl up his spine. The idea of anyone talking about you like you’re just another name on a list—like the same girls he used to treat that way—makes his stomach churn.
He kind of hates how fast his mind jumps to it. Hates that his first instinct wasn’t to laugh, but to step in front of you like he needed to protect you.
We’re not together.
He shakes Corvus’s hand off, “I’m out.”
Enjin shoves through the crowd, shoulders knocking into people without a single apology as he forces his way outside. The night air hits his face, but it doesn’t do a damn thing to cool him off. His head is still racing, thoughts coming in far too fast and far too loud.
What the hell was he doing?
This isn’t who he is. Getting defensive. Getting territorial. Getting pissed over some guy talking about a girl he hasn’t even properly fucked yet. He’s had girls he has slept with treated worse than that and never cared enough to blink.
It pisses him off even more to realize how obvious what the real answer here is.
You’d somehow gotten into his head without him noticing, rewired something that had always been simple and straightforward. For months now he’s been telling himself the same thing—you’re just some girl. Some girl he wanted his dick in, nothing more. That was the plan. That was always the plan. He wasn’t supposed to care about how you felt, or what people said about you, or whether someone else tried to make a move. You were supposed to be another name, another night, another body on his list.
He’s had more than enough chances by now. Plenty. If this were anyone else, it would’ve been over weeks ago. Done. Finished. Forgotten. Point blank. Instead, every time things got close, he’s the one pulling back. Slowing down. Taking his time like he’s got somewhere to be with this.
Enjin’s not even really sure who he’s mad at. It’s not you—you didn’t do anything wrong. But the thought of himself being burned down to—what did that guy call it? Pussy whipped?—makes his blood boil.
The idea of people looking at him like that, like he’s lost something, sets something off in him.
All of it makes him angry in general—but it makes him angrier on your behalf. Like you’re just some girl who finally did well enough to keep him around. Like you’re some trophy, some body that got lucky.
Like you’re just another name.
Just like you used to be to him.
But you’re not.
“Hey, Enjin.”
He turns from where he’s leaning over the patio railing. The voice belongs—ironically enough—to one of the many girls he’s slept with. What was her name again? Something with an M… maybe.
“Not very nice of you to leave your girl all alone in there.”
He stares at her, jaw tightening. He knows exactly what she’s doing. Fishing. Looking for something she can take back inside and whisper about. Proof that Enjin’s finally locked down—that someone finally got him.
The angel on his shoulder tells him to ignore her. To go back inside, sit on the couch, cool off, maybe go back to playing cards.
The devil—loud and wounded—wins like he always does.
“Not my girl.”
The words feel foreign the second they leave his mouth, same way they did earlier. If you really meant nothing, he wouldn’t be standing out here this pissed off—it feels like his entire mind is split down the middle. One side of him knows better, the other does not.
Her lips curl into a knowing smile. “She’s not?” She steps closer, pressing herself against his arm, confident now. This is all the confirmation she needed. Whatever he says next doesn’t even matter.
She feels wrong against him—too familiar in the worst way. Nothing like you.
From the kitchen window, all you catch is the exchange—too quick—and then her body right up against his. A sight you recognize all too well.
What did he say to her?
The feeling hits you hard, it knocks the air straight out of your lungs. It shouldn’t hurt—this isn’t new. Girls on Enjin’s arm used to be a given. But it’s been so long, and he’s been so yours.
You told yourself not to get your hopes up.
You weren’t stupid.
But what were you supposed to think? For months the campus playboy went practically celibate, going months without touching anyone else. Followed you around like a lost dog, acted like your attention was the only thing he wanted.
That meant something, right? It had to. Except now it feels stupid. Stupid, naive, and straight up embarrassing.
You should’ve known better all along—knowing that someone like him doesn’t change. That no matter how close it felt, you were always going to be nothing more than another girl to a man like Enjin.
You grab the drink you came into the kitchen for and slam it back. Then another. Then one more for good measure.
You push your way onto the dance floor and just move. Move to the rhythm. Focus on the music. Don’t think about what you saw outside. Don’t think about the past few months, about how you let your guard down because he tried—because he kept showing up. Don’t think about how small you suddenly feel, how you trusted him and he took it like a thief.
Take, take, take. That’s all he ever does, isn’t it?
So why did he give you so much in return just to strip it all away?
The bodies around you start to feel too packed in. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the music too loud, the voices louder. You’re dizzy now, unsteady, and everything starts blending together until you can’t tell where one room ends and the next begins.
You stumble back until you hit a wall, the cold of it pressing into your spine as the bass vibrates through the speakers behind it. You try to take deep breaths, force your head to level out.
Blacking out is a mindset. Lock in.
“You good?”
The voice isn’t familiar. Neither is the face attached to it—though you can’t really make him out anyway.
“What?”
“I asked if you were good,” he says, louder this time.
Blinking, you try to focus. Something about him feels off. You can’t place it, but you feel it all the same. “Yeah. I’m fine.” You try to move away, aim for the bathroom or literally anywhere else.
“Woah, where you goin’?” He’s suddenly there, blocking you before your brain can catch up.
“I’m gonna find my friends.”
You move. He moves too.
You glance around for help, for someone—anyone—but you’re met with nothing. You realize you’re alone in that exact same hallway as before.
Fuck.
“Hey, just talk to me for a bit,” he’s leaning in and crowding your space, making it harder to breathe.
“Listen, you gotta leave me alone—” you snap, pushing at him, disgust flashing across your face as you try to get away.
His arm wraps around you from behind, fingers digging into your thighs—and before you can even process it, before you can kick or scream, he’s gone.
Ripped off you.
Enjin’s fist connects with the guy’s nose, blood spraying instantly. The guy barely gets a hit in—just enough to bruise later—before Enjin swings again, clean and brutal, knocking him out cold.
His chest is heaving. He’s seeing red. The same guy from earlier. Talking about you like that. Touching you like that.
Enjin looks down at the body, laughs under his breath and spits. “Damn,” he mutters. “He’s gonna be out for a bit.” Then he turns to you, face wild. “Don’t tell Corvus, okay?”
But the second he really looks at you—your face pale, eyes wide—he stops.
“Hey,” he says, softer now. “You alright?” He steps toward you, ready to pull you in, to ground you somehow.
You step back.
His brow furrows. Shit. Did he scare you?
“What the fuck is your problem?” you scream.
Confusion flashes across his face. You used to like it when he played knight in shining armor. Being his princess. “Aw, ma’—if I freaked you out, I’m sorry.”
You snort.
“You could’ve just pulled him off. Told him to leave. Not try to kill him.”
He’s used to your jabs, your snark, the looks—but this? The real anger in your eyes? It’s new and he doesn’t like it one bit.
“You didn’t find it hot?” he tries, desperate to crack the tension. A bad joke. A last resort.
“Are you on some shit?” you spit.
Yeah. Didn’t land.
You sigh, rubbing your face. “So did you come find me after you got bored outside?”
He freezes.
Oh. You saw her.
You must’ve left before you saw him push her off. Before he went looking for you. If he’d just stayed by your side, none of this would’ve happened.
He opens his mouth, but you cut him off.
“What is it you wanted, Enjin?”
His face was pure confusion, “What I wanted…?”
“You never slept with me,” you say. “isn’t that your thing? Being the campus hooker?”
“I’m sorry?” he says carefully, biting back everything else.
“No,” you stop him, hand raised. “I’m sorry.”
You swallow hard. You’re not crying. Not here. Not in front of him.
“I’m sorry I thought you could change. Sorry I believed the effort meant something. You’re a really good actor, you know that?”
Your shoulders sag. “That’s on me, Enjin.”
Then, quieter—“But you didn’t deny I was your girl. You let me crash at your place. Hell, you slept in bed with me. We both know you don’t do that.” A broken laugh slips out. “You just beat the shit out of that guy for me.”
You slide down the wall, burying your face in your hands.
“Enjin,” you whisper. “What did you really want?”
“You,” he says.
“What part of me?”
Silence.
“Right.” You stand. “Ice your eye. And your fist.”
“Hey—wait—”
You walk away.
He doesn’t chase you.
What did he want?
You. He wanted you.
At first, he wanted to fuck. That was it. So when did that stop being the point? When did he start caring more about making you smile than getting you into his bed? About listening instead of talking? About spoiling you—about being the first person you talked to in the morning and the last one at night?
Because you’re you. Smart. Kind. Funny. Curious. A mind that never stops moving. Beautiful, sure—devastatingly so—but it was never just that. It was everything underneath that pulled him in, made him want to crawl inside your head and heart and stay there.
It stopped being about wanting you—and became about wanting to be yours.
~
You give him zero openings this time.
Blocked his number. Blocked him on every social media platform you can think of—hell, even Roblox caught a stray. You start leaving classes early or showing up late just to avoid him lingering outside like he used to. You stop going to the places you know he learned by heart, because the last thing you need is running into him somewhere that used to feel safe.
But he sure does try!
At first it’s the usual stuff—having his friends reach out like middlemen because, as far as anyone can tell, you’ve straight-up vanished. They pass along gifts on his behalf. You toss every single one. (Okay—fine. You read the notes first. But they make you cry, so sometimes you set one or two on fire for dramatic closure.)
He even tries to figure out your new schedule, the one you very intentionally built just to dodge him. That doesn’t work either. You’d completely outplayed him, and for once, Enjin doesn’t know what move to make next.
Well… almost!
“August,” Enjin’s dead serious, halfway to begging. “You dropped the clothes off for her to model at her place. I need the address.”
August doesn’t even look up from his cricut. “Nah, man! But hella appreciate the enthusiasm!”
“I’m not joking,” He presses. “This is the love of my life on the line here. Future mother of my children.”
“Thought you hated kids,” Semiu mutters from the corner.
“Mind your damn business.”
August finally swivels around in his chair, eyebrows raised. “The love of your life? That’s insane coming from you!”
“Exactly!” Enjin says, desperate now. “Which is why I need you to drop the address. So I can be a better man and fix things.”
At this point, nothing feels off-limits to him. Morals? Flexible! Boundaries? Super negotiable. If seeing you again means showing up at the one place you never wanted him to know—yeah, he’d do it. He wasn’t above breaking and entering.
You, on the other hand, want nothing to do with him.
The farther away you are, the easier it is to convince yourself this whole situationship was just a waste of time. That sitting around hurting over it would only steal more days off the clock of your life.
Besides—thinking about him still pulls too much out of you. Hurt. Anger. Bitterness. And, annoyingly, yearning.
You miss him like hell. Like a bitch.
And every time you catch yourself spiraling over it, you turn the water cold in the shower and give yourself a look in the mirror like, Get it together girl!
So when he shows up at your door out of nowhere, it takes everything in you not to either strangle him or kiss him stupid.
“You’re actually batshit,” you say flatly, arms crossed, foot tapping. “How did you even get my address?”
“I have my ways.” He tries to smirk, but it barely lasts a second. He looks miserable—exhausted, hollowed out. You glare at him, and he caves almost immediately. “August,” he admits.
You mutter something about having to move now, about getting on Zillow, and start to shut the door in his face. His foot catches it.
“Baby, listen to me.”
“No thanks.” You shove harder, very intentionally trying to crush his toes.
“Hey—ow—can you at least let me apologize?”
“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass.”
You kick his foot out and finally slam the door.
“Will you please be my girlfriend?”
It’s muffled through the wood, but it lands anyway. Clear as day. You freeze as he leans his forehead against the door, letting out a shaky breath.
“Yeah, at first I was just trying to fuck you. I’ll be deadass about that.”
You snort despite yourself.
“But,” he continues, fingers fidgeting with the handle, “I loved you the first night I took you out. When you were staring at the city like it was brand new. You looked so free. And you kept telling me stories about yourself, I just remember thinking I wanted to hear a lot more of that—and that I wanted to be in them”
He lets out a short, embarrassed laugh. “It’s cheesy, I know. But I kept saying no because I didn’t want to sleep with you yet. I didn’t want you to think that was all you ever were to me—didn’t want you thinking that was the only thing I cared about.”
You open the door, and seeing your face almost knocks the wind out of him.
“So I’m sorry,” he says, softer now. “For making you think I hadn’t changed. I’ve wanted to change for you this whole time—it just took me too long to realize. And I didn’t know how to do it without fucking it up.”
“Whatever,” you shrug, eyes averted. “It’s fine. I guess.”
But the smile creeping onto your face gives you away.
“Can I come in?”
“Since you already probably have the longitude and latitude memorized, yeah.”
Enjin’s face breaks out into a wide smile the second you step aside, all teeth and crinkled eyes like he just won the lottery. You barely get the door halfway shut before he’s pulling you into him, arms wrapping tight around your shoulders and waist in a hug.
“Agh—dude, let go, I can’t breathe—”
He only squeezes you tighter, rocking you side to side like you’re something he almost lost (he definitely did). He presses kisses all over the top of your head, your hair, your temple. You shove at his chest half-heartedly, but you’re not really trying that hard.
You missed this. Him.
“Do you accept my apology?” he mumbles into your hair.
“I already said whatever.”
“That’s not forgiveness,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Of course I accept your apology, Enjin. I love you too!’”
“Don’t get greedy.”
He retaliates by kissing all over your face—cheek, jaw, nose—each quick peck followed by a dramatic, “Please?”
You can’t help it. You start laughing, the kind that makes your shoulders shake. “Okay, okay—fine! I accept your apology!”
“Will you be my girlfriend?”
“Yes, Enjin. I pretty much already was.”
“And an, I love you too?”
“Give me a bit.”
Enjin pauses for half a second like he’s considering arguing—then just shrugs instead.
He leans in again—not rushed, not greedy—just soft and slow, but still like his life depends on it. One hand slides to your waist, the other resting warm at your jaw as he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize it instead of steal it.
“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he murmurs against your lips.
You fist your fingers into his shirt, suddenly very interested in the fabric instead of his face. “So… are you ever gonna have sex with me?”
A grin spreads against your skin.
“Yeah. Eventually.” His mouth drifts from your cheek down to your neck, unhurried. “Think I’m gonna wait till marriage though. Show you I’m really committed.”
You gasp dramatically. “I have to wait till marriage?”
“I can’t believe you’re more upset about waiting to fuck me than me saying I’m gonna marry you.”
Summary: After a dangerous mission leaves you badly injured, Enjin is there to take care of you.
a/n: One-shot based on this request.
As a medical assistant, I tried to make this as realistic as possible, but there are a couple of medical inaccuracies to make this one-shot work.
"Follo, get back!" you shout as the trash beast tears through everything in sight while the supporters try their best to help.
You already knew this wasn't going to be easy.
Corvus usually knew which missions were safe enough, but this one had gone drastically wrong.
So far, everyone had only suffered a few cuts - nothing too serious. However, the next trash beast lumbering towards your group was far bigger than any you had seen before.
Spotting the black-haired supporter standing too close to the beast, you sighed in annoyance and ran towards him.
It was defeaningly loud and all of you were exhausted from hours of fighting, but that didn't slow you down.
You reached him just in time, grabbed his wrist and yanked him aside to dodge the beast’s attack. Follo clung to your arm, his breath hitching. “Thanks.”
His breathing was ragged and his eyes were wide with shock. You knew how badly he wanted to be a giver, but this wasn’t the time to play the hero. "It's okay. Just get back.”
“What? No!” he shot back, exasperation thick in his voice. You frowned as you narrowly dodged another attack.
"I know you want to help, but now is not the time," you snapped, anger creeping into your tone.
Follo opened his mouth to respond, but then you saw Gris shielding Tomme. At first, it worked. Then a trash beast broke free, charging towards him at terrifying speed.
You didn’t hesitate.
Shoving Follo aside, you sprinted towards Gris and slammed into him, pushing him out of the beast’s path.
You barely had time to activate your vital instrument when everything went wrong.
Something struck you hard.
Your body was flung backwards at terrifying speed until your back slammed into a jagged rock. Pain exploded through you and you let out a silent scream as your vision blurred to black. Shouts from the others echoed faintly in your ears, muffled and distant, before everything faded into complete silence.
He had seen a lot, experienced too much and lost countless people in his life, but this went too far.
"And you just let that happen?" Enjin couldn't remember the last time he had been this angry. He was now standing outside Alice's clinic.
Wherever he looked, he could only see you lying lifelessly on the bed while Alice frantically searched for every tool she had.
Alice had seen many injuries, but this one was serious, as even she wasn't shouting as loudly as usual.
"I didn't know-" Gris's eyes were glassy, and he had guilt written all over his face, shoulders slumped.
But Enjin wasn't having it.
Enjin's loud tone even making the tall man flinch. "That isn't going to fix this!"
The other supporters were standing nearby, watching the interaction, with Tomme and Follo especially close to breaking down in tears.
The tattooed man stood rigidly and looked towards the others. Then he let out a quiet exhale and ran his shaky hands down his face. He looked at the ground.
Alice was the only one who could help now, and even Enjin, who didn't believe, found himself praying to whoever was willing to listen.
"I don't know what I'm going to do if I lose you."
Days passed and everyone became restless. The longer it went on, the more Enjin smoked, worrying the others as he could barely think straight.
"Maybe you should stop with that," said Semiu, loud and clear in the night, as the man tapped his foot nervously in front of Alice's clinic.
"Can't," he muttered. He was absolutely exhausted, but no matter how many times he tried to fall asleep, he'd wake up violently due to the fear of you dying, even though Alice had shouted that you were stable - just not awake yet.
The woman sighed in defeat, having run out of things to say. She had tried her best to stop him worrying over the past couple of days.
Meanwhile, in the clinic, you slowly opened your eyes. At first, everything was blurry, but you started to blink a couple of times, and suddenly heard the fast footsteps of the woman in the lab coat.
"Finally, you're awake!" Her booming voice made you groan as she inspected your facial expressions.
"I almost forgot how loud you are," you mumbled, trying to sit up. However, something felt off as you tuned out Alice's loud response.
You clenched your fists a couple of times, noting that it felt normal, and then lightly patted your torso.
"Kid, what are you doing?" she shouted, arms on her hips, watching you.
You patted your legs next, but felt nothing.
Your eyebrows furrowed, and you started to pinch both thighs, while Alice told you to stop hurting yourself.
"Alice," you said, your voice shaking, cutting her off abruptly as she noticed a tear rolling down your face.
"What...?" She was now talking more quietly as she got closer.
"I can't feel my legs." You were starting to panic now.
Your grip getting even more violent, sure that it would leave a bruise. "Why can't I feel it? Alice!"
The woman remained silent, watching you as you began to make frantic gestures with your trembling hands and your voice began to shake. "What happened to me? Answer me, Alice!"
You were crying loudly as the two in front of the clinic heard the sound. Enjin immediately discarded his cigarette when he recognised the voice of his girlfriend, and Semiu followed him inside.
There you were.
Alive, but there was not a single sign of happiness. You thrashed around in the doctor's arms while she tried to pin you down to the bed. You screamed at her about what she had done.
Suddenly, you quietened down as Alice pulled out a syringe, injected it and made you drowsy. Tears continued to roll down your face until you passed out.
You were almost mute rather than paralysed from the waist down. Ever since the syringe woke you up, you hadn't wanted to talk.
Alice told them that there was a chance you could start walking again, but it would take a while as your spine had sustained significant damage in the collision with the rock.
The others were scared to say anything, as you had lashed out multiple times. This made Gris feel especially horrible, but he was trying his best to fix things by bringing you everything you wanted or needed. However, you didn't accept his help.
Enjin was there, though.
He didn't leave your side and helped you with everything.
You felt embarrassed and humiliated by the fact that you couldn't dress yourself anymore, but Enjin immediately shut down any negative thoughts you had about yourself.
Every night, he whispered into your ear how grateful he was that you were still here, and promised you that you would walk again.
Four months had already passed and you were getting frustrated.
Just when you thought things were getting better, they got worse again and you had a setback.
You could feel your foot slightly more and move it a bit, getting some feeling back in your legs, though most of the time still feeling numb as you had trouble walking while Enjin held you upright tightly.
Just like now.
"Okay, take a deep breath. You're doing well," your boyfriend whispered, holding your upper body upright while you took shaky steps one after the other.
The first few steps were painful, but you kept going, breathing heavily but determined not to give up.
Your hands gripped his arms tightly while you let a tear roll down and sniffed quietly, looking at the floor. Immediately telling yourself that it was useless.
"I don't think I can do it, Enjin."
Your voice broke his heart as he looked at your defeated form.
"Yes, you can," he replied determinedly as you leaned your head onto his shoulder.
Still holding you, he put his arms fully around you and started to rub your back softly in circles. "I'm here, and I'm going to be here until the very end. You can do it, we both know that very well."
You tried to protest, but he cut you off immediately when he leaned down to give you a quick kiss on the lips. Then he continued, "You're so strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever known. But you know this will take time until you regain full control."
"Just take your time, there's nothing wrong with that."
His shirt was getting wet from your tears as you whispered a thank you to him.
"No need to thank me. We're going through this together. You and me."
IN WHICH the blue lock boys are having a hard time on holding their cum in once they’ve noticed you’re not on the pills and they’ve ran out of cndoms — treading closer and closer into cumming inside of you! but don’t worry — they can solve it.. I think.
featuring ─ I.Y, R.I, B.M, C.H x fem! reader
** warnings . fem! reader, all aged up characters, unprotected sex [don’t try this at home], not proofread. Isagi ; slight degradation, mentions of cum eating, his obsession w thighs ofc rin ; hair pulling, edging [both], slightly mean rin meguru ; consensual picture taking, cumming on various body parts [meguru], overstimulation [reader] hyoma ; thigh riding, edging [reader], slightly mean hyoma
** notes . this is a draft so it’s quite different to how I write now I think, plus my friend helped me write isagi’s part; but nonetheless, hope u guys like this as a filler while I continue another jjk fic .. my reqs are open, so feel free to req smth or just talk :) (as usual, reblogs very much appreciated !)
— ໒ ; be warned ! smut below the cut.
˓ — ISAGI YOICHI
the type who loves to cum inside your warm cunt more than anything, but he supposes he can settle on your thighs just this once — and plus, he doesn’t mind licking the mess off of you like the good boyfriend he is!
“you’re not on the pill?”
he’s trying so hard to sound mad, to look irritated and annoyed on how you didn’t buy a new bottle after you ran out, especially since you know that this was going to happen — but the way your walls were clinging onto his pale shaft was making it so hard, harder than he had initially thought.
his eyebrows furrow together, lips parted in ecstasy as his hips stutter slightly. his grip on your hips grew tighter, tight enough to leave burning red marks which surely will make itself comfortable as claiming your hips as home for the next few days.
“fuck. y-you should’ve — ah , told me —” he grunts, and he’s finding it hard to put his hips to a halt from plummeting inside of you from the back.
He looks mad, with the furrowed brows and darkened eyes, but the shakiness in his voice and the tremble of his bottom lip as he throws his head back with a groan that came straight out of a pornographic movie is telling you that he actually couldn’t bring himself to be mad.
not with the way you were pressed up against him, that is.
“c-can’t you just — unh, pull out and slip a condom on or sumthin—?”
and he almost laughed, laughed at your words if it wasn’t the way you looked up at him so sweetly through your shoulder, eyes glossy and wide — arching your back oh so deliciously for him with that stupidly innocent look on your face.
you fucking minx.
“hah — easier said than done, baby.”
how could he pull out when you were gripping onto his twitching cock so tightly, warming it good enough to send shudders throughout his entire body.
saliva coated lips make contact with your shoulder, canines sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder. His pupils dilate, the scent of your shampoo and lotion and the light taste of sweat on your body making him moan, moan — his dick twitching inside of you. you were a fucking sex pollen to him and you knew it.
He can’t find it in himself to stop pounding into you, the thought of him cumming inside of you and possibly getting you pregnant making his hips move faster — meaner. You were too addicting, you had a chokehold on him and the sweet whimpers and moans escaping your throat only adds more fuel to the already large, suffocating fire.
“y-you know,” he grunts, chest heaving with each needed breath he takes, his mean hips finally coming to a stop as he speaks, leaning your cunt needy and pulsating, “I’m startin’ to think that you actually want me to cum inside.”
the whine that bubbles from your chest makes a wolffish grin tug the corners of his lips, watching the way your half lidded eyes focus slowly on his dark blue ones.
“w-what? ichi — th-that’s not wh.. hngh!”
he cuts off your words, burying himself as deep as he could inside of you — slender fingers pressing down on the bulge of his needy cock on your stomach, watching the way your eyes rolled back and back arched further, ass hitting against his pelvis.
“c’mooon. really?” he drawls out, tilting his head to the side slightly, “I’ve reminded y’to buy a new bottle already. and I know damn well you wouldn’t have forgotten — unless you really wanted to be filled with my babies, ha? all swollen and full.”
He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, picking the pace back up — relishing in the way the tears stream down your cheeks as you body jolts forwards from the impact, a loud moan ripping out of your throat.
Surely, he’s got to have some personality disorder. The once sweet, innocent yoichi was now a mean, unforgiving one — toying with you as he flips you onto your back now, his ears picking up on the way you squeak at the sudden change of position.
And he swears he could feel your gummy walls clench tighter around him at the thought of you full with his children, making him grunt softly — fingers digging deeper into your hips.
“oh? so I’m right, aren’t I?” he mused, the already large shit eating grin on his face growing larger, if that was even possible.
“s-shut up— I’m c-cumming,” your fingers move onto his biceps, nails digging into them as a desperate attempt to ground yourself. meanwhile his hands find solace onto your soft thighs, pinning them down against the navy silk sheets of his bed.
“yeah? a-are you now?” his eyes narrowed slightly, teeth gritting together and brows furrowing as he himself is desperately trying to restrain himself from doing anything he’d regret, which would obviously busting his load into you suddenly and, perhaps, getting you pregnant with his kids.
“fuck — cum with me then,” soft pants escape his parted lips, his body chasing yours.
he could see the way you panic in your eyes. the way you desperately try to muster up your voice to tell him to stop despite knowing all attempts to tell him off would be futile, to hold his load or to pull out, and the way you were so drowned in the pleasure he was giving you that he had rendered you into a speechless little thing.
“f-fuck ! yoichi, don’t —” you gasp out, head pressing back against the soft pillows propped up behind your head, jaw hanging open from the immense euphoria.
as soon as the creamy white liquid gushes out of your sensitive ring of muscle, you could feel him swiftly pull out — and with a few jerks of his hand, he coats your thighs with his own sticky mess, head thrown back as the number one striker lets out a uncharacteristically pathetic moan.
the room washes over with silence, the sound of your and his soft pants filling the rather quiet room until you break the silence, eyes peering down at the wet spot on the sheets beneath your thighs and the sticky feeling of cum kissing your thighs.
“shit. gonna be such a mess to clean up,” you breath out, chest still heaving gently from the workout he had just made you do.
he simply grins, licking his lips.
“who says I’m not gonna help you clean up?”
and with that, he sinks down onto his knees, hands finding home onto your thighs once more.
˓ — RIN ITOSHI
the type who lets you get the consequences of not telling him — leaving you needy and on edge! after all, it’s not his fault that you forgot to tell him …
“what did you just say?”
slender digits come up to grab a fistful of your hair, hips coming to a stop as he forces your head to tilt back to look at him — chilly teal eyes lean down to peer straight at yours, his nails digging into your scalp. his grip was tight enough for it to almost be considered painful.
almost.
was he annoyed? yes. was he horny, needy, and needed desperately to cum? also yes.
“I-I’m ah — n-not on birth control ..” you managed to squeak out, shrinking under his gaze — your fingers clenching around the silk sheets of his bed, the material curling and wrinkling beneath the grip of your fingers.
you could see the way his brows furrow slightly, clicking his tongue once more in slight annoyance. he’s been edging himself and you for what, an hour now — constantly forcing your back into a deep arch so he could hit deeper and deeper into you, hitting places you never knew wlere even inside of you — listening to your pretty sounds and such pitiful begging for him to let you cum, just for you to tell him that at the very end, he won’t have the chance to cum inside of his favorite place to do so?
such bullshit, he thinks.
That doesn’t mean he can’t have any fun, though. After all, you have some compensation to make for him.
His brows soon relax slowly, and he was slight thankful he dumbed you down just enough for you to miss the small, yet sly smirk tugging the corners of his lips as he leans down, lips gently grazing your neck — moving closer and closer until his teeth reached close enough to tug your earlobe right between his teeth, warm breath tickling the skins on your hair.
“It’s okay, baby.”
His voice was condescendingly sweet, a hidden meaning laying deep down beneath his words — but gosh, how could you ever focus on his words when the cock drilling deep into you and rearranging your guts was stealing all of your focus instead?
“I’ll just hafta pull out, hm?” He bites the inside of his cheek, finding humor in the way you seem to relax at his words — forgetting that he wasn’t a man to forgive and forget so easily. His fingers leave the soft locks of your hair gently, instead, moving to the back of your head to have a firm hold of the back of your head — pushing your head against the soft pillows on his bed, muffling your whines and pretty little moans of his name as his hips slowly start to resume its steady rhythm against your ass.
You choke on your own sounds, feeling the way he pounds faster — meaner, deeper. And it was weird, because the youngest Itoshi has never went this rough on you. Drool seeps out of their corners of your lips, jaw hanging open — a wet patch of your drool forming on the Itoshi’s pillow covers.
If only you had knew, that behind the mean, pounds of his hips, would be a sinister intent to leave you needy and on edge — desperate enough for you to get down on your knees and beg.
“R-rin, cummin’, please — ” his ears perk up at your words. And as if to prove your point, he could feel the way your thighs quivered and tightened, struggling to hold yourself up properly. And amidst the lewd sounds of skin slapping mixed with the sounds of your moans, he could hear his sheets crinkling underneath your tight grip against them — nails digging into the soft mattress, your words coming up as hardly audible hiccups and whines.
“Shit, that so?” His breath hitches softly, feeling the way your walls clamp up around him. His dick twitches inside of you, and you gasp at the feeling — because you know what’s about to happen, or — what you expected to happen, at least.
“Such a needy little thing. Go on, then.”
Before you could say anything else, he pulls out, edging you once more this night, relishing the way you grunt softly in complaint as you squirm, moving your hips back to press against his pelvis, silently begging for him to put himself back in.
But instead of being met with him aligning his tip right back in, you’re met with a soft shake of his head, his left arm wrapping around your waist as he leans down, lips grazing your earlobe once more.
“ ‘m sorry, sweetheart, but I think you’re right. Think’ we should keep it just the two of us for now, hm?”
He leans back slowly after pressing a gentle kiss onto your cheek. Fuck, he could feel his blood rushing south once more at the way you pout at him — eyes watery and teary, before they eventually flutter shut from exhaustion.
Guess he’ll have to find another way to relieve himself ..
˓ — BACHIRA MEGURU
the type who’s pull out game is, weirdly.. good? Either way, he doesn’t mind settling on cumming on other parts of your body — after all, all of you is perfect in his eyes ! .. and, well — maybe also because he wants to take a few pics of you covered in his cum .. but you don’t have to know that!
“And? I really don’t see the problem here ..”
A childlike pout starts to form on his lips, tilting his head gently to the side slightly like a kid stuck on a math question written on the board — his fingers reaching up to intertwine with your own, which were pushing against his chest, trying uselessly to push him off of you — a poor attempt on trying to make distance between your cunt and his mushroom tip nudging your entrance.
“I-im not on the pill-! That’s the problem,” you huff out, your fingers squeezing his gently — blood rushing to your cheeks at the amount of personal space he has taken away from you. But he merely shrugs, a cheeky smile tugging the corners of his lips as soon as the realization hit him.
“Ah — that’s what all this was about? no biggie, trust me. I can jus’pull out!”
He seemed oddly casual about the situation, to your surprise. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to shine even brighter than the soft, silver light of the moon slipping quietly through the white curtains of your room — even brighter than whenever he would score a goal during a match. Maybe it was because this situation was no different, you’ll never know.
“I’ll take good care of ya, I promise.”
And you should’ve known better from the earlier signs of him being waay to casual for a situation like this, considering how he’d use to pout whenever you’d tell him to slip on a condom — that he had a secret intent behind the unusually sweet and understanding talk of his.
Click, click click!
His phone in his right hand, while his other hand held firmly onto your waist, holding you down against the soft bed to prevent your from squirming too much. After all, he couldn’t let you ruin his piece of art!
A satisfied grin tugs the corners of his lips, giggling at the way you use the back of your hand to cover the lower half of your face. Cute, he thinks. How you think that would stop him from taking any more pictures of you painted with his cum — cheeks flushed with your skin glistening slightly from the light sheen of sweat on your body, the creamy white liquid trailing down from your chest to your stomach makes him let out a soft groan.
“Cmon, don’t — hah, don’t get shy on me now,” he breathed out softly, continuing to gently pump in and out of you, trying to coax out another orgasm out of you to coat your already sticky thighs. His hand leaves your waist, fingers trailing up your arm, then to your wrist, and finally laces your fingers together, gently pulling your hand away from your face. A seemingly innocent smile tugs the corners of his lips, leaning down to coo intoxicatingly sweet in your ear.
“Just one more, one more. yeah baby?” His warm breath fans over the bare skin of your neck, sending a low shudder running throughout your spine.
He bottoms out slowly, before thrusting back in as deep as he could — relishing the way your back arches off the bed, head lolling back against the soft cushions of the pillows beneath your head.
Setting his phone down on the bed, he diverts his entire focus to you, and how your hands tensed, trying to ground yourself by squeezing his own hand like he was your lifeline. He grunts softly at the sharp sting of your nails digging into the outer layer of his hand, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip — a rather strange contrast to how rough we was with plummeting inside of your hole, stretching and molding the walls accordingly — marking you as his.
“B-but — hng, ‘guru - came twice already-”
He could only grunt the way you look at him so pleadingly, so lovingly - eyes glassy with tears and saliva prodding at the corners of your wet, kiss bitten lips.
“That so? Ah, well - y’know what they say,” he manages a breathy chuckle, his fingers digging a little deeper into your hip as he bottoms out, again, leaving you feeling empty and craving for it despite being oh so overstimulated already - your body shaking slightly from just how overwhelming the pleasure really is.
“Third time’s the charm.” He grins, before slamming right back into you - just like how he previously did minutes ago.
“T-thats not even how it works in this contex- mmfh!” He cuts you off simply, pressing his lips onto yours gently to swallow and muffle all of your noises. After all, he’s received a noise complaint once from the grumpy neighbor next door - probably just jealous that he can’t ever get someone as good as you, he thinks - but he’d rather not get another one even though he really does want him, or the whole apartment complex for that matter, to hear who’s making you feel good.
He licks your bottom lip, his smile growing wider at the gasp you let out, easily taking it as the opportunity to slip his tongue right in. He presses his tongue against yours, and your head is all fuzzy and dizzy - unsure on if it was his dick inside of you that was making you cum again, or if it was the way his tongue seemed to press and prod against yours that was making you on the edge of cumming again.
Actually - you don’t think you’ve even realized that the heat was already building and pooling inside of you again until now.
“Now, now-” he pulls away softly, feeling the way your thighs seemed to tremble and how your breathing got just a little more labored as your walls dragged across his milky shaft.
“Y’might hafta quiet down, sweets.’ He smiled against your neck, and he knows - knows just how close you were.
Slowly, he reaches for his phone once more - hand leaving your hip as he opens the camera, angling it just right without looking, like he’s been training for this moment his entire life.
“Can’t have the neighbors complaining again, no?”
And with that, the shutter clicks as soon as the knot in your stomach snaps.
˓ — CHIGIRI HYOMA
the type who’s a little upset about not being able to flex his speed his speed inside of you this time, but doesn’t mind too much, he’ll just have to make you flex this time, right?
“Fuck - I don’t know if I’m still upset about you forgetting to take your pills, or if I’m ah - happy at the new sight in front of me,”
His chest was heaving from a mix of exhaustion from his recent football training just now and of arousal from how pretty you looked desperately grinding on his bare thigh like a dog in heat.
Truthfully, his mind was a dizzying mess during his training, you constantly came into his mind, whether when he was stretching, talking to his teammates - it drove him crazy, especially with the way his teammates would point out how he’d suddenly doze off with cheeks flushed out of no where. He’s been dying to feel you around him and fill you up since morning, morning - thats just how desperate he was.
And it seemed like that same, needy desperate urge was now bubbling inside of you like how it did to him earlier today. Perhaps it was you facing the consequences of your own actions, having have forgotten to buy a new bottle of pills, but he can’t find it in himself to complain.
Not when he has such a pretty sight in front of him.
Instead, the corners of his lips tug upwards into a lazy grin, opting to lean back against the couch with his arms hanging and rested behind them, refusing to help you.
“I-I’m sorry, Hyo-” you whined out breathlessly, your hands rest on the rough muscle that your needy cunt has been desperately trying to get the right amount of friction out of. Through the dizzying texture of his skin against your folds that was keeping you teetering on edge, you could vaguely remember just how eager he’d been when he stepped through the front door of your shared apartment - like he’d been a man who’s been walking through a dessert for days and is in dire need of water.
It made you feel guilty, it really did - when you broke the news to him sheepishly and watched the way he paused slightly, like if he was deciding whether he was disappointed or if he could live on without craving into his urge and desires today.
“why are you apologizing, hm? there’s ha - nothin’ to apologize for.”
He’s certain he couldn’t even comprehend your apology with the way you looked so desperate on his thigh, the muscles tensing beneath your puffy folds. A light sheen of sweat on your forehead, trembling fingers supporting yourself up against his thigh, nails piercing the skin lightly.
“In fact, think I just found myself a new obsession,” his grin grows a little wider - a little more dangerous, one that screamed he wasn’t letting you get out of this one so easily. The grin he gets when he reaches in range to shoot his goal.
He bounces his knee gently, watching the way you crumble - fingers digging deeper into his skin, almost deep enough to draw blood - and your back arching, like you were desperately seeking for his touch that he wasn’t going to give.
Not yet, at least.
“Hyo, please ..” you plead so prettily, all breathless and seemingly so out of it. It was nearly enough for all of his self restraint to snap with only the filthy, squelching noises of your wet cunt rubbing against his thigh - leaving a mess that he can’t take his eyes off of.
But he’s not that mean. He suppose he can cave - just a little.
That’s what he wants you to think, at least.
His right hand lifts, sliding from your thigh to your hips - giving it a gentle squeeze, thumb moving to caress your hips gently, close but not close enough to where you need him the most.
“use your words, pretty girl. I don’t have clairvoyant powers.”
He bites back the breathless chuckle at the way you huff and pout, struggling to find the right words.
“need your help,” you choke out so prettily, all quiet and struggling. Hair falling over your face as your head tips forward, biting down on your bottom lip.
“on what?” He leans back, enjoying the view - watching the way you mewl and whine at the game he’s playing. At the way he’s pretending not to notice how your entire thighs tremble atop of his from effort of desperately trying to get yourself off.
“n-need to come —“ you finally manage through gritted teeth, peering up at him through your lashes, wet with unshed tears of frustration.
“yeah?” He hums, fingers digging deeper into your hips, leaving red angry marks.
He bounces his knee slowly, biting back a moan at the way your breath hiccups from the sudden friction.
“can’t do anything yourself, huh?” He snickers almost mockingly, dragging your hips over the hard muscle of his thigh. He enjoys the way your lips part into a silent scream, fingers trembling and clawing at his thigh.
He clicks his tongue, grinding you faster on his thigh. He wants to draw this out as long as he can, but with the way your eyes are slowly starting to roll, eyelashes fluttering to try and keep your eyes on him, he really ‘can’t’ resist.
“Come, sweetheart,” he leans down, breath fanning over the skin of your neck, smiling against the skin at the way your body shudders and trembles when you feel the coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.
A hand shifts to your back, running his palm over the small of your back in soothing circles, pushing you to lean against his chest.
The way you whine when his other hand stops your hips, just mere seconds before you were about to let go, digging his blunt nails to leave faint crescent marks against soft skin.
“poor baby,” he coo’s softly, did you really think he’d let you come so quick?
“‘m sorry. I don’t think you deserve to come just yet.” he watches the way you claw at his shoulders instead, whines and whimpers muffled into his shoulder.
“but maybe..” he trails off, slowly guiding your hips against his now wet thigh once more. The hand on your back trails up, carefully pushing a strand behind your ear, lips tugging wider into a smile when you look up at him all teary.
“maybe if you prove it to me, I can let you come.”
A N . I initially wanted to include nagi n reo but maybe if this does well enough for a p2 🥹.. but as usual, reblogs very much appreciated!
I do not consent to plagiarism, translation, or copying in any form whatsoever. thank you!
I'm sexually frustrated, and I can demonstrate it if you'd like.
𝄞 synopsis: your best friend, SAE ITOSHI knows you've never been one to have sex, do hookups, or even date. he doesn't want to overstep; he really shouldn't. but you keep looking at him like you want him to teach you, like it's his responsibility. and maybe as your best friend? it is.
𝄞 contains: SMUT, fem!reader, reader has hair, reader has a mom, they r 19, swearing, endless anime references, childhood best friends, family friends & neighbours, experienced!sae, inexperienced!reader, bratty!reader, pussydrunk!sae, posessive!sae, pining, sae teaches reader how to kiss and masturbate, making out, neck kissing, vaginismus (complications with his fingers), clit rubbing while you touch yourself, pussy spitting, pussy eating under the blanket, yapper sae i repeat yapper sae
𝄞 word count: 6.9k + 453 bonus drabble !
𝄞 credits: to @g-gulp for editing, discussing, and making the banner for me! ur so awesome n amazing. other creds to all my irl friends who beta read...
𝄞 A/N: piggybacking off this post. i took inspiration after arguing w an experienced!sae truther... also i took inspo's from @dotlusional's 'kiss' w katsuki! it was amazing!
"Okay, it's embarrassing, but I haven't really kissed anyone before."
"That's not surprising in the slightest."
"What? Hey!"
Sae had always been the blunt type; you knew of that. Ever since you were children, he would wave away the kind reporters asking him questions with a harsh 'Go away', take trophies and medals wherever he walked, and speak like he was better than everyone else.
Nobody told him he shouldn't talk like that to people — especially to adults and teachers. That language like that wasn't proper etiquette, so he never fixed it.
And you were always the more polite type. Shy, but got along with almost anyone if they spoke first. Kind, chiding him whenever he told another kid to piss off. Pretty, as the years went by and you went from scraped knees and tangled hair to soft skin, girlish fragrances, and the delicate contour of your legs.
He swallowed thickly.
Your legs.
As you got older, you stopped wearing basketball shorts and switched to skirts, then short shorts, then slacks. Frankly, it was hard for him to look away from your thighs. They were plush and soft and ran up the curve of your—
He tore away his gaze from your bare legs resting over the blanket and focused on the TV screen, the fan, and the open window pouring with rain. Anywhere but your tempting skin.
Sae usually doesn't admit these kinds of things, especially not to you, but looks alone? He's astonished that not even one person ever tried hard enough to date you. You're smart, comforting, and nice to look at. If he were to settle down, he would do it with someone like you.
Of course, someone like you.
"I don't mean it like that," he murmured, fixing on your eyes instead. Pretty they were—all round and warm and focused on his. "You reject everyone who's interested in you."
Your index rubs your chin thoughtfully. "That's because..."
"Of your standards. Always on about your anime boys, huh?"
"That is so not funny, Sae!"
"It is a little funny. You're like Rin. He's almost finished his Junji Ito collection."
"Oh, now we're comparing me to Rin—"
"You collect figures and manga."
"They're pretty."
"They're anime boys."
"They're Tomoe, actually. Don't generalise."
"Tomoe is an anime boy."
"You were the one who watched Kamisama Kiss with me!"
"Hmph. Touché."
When was it? The summer before he left for Spain? You were prancing on about your ritualistic tradition of bingeing romance anime with him. There was Kamisama Kiss; Lovely Complex; NANA, which he had to stop because he hated Shoji; and his favourite, Ouran High School Host Club. The blonde male lead, Tamaki, always made him snort into his sleeve as a boy while you shook his shoulder squealing about it.
Anime like that was more up Sae's alley compared to Rin's fixation for horror and suspense, so he quietly cherished those days. Lying on the couch, watching TV in the summer heat, your frame on your stomach next to his, destroying a popsicle stick. It was a much better predicament than watching some porno his teammates had found on a beat-up DVD rental.
After all, he was with you.
You fiddled with your hands as the movie played on. Taxi Driver, for the third time this year. It was his favourite movie, but now that he thought about it, he never asked if it was yours too.
Was it?
You severed his thoughts with a question. "What was the anime you like right now, anyway?"
"The Apothecary Diaries. I like Xiaomao."
"You just like her cause she's like a cat."
"Meow."
You rolled your eyes at his quip. "I wonder what you think of Jinshi, then."
He paused. Sae always had a soft spot for the types of people with an odd backstory, much like Jinshi. It spiced things up compared to all the boring societal bullshit he deals with enough every day. "...I like him too. But he's a little dramatic for my tastes."
"You only like him cause he's pretty."
"Are you slut-shaming me or projecting?"
You snickered. "The former. Is he your type?"
"Not really? What do you think my type is?"
Waving your hands around, you mocked. "Someone hot with a nice ass."
He scoffed, but for some reason, he could feel his jaw clench. "So now you think I'm shallow."
You snorted. "...Yeah."
"Looks aren't everything, y'know. Pretty sure I go by vibe."
You snickered, your hand reaching into the bag of potato chips, his favourite snack that he was banned from eating. Damn you. "Uh huh."
You popped the chip into your mouth; a soft crunch was heard between your teeth, but all he could focus on was the plushness of your lips. He wondered if they felt as delicate as they looked. If they were as untouched as you said. How could that be possible? Look at you—
"Y'know that scene in The Apothecary Diaries where Maomao thinks his dick is a frog?"
He rubbed his cheek, snorting into his palm. "What about it?"
"Do dicks feel like frogs?"
Sae hadn't jerked off enough to remember, and he certainly wasn't going to check. Sighing, he said. "I don't think so? Mine doesn't."
"So why did she think it was a frog?"
"She's never felt a dick before. And it was probably the position. He was on top of her, after all."
You shook your head. "No, she was on top of him."
"Idiot. He was the one who landed on her."
As Sae reached for his phone before you could pointlessly argue about their weird pseudo-sex position, the sheets rustled and—
You climbed on top of him. Eyes wide and cheeks flushed, grinning like you proved something. Your arms were braced on either side of his head, your hair grazing the skin of his cheeks. And your knees—they were braced on either side of his hips, the urge to grab them all too real. Too sweet. Too good.
His breath hitched, magenta bangs poking his forehead as he murmured lowly. "What are you doing?"
Still, his large hands moved to rest on your waist, anchoring himself.
You reached for the phone in his hand, plugging in the password you knew by heart into the screen, fiddling with the phone.
You tilted the glass right before his eyes, it was that stupid frog scene. Maomao was on top of Jinshi, and you were unfortunately correct.
"See! I told you she was on top of him!" You grinned, pulling the phone away.
Before Sae could process what was about to leave his lips, he scoffed. "Are you sure you've never even kissed anyone before?"
"...What is that supposed to mean?"
Fuck.
He grumbled softly. "You're on top of me."
You scowled. "It's how the scene goes—a physical demonstration. And you're dead wrong; I don't feel a frog in this position."
"Cause m'not hard, stupid."
But if you kept yourself there any moment longer, he might be. His dick was already stirring to life in his sweats.
"Pfft— You aren't?"
"Very funny. You're a natural at this."
"At what?"
Sae didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. Ever since you were kids, he had always felt this weird sense of protection towards you. At first, it was the same protection he felt towards his younger brother, Rin, even though you were the same age and probably tougher than him. Then as he grew older and hit that age where some people were more than family, that protection grew into something different. Something familiar, yet completely foreign at the same time.
So he shouldn't overstep; he'd be a horrible, horrible man if he did. But your lips are curved so prettily into a proud smile. Your eyes, the colour and wrinkles of skin, stirred something down his neck and abdomen.
The tingle didn't stop there, blood rushing to his half-hard cock.
Shit.
He already moved to tuck your hair behind your ear, whispering. "Temptation. Wanna gain some experience?"
You paused, eyes blowing wide.
Shit.
The both of you recoiled from each other instantly. Sae had nowhere to run, really, but he threw his head back against the couch, hands twitching, deciding if he should let go of your waist or not. You, on the other hand, completely pulled back. In this new position, it seemed more like you were straddling him than just looming over him.
A flush crept up his neck, his hand moving to cover the lower half of his face. "That was a—"
"Geez, didn't know you could be so bold." You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck.
He blinked, hoping you were another hallucination and he was dreaming in the confines of the Real Madrid training facility. That you were just another illusion tempting him.
No, you were still there. This time, your eyes lit up.
"Hey, that's a great idea, actually!" You leaned in closer again, a bright smile plastered over your mouth as your breaths mingled.
He paused. One second. Then, the next one. His lips twitched expectantly, his cerulean gaze low-lidded and fixed on you.
"...What is?"
"Teaching me how to kiss."
Damn his biology, cock completely twitching to life at your wanton suggestion. "Wha... What?"
"Oh, come on; it's just a little kiss," You whined, nudging his shoulder.
Sae cleared his throat, quickly adjusting the waistband of his sweats. "No."
"You've already kissed like, so many other people. One more wouldn't hurt. And it's for educational purposes."
"There's a difference when I kiss other people," he whispered, his sensual gaze betraying his words. "It's that they're not you."
"Dude, am I that bad?"
Dude? His brows furrowed, his lip curling into a grumble. "Not what I meant."
"Then what?"
The space between you was so thin he could die. Let the couch swallow him whole, and let the hallucination die with him.
Hazy excuses and words scrambled in his mind. "It's just that... We're friends. And your mom wouldn't be exactly happy with me if she knew about this."
You shuffled in your position, hips lifting off his. "...My mom isn't here right now. And we're not kids anymore. I don't need my mom's permission to do things."
Sae inhaled sharply when you pouted, head tilting back and hitting the soft cushioning. Were you going to keep whining about it until he gave in? Pester him and keep pressing yourself against him? God, what if he were going to like it?
Then, you muttered. "...Fine. Not like I wanted to know, anyway."
Ever since you were children, Sae had always been the more disciplined one of you two. When he was renowned as a football prodigy, nutritionists and dietitians quickly came into his life, lecturing him about his dietary restrictions to maintain and grow his build. While you ate Happy Meals and devoured candy every week, Sae had to almost entirely let go of fast food, specifically his favourite—French fries. There was no doubt that he had to let go of many things to be perfect, but then he discovered that perfection was more than a flawed goal. Flawed philosophy. A lie.
But even if he wasn't perfect—nobody was—Sae could have at least shown some semblance of hesitation or discipline, especially when it came to you, someone who was oh so dear to him.
Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you down, his lips brushing your cheek.
One breath.
Then, the second one.
And on the third, his other hand snaked to the back of your neck, the faint blades of baby hair standing up from his touch.
"I'll teach you," Sae whispered, something resembling a low whine pulling from his throat. "Nobody else can."
You swallowed thickly, eyes wide and pouring into his.
"Okay, I trust you."
His lips were twitching and breath uneven as you uttered the words. You might have been some sort of hallucination he imagined to get through the countless gruelling days in Spain. You might have been a fragment of his dream. Who cares? You were still so utterly divine.
After all, you were his favourite girl. His best friend.
Sae didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. But if you didn't learn ruin from him, then someone else would have to teach you. And he knew he was too selfish for that.
One breath. Then, the second one. And on the third, you closed your eyes.
And his lips pressed against yours.
You never thought you would find yourself in this kind of situation.
Sure, younger you had eyes. Sae Itoshi was famous and handsome and rich, but he was off-limits. He was your neighbour. And after Sae moved in Spain for almost three years, you were much closer to Rin than the distant boy since he barely responded to your letters and calls.
Getting involved with Sae would be a betrayal to your dear neighbour and pseudo-son, Rin. You once thought. Sae was annoying anyway.
But then his lips pressed against yours like you were something delicate, and the faint taste of strawberries and honey sent thrills of warmth straight to your core; any semblance of restraint you had melted away, pressing yourself against him firmer—needier.
Then, you pulled away, just enough to peer down at him. His magenta locks were all frizzled up from the cushioning, and his cerulean gaze was half-lidded and fixed on yours.
No, more like on your lips.
"Did I?..." You start, but he cuts you off with a chuckle. "That was just a peck, idiot. Open your mouth."
You blinked.
His cold thumb pressed softly against your bottom lip, pushing the fullness down just enough to part your lips.
"Open your mouth," he whispered again, lower, against your lips. "It feels better this way, I promise."
A soft whine escaped your throat as he pressed his lips against yours again, shocks of electricity shooting down your spine and abdomen. His tongue swiped against yours once, something you assumed was like asking for permission, and your lips completely sealed around his, pressing yourself against him further.
Your hands scrabbled at the collar of his white T-shirt as his tongue prodded in the wet cavern of your mouth. It was gentle, like he was testing if you'd pull back. And when you whined, his tongue dragged slowly over yours, his hands tangling in your hair.
"Mmm—" Sae drawled into your mouth. "Is this okay?"
You panted, your breath mingling with his. "Yeah, yeah—Sae—it's good. Feels good."
"Yeah?" He seared his lips onto yours again, tongue webbing out to rub the roof of your mouth, sending sparks of heat down your stomach. He pulled back again in a quick haze, lips brushing against yours. "Feels good, hm?"
"Feels s'good; is it always this good?" You mewled, pecking his lips before flicking your tongue over his bottom lip, gasping when his mouth parted.
One of your hands gripped his collar, the other cupping the back of his head, tangling between his soft magenta locks. A gentle prick disturbed your bottom lip, caught between his teeth.
It stung a little. And in a normal context, it would even hurt. But it felt so good—so, so good when the sting came from him.
His lips then descended to pressing wet kisses down your jaw, all the way to the column of your neck.
You moaned quietly. His lips were hot—suffocatingly hot to the touch. Burning, like a fire had scorched your skin, but instead of pain, it was bliss.
You felt his lips curl into a faint smile against your warm skin as you craned your head back, exposing more of your neck. Soft groans escaped your throat, your fingers curling hard into his shirt.
His lips settled in the junction between your neck and shoulder, pressing a soft kiss before biting down. Harder than before.
"Sae!—"
"First time it felt this good for me too." He murmured against your skin, slowly thumbing your hips all the way up your waist. "You sure this is your first time?"
A slight flush crept up your neck, turning your head away from him. "You don't have to try and make me feel better, y’know…"
"M'being forreal." He tilted his head to the side, cerulean eyes filled with something you weren't quite used to—mirth. His gaze kept following yours even as you tried to look away. "Don't believe me?"
You pursed your lips sheepishly, your hands moving to rest over his shoulders. "Not really. But I— It's kinda hot in here, isn't it?"
Maybe it was his wet, full lips, or the fact that his lashes were so close you could count the endless, luscious hairs. Maybe it was the soft tingle in your core that tightened with each lingering touch of his hands.
Then, he lifted himself up before gently pushing you off his lap. "You're nervous; I get it. It's because you're on top of me."
He loomed over you, a playful twinkle in his eyes so faint you wouldn't catch on if he weren't your best friend. An annoying kid you forced to be your friend.
Naturally, you pushed yourself back until your back hit the cushions. Blinking up at Sae, who stopped himself short when you lay down, your hand tugged on the hem of his shirt.
You knew what that meant; so did Sae. A silent plea for something more than kissing. A silent prophecy that if he leant down, he wouldn't be able to get back up again.
Fucking Sae Itoshi, the idea of that was too surreal. You knew he had experience, that being a prodigy meant plenty of beautiful men and women threw themselves at his feet. You knew that he lived in an entirely different world from yours for five years, doing who knows what out there.
Still, you wanted him. You wanted him bad.
You frowned. "...Sae."
"This is going a bit far, don't you think?" He said, eyes averting from yours.
"I thought you wanted to."
"...I do."
"Then why are you hesitating?"
"I'm not supposed to touch you like this—"
"But you already have," you cut in. "Why are you acting like I'm some kind of... some kind of nun?"
"Pfft— You kinda are."
"That's not even true!"
"You are really innocent, sweetheart. It's not a bad thing."
You bristled. Sweetheart?
"Sae, c'mon," You tugged harder, watching his jaw clench. "Please."
He muttered. "Don't say that."
"Please."
You tugged on him a little harder, but this time, he let himself fall over you, hands bracing on each side of your head.
He pressed his lips against your forehead once, the action more intimate than you liked to admit. Like he was afraid of breaking you.
"You do know what you're asking for, right?" He whispered against your temple, carefully moving to the shell of your ear. "I don't wanna pressure you into anything."
"I—" You paused, trying to ignore the shivers trickling down your spine. "I want this."
"Are you sure?"
"Sae," you whined. Was he teasing you again? Your chin tilted to face him, your gaze softening at his unsure one. It was so uncharacteristic of him. Completely unlike the impassive boy you grew up with.
"M'sure."
"Okay," he nodded, cheek softly nuzzling against yours. "You're in charge then."
You weren't so sure what he meant, but your eyes shut and carefully found his lips. His kiss was slow and carnal, nose brushing the side of your own and large hands snaking around your waist. He squeezed you so softly, as if it were afraid of your departure, and held you close. So close that his breath felt like your own.
Your hips lifted to accommodate his hands, sliding to paw at your ass. His tongue gently prodded in the expanse of your mouth, darting around before stilling just at the tip of yours.
A noise of confusion escaped your throat as you scrunched his collar.
Sae hummed, laughing quietly against your mouth. "C'mon, kiss me too. You wanted this, right?"
The thought made you squirm beneath him, hands gripping tighter. He gently grasped your wrists and redirected them over his shoulders, coaxing you further.
"Wan' you." You whispered, arms wrapping around his neck. "I do wan' you."
Your lips reconnect, this time slipping into the cavern of his mouth and rolling your tongue against his. The wet friction sent shocks of electricity between your legs. Your tongue prodded behind his teeth before licking the roof of his mouth.
"Don't get shy on me now," he whispered. "Get your tongue deeper."
Your tongue pushed deeper at his words. So warm. So nasty. So fucking good.
He hummed, lips sensually following the pace of your own, hands grazing whatever he could touch. His tongue dragged over yours to poke your inner cheek, laughing when you whined and pulled him closer.
You pulled away breathlessly, only disrupted from his lips chasing yours into one last, searing kiss.
"Sae—" You gasped.
He gently pecked your lips. "Sorry. Got carried away."
You panted, temple pressed against his cheek as you caught your breath. Your thighs rubbed together from the hot ache between your legs, sparking with each fleeting second.
"You're wet, aren't you?"
Your head tilted up, your eyes widening at him. "What?"
Sae was breathless and debauched, his lips swollen and wet from your own, magenta hair dishevelled from your hands, almost revealing the baby bangs he liked to hide after turning sixteen.
"Here," two fingers shakily slipped past to press against your clothed pussy. "Feels good, right?"
You squirmed, fingers clasping around his wrist. "T-That feels good."
"You want me to help you?" He panted, softly thumbing your clothed slit. "You can say no."
"No— I mean, yes."
You paused, eyes darting to the sheets instead of his curious gaze. "...Do you have a condom?"
He was at your place, after all. And frankly, you were gravely underprepared for this kind of situation.
"Idiot," he laughed, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. "We won't be needing that for a while."
The chill of the AC hit your skin when Sae tugged your shorts over your ankle, fingers smoothing over your clothed mound.
"Hm," he mused, tapping his index over the wet patch of your panties. "You're really wet."
His digits were twitching over your pussy, hooking beneath the edge of the cotton fabric. Like the urge to push your panties to the side was killing him.
A flush crept down your neck, gaze settling on the sheets. "No—No shit."
He made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tapping over a particularly sensitive part of yours—one stationed above your hole, twitching when he rubbed it.
Your hips jolted at his touch, his index slowly circling the beady sweet spot. "Mm!—"
Then, his hand pulled away, moving to the curve of your ass. With a gentle tug, he hooked your panties' waistband down. "Up."
Your hips lifted as he tugged away the last remnant of privacy you had. Any semblance of comfort washed away from the cold air and his lingering gaze, the fabric hooking over the same ankle your shorts were.
"Hey, relax." Sae clicked his tongue when you squirmed, his warm hand moving to rest on your knee. "Eyes on me."
You tried to listen, focusing on his collarbones, his shirt, and fragments of his messy hair, but nothing worked. You couldn't meet his gaze, not when he stared at you so intently. Not when he could see every part of you. Not when his fingertips moved to press against your entrance.
Was this really what you imagined fucking Sae would be like? Not like you had imagined it or anything, just out of curiosity. He was never open about his personal life, but it was obvious that there was a side of him you've never seen. The weird phone calls. The weird disappearances. Hearing him curse and belittle others was the normal kind of crudeness you were used to with Sae. It was no doubt he was gentler with you—softer with you.
So to hear him be so blatantly vulgar?
He inched closer, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
"You say you want me," he started. "Then you do shit like this."
It was bewildering.
You fiddled with your fingers before finally tilting your head to face him, swearing you saw the faintest hint of a smile when he dipped the tip of his middle finger inside.
"Mm, good."
Something like a whimper escaped from your lips, unaware that you were actually able to make those kinds of noises. "S-Shit."
His brows furrowed as his finger gently prodded at your entrance. "You're—" Sae bit his inner cheek pensively, stilling his digits. "You're a little too tight."
You winced, feeling your hole stretch around his finger. "I-It hurts."
He immediately withdrew his finger. "You've touched yourself before, right?"
"Um, yeah? Not really, like this—"
Sae smoothed his hand along the underside of your thigh—an attempt to soothe you. But his eyes were wide and... chiding? "Why didn't you tell me that before?"
"Okay, well, I don't know how this works!"
"Oh my god." He sighed before sitting back. "C'mere."
You chuckled nervously. "To do what?"
"To do it yourself," he chided. "C'mon."
That's when you found yourself in an embarrassingly exposed position, settled right on Sae's lap, his knees stationed right between yours, spreading your legs.
"Can't believe you wanted to fuck before even masturbating..." He murmured, chin hooked over your shoulder.
You swallowed thickly, head turning away. So vulgar. "It's not m'fault I didn't know."
"It's not your fault. Should've prepped you better."
You huffed softly. "So why do I have to do it?"
"Because," his hand gently clasped over your dominant hand's wrist, snaking it down your exposed abdomen. "There's no way someone at our age hasn't touched themselves before."
"I have. Just not..."
"Fingering?"
Your ears burnt. "It hurts."
"Because you're not relaxed or turned on enough." He brought your index finger to rest over your sensitive bud. "This is your clit. Feels good to almost any kind of touch. Be gentle with it."
You bit your inner cheek, watching his hand guide you to rub your clit in slow circles. "I know what a clit is."
"...Nice to know that's the only thing you've touched in the past nineteen years."
Your head snapped towards his. "Hey!"
He snickered, ignoring your huff. "So, if you want to cum..."
His lips ghosted over your ear, whispering softly. "Touch here. Rub there. Doesn't matter. But you could always..."
A soft whine escaped your throat as his hand guides you down further, stopping right at your entrance. "Make yourself feel good here."
Before you knew it, your middle finger was already dipping between your folds and inside your hole.
"Oh my god," you mumbled, brows furrowing. "Sae."
He hummed lowly. "Like that, go slow. It's good, hm?"
"S'good." you murmured, your finger now entirely inside.
"Feels even better when you curl your fingers."
Your brow twitched at his words, following curiously. "Wha... Okay."
His lips trailed down to the spot under your ear, kissing and sucking on the skin softly. "What do you usually think about when you touch yourself?"
His hand tapped the back of your own as you panted. "You."
It came out quicker than you expected, and in all honesty, it didn't even register properly from all the haze. But it was weird that after every call, every time you met Sae, you couldn't help touching yourself later that night.
It was something about his drawled voice, or the contour of his skin, or the flawlessness of his lashes or the chisel of his jaw. Or maybe it was his body, sculpted from divinity itself?
His breath hitched at your admission, fingers twitching over your hand.
You whined, pulling your finger out to push it back inside, curling to hit a sweet spot that made your toes curl. "I always think of you."
Something stiff throbbed against your ass cheek.
Your breath caught in your throat. Then, he bit down on your neck. Harder. "Ow—"
Sae seared your lips in a fervent kiss—all tongue and teeth and the intimate squeeze of your waist. He drank down every noise you made, panting against your mouth, swirling his tongue along yours.
"Let me help you," he panted, shaky fingers moving to gently pinch your clit. "Need to help you."
You moaned into his mouth, hips jolting from his touch. "S-Sae."
"Two fingers, you can do that, right?"
Swallowing thickly, you panted over his lips as he pecked you. "Mm—"
"C'mon," he muttered, pressing wanton kisses down your jaw. "Gonna make you feel s'good."
You pressed your ring finger to your entrance, pushing in slowly, wincing. "Hurts, Sae."
"Shh," he hushed against your cheek. "You can take it."
His index and middle rubbed against your puffy clit in a desperate side-to-side motion. Brows twitching with each passing second, he panted heavily. Your hips lifted in shock, fingers instinctively curling inside you.
Oh, you hit that good spot. It was spongy and rigid and oh so sweet.
You moaned, head thrown back over his shoulder. "Ah..."
"That's—" he sputtered, fingers continuing their relentless attack. "That's your g-spot. Should feel different from the rest of ya. Should feel really good."
Wet noises filled the room as you pistoned your fingers in and out of your hole, bracing yourself atop your best friend. Even though he was talking in your ear, breathy and hot as he always did, nothing registered. Every sense you had was being replaced by the overwhelming sensation of sweet bliss, your jaw slack and eyes shut.
"Curl your fingers more. Yeah, like that, deeper. Shit, you're—"
You whimpered, hips jerking as he continued to rub and roll your clit. "Sae, think m'gonna do that thing where I... F-Fuck."
He let out a quiet whine against your shoulder. "You are?"
"Y-Yeah, aren't y-you supposed to be the expert?"
"Sh— Shut up."
Just as something hot and unbelievably euphoric was about to snap, his fingers pulled away, panting harshly over your shoulder.
You huffed, your brain foggy. "Wha... Why?
"Not yet," he muttered. "Not yet."
Before you knew it, he flipped you onto your back, hovering over you. "You sure this is your first time masturbating?"
He pecked your lips, descending to your chest, pressing soft kisses to your clothed nipples and down your stomach. "You're pretty good at it."
"Pretty good?" you murmured, jolting every time he kissed your stiffening buds. "Thank you?"
His low-lidded gaze flitted down to your drenched slit, lips spasming at the sight.
You frowned as he settled between your thighs. "Sae, no."
"No more?"
"No," you shook your head, hand scrambling to tug at his collar. "I didn't do anything for you."
"...You don't need to."
You huffed, spotting the tent in his sweats. "Don't lie."
"M'being serious," he grabbed your hand, pressing a hot kiss to your palm. "I want to do this."
You sputtered at his words, embarrassed that he was inching so close to your bare pussy. Panting, you whined. "Do what?"
"Eat you out."
"What? Oh my god, that is so—" you stammered. "So embarrassing!"
His hands smoothed over your inner thighs, spreading them apart. "No, it's not."
"Yes it is. Sae, get up!"
He huffed as you pulled at his collar again, his sigh blowing warm air over your wet folds, making you yelp.
"How about this?" He reached for the blanket urged aside. "You see a blanket instead of me. Way better, right?"
You huffed. "You say that like I don't want to see you..."
"Isn't that what that is?"
"I don't want you to see me!"
"But you're so pretty." He pressed a kiss right on your clit, making you jolt. "And so sweet."
Your ears burnt as he pressed another kiss on your slit and another on your entrance.
"Okay, okay. We'll use the blanket."
"Alright," he hummed, pressing one last kiss to your clit again.
"Fun."
It was weird, feeling the ghost of his breath but only seeing a broad figure under your blanket.
Your legs were spread over his shoulders, thighs marked with soft kisses and bites Sae spent minutes on perfecting, murmuring something almost biblical to himself.
Then, you felt his fingers spread your lips in a V-shape, letting your head fall back on the cushions.
One breath.
Then, the second.
And on the third, still, nothing came.
"What are you doing down there?!" You whined, heel digging into his defined back.
You were only met with silence, but from the hot wave of air, you knew he was annoyed.
You scrunched your nose. So typical of him.
Then, he spoke from under the blanket. Low and teasing. "Your clit is all puffy."
"...What?"
He leaned down, pressed his lips to the bud and whispered. "And you smell s'good."
Then, his tongue licked a slow strip from your weeping hole all the way to your sensitive bud. The entirely new sensation washing over you in ways you could never imagine, your teeth catching your bottom lip.
"Oh, fuck. Sae..." Your hand reached under the blanket, tangling in his magenta locks.
His tongue slowly swirled around your clit, switching to softer kitten licks, slowly bobbing his head. You whined, thighs clamping around his head. "Ah— t'much!"
Your thighs squeezed shut around his head, so close that your knees grazed each other and the sweat from his hair smeared against your thighs. Sae huffed and wrapped his lips around your sensitive bud, slurping it into his mouth harshly.
You moaned sweetly, cheek pressing against the cushioning. "F-Fuck!"
Finally, you loosened up enough for him to catch your thighs off guard. His fingers dug into the plushness and pushed them apart, all the way until your knees hit the cushions.
"Too much?" Sae hummed, spitting into your messy hole. "You're so dramatic."
Dramatic? He was the one seriously overwhelming you!
His tongue webbed out, swirling around your entrance before licking up your folds. Spreading your labia with his tongue in a firm, upward lick, soothing the fold with soft, barely-there kisses.
Then, he sealed his mouth over your entire pussy.
"Sae," you whimpered, fingers pulling his hair in warning. "Don't even think about it."
A soft huff vibrated against your folds, his snicker evident. His thumb gently rubbed your thigh like some kind of apology. Then, he sucked your pussy in one, harsh motion.
"Oh my god—" you cried, thighs struggling to close against his strong grip. "C-Can't!"
"Mm," he murmured against your folds, his tongue moving to swirl around your entrance again, the tip gently prodding its way inside. "You can."
Your fingers sharply pulled at his hair. "S-Sae!"
He grumbled, the vibrations sending tremors into your pussy. "Stop movin'."
"Can't," your eyes squeezed shut when his tongue pushed in, firmly licking your sweet spot. "Sae, I c-can't."
Sae's tongue withdrew, soothing your pussy with wet, apologetic kisses, lips pressing over your inner thighs. "Why? What's wrong?"
You panted, fingers still gripping his hair. "...I told you I can't."
"Can't what?" he hummed, thumb reaching to rub your clit in slow circles. "Cum?"
"Cum." Your cheeks burnt at the word. "No, I do wanna cum."
He panted harsh breaths against your thigh and pussy, the oxygen levels decreasing by the minute under the blanket. "You're pissing me off. You say wanna cum, but you can't take it?"
"H-How is that my fault?"
He grabbed the edge of the blanket, pulling it aside. His bangs were all sweaty and pushed back over the rest of his hair. Sweat beaded at his temples, some reaching down his neck.
And his lips quivered, his entire mouth drenched with your wet slick, smeared over his cheeks and nose. Sae huffed lowly, cerulean gaze focused on the cushions, catching his breath. "M'going as slow as I can."
"I-I'm trying to keep up with you."
He scoffed. "...Yeah 'course you are."
You huffed. "I don't like your attitude."
"Okay then," he retorted, eyes threatening to roll. "So stay still. I'm not using a blanket this time."
Your breath hitched as he settled between your legs again, fingers tracing circles over your hips.
"And," he hummed. "M'not letting you hide."
Before you could process what that meant, he steadied his hands over your hips and flipped you onto your stomach. You could only see the open window from this view. Not Sae. Not a blanket. Nothing.
Your feet kicked squeamishly, though it didn't help much. "Wait!— This is so embarrassing—"
His lips found the seam between your thigh and ass, pressing a soft kiss to the warm skin. "Hn, stop squirming."
"How can I?" You buried your face in your hands. "You can literally see everything and I wanna die—"
You were cut off with a soft moan, his thumbs spreading your lips to slurp up your dripping hole, tongue prodding into your hole. His fingers dug into your ass cheeks, groping it harsher—needier.
"Fuck," he groaned softly, kissing down your folds until he found your sensitive bud. He sealed his lips around it before sucking fervently, noises growing as you squirmed. "Fuck, fuck. You taste s'good."
He almost growled into your cunt, moving to press kisses to your ass cheeks, softly biting down on the flesh.
Your hand wrings back to grab at him—his shirt, his shoulder—to be met with a firm hand clasping your wrist. He pinned it to the couch as he leaned down again, lapping his tongue over and over at your clit.
He was breathing—panting so hard that his exhaling puffed air into your hole. "S-Sae!" You moaned softly into the cushioning. "Oh my god—Sae!"
Something warm tightened in your abdomen. It was hot and electric and aching to explode, just like the times when you'd touch yourself, but this was much more. So much more.
You panted into the cushions, soft moans and whines escaping you as he ate your pussy. He was relentless; he always was, but this was a different kind. Sae could do anything, say anything, but when he promised you pleasure and brought you heaven?
Holy shit, it was too much that you could go crazy any second now.
"Let me tell you somethin'," he broke your thoughts, murmuring as his tongue slid out of your hole. "When you feel something so good you think you'll go crazy. Say you're cummin'."
"I-I know what that is."You whined, seeing that sort of language in the porn you read and watched, but not exactly knowing when to use it. "I think."
He muffled a scoff against your cunt, switching to long, firm licks up your entire pussy. "Wow. Genius over here."
You felt the warmth spread down your stomach to your thighs and cunt and clit and everywhere, fingers clawing into the cushioning. "Okay! Okay, I'm... M'cummin!"
You could feel his brow quirk, lips ghosting over your clit. "You're what?"
You were close, so close to the pressure releasing. But now, your cheeks were burning because Sae couldn't help but bully you about sex language. "I'm... I'm—"
He smiled against your pussy, the curve faint but there, and wrapped his lips around your bud one last time, flattening his tongue and sucking harshly—so harsh you could see stars.
"M'cummin'!"
White dots skewed your vision, and you swore you had died just now, but the pressure released, getting licked softly from Sae's tongue.
But oh, it still felt so good after you came, grinding onto his wet muscle. "Ah, Sae..."
His tongue stilled as you ground on his face, fingers digging into your ass cheeks harder. "Now's the time you get eager?"
"Sh— Shut up." You whined as he freed your wrist. "Oh my god."
He began to lap again, a little softer but pleasing against your puffy clit. "Mm," he hummed. "You came this time."
"I already told you— I know what that is—"
He slurped your clit into his mouth, the sensation all too overwhelming for your current senses. "Ah!"
"I know you know. Just telling you." Sae said, pressing one last gentle kiss to your bud before pulling away.
You panted against the cushions, only now realising the drool pooling in your mouth. Your ass was still perched in the air, your whole body dripping from sweat.
Sae swallowed thickly at the sight, his own erection throbbing against the cushions.
He didn't want to overstep; he really didn't. Sae was your best friend. Someone your mom entrusted to you. Someone you'd watch romance anime with. Someone who purposely didn't laugh at your jokes, just to see you get angry,
But you tasted so fucking sweet. Your noises were so pretty, so alluring. He'd have to die before leaving his place between your legs.
And you kept arching like it was his responsibility to teach you. Touch you. Make you cum over and over until you couldn't think of anyone else but him.
And maybe as your best friend, the boy you knew since you were in diapers?
It was.
"One more." His hand moved to grope your ass cheeks again, flipping you onto your back. "Give me one more. I know you can. Just one more."
"Wha?... Sae. "You whined, so clearly fucked out, not even bothering to glance at him.
"You can do it," he whispered, leaning down to press several shaky kisses to your wet folds.
"For me. C'mon."
BONUS!
The summer after you graduated high school, you found yourself back at home in Kamakura. The weather was scorching, sweat beading down your neck as you stared at the ceiling. Your feet were perched over the side of your bed, back pressed against your cool floor.
"Did you finish?" you murmured, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sitting on the floor against your bed was Sae, who had come back from Madrid to spend the summer with family. Frankly, in the past three weeks he had been here, he had not spent one day with his family.
Well, maybe aside from his mom, but everyone liked Mrs Itoshi. Besides her, he always had some lame excuse to work out, go on a jog, meet someone, go to Tokyo, or spend time with you.
You didn't mind, really. It just meant summers were meant for Sae.
"Shut up, m'almost done." He said, checking off the boxes on his phone. He wore a black T-shirt, legs crossed in a pair of basketball shorts, accentuating the muscles he had been gaining over the past few years.
Was it weird to stare?
Your head tilted faintly, settling on his concentrated face. He had been getting pretty good-looking recently, a little more than you'd like to admit. Since last year, he's been pushing his bangs back. His bangs were cute—almost childlike, but him with this new style... It certainly brought out his blessed facial structure and his lashes. Also, the glowiness of his skin—
Oh my god, ew, that sounds so dick hungry.
And that was certainly not towards Sae Itoshi.
"Done," Sae tilted his phone towards you, a bright red sixty-four illuminating from his screen.
"What the fuck have you been doing in Spain?" You immediately propped yourself up, snatching his phone. "A rice purity of sixty-four?"
He shrugged. "Why would I tell you?"
"Last year when you came back, it was like, an eighty-seven."
"Things change."
"Whore."
Sae rolled his eyes, taking his phone back. "You'll get there one day."
You scrunched your nose as he petted your hair—outwardly affectionate, but you knew he was being annoying.
"I don't wanna be like you." You swat his hand away. "I am totally okay with my ninety-two. Totally okay."
He stared at you blankly. "...Riiight."
You whined, sighing. "Maybe I'm not, but will that day come any sooner?"
"Y'know, in order to get some, you have to...put yourself out there. Talk to people. Flirt."
"Oh, fuck off," you reached to pinch his side, grinning when he groaned.
"You're too old to be doing this."
"We're eighteen, dumbass."
He grumbled, efficiently moving four feet away from you. "Wonder who your first kiss is gonna be, or somethin'. I feel bad for him."
Then, Sae groaned again when you threw a pillow at his face.
Can u write another luffy smut this time childhood friends with benefits if possible multiple creampies please rough doggy style and prone bone please and thank u
wanna learn about sex? | m. luffy
tw— multiple creampies, inexperienced luffy, getting caught masturbating, childhood friends having sex, doggy, prone bone, mating press, experienced f!y/n, modern au
••
w.k: 1.4k
luffy’s never had a girlfriend a day in his life.
sure, there’s been girls that have been interested in him. he has all a girl wants—sun kissed skin, this baby face he hasn’t grown out of, pretty black hair, amazing personality, and he’s just.. so good looking overall. but…he doesn’t use those looks to his advantage.
you’ve known him since birth. all those 19 years spent together told you luffy wasn’t the guy who was deep into romance. what he really wanted to do was find beetles, travel the world, make new friends, and eat a lot of meat. quoted from him.
though…he’s a man. a human. with feelings.
“nnghh—aah—“ luffy hugged the pillow he was humping, face red and sweaty. it’s hot. mid summer nights are horrible, but all he could think about was how good this pillow feels on his cock.
his hips stuttered clumsily, the pace he’s set too fast. he’s a virgin, of course he wouldn’t know what to do. but oh, he’s just so horny. and it’s all your fault.
a few days ago, you went to the beach together to find fish for dadan to cook. ace and sabo went along, but you both trailed off and ended up goofing around more than actually finding fish.
and that white shirt you wore, borrowed from him, tank top with the right strap constantly sliding down your flushed shoulder soon turned damp. you didn’t notice, but luffy sure noticed a lot. the way the shirt clung to your tits—the faded color of your nipples through the shirt made something in his body snap.
through the years, he’s never really noticed the changes. he’s always seen you as his childhood friend that he met 19 years ago and that always spends time with him and his brothers. that’s about it. but now.. now everything’s flooding back. and his hormones just flew through the roof.
downstairs, ace and sabo watched a wrestling match on the old tv, yelling about the whole thing while dadan tried hard to actually have patience tonight. she usually did. until these 3 idiots popped up.
a knock at the door echoed through the small house and ace paused, going to pick it up. “oh! hey, sissy!” he grinned, slapping your back. “heya—ow..” you groaned. he knocked the lungs from your body. hell, maybe even your soul left too. “is lu here?” ace nodded. “yeah. he’s locked in his room though, probably napping.
••
“luffy, i came to see you!” “oh—“ mid thrust, he paused. you froze. eyes flickered down. then back up. then down again. and then back up. “um…” luffy pulled the pillow over his crotch. though it was a little too late. you stepped into the room and closed the door behind you, eyes gazing at him a little curiously. “what were you thinking about?”
he made that face—lips forming into a straight line as his eyes looked to the side. “…nothing…” you sighed, shoulders dropping. “want me to help you?”
luffy’s face seemed to almost light up. “really? you will?” you took in his expression for a moment before shrugging. “you’re my best friend. we help each other out, right?”
••
luffy’s never been so curious. even about sex. but it’s so cute seeing him all worked up like this. you leaned forward and kissed his cheek gently, his cock twitching in your hand. you straddled his lap and lined him up with your entrance. his hands shook on your waist, holding it hesitantly.
“we’ll take it slow, kay?” you wrapped your arms around him once you began to sink down. He’s so big. you whimpered just as he did, his grip on your waist tightening.
you paused in between, just to make sure not to overwhelm him too much. but oh.. oh, luffy was getting impatient. so, so impatient.
he knows it’s better to take it slow. but he’s been so horny for so long—just feeling you wrap around him so warmly like this gets his pulse spiking.
“y-y/n, hurry..” he groaned, hips jerking desperately. sinking down at the last bit, your ass pressed against his thighs. he let out a shaky exhale, and you raised your hips, bringing them down.
luffy looked entranced. he followed every move of your hips, every move of your waist, and every time his cock disappeared before reappearing, his base getting wetter and wetter.
sabo’s and ace’s loud voices died down in your heads, just the two of you focused on each other. luffy’s gaze snapped up to yours, and you leaned forward, kissing him.
though, he’s had enough of that slow pace.
“lu—“ you gasped when he pushed you down, his hands clumsily bringing your thighs up to your chest. “i’m sorry—can’t wait any longer..” he whined.
his hips, even if they were all messy and uncoordinated, moved quickly. “wa-wait—luffy!” you gasped, moans and mewls choked out and broken. he hid his face in your neck, hot breath feeling cool against your sweaty skin.
“f-feel so good inside you.. uughnn—aaah!” he grunted, thighs shaking. his balls slapped against the cleft of your ass over and over again with every thrust, the squelching and slapping noises getting louder and louder. eventually, luffy found his pace. he’s a quick learner. and it was never a good thing.
he pulled away from your neck and leaned down, licking your lips messily. you opened your mouth with a delighted little moan, his tongue immediately meeting yours. it was sloppy, so hot and messy, but it made your pussy drool around his cock even more than before.
“i’m gonna cum….” he whined against your mouth, hands tightening and loosening on the underside of your thighs. “aaaalll inside, luuu..”
he huffed out a little snicker, but the smile on his face died when he felt his balls tighten up. he moaned and pushed forward, emitting a whimper from you as he came inside. you bit your lips, a groan leaving his throat every time his cock pulsed and released cum into your womb.
his hands left your thighs and he pulled out, looking down at your cunt. his eyes zeroed on the way his cum slowly began to seep out of your hole, the pearly, cloudy seed sliding down your sensitive skin.
with a sigh, you sat up. but luffy’s arms wrapped around your waist and turned you to your tummy, pressing you face down on the bed. he’s still hard. “hey—ah!”
slamming back in, he giggled, cheek pressing against your own. “this is fun!” he beamed. though you were anything but whimsy. you knew damn well you’re leaving this house without legs.
he pulled his hips back and slammed them down, fucking your own hips into the bed. you dug your face into the mattress, eyes slightly rolling back as moan after moan left your sore throat at this point.
luffy pushed down on your hips, getting the hang of everything real easy. “i reach in lots deeper like this..” he licked your shoulder, biting down on it as his hips accelerated just a bit more. his thrusts were shallow but quicker, breaths ragged and hot.
he paused before hoisting your hips up, your back arched. “uughh—w-wait—i need—“ your got cut off by luffy slamming home, his tip pressing against your cervix. you gasped sharply, your head shooting up. “a-aaahnnn!” “oh—like that?” he pulled his hips back and slammed them the same way, your fingers digging into the sheets. “wow.. you’re really reactive.”
your eyes turned glossy, looking lost and your brows knitted. luffy’s too good! he’s not only learned how to fuck properly…but his dick is just huge! “slo—slow down—ppllleeeaseee!” you whined, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine and straight to your head every time he slammed into your cervix.
“lu-luffy—uuughhn—“ you choked out, eyes rolling back. your walls clamped down on his cock tightly, hips and thighs shaking violently. he let out a whine and pushed forward, cock pulsing as he released again. “y-you’re so right… so good..” he panted, wheezing.
you hiccuped a few times, the soft hiss of your squirt loud in your ears as it spilled down on his bed. luffy pulled out lazily and hummed, spreading your lips as he watched his cum leave your pussy with a look of satisfaction.
“can we do this again?” he looked over your butt and you looked over your shoulder. “no!” “tomorrow??? please?!” “…fine..”
The day Luffy rejected you on Valentine’s Day was the day you thought you could move on. But since then he began noticing you everywhere, seeing you in ways he didn’t before.
༯ ℒuffy x reader / highschool au / fem reader / humor / hurt and comfort / first kiss / sfw / oblivious / luffy being a fat ass /6.2k wc / one shot
A/N: it was actually so fun writing this idk why!! I have a soft spot for Luffy. Another song I wanted for the title was “Banana shake”, but instead I only referenced it. It’s a cute song though!
Afternoon light spilled through the tall windows in long golden strips, catching the floating particles in the air and making everything look softer than it felt. Outside, you could hear distant laughter, people exchanging chocolates, confessions.
Inside, it was just you and Luffy in a classroom.
He was sitting on top of one of the desks instead of in it, legs dangling, heel knocking idly against the wood. His hands were planted behind him for some balance, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.
What was once a fun crush turned into an overly long school year for you.
Luffy blinked at you, curious but not concerned. You realized he probably thought you were about to say something casual.
But maybe the distinctness of the red roses in each room gave him a fair guess.
Your throat felt tight, opening your mouth with a ghostly smile. “I like you, Luffy.”
For a second, he didn’t react.
He looked at you the same way he always has, which wasn’t complicated. The boy probably barely even knew you besides your name. Then his gaze drifted, your face, the envelope. You’re shaking hands. The box tucked awkwardly against your chest.
You could almost see the thought process, or rather his lack of one.
He tilted his head slightly, confusion, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it the way he thought you did. “Oh.”
That was it.
You waited. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. You tried to straighten your posture, tried to stop your fingers from trembling so obviously.
He scratched the back of his head.
“Sorry,” he said easily, “Not interested.”
Ah.
You’d prepared for this outcome, hadn’t you? You told yourself that if you just said it out loud, if you just ripped the bandage off, you could finally stop watching him from across rooms. Stop waiting for him to glance back.
You liked this outcome out of everything, no awkwardness, no doubt to make this any more harder. You nodded before your brain caught up.
It would hurt, but it would end.
Your lips trembled, and you forced them upward. If you smiled, your body might follow. “Yeah,” you managed. “That’s okay.”
His eyes dropped to the box in your hands.
“Oh! Is that chocolate for me?”
There it was, that brightness. That immediate spark of interest that made him oddly alluring. You froze when he asked.
He slid off the desk in one smooth motion and stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. Close enough that for half a second your heart betrayed you and jumped with hope.
He reached out and took the box.
And with your heart still processing a reasonable pace that wouldn’t kill you, you didn’t protest.
“Thanks for the food!” he grinned, giving you a quick, playful bow that felt rehearsed from a hundred other harmless exchanges before leaving.
Food. That’s what this was to him.
Just chocolate.
Your smile dropped the second you were alone. You stared at the closed door, blinking hard, as if that might push everything back into place.
Did he seriously take the chocolates?
A small, almost hysterical laugh bubbled up in your chest and died there. Of course he did. That’s who he is, that’s the exact person you liked and he showed it right in your face.
You pressed your fingers to your lips and winced at the sting from where you’d bitten them too much. “Shit, I need some chapstick.”
—
Luffy dragged the hem of his shirt up to his face, wiping sweat from his forehead before letting out a long, miserable groan. “So.. so hot..” he whined.
The heat clung to him like glue. His sandals slapped lazily against the pavement as he wandered through the crowded rows of vendors without any real destination in mind
Ace had suggested the new market a few days ago. He’s known it as Remate, though most people in the area called it the swap meet. The second he mentioned it, everyone wanted in. It’s the kind of place they’d spend an entire afternoon.
At some point, Luffy had completely lost track of everyone else.
Not that he minded much. Someone would find him eventually or he’d find them. Any works.
He turned another corner before abruptly stopping in front of a faded poster taped crookedly against a tent. It could’ve been consider a dirty one, something that Sanji would hang on his wall.
A woman stared back at him through peeling paper edges, lips slightly parted while holding a tube of lipstick near her mouth. The shade was pinkish red, a bit of glitter with the sun.
Luffy blinked.
And somehow, immediately, he thought of you.
You didn’t even wear lipstick, but it’s not like he knew enough to understand the difference between gloss and stick. Or even enough for him to remember the brands or shades or anything complicated like that.
But he remembered seeing the tubes left behind on your desk during sixth period. Usually Tuesdays. Maybe Wednesdays too.
His brows furrowed faintly.
It had been over a month since your confession, yet you kept appearing in his head at random moments like this. He didn’t even fully understand why. It wasn’t like he spent every second thinking about you.
..But lately, things kept reminding him of you before he could stop it.
He thought of what you’d like in that shade, or rather if you’d even wear it. Your mouth slightly parted, wiping the edge of your lip.
Luffy didn’t know why that interested him.
“Since when were you interested in lipstick?” Nami sneered, shoving yet another shopping bag into the growing pile already hanging from everyone’s arms. “The shade’s cute though.”
Zoro nearly buckled under the weight of everything. “How much more crap are you gonna buy?”
It was left on empty ears.
Luffy stiffened at the correct accusation, or rather how he was caught.
“..Me? I’m not interested in lipstick.” His answer came out too fast. He scratched the back of his neck, the guilty look spreading made it even worse
Sanji let out a strangled, envious cough from behind. “He’s probably interested since Boa has been following around our third period.” He shot a jealous glare, dragging out another smoke. “Some guys get all the luck.”
Usopp snorted, his hands occupied by what looked like two plastic cups. “What’d you expect? He’s an idiot.”
“It’s not like that!” Luffy protested immediately, tugging the collar of his shirt away from his neck. “She buys me food.”
It was way too hot. Or maybe that was just him.
In the end, the offense lasted all of maybe two seconds before his eyes drifted toward the shaved ice in Usopp’s hands.
He coughed. “So who’s that for?”
Usopp grinned, his face proud like he planned for this moment. “Take it already.”
Luffy brightened instantly. “Seriously?!” The cup was in his hands before Usopp could even finish nodding.
Luffy dug straight into the bright red edge of the rainbow ice, inhaling it. The cold hit his tongue and spread through his body immediately, cooling him down enough that his shoulders finally relaxed.
“Mmf.. thank you!” he mumbled through a mouthful of ice.
Zoro had a concerned look on his face. “You’re gonna get a brain freeze.”
“Alright,” Nami announced, adjusting the single bag in her hand. “Let’s get moving.”
“Right away, Nami-swaaan!” Sanji chirped, nearly sparkling despite the ridiculous amount of bags he was carrying. He immediately pointed at Zoro. “Don’t you dare drop any of them, mosshead.”
“Not all of us want to carry bags.” He growled.
“You’re right.” He suddenly agreed, catching the other off guard for just a second till it made sense “Should’ve known you were too weak to hold a few bags then. Pass them to me.”
“Excuse me?”
The argument started instantly.
Neither of them slowed down as they shoved shoulders through the crowded street. Bickering between every market, but too occupied to really fight.
No one paid attention.
Usopp scooped another bite of shaved ice into his mouth. “What’s the hurry anyway?”
“Yea,” Luffy agreed absently around another spoonful. “There’sh shtill more shtufff..”
Nami rolled her eyes, the sound of him taking with a mouth full got to her. “I’m meeting a friend after this. Her name is..”
She says your name.
Luffy’s mind went completely blank, every thought in his head had slammed into a wall all at once. His eyes widened before he could stop them, heartbeat stumbling so suddenly it genuinely startled him.
You?
Before he could even process the thought properly, the melted ice slid went the wrong way.
Luffy choked.
The spoon clattered onto the pavement as he doubled over coughing, shaved ice going down the wrong way so badly his eyes instantly watered. His hat nearly slid off his head as he dropped to his hands and knees.
“Holy shit!” Usopp yelped. “Luffy’s dying—“
“He is not dying,” Zoro said flatly.
“Luffy?!” Nami crouched slightly, startled by the sudden fall. “Are you okay?!”
Luffy coughed again, face burning red as he tried, and failed— to breathe normally. Why did hearing your name do that to him? His chest felt weird. His stomach felt weird. Everything felt so weird.
And the worst part was he didn’t even know why.
It took nearly a full minute before he could stand again, still wheezing slightly while Sanji smacked his back hard enough to nearly send him forward again.
“You eat food like an animal,” Sanji muttered, the plastic clear bags wrinkling down his arm.
Luffy barely heard him, your name still bouncing around inside his head. It caught him completely off guard.
The others exchanged looks before collectively deciding it was just an accident, continuing to move through the place with a pouty Luffy. None of them thought anything of it.
In that moment, lungs burning, he decided he was gonna figure out what it meant.
—
Luffy tried handling it himself first, for a few pretty good reasons.
Mostly because the last thing he wanted was Usopp yelling “LUFFY HAS A CRUSH!” across the hallway, not intentionally but wouldn’t be surprising. Or Sanji giving advice that would probably work for Boa, not you.
So he kept it quiet.
At school, it started with small excuses.
He’d suddenly remember he had a friend to talk to near your classroom. He’d take slightly different routes between periods if he knew you walked that way, lingering slightly behind. If he spotted you in the courtyard, he’d watch over naturally.
And every single time, he’d act weirdly normal. Which for Luffy meant trying way too hard to seem casual.
At some point, he was going to talk.
“You got chips?” was the first thing he asked one afternoon, dropping into the seat across from you without invitation.
You stared, completely baffled by the interaction. You looked around once, then twice, and realized he really was talking to you. For one, you still havn’t recovered from the rejection.
Your gaze flickered between the bag and him, you were extremely confused. “Hello to you too.”
“Oh, right.” He grinned. “Hi.”
Then immediately pointed at your food again. “Can I have one?”
There was something disarming about how straightforward he was. There wasn’t any build up, he truly just came up to you without a thought in mind. Which somehow made you more nervous instead.
You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously, you should say no. Should’ve.
But you didn’t.
And since you accepted one gesture, it became a pattern.
He’d appear out of nowhere, say something random, hang around for a bit, then leave once it became clear class was starting in seconds.
Sometimes he’d ask bizarre questions just to keep conversations going, mainly because his thought process came from what he believed in the moment.
“You think you could beat a raccoon in a fight?”
You hissed under your breath, bringing the book down from your face. “No.”
“What? Why?” He asked with such a genuine tone it made others hate how honest he could be, including you.
And because it was Luffy, it somehow came off natural instead of crush like. You didn’t question how he oddly wanted to know a lot about you, mainly because you didn’t want to believe it as anything more than acquaintances.
But there were moments where his nervousness slipped through. Like when you unexpectedly smiled at him in the hallway first one morning, finally getting used to the interaction enough to reciprocate his smile.
He froze mid step, actually froze.
Then pointed at himself like there was no way you meant him. “You’re saying hi to me?”
You laughed, a bit hesitant yourself like you overthought what you guys had. “Who else?”
Luffy didn’t doubt you, not even a little bit. But he still turned to check if anyone was potentially behind him that you might know. “Oh.”
You smiled again, smaller this time. “Hi, Luffy.”
And for some reason hearing his name from you did something strange to him.
You didn’t notice the faint warmth rising on his ears afterward, too busy adjusting your bag while continuing down the hallway beside him. But Luffy noticed. Mostly because suddenly he could hear his own heartbeat for some reason.
It’s fine, he could survive that.
Or when he sat beside you during free period and became weirdly aware of how close your shoulder was to his. Suddenly he couldn’t focus on anything. He tapped his pencil against the desk too fast, glanced everywhere except directly at you, then blurted..
“You smell nice.”
Silence. You stopped writing on the paper, looking up at him with a shocked expression.
Luffy still hasn’t registered what that even did to you. “Was that weird?”
“It sounded weird.” You replied.
“Yeah,” he admitted honestly, face warm now, dipping his face into his hands. “Okay.”
Your laugh escaped before you could stop it, bright enough to make him groan dramatically in embarrassment.
“Don’t laugh!”
“You said it so seriously!”
“I was serious!”
Still flustered, he shoved your shoulder lightly in retaliation without thinking. Unfortunately, Luffy’s version of lightly was still stronger than most people expected.
Your chair tipped dangerously sideways, you yelped in instinct.
His hand shot out instantly, grabbing your arm before you could actually fall. “Sorry! Sorry, I forgot!”
And for a second he just stared, heaving a bit like he was the one who almost fell off a chair.
Then you started laughing again.
And despite the embarrassment still burning across his face, Luffy found himself laughing too. Because somewhere along the way, without realizing it, that weird restless excitement feeling began happening with you.
—
“You remember Luffy?” You suddenly asked, throwing your bag over your arm with a huff at the parking lot.
“As in the guy who rejected you in Valentine’s Day?”
You frowned, the bluntness of it did not come in softly. “..Yea. He’s been greeting me everyday before class.”
Well, that happened a two months ago.
You left out the part where it had somehow turned into brief conversations, never more than a couple of minutes. Or even how you began saying hi back.
“Huh?” She blinked, the silence slowly turning into her laughter. “So he’s your friend now then.”
“Don’t know.” You said a bit too quickly, the uncertainty in your tone was undeniably there. He wasn’t a bad guy, not at all. But that part of you still questioned his intention. “It’s weird, but it’s not like he’s doing anything bad.”
“Maybe not,” she said, tilting her head. “But it’s too weird. He rejected you, and now he’s just.. acting normal? And he even took the food you bought him after that? That’s messed up.”
Your jaw tightened slightly, the reminder didn’t really help.
“It wasn’t like that,” you argued, eyes drifting anywhere but her. “I don’t think he meant anything by it. Or maybe he just.. didn’t think? I don’t know. I don’t want to over do it.”
“Me personally I’d tell him to fuck off.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” she reasoned, “if someone rejects you, they should give you space. That’s just normal.”
You nodded, well you had to. It made sense. It should make sense.
But then you thought about him again, how he looked at you the in the hallway. Or how he brushed your arm without a single thought. And how confusing it was that you didn’t want him to stop.
“As my final advice,” she said more quietly, “don’t keep doing it if it hurts you.”
That was the part that finally made you stop pretending you didn’t know what this was. Your gaze lowered to the pavement, fingers tightening slightly around your bag strap.
It did hurt.
But not in a way you wanted to walk away from. Because somehow, his kindness felt worse to lose than the rejection ever did.
But you’ll try. Try and put some distance.
—
Luffy chewed on the stick of a finished popsicle, an arm slumped on the arm of the bench. It was hot, unbearably hot that day. It starts to settle that it’s gonna be like this for a long time.
Beside him, Zoro exhaled through his nose, arm draped over the back of the bench “I’m gonna..” He breathed, a hand running down his face. “Find our way back.”
“No ya’ ain’t.” Luffy replied instantly, the heat took his patience with him.
“Hey!” His friend growled, lifting his head in order to properly glare. But even that was a bit too tedious for him so he laid it back down. “Yea you’re right. Let’s hope Nami finds us.”
Suddenly he heard a distinct sound that reminded him of you, a laugh. With how quickly he turned his head you could assumed he snapped his neck.
Zoro noticed immediately, a burst of energy he definitely didn’t have seconds before that.
“Oh,” he muttered, following Luffy’s line of sight, letting out an amused huff that could be mistaken as a laugh when he saw you.
Down the street, you were walking with a friend, a small plastic bag swinging lightly at your side. You were still smiling at something she said.
Luffy instantly felt his face light up, heart beating that didn’t feel quite like adrenaline. He didn’t why he was so happy to see you, see you laugh, all that boredom he had was replaced with something else.
He noticed you long before you did, only turning your head when he yelled your name.
You winced, giving a slow agonizing look to your friend.
The one you told that you weren’t going to be friends with Luffy anymore.
Yeah right.
The bag in your right hand rattled in crinkles, trinkets and cloths inside. Luffy didn’t particularly care about it, just taking a curious glance down as he stepped up to you.
“Hey!” He grinned, getting scarily close. “Didn’t expect to see you outside of school.”
“Yea..” you replied carefully, still adjusting to his sudden appearance.
Zoro strolled up behind him more slowly, hands in his pockets. He was definitely eyeing you, it was embarrassingly intrusive. “You’re scaring her, idiot.”
“I am not,” Luffy shot back instantly, without even looking. Then, turning to you like that settled it. “Right? I’m not scary.”
There was no real intimidation in it, just Luffy being Luffy. But it was oddly persistent.
“I..” you started, then stopped when he leaned in slightly, waiting like your answer was the most important thing in the world.
“Uh, yeah, I know him,” you said, mostly to end the staring contest forming between the three of you.
Luffy’s face lit up immediately, a hint of confidence in his face. “See?! I told you!”
Zoro sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “No one said you didn’t.”
Luffy ignored him completely, his attention heading right back to you. “Do you know where the mall is? We got lost.”
“Lost?” You repeated, letting out a short laugh.
“Just tell us the way, it’s already as embarrassing as it is.” Zoro sighed.
“Alright.” You nodded with a chuckle. “It’s just right around the corner—“
“—But.” Your friend added in, suddenly super smiley. “We’re actually heading the same way, so if you want we can walk together.”
That was an easy yes from them, and unsure ‘ok..’ From you.
The walk to the mall ended up way louder than expected, well first you didn’t expect to actually join their entire group.
Mostly because Usopp spotted Luffy from across the street and immediately started yelling about how they “managed to find them,” while Sanji complained none of them texted him where they disappeared to. Nami looked one second away from hitting all of them with her bag.
That was their concern until they saw you and Luffy shoulder to Shoulder.
Nami called your name first, giving you a quick hug before pulling back. “I’m glad you’re coming with us,” she added with a bright, suspicious smile. “And your friend.”
Her tone was welcoming, but there was already that subtle assessing look she gave.
She hooked a finger around one of the bags she was carrying and gave it a light swing. “Ignore my friends.”
“Not me though right?” Usopp grinned, tilting his head into the conversation.
“Especially you.”
“Hey, you liar!”
The moment barely had time to settle before Sanji came in.
“Ohhh a beloved angel has arrived!” Sanji practically appeared out of nowhere and took your hand delicately. “I am at your service,” he declared.
You froze for a second, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. “Thank you?” you managed.
Of course, Luffy from behind was a bit hurt, jealous is a better word. He was trying to decide which part he didn’t like up until the group moved on. The following moments became more natural, it was weird to see how you clicked with them so easily.
But a separate thought was how attached Luffy was.
Not obvious enough for anyone else to call it out directly, but enough that you to notice it. Every time the walkways got crowded, his hand would lightly touch your back to guide you through people. If someone accidentally bumped into you, he’d immediately glance over. Even inside stores, he kept drifting back toward wherever you were like he forgot the others existed.
Nami didn’t even get a chance to finish handing out the shopping bags properly before the situation immediately spiraled.
“Here— Luffy, hold these,” she said, already shoving a couple of heavy bags into his arms.
Luffy caught them, stared at them for half a second and immediately reconsidering all his choices that brought him here. “Why me…” he muttered.
“Because you’re strong,” Nami replied sweetly, which somehow made it sound more threatening than anything else.
Usopp took a glance. “How do you even have the money for this?”
“I’m shopping for Vivi too of course.”
Luffy only grumbled, shifting the weight awkwardly, already bored in one position
That was when your voice cut in.
“Ah,” you said, slowing just a bit, grin forming like a thought had struck. “Anyone wanna get boba with me?”
Silence lasted exactly one second.
“I will!” Luffy’s response was instant, raising his hand. Even faster than the words came out, he dumped every single bag straight into Zoro’s arms.
Zoro, who absolutely did not have time to react, lurched forward under the sudden weight.
“The hell?” His knees dipped before he caught himself, glaring down at the pile of responsibility now in his hands. He slowly looked up, following Luffy’s trajectory.
Luffy was already gone, the world had narrowed down to one objective and one objective only.
Zoro exhaled through his nose, ending up saying nothing instead.
Meanwhile, the moment you and Luffy drifted ahead, the group naturally slowed without even realizing it. Then came the instant huddle together at the corner of a shoe store.
It started subtle, Usopp leaning in first like it was a secret briefing.
“Operation: Luffy totally likes her,” he whispered, dead serious about himself.
Nami pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a deep sigh. “We are not naming it that.”
Sanji, however, was already too invested since the start of the hangout to question it. “Of course he likes her,” he said. “Have you seen the way he looks at her? He was jealous when I held her hand. It’s romantic. It’s—”
“Focus,” Nami cut in, and Sanji instantly stoped talking, getting gushy already. “I can’t believe my friends like each other and I never knew.”
Usopp pressed on anyway. “How long has this been happening? He’s never mentioned her before this!”
Your friend, walking slightly behind them, answered without hesitation. “Four months I think?” She let out a disappointed sigh. “She didn’t even tell me they that so close..”
That alone made Usopp choke. “Four months?!”
“But didn’t he reject her on Valentine’s Day?” Zoro murmured. “So less than that.”
“Oh, right.” She thought about it again, calculating every time she noticed a change in you. Luckily for them, she paid attention. “so maybe three months? Let’s go with two and a half”
He nodded. “That’s pretty accurate.”
Nami put a hand out. “Pause! How do you know about this? You’re as dull as a rock.”
“I’m his best friend,” He scoffed, rolling his eyes like it was obvious. “I know everything.”
“Thanks for telling us when you found out Zoro.” Usopp said sarcastically
This time it was Sanji who let out a strangled cry.
Sanji clutched his chest as if he witnessed it. “Who rejects a girl on Valentine’s Day and then turns around and falls in love later?!”
“Luffy.” Everyone said.
“So it’s mutual,” Usopp concluded, bringing a hand to his chin. “But knowing my friend, he probably doesn’t even register it. Does your friend know he likes her?”
“Nope. She’s just as oblivious.”
Nami let out an agonizing, slow groan. “This just hurts to watch at this point.”
Just as the conversation started settling into collective resignation, you guys appeared again, shoulder to shoulder.
Waking like nothing in the world had changed. Except Luffy was already leaning in way too close to your drink, that was natural.
“But yours tastes way better..” he complained, practically hanging off your arm just to get another sip.
“Yeah, I told you that fatass!” you shot back, trying to angle the cup away from him. “Your greed sickens me.”
“Just one sip,” he insisted, completely undeterred.
Behind you, the entire group froze in synchronized disbelief. No one had the guts to say it, but it was hard watching.
The worst part was how sincere he looked about it, he wasn’t even in denial or even a tiny bit embarrassed by the way he acted around you.
You tried ignoring how warm your face felt after that.
The day dragged into evening fast. Stores started closing one by one, lights dimming outside while everyone slowly split off.
Usopp left first. Then your friend got picked up. Sanji insisted on walking home with Nami but got quickly turned down, leaving only you, Zoro, Sanji. and Luffy standing near the entrance.
Zoro stretched. “I’m heading home.”
Luffy blinked. “You sure you know the way?”
“Shut up.” Zoro scowled. “Of course I do, it’s my house.”
“I’ll take this idiot home.” Sanji grumbled, remembering his home is oddly close to his. The car keys rattled in his hand. “You’re driving Marimo.”
He eyed the keys, a smirk on his face. “Deal.”
And then suddenly it was just you and him left.
“You need me to walk you home?” he asked, a single bag in hand and a straw in his mouth, it was weird seeing him make gentleman like remarks like that.
It was too uncharacteristic for him.
You hesitated, checking the time with your phone before looking up again. “Actually, do you wanna stop by your place first?”
His eyes widened slightly, a flickering of thoughts running through his head. “Huh?”
“You mentioned earlier Ace was making food.” You went one time before, so it was easier saying it again. “I miss his rice.”
“…OH.”
That immediately sold him.
By the time you reached his house, the heat outside had settled into a warm summer evening. You slipped your shoes off at the door while Luffy loudly announced he was home. He mentioned having two siblings, both seniors at your school. Usually only Ace was home.
No answer besides the shower turning on.
“Guess Ace is upstairs.” He shrugged casually before walking into the kitchen.
You followed behind him, setting your bag down near the counter. The room smelled faintly like leftover spices and something fried earlier.
Luffy opened the fridge. Closed it. Opened it again like the answer changed, “Want anything to drink?”
You eyed the fridge on its side, a little bit hesitant despite the fact you’ve been here before. “Just water.”
He grinned before suddenly tossing you a plastic bottle that was definitely not water. You barely caught it with two fingers, holding onto it against your chest with a yelp.
“Seriously, Luffy.” You bit out, taking a deep breath. You took a good look at it this time, it had pink and yellow wrapping, it was a Banana shake. “This is a kids drink.” You laughed.
“So? It’s better than water, right?”
You stared at him for another second before the seriousness cracked entirely. A laugh slipped out of you first, and Luffy joined immediately after, loud and unrestrained like always.
You popped it open, taking a few sips with a simple hum. It was good, and you tried not letting him know it.
But it got silent in the kitchen, the only thing audible was the shower water going off. He stood there awkwardly, hand still on the counter edge. It was honestly the quietest you’d ever seen him.
“You know,” he started, hand on the back of his head. “I thought you were mad at me.”
You almost dropped the drink, settling it on the counter. “What?”
“Well you’ve been avoiding me a bit at school. I rarely see you in the hallways anymore, so I thought I did something.” He admitted, seemingly avoiding your gaze till he finally looked up with the most beautiful smile you’ve seen. “I’m glad I was wrong.”
Except he wasn’t.
You were avoiding him, or trying your best to do so. You still liked him, but you didn’t expect it to go this far at all. You’re too comfortable with him, and you respect the friendship more than anything.
You stared at him for a second too long, making him panic slightly. “Was I wrong?”
“I was avoiding you.” You admitted, it caught his attention. “But I wasn’t mad, I was just.. nevermind. Are you my friend because you felt bad for rejecting me?”
Luffy’s face twisted immediately. “Felt bad?”
“Yeah.” You shrugged, trying to sound less affected than you actually were. “I mean, I don’t get it. You rejected me and now you’re trying to make up for it by hanging around me all the time. Was that it?”
“No..” it came out hesitant at first, the second one came faster. “No! I’m not doing that.”
You looked up at him properly for the first time since the conversation started, heart thumping. “Then what are you doing?”
Luffy opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first.
His brows furrowed hard like he was actively trying to untangle something in his own head. One hand rubbed the back of his neck while the other flexed uselessly at his side.
“I just,” He stopped. “I wanna be around you.”
Your heartbeat stumbled, not in a good way. You felt dissatisfied with the answer, or maybe you were actually disappointed. “That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I know, hold on.” He looked genuinely frustrated now, not at you, at himself.
“I didn’t get it before, okay?” he blurted suddenly. “When you confessed the first time, I didn’t think about stuff like that a lot. But then after, I started noticing you more” He grimaced. “Like a lot.”
You stayed quiet.
“And then every time you laughed with somebody else I got annoyed for no reason.” He frowned harder. “And I kept wanting to talk to you first whenever something happened.”
Luffy looked down briefly before speaking again, quieter this time. “I’m pretty sure that I like you,” He swallowed once.
When the silence lingered, he started getting hesitant.
“I mean, unless that’s bad? Is that bad? Cause Zoro kept looking at me weird all day and I think everyone already noticed and—”
You stepped forward before he could keep rambling.
Then kissed him quickly, short enough to leave him frozen. When you pulled away, Luffy looked completely stunned.
“God, I hate you sometimes.” You breathed, feeling your heartbeat race. “I thought you wouldn’t—“
This time it was you who got cut off.
He entangled his hands into yours, leaning in until he was right in front of your face. You stepped back as far as you could until your back was against the counter top. Then suddenly he gives you a long kiss against the side of your lips, it was awkward and a little wet, but you chuckle anyways.
When Luffy finally pulled back, you could see the flush on his face, the dimple on his cheek when he giggles. “I like you—“ kiss. “a lot.” kiss. “So you have to date me.”
You could barely contain your own laugh. “Yes, will. Now get off my face, I can’t see.”
For a second, it was silent.
“Was it really that easy?” He huffed, a little bit mad at himself for how unsatisfying that was. “I really thought I was gonna die.”
“You’e still an ass.” You reminded him, head leaning back. “I literally asked you out on Valentine’s Day. How quickly do you think I lose feelings?”
“That doesn’t count!” He defended instantly.
“You are unbelievable.”
“But you still like me.” He grinned again, way too confident for someone who almost gave out on standing a second ago.
Unfortunately, he was very right. “Maybe a little bit.”
“A little?” Luffy repeated dramatically, leaning closer again. “After all that kissing?”
When the needy, mushy, ushy feelings began to die down, his forehead pressed against yours. He didn’t want to pull away yet, or even at all. You felt nervous from the way he looked at you, a desire that wasn’t familiar.
Luffy’s hands slowly settled at the bottom of your shirt, hesitating until you nodded. Then instantly, his fingers went until he felt the coldness of your skin.
He didn’t have anything dirty in mind, he just truly thought he wasn’t close enough.
You flinched for a second, then slowly eased into the feeling. Your hands settled at the side of his face, fingers curled into his soft hair.
When you guys leaned in again, you curiously pressed against his lips to try it. You wondered if he kissed anyone before, or if he was just following you. Because honestly you had no idea what you were doing.
The second time was a lot more satisfying, your lips parted briefly, whispering his name before you surged up again. He kissed you just as deeply, he licked into you slowly before drawing back.
“Was s’that alright?” He breathed.
You nodded quickly. “It was new.”
He slowly leaned in, “Good.” You kissed him with more confidence, chasing after each breath of air, the mixture of Banana Shake and Taro boba lingering in your mouth.
It was gross, pretty gross if you thought about it. But you didn’t, the only thing audible in your mind was how hot and tingly you felt, or the way you could feel his smile.
Suddenly you heard footsteps against the floor. It put you out of the daze, pushing him back despite his whine.
Both of you snapped your heads toward the entrance.
“Hey, Luffy!” His brother yelled, grinning ear to ear. “Who’s the friend—“
Oh.
Ace stood in the doorway with a towel draped over his shoulder, still damp from the shower, blinking slowly like his brain was trying, and failing— to make sense of what he was seeing.
You and Luffy were still too close.
Not just standing near each other close. Hands still loosely tangled in his hair, his body half angled toward you. Hell— his hands were still on your waist.
The silence stretched.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” he murmured, letting out a groan that was familiar to exhausted disbelief.
Your whole body went rigid realizing this was barely your second time meeting Luffy’s brother. You pulled your hands back from Luffy quickly, like you could physically undo what had just been happening by pretending it wasn’t real.
“I..uh..” Your voice cracked immediately. You cleared your throat, looking anywhere except at Ace. The counter. The floor. The ceiling. The Banana Shake bottle that was on the counter. Anywhere that wasn’t him.
Luffy, on the other hand, barely changed at all. He just blinked at Ace like he’d finally registered him. “Oh,” Luffy said. “Hey, Ace.”
Ace stared at him, then at you, then back at Luffy. His expression twisted slowly into something between disgust and resignation.
“I leave you alone for like ten minutes,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, “and I come back to this.”
You made a small sound of protest, half mortified, half defensive. “I mean, it just—”
“Don’t,” Ace cut in immediately, holding up a hand. “I don’t need details. I really don’t, I pinky promise with a cherry on top.” He used his fingers to ‘zip’ his mouth.
Luffy, completely unfazed, gave a small shrug like he didn’t see what the issue was at all. “She said yes,” he added simply.
Ace slowly turned his head toward him. “To what?”
Luffy smiled. “Dating me.”
Ace closed his eyes for a second like he was considering walking back out of the kitchen and pretending none of this existed. His towel slipped slightly in his hand as he exhaled through his nose.
“Well,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, “guess that explains why you’ve been acting weird for like months.”
Luffy tilted his head. “I was acting weird?”
“Yes,” both you and Ace answered instantly.
Ace shook his head, still recovering mentally from the scene he’d walked into. “You two are disgusting, by the way.”
You groaned quietly in humiliation, even worst when your support was on lala land. “Luffy, I swear to god, stop smiling.”
“What? I’m happy.”
“But,” Ace added after a second, pointing lazily at you both, “I’m happy for you idiots, even if you made out in the kitchen.”
You buried it partially behind your hands, shoulders hunched in pure embarrassment, wishing you didn’t start this in his house of all places. “Can we please not talk about it like that? I appreciate the support.”
“Exactly.” Your boyfriend crossed his arms. “You’ve done worse with—“
“—I’m not talking about it at all!” he yelled over Luffy. “Actually, what are talking about? My delicious food? Good, let’s go eat.”
…
“Sounds good.” Luffy gave a thumbs up, taking your hand to grab a plate like nothing happened at all. For a second you wondered if you had to get used to this.
✶⋆.˚꩜ it's not what it looks like, i swear!˙⋆✶ w/ the wind breaker boys
✿ featuring: haruka sakura, ren kaji, hajime umemiya, hayato suo, jo togame, toma hiragi (first time writing for hiragi! yipeee)
✿ contains: suggestive dialogues, crack, mutual pining, some established relationship, a lil bit of fluff
✿ a/n: heads up, please do not read this while drinking coffee because you’ll probably end up like sakura in the banner ( ≧ᗜ≦)
✿ wc: 2.4k
— what happens when perfectly innocent scenarios with them turn suggestive once they are taken out of context? well, you're about to find out one way or another.
ʚɞ kaji -
how did you two end up in this position?
kaji was sprawled on top of you, his hands braced on either side of your head with his knees straddling your legs. his face was so close that you could feel his breath against your skin, your cheeks burning pink as his eyes locked with yours.
"kaji, you were supposed to be chasing the cat, not me!" you exclaimed, feeling the heat rise up your cheeks.
"you were in the way." kaji responded, with a frustrated sigh.
"you were the one who knocked me over!" you shot back at him.
he tried to move aside, but the way your breath hitched, your lips parted and your cute face so flushed left him momentarily frozen.
when you offered to help kaji find risa-chan, you had no idea how things would spiral. chasing the cat with the pink ribbon felt like trying to catch a bolt of lightning.
as you both darted around in pursuit, kaji eventually found her on a bush and made a desperate lunge to grab the elusive feline. instead, he ended up accidentally colliding into you, sending you both tumbling into an unexpectedly intimate position.
"kaji! that’s not the cat you’rrre supposed to be chasing! arrre you two fooling arrround with each otherrr now?" enomoto’s voice rang out, breaking the spell. beside him was kusumi who covered his eyes with his hands—though the gap between his fingers betrayed his curiosity.
"we weren't—"
"this isn't—"
neither you nor kaji could find the words to explain how you two ended up like this, tangled up and breathless, both of you too flustered to speak.
finally, kaji regained composure and got up, dusting off his clothes before offering you a hand, still refusing to meet your gaze as you took his outstretched hand to pull yourself up. you two continued your search without uttering a word to one another.
although, the way kaji fiddled with his lollipop and hurriedly put on his headphones while turning his blushing face away everytime he saw you spoke volumes. why did you have to look so adorable in that vulnerable position?
kaji did end up catching something else that day, and it was feelings of undeniable romantic attraction for you.
ʚɞ umemiya -
"there, there, let me put it in, i'll a be a bit more gentle this time, okay?" umemiya said, his voice calm and reassuring. "oh no, it won't go in." you exhaled in frustration.
"ah, it's because your hole is too tight." he said with a slight grin. "what? i-i thought maybe it was just too big to fit in my hole." you replied, a hint of embarrassment in your voice.
"don't worry, i've got you. i'll help you ease it in - there we go, nice and deep, just like that." umemiya groaned softly as he helped you lift and position the pots in their rightful place.
"you're so good at this, ume!" you praised him, giving umemiya a pat on the back, your eyes lighting up in admiration as he gave you a wide, proud smile.
gardening together with umemiya was definitely hot. literally. the sun beaming down on you both, with little shade to protect your skin from the heat.
as you wiped the sweat from your forehead, you wondered how he managed to convince you to be his gardening assistant for the day. maybe it was his irresistable charm, or that infectious smile.
either way, you were here now, knee-deep in dirt, struggling to transport seedlings - a task that was proving to be far more challenging than you anticipated.
meanwhile, the tamon squad had gathered outside the rooftop garden, their faces flustered as they listened in on your conversation.
"are they-?" nirei whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.
"but...on the rooftop of all places?" kiryu added, equally shocked.
"what are they doing, it sounds so-" sakura began, but hiragi cut him off. "okay, that's enough. everybody back to patrol-" hiragi declared, but then the weight of everyone leaning on the rooftop door caused it to whip open.
they all accidentally burst into the garden, only to be met by the sight of you and umemiya...calmly arranging pots. nothing more, nothing less.
oh, so that's what it's about. the tightness, and the holes, and the depth. it all made sense now.
suo bent forward and whispered to both of you: "sorry, we kind of misunderstood and thought you two were doing something else up here."
you and umemiya exchanged confused glances with flushed faces, completely oblivious to what they were insinuating.
upon looking back and gaining realization of what you and umemiya might have sounded like to them, your only wish was to be a transported seedling buried beneath the soil of umemiya's garden.
ʚɞ sakura -
you pressed the back of your hand against sakura’s forehead, feeling the unmistakable heat radiating from his skin. "you’re burning up, sakura." you murmured, in a concerned tone.
he tried to brush it off, his cheeks faintly flushed. "what are you talking about!? i’m fine...!" he protested, but his hoarse voice betrayed him.
you shook your head, a determined look in your eyes. "take off your top."
sakura’s eyes shot wide open. "w-what? no! why are you trying to undress me?!"
you stifled a laugh, and tried to ease him. "to give you a sponge bath, silly. don't worry, i'm used to taking care of sick people. it'll help lower your temperature."
despite his protests, he eventually allowed you to help, his face burning brighter as you carefully sponged his fevered skin, your touch both soothing and embarrassing him.
when dinner time rolled around, you placed a bowl of steaming soup in front of him. "here, umemiya gave me the recipe. it's his special soup!"
sakura, still flustered from earlier, reached for the bowl with shaky hands, but you gently stopped him.
"say ah." you instructed, holding a spoonful of soup close to his lips.
his eyes widened again, his voice shaky. "w-what are you trying to do this time?"
you tilted your head. "you’re too weak to hold the spoon, sakura. let me take care of you." you smiled gently at him.
"i’m...i’m fine!" he insisted, his face a mix of embarrassment and defiance.
you leaned in closer. "sakura, let me do this for you. i’m not taking no for an answer."
he eventually reluctantly opened his mouth, allowing you to feed him. this feeling was all so foreign to him, as no one ever tried to care of him like this.
however, the real challenge came when it was time for him to take his medicine. sakura outright refused, turning his head away with a stubborn glare.
"be a good boy and take it." you insisted, holding the medicine out to him.
"no way." he muttered, crossing his arms defiantly.
a sigh escaped your lips. "sakura, don’t make me give it to you by force."
his eyes widened for a moment at your insinuation, but he still refused to budge. so, with a determined look, you gently pushed him back onto the bed, pinning him down.
"open your mouth." you commanded, in a firm voice.
sakura’s blush deepened as he squirmed beneath you. he hesitantly opened his mouth, allowing you to administer the medicine, his cheeks burning with both the fever and the flurry of emotions he couldn’t quite name along with the intrusive thoughts running in his mind.
as he finally swallowed, you wiped a stray drop from his lips and smiled softly. "see? that wasn’t so bad."
but instead of cooling down, you noticed sakura’s face was only getting redder, his body temperature seemingly rising even higher. you frowned, pressing your hand against his forehead again.
"hm, strange. this medicine is supposed to lower your temperature...why are you heating up even more?" you murmured.
sakura turned his head away, hiding his flushed face in the pillow, his voice barely above a whisper. "i-i don’t know either..."
you couldn’t help but wonder what was really causing his temperature to spike. maybe the medicine just needed more time...or maybe it had nothing to do with the fever at all.
ʚɞ togame -
you had asked togame to teach you self-defense, and who better to learn from than togame himself, shishitoren's second-in-command, whose fighting style was totally unpredictable, and could knock a dozen opponents to the ground.
it took a lot of convincing, but eventually, he agreed once you promised him you'll buy him a whole crate of ramune. it also didn't help that you threw him puppy eyes and a pleading face that even the togame jo himself is not immune to.
during your sparring sessions, togame tried his best to go easy on you, since he didn't want to hurt you, but you told him you wanted him to go full-force.
"is that all you’ve got?" you teased, dodging another swipe from togame.
"nah, i’m just getting started." he shot back, as he lunged at you. you barely had time to react before togame grabbed your wrist, pulling you down onto the floor. you twisted away, but togame was quicker, pinning you beneath him.
"got you now." togame says, his voice low, leaning in close as you struggled under him, his weight pressing down just enough to keep you in place, the warmth of his body making your breath hitch.
"not yet, you don’t." you countered, managing to free one of your arms. with a swift motion, you flipped togame onto his back, your faces being inches apart, as you could see the evident blush on his face from being too close to you.
his hands found your waist, holding you in place as you both caught your breath.
anyone who caught you two in that position would have thought you were fighting for dominance in a different sense.
"okay, you win." he chuckled, togame's eyes looking directly into yours. "but only because i let you."
"oh, really?" you replied, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips. "i think you just like being in this position."
he blinked, the room and your faces suddenly feeling warmer as your words sunk in. before he could respond, you leaned in slightly, bringing his face even closer to yours, the air between you thick with tension. he was close enough to kiss, and it certainly didn't help that he wasn't trying to make any attempt to stop you.
togame told you he wanted a round two with you, saying he wasn't going to let you off easy this time.
ʚɞ suo -
you had agreed to help suo and sakura bake a cake for nirei's birthday, as you three were nirei's closest friends, and you wanted to make it a special celebration for him.
suo, who was quite skilled in baking, took charge and offered to teach you, while sakura assisted from the sidelines, helping the both of you in preparing the ingredients.
it was going well at first, the kitchen filled with the sweet aroma of vanilla and chocolate, but as you and suo began working closely together on the cake, things turned into a bit of a spiced up situation.
first, you and suo mixed the batter.
"oh, you’ve really got a knack for handling the sticky stuff, huh?" suo watched you pour in the ingredients, with a playful smile on his face.
"do i? maybe it's because you help me out all the time." you say to him.
"i'm glad. here let's help you out with this, too." suo approaches you and helps you steady the mixer from behind. "thank you, suo. it's quite big so i might have a hard time doing it alone."
when sakura glanced over, from his angle it looked like suo was pressing you up against the counter, and a furious blush crept up on his cheeks as he swatted away his unwanted thoughts.
"oh, dear. it might be too wet." you turned to suo to ask for his advice.
"it looks good to me, but here, stick this in." suo says, handing you a stick of butter, which sakura had to do a double take on to make sure it was just butter and not some other kind of stick.
then you helped prepare the frosting.
"it tastes amazing, suo!" you exclaimed, sampling the frosting.
"mind if i have a taste too?" suo said, leaning in closer. "of course, here, try it." you smiled and offered up the spoon to him.
"ah, you have some on you, here." he pointed at your hand, which had splashes of frosting on it which escaped the piping bag. "oh no, it squirted out. i'll just lick it off, then." you replied, smiling and darting out your tongue to taste the sweet frosting.
sakura was close to absolutely losing it because of you and suo's interactions.
lastly was assembling the cake.
"are you ready for this? it might get a bit messy." he asked you, as he brought the baking pan closer.
"it's alright. i know you will help me clean up the mess after!"
sakura's face turned as hot as the pre-heated oven as he listened in from the sidelines, feeling his face flush as he heard what sounded like a heated flirtatious exchange between you and suo.
sakura silently vowed never to help you two bake a cake ever again.
ʚɞ hiragi -
hiragi was always juggling so many responsibilities as one of the four kings of bofurin, that stress had become a constant companion, often forcing him to rely on his stomach medications just to get through the day.
so when you offered to give him a quick massage to ease his aching joints, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief.
you were very skilled with your fingers, expertly working out the tension in his shoulders, digging into every tight spot with just the right amount of pressure.
"ah, that feels so good." hiragi murmured, his voice heavy with relaxation.
"yeah? you like it there, 'ragi?" you teased, your fingers finding a particularly tight knot.
"mhm. that’s the spot..." he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered to the pleasure.
"you’re so stiff." you giggled, leaning in closer. "you really need to relax more often."
as the two of you were chilling in the cozy corner of pothos café, completely absorbed in the moment, across from you sat umemiya, who looked like he was about to choke on his food.
umemiya shot you both an incredulous look. "please, not in front of my salad!" he quipped, his tone half-joking, half-bewildered.
you glanced over at his plate, unable to suppress a laugh. "umemiya, your food isn’t even a salad!"
"yeah, well, it’s hard to focus on what i’m eating when you two are…whatever this is!" he shot back, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his amused smile.
hiragi opened one eye, as he shifted in his seat. "you seem tense. maybe you could use a massage too, umemiya."
umemiya quickly held up his hands in mock surrender. "nope, i’m good! you two just keep that over there, and leave my...omurice in peace! thank you!"
if only you could see what kind of face hiragi was making while you massaged him, his eyes fluttered closed while his brows knitted together in a moment of pure bliss, then maybe you would have choked on your omurice too.
after some rummaging and random swinging of the arm in the darkness, you finally switch on the lamp.
cracking your eyes open, you almost make out the time.
2:04 am.
you proceed to curse your own bladder for giving up on you post the birth of your son, baby!yuji. shoving the heavy arm off of you, you give it a light tap as if to assure it that you’ll be back.
a gesture mostly engraved into your autonomic nervous system.
you walk, half-asleep to the bathroom.
clicking it’s light on, you blink rapidly, and then failing to adjust to the assault of such brightness you squeeze your eyes shut and trudge on, purely on instinct.
you sit down, ready to relieve yourself, when the door you’d forgotten to shut close behind you, creaks open.
“mamamamama” baby yuji babbles on, rubbing his eyes with his little fists.
this had become routine for the two of you.
“mama what doin?” he questions,
“oh baby, mama’s just peeing” you rub your face, unfazed.
and then as if the party was just getting started, a much larger presence also appears, right behind your son.
eliciting a loud yawn, with his entire frame filling up the entrance sukuna scratches his head looking you up and down,
“what are you doing, woman?”
“oh just grilling a steak, want some?” you didn’t know why he’d ask you that, frankly it was too late at night for you to tolerate such stupid questions.
“no silly!” yuji chimed in, “mama peeing” atleast someone here was sensible.
your husband just nods in acknowledgement, arms crossed leaning on the door,
watching you.
seriously?
“hello?” you wave your hand at sukuna, motioning him to leave “what happened to privacy?” you question.
“yeah son, ya’ gotta go mom needs space” he tilts his head towards yuji who just sticks his tongue out. guess stubbornness ran in the family.
you narrow your eyes at him.
“i married you and impregnated you and saw you give birth and we have a son together wife, so really what privacy?”
“touché” you click your tongue. seriously, the irony in your whole family watching you pee wasn’t lost on you.
then, mid-stream, he whistles at you.
“you look sexy as hell right now”
“ryo!” you clutch your stomach, trying not to laugh, “i’m trying to pee!”
“by all means, don’t let me stop you” he raises both hands as if in mock surrender.
“i wasn’t gonna!” you chuckle while wiping yourself.
you pull your pants up and walk towards the sink.
turning on the tap you hiss at the ice cold water hitting your poor, previously warm fingers.
yuji circles about in the limited space of the bathroom, singing “wash, wash, wash” his kindergarten teacher probably taught him that.
“can you not stay even a second away from me?” you question as you feel sukuna’s arms snake around your waist.
his heavy breath tickles your neck making you shudder.
“i can”
“so why are you here?”
a beat of contemplation, perhaps.
“okay, i can’t”
you giggle again, moving to wipe your hands on the towel all nice and dry.
“alright party people, we’re done here” you announce walking out of the bathroom with your ducklings husband, and son following suit.
firefly; i’m back with more baby!yuji who else cheered?
The training gym smelled of old leather, dried sweat, and the sharp tang of liniment. In the center ring, Ryomen Sukuna was a storm of violence. His movements were blurringly fast, heavy bags groaning under the impact of his shins and fists.
His coach, Uraume, stood by with a stopwatch, looking increasingly stressed. A group of seasoned sparring partners hovered near the ropes, none of them brave enough to step inside. Sukuna was in one of his moods a jagged, restless energy that made him impossible to manage.
"Sukuna, that’s enough for the set," Uraume called out, their voice barely carrying over the rhythmic thud-crack of his strikes.
Sukuna didn't even blink. He landed a hook that nearly tore the heavy bag from its chains. "I’ll decide when I’m done," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. He wiped sweat from his brow with a taped forearm, his four eyes narrowed in boredom and irritation. "Unless one of these cowards wants to actually get in here and try to stop me?"
The gym went silent. Nobody moved.
Then, the heavy steel door at the back of the gym creaked open. The sound of soft soled shoes hitting the concrete floor was quiet, but Sukuna’s head snapped toward the entrance instantly.
You walked in, carrying a small gym bag and a fresh bottle of water. You didn't look at the intimidating fighters or the expensive equipment your focus was entirely on the man in the ring.
"Ryomen," you said, your voice calm and level. "It’s 6:00 PM."
The transformation was immediate. The lethal tension in his shoulders didn't disappear, but it shifted. He stopped mid-stance, his hands dropping to his sides.
"You're late," he remarked, though the bite was gone from his tone. He stepped through the ropes, ignoring the stunned silence of the gym, and walked straight to the edge of the ring where you stood.
"The traffic was bad," you replied, reaching up to untie the laces of his headgear. He leaned down instinctively, lowering his height so you didn't have to reach. "Uraume says you’ve been ignoring the timer for twenty minutes."
Sukuna cast a sidelong, murderous glance at Uraume, who suddenly found a clipboard very interesting. "Uraume talks too much."
"Uraume is trying to keep you from tearing a muscle before the title fight," you countered, pulling the headgear off. You began unwrapping the tape from his massive hands. "Sit. Drink your water."
The "King of the Ring," the man who had sent three opponents to the hospital this season alone, sat down on the edge of the canvas like a disciplined student. He took the water from you, drinking it in long, greedy gulps while you worked on his hands.
"I could have gone another hour," he muttered into the bottle.
"You could have," you agreed, peeling back the last of the tape to reveal his bruised knuckles. You pressed a firm kiss to the back of his hand. "But you won't. Because I'm making dinner, and if it gets cold, I’m not reheating it."
Sukuna let out a short, rough chuckle. He reached out with a damp hand, cupping the side of your face and pulling you closer until your forehead rested against his.
"Fine," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "I suppose I can be persuaded to follow a schedule... if you're the one keeping it."
He stood up, towering over you, and threw a heavy arm around your shoulders. He didn't look back at the ring or his trainers. He didn't care about the gym. He only cared about the person walking him toward the exit.
"Let's go," he growled, a smug smirk tugging at his lips. "I'm starving."
† synopsis :: Rin has always wanted to pursue his ambitions. no matter the cost. even if it means losing you and his unborn child
† content advisory :: angst, crying, pregnancy, unrequited / one sided love (sorta), emotional neglect, slight ooc rin, a bit of fluff at the end.
† wc :: 3.1k
a/n :: i read smth similar by @neeeooon once, its been haunting me ever since. the rin fanart is by @/Xelazzy
Being with Rin was hard. He laid out the map of his life before you ever stepped foot into it. To him, soccer was the center. The dream and the capital of his life, Sae was a target to demolish. Anyone and everything else was just background noise to him. At the time, you were naive and childish enough to believe that one day you could be the sweet melody of his life, the sun after the storm, and the home he would return to.
You had spent the entire day in the kitchen, your back aching from standing over the stove. You laid out the plates perfectly, even lighting a vanilla candle at the center of the table. Its sweet, domestic scent offering futile promises of safety, home, a quiet family. Its cloying fragrance stuck to the back of your throat, mockery of a sugary lie that coated the words you’d practiced all day with your hand over your belly, repeating in your ‘Rin, we are going to have our own family.’ over and over; imagining Rin’s softening eyes, his arms wrapping around you and picking you up.
The shadow of the empty chair across from where you were sitting felt heavier than a physical presence. The quiet of the penthouse felt like a cage.
The chazuke you’d meticulously prepared to his exact liking was left on the stove, had long since been congealed, the steam vanishing hours ago. Your fingertips tapped a restless rhythm against your phone, the screen illuminating the room and your features. The clock read 7:00 PM. Then 8:00. Then 9:00. By 10:00, mascara was running down your cheeks.
The silence gave you clarity, an answer that Rin is not coming.
You finally understood that you weren’t a priority. You’ll never be. In Rin’s life, there was only time for him to pursue his greatness and goals. In his life, there was no place, time or space for you.
The candle you lit waiting for him was now nothing more than a shallow pool of melted white wax. At first, the fragrance had been a comfort, a way to steady your shaking hands as you placed a small velvet wrapped box on the table next to his plate, but each passing minute, the scent of the candle felt like it was mocking you further. It was too sweet, too still, clogging your throat until you could taste the bitterness of it. It was the smell of a home that Rin only treated like a pit stop.
You stood up, movements slow and robotic. Your hand hovered over the flame.
The heat licked at your fingertips, the only warmth you’d felt all night. For a split second, you imagined him walking in, smelling the sweetness, and finally looking at you as something he needed in his life. But the silence of the hallway gave you the opposite of what you wanted.
You leaned down, breath hitching just once, candle flickering, and blew.
The tiny flame died instantly. A thin, grey ribbon of smoke curled into the air, twisting like a ghost before dissipating into the dark.
The scent of vanilla lingered, but without the heat, it smelled artificial. Cheap.
You didn’t clear the plates. Didn’t even wash the pots. You simply picked up your keys, the metal cold against your palm, draped your coat over your shoulders and walked toward the table one last time, unlacing the box and taking the little white shoes in it, they were smaller than your hands but somehow felt heavier than the pit in your stomach. You walked toward the door.
As the lock clicked into place behind you, the apartment was left in total darkness, smelling of a sweetness that no one was there to enjoy. You left your things, your home, your Rin.
In the car, you called Rin’s number, one last time. To feed the tiny glimmer of hope inside you, that he might pick up, that he might come back and then everything will be all right again. That glimmer was destroyed by the beep of his voicemail. You threw your phone on the seat next to you, propped your hands on the steering wheel and drove off.
When Rin came home it was already past midnight, and when he twisted the key in the lock, the sharp clack of the mechanism sounded unusually loud.
When he stepped in, he expected the usual — the dim glow of the kitchen light, the soft sigh of you sleeping on the couch, waiting for him, the lingering warmth of a home he took for granted. But instead, he was met with darkness and quiet, the lights were off, the atmosphere felt wrong.
“Y/N?” he called out, but no one answered. No one mumbled ‘I’m here’. He switched the lights back on, it flooded the kitchen, painting the corners with clinical white. His eyes scanned for any opening, any threat, any target. They instantly caught the dining table you prepared.
Usually, his voice would be absorbed by the life in the room. Tonight, it echoed. Back… and back… bouncing off the bare hallway and returned to him, hollow and mocking. There was no ‘Welcome home,’ no ‘You’re late.’ No one asking him about his day, what he did, how practice went. No one wrapping arms around him and pressing soft kisses to his chest and cheeks. It was just him and the vibration of his own ego hitting the walls.
Rin walked toward the table, his footsteps sounding like gunshots. He saw the cold rice, the dried wax, and the small empty velvet box. His rough fingers touched the soft lining, wondering what could have been inside. He cursed under his breath, thinking how childish you were being.
Rin cursed under his breath, thinking how childish you were being now. He walked toward the fridge after catching the grainy, monochromatic image of a life he hadn’t known was growing. The ultrasound was a silent accusation, held up by a single magnet that felt heavier than the world.
He reached for his phone, seeing your missed call from hours ago. He didn’t call back. His skilled hands were unable to stay still, shaking as he reached for the slick thermal paper, taking it between his fingers ever so delicately.
He looked at the chair you sat on waiting for hours for him. He placed his hand over it and pulled it out to sit. Its wooden legs screeched against the floor, like a dying animal in the hollow room.
He sat there in the center of the kitchen, surrounded by the faint scent of vanilla. His heart thumped a slow, heavy rhythm against his ribs. The paper in his hand felt cold. The place you made a home out of felt cold. He put his head in his hands, the small ultrasound crumbled in his grasp. His hands were cold. Everything was so goddamn cold.
Rin Itoshi, the man who wanted to be on top of the world, finally understood the cost. He was the only one left here. Rin had been too busy looking at the goal that he forgot to look at the girl providing the warm light. Even though the lights were on, Rin felt for the first time in years, that he was finally, truly in the dark.
Five years have passed since that day, eighteen hundred days since you left. Rin pushed himself to the limit, training harder each day, he called it ‘warm up’. But really, he was just filling the gaps in his day. And his heart. His days blurred together, his mornings stuck in a foggy void like the steam evaporating from his coffee. Dark coffee became an unwanted habit shortly after you left. A lot has happened since you left, Rin demolished his rivals, became a player worth millions.
Eighteen hundred days. Countless and useless matches won. Eighteen hundred days of Rin convincing himself he was better off alone. Convincing himself that your presence and absence were the same thing, that you being gone from his life did not affect him the slightest. Eighteen hundred days of silence, of utter darkness, despite achieving what he thought was the dearest thing to him.
Eighteen hundred days of built up rage and frustration that Rin could not tell whether it was anger with himself or bitter sadness that you left. Alas, it all came crashing down when he saw that damn post your best friend posted on her Instagram page. He had followed her once for your sake and did not bother to unfollow her after you left because he doesn’t have a lukewarm mindset.
The Instagram post was simple. A birthday cake with five candles, and a little boy blowing them off. Rin’s own breath hitched, caught in his throat. His fingers zoomed in slowly, gently, quietly, as if he’s afraid to startle the little boy celebrating his 5th birthday. His fingers, pinching the picture, let go to scroll down, swallowing the lump in his throat as he read the caption. “Happy birthday to my little hero!”
Rin’s heart squeezed in his heart, he was uncertain whether the little boy was his own or not. He had the same hair color, same eyes, same expression on his face when Rin is concentrated. He couldn’t understand his feelings, why was his heart swelling up? Why is there a bitter taste in his mouth? What’s with the lump in his throat? It’s too much! Why is he feeling a pang of regret? Why did he miss five fucking years of his son’s life? Why does he still keep the fading ultrasound in his expensive wallet?
He gripped his phone tighter in his hand, caught his lower lip between his lips and kicked the coffee table, sending his coffee mug flying and shattering on the floor, the dark fluid inside the glass bleeding on the floor, staining the cream colored rug with a dark, almost black stain. He got up and brushed his hair back with his hand, fingertips digging into his skull.
Rin spent the next few days hunting you down, trying to locate where you reside, where you ran off to without him, where you made a home to yourself, something you couldn’t find with Rin no matter how hard you tried and looked. You just couldn’t find it because no matter how hard you tried to reach into his heart, you couldn’t. He wouldn’t let you. He is not a lukewarm idiot who lets others interfere with his own feelings, he isn’t the type of person to let others in so easily, he never was. He never will be. He can hold the door open ajar, and that’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less.
His finger trembled as he pressed on the doorbell. Would you open the door knowing it’s him? Would you scream at him? Ask him about the audacity he has to show up at your door uninvited? Do you even really live here? Would you — the door creaked open. A pause. Rin waited for the door to fully open. His lungs squeezed and pumped all the oxygen into his throat. The back of his neck felt chilly, he could feel a drop of sweat running down his forehead. Cold sweat.
He quickly swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped the sweat off his forehead, steadying his breath to keep composure. He’s Rin Itoshi, he can’t let his composure crack. It is just not a part of his life.
“Hello, Rin,” the setting sun shone on your face, your hair fell around your face, too. Softening your features, contrasting all the colors in your eyes. You looked beautiful, warm, whole. You looked like you finally found the sun after the storm. Rin opened his mouth, no words came out. What could he possibly say?
“I expected you, come in, please.” You stepped back, offering him space to walk in.
His footsteps were careful against the wooden floor, careful not to step too hard and startle you with the thumping of his boots. The last thing Rin expected was for you to welcome him with such politeness. The warm scent of freshly washed clothes, vanilla from the kitchen and freshly baked cake. His eyes took in the little white sneakers by the door and your flat ballerinas next to them. The shoes were scuffed. Unlike his perfectly intact leather boots. They were dirty with brown dust over them from playing outside. Dirt ticked Rin off. His own shoes were always clean. But as he took the sight into his brain, memorizing them, printing an image of them in his brain, he felt as though these were the most precious shoes in the whole wide world.
“Rin?” you called out, he shook his head and followed you into the kitchen. Everything inside was warm. Sun basking through the window, toys scattered on the white rug, a soft voice humming an unrhythmical tune. He twisted his neck, eyes catching little socked feet.
“Mommy’ll be with you in just a minute, okay? then we can play together,” you whispered into your son’s ear, Rin couldn’t make out your words but he assumed it was something nice, since it made his son beam and nod his head.
You walked back to where Rin stood. “I expected your arrival. Though it took you years to come,” you sighed. “Why now?”
“He’s mine, isn’t he?” Rin asked, his voice was filled with uncertainty and fear. You raised one eyebrow, lips twitching upwards.
“Fuck,” Rin breathed out. “Look, I - I didn’t know, alright? If I had known…” you hummed to his words.
“If I knew I would have… I-”
“You would have what, Rin? You would’ve fit us into your schedule? Made some time for us between training sessions?” a gentle look rested on your face, your fingers tucked stray strands behind your ear, your chest rising and falling rhythmically and calmly.
Rin’s throat clogged up, the environment was too warm and too sweet for his own liking. He was so used to his scentless and warmless penthouse. He kept swallowing the lump in his throat that for some reason decided to stick. For the first time in may years, Rin’s eyes welled up with tears.
He opened his mouth but no words came out. He wasn’t sure what to say. His eyes scanned the room, everything was so bright. Every corner of your house smelled of comfort. Photographs of his son on the fridge, on the table, on his first birthday, the first day of school, everything he’d missed due to his own nature. Colored drawings of just you and his son attached on the fridge. Warm fuzzy blanket on the couch for when his son needed his naps and cuddles with his mom.
He felt sick the walls mocked him, telling him he does not belong. Screaming at him to leave. You finally made a home for yourself. And everything in said home screams at him to leave and never come back.
His hand reached out to touch your warm skin, his fingers trembled before letting it fall to his side.
“We can make it work,” though he couldnt the first time. “I’m ready to forgive,” he wanted you to forgive him, just couldnt find it in himself to admit out loud. “We can pick up where we left,” he did not come after you because he had no time for distractions. “It’s never too late,”
You smiled.
You said yes.
You said you’d love to.
You invited him in, and took him in your warmth.
A few years skipped by, his son loves him, he has you by his side, hes the best striker in the world. He has everything.
Rin has finally found the warmth, the sunny morning on a lazy sunday, where you and him would cuddle before your son burst in through the bedroom door unannounced and jumped in bed with you.
but it’s not real. And it doesnt exist. Because it’s all in his head.
“I’m done talking now. I believe you can find your own way out.” you walked to where your son sat cross legged on the rug, you sat on your knees and pressed a soft kiss on his forehead.
“Mommy,” he picked a superman toy, “this me, mama,” in his other hand, he reached for another toy, a green dinosaur, “whoooooooooosh!” he worded out in his mouth, hitting the head of his superman with the dinosaurs head, sending it flying across the room. it hit Rin’s boots, and he looked down.
“See, mama!” he stood up jumping, “I super hero!” he jumped into your arms, bubbly giggles left both of your mouths as you held him. “I’m strong, mama, I protect you. I love you, mama,” you kissed his forehead, brushing his bangs back. “I love you, too. You’re the strongest hero ever!”
Rin watched the scene unfold before him, watching his son – your son, beaming with happiness. Watched as love, comfort and warmth wafted into the air. He wanted so badly to come to you, to hold both of you and share this warmth, he wanted so badly to melt the frost consuming him. So when you called his name with that oddly sweet melodic tone of yours, the same tone you had used once holding him in your arms all those years ago, a flicker of hope glimmered in his eyes, he took a small step toward you.
“When you leave, close the door behind you. I wont leave my son for even a minute to close the door behind you.” the hope didnt break. It shattered and dug into his heart. Rin stood in his tracks, frozen in time. His ears deafening everything around him. He was unwanted here. That was the truth and he has to accept. Rin squatted down, fingers brushing over the plastic toy, he picked it up, but he did not give it back.
He didnt leave it on the counter for your son to find.
He tucked it into the pocket of his coat and headed for the door. Outside your house, everything was cold. Ever since the day you left, everything became cold. Everything seems to become colder. He thought he had it all, he got what he wanted, demolished the noise but in turn, he destroyed the only thing he needed. You. Your warmth. His family. As he stood alone, head leaning against the brick wall outside your door, clutching the little dinosaur, Rin realized that this cheap plastic meant more than any gold prize there is.
Rin, the best striker in the world, worth millions, but as he walked to his car it all came down meaningless.
Itoshi Rin finally understood that he was the one and only truly, utterly, lukewarm thing in this life.
summary: a fortune, the student council presidency, and a future already negotiated for you—complete with a ryomen engagement ring after you graduate from university. you’ve got it all… but is that really what you want? an unexpected friendship with gojo satoru makes the answer far less certain.
warnings: (18+) smut, porn with plot, fluff, light angst, college au, academic rivals/annoyances to lovers, oral (fem. receiving), p in v, criminally down bad!gojo, mentions of frat parties, alcohol consumption, marriages of convenience, family troubles, and overall rich people problems ™️, the university they go to is heavily implied to be aristocratic, brief sukuna x reader but she doesn’t fw him, anatomy & physiology facts that are probably incorrect but we shall ignore that for the sake of the plot
word count: 16.9k
art by bimyo_n!
Rumor has it that everything began the moment winter break ended.
You extended the handle of your suitcase and walked toward the foyer, where you were sure your mother was already waiting. By the time you rounded the corner, she was already unlocking the front door and pulling it open.
As if it couldn’t be any more obvious that she was eager for you to leave the house and return to university.
If you had to guess, the end of each break between semesters was her favorite time of year.
Well, that and her birthday—because your father had made a habit of buying her a new handbag each season, and if there was anything she loved more than a mansion to herself, it was a mansion to herself full of designer purses.
“The car is waiting for you,” she said simply, her tone lacking the warmth of a mother wishing her daughter farewell.
You hardly noticed its absence. You hadn’t felt it in years, anyway. You’d be lucky—or unlucky, you weren’t quite sure—if she hugged you goodbye.
Just as you opened your mouth to reply, you noticed the furrow in her brow. Wordlessly, she pressed her hand between your shoulder blades to correct your posture. “How is it that you’ve somehow managed to develop a slouch? Your father and I didn’t pay for you to go to charm school for nothing to come of it.”
Your jaw tightened, the familiar urge to shrug her hand away flared, but you didn’t let it show in your voice. “And where is he? He couldn’t take an early lunch to come home and see me off?”
She released a breath that sounded more like a laugh than a scoff. “Why would he? You’re going to be back in two months for dinner with the Ryomen family. He’ll see you then.”
This time, your bitterness did reach your voice. “Oh. Right. That.”
Your suitcase was plucked from your side by the family driver and you watched as he loaded it into the trunk.
“Yes. That.” Your mother tugged at your skirt, as if that would make it any longer.
She looked at you sharply. Her message was clear, even though it remained wordless: don’t show up wearing something like this the next time we see you.
After all, appearances were important. You had learned that from an early age.
By the time you were ten, your eyebrows were already being plucked biweekly. Sometimes, thrice in one month, should your mother notice a hair out of place. At eleven, you learned what pore strips were, why they were used, and what people would say about you if you didn’t. Once you were fourteen, styling your hair came as easily as walking on two feet.
But the Ryomen family didn’t care about that as much as your mother did.
What they truly cared about was securing a fortune that would create generational wealth. They cared about fostering a bond with your parents that would lead to a prosperous business relationship. They only cared about you because you were the business—an investment that they expected to mature on schedule. Well, you and Sukuna, their son, whom you have practically been betrothed to since you were six years old.
Graduation was approaching, and you would bet your life that this dinner was a gimmick—one for both sets of parents to nudge you two closer together. Not that they cared whether you truly got along. Aligning the Ryomen fortune with your family name would make your combined estate as good as gold. They likely just wanted to ensure that the eventual marriage (business deal) would be lifelong.
Which is to say, they wanted to drill it into your head that filing for divorce was not an option once everything was said and done. How sweet of them.
You couldn’t worry about that now, though. You were already running late, and you needed to get back to campus and unpack. Classes start tomorrow morning, and you would hate to be seen with bags under your eyes—and your mother would certainly hate to hear about it from the monumental amount of staff at Mikage Academy, who seemed intent on notifying her of nearly every step you took over the past few years.
“Well, I should be going,” you muttered—more to yourself than to her—because you weren’t even confident she was listening anymore.
Your suspicions were confirmed when she muttered a final ‘don’t forget about the dinner’ before shutting the door behind you. She didn’t follow you out. Didn’t hug you goodbye either.
Once you were inside the vehicle—headphones on, with music blaring loud enough to drown out any chance at forming a coherent thought—you relaxed your shoulders and slouched, because there was no one here to pester you about it.
At least that was something you could be thankful for.
☆
The student council election was rapidly approaching, and that was just about all you were allowed to think about.
You knelt on the ground with a paintbrush in your hand, carefully mapping out the words Vote Y/N for Student Council President! :) on the posterboard.
The headphones in your ears were turned up a bit too high, because you hadn’t even noticed that your best friend, Utahime, had entered the empty workroom until she accidentally kicked over the can of red paint you had been using. You gasped as it splattered all over the poster, leaning back on the heels of your feet to ensure, at the very least, that it didn’t get on your clothes.
“Utahime!”
“I’m sorry!” she said quickly, tilting the can upright again.
The damage had already been done, though. She knelt beside you and carefully folded up the poster, tossing it into a nearby bin. Wiping her hands against each other, her eyes landed on you.
“Let the record show that I didn’t mean to do that and am guilty of all crimes regardless,” she paused, then smiled at you. “You know, you don’t really need to campaign. No one has run against you in, what— three years?”
You frowned as you wiped your thumb over the dot of paint on your skirt. It was small enough that an untrained eye wouldn’t notice. “I know that, but you can never be too sure.”
“Actually, you can be,” she retorted, but retrieved a fresh posterboard for you anyway. “The only way you lose this election is if a meteor penetrates Earth’s orbit and targets Mikage specifically, and in that case, we would all be dead anyway.”
You raised a brow as you dipped a fresh paintbrush into the can. “In that case, I should campaign to make sure that everyone died with an intent to vote for me.”
Utahime laughed with a shake of her head but didn’t push it any further. “I should run a smear campaign against you in the school’s newspaper. Maybe then, your effort won’t be for naught.” She paused. “Speaking of— have you read the newspaper lately?”
You were stopped dead in your tracks. If Utahime had managed to read the entirety of the university’s boring-to-death newspaper and felt it was important enough to bring up to you, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. “Yeah? Not this week’s issue, though. Why?”
“Of course you read it regularly,” she mumbled with a smile before fishing her phone out of her backpack. “There’s a new column for blind items. About the students. Can you believe that this shit actually made the final cut? It’s awesome.”
You invaded her personal space to look at her phone screen. “No way. What are they saying?”
Utahime laughed. “Just read it for yourself. I had to change my outfit because I read them this morning while brushing my teeth and laughed so hard, I toothpaste-bombed my own shirt.”
Reading the blind items to yourself, you can’t help but stifle your laugh that comes before the unease settles in. Someone had written these based on what they had observed, and despite how harmless they seemed now, the concept of that person walking among you was something that left a pit in your stomach.
A certain basketball player was seen coming back to his dorm room around 4 a.m. with multiple shades of lipstick on his neck.
A male who lives on floor three in the Newbrooke dormitory has been shitting in the showers for two weeks straight.
A sorority girl tossed the entirety of her roommate’s makeup collection out the window and blamed it on someone else, resulting in their expulsion from the sorority.
A notorious rich boy blew his semester’s allowance on a new sports car.
You skimmed the rest and ensured that none of them could be about you before you handed Utahime her phone back. “I’m sure we all know who number four is about.”
She shrugged but nodded anyway. “Right? I mean, Gojo revs his engine like it’s nobody’s business all the time.” She looked down at her phone. “I wonder who’s shitting in the showers, though.”
“Maybe that one’s about Gojo, too,” you quipped, too quickly to hide the bite in your voice.
You regretted how much you sounded like your mother then, and how easily it had come out.
Your family’s disdain for the Gojo family stemmed long before you were born. Hell, before your parents were even born. The details of it all were up for interpretation at this point—nobody talked about it, and you never dared to ask—but to your understanding, Gojo’s great-great-great-grandfather had screwed over yours—somehow, some way—and this was what had come of it. You would be reluctant to believe it. After all, there were quite a few tools in your own family, and you liked to believe you were nothing like them.
But the asshat that was Satoru Gojo lived up to his reputation, as far as you’d learned. That was enough for you to write him off.
Not to mention, he was the only student here at Mikage who posed a threat to you. He was academically gifted and never let you forget it; most things came easier to him than they did you, and you hated him for it.
Well, that and the time he spilled beer all over your shoes at a frat party freshman year. He probably didn’t even remember it had happened, but you did, because some other dipshit had been recording the entire ordeal and posted it online.
The earful you’d gotten from your parents that day was enough for you to stay away from him entirely.
All the while, Utahime raised her eyebrow with a grin. “Oh, wow. You’d better hope he didn’t hear that, or else you just lost a vote.”
☆
All things considered, you were having a good day.
Even though your hair is still slightly damp from the rain and the perfume you put on only two hours ago has nearly worn off, you’re pretty confident that you’ve just aced your first Anatomy & Physiology test.
Every other person in the lecture hall is already relaxed, scrolling on their phones while they wait for your professor to hand back the graded exams—because all things considered, it’s only worth three percent of your total grade after all calculations. And yes, you have done the calculations (twice!), because heaven forbid you be uninformed about anything relating to your academics.
You glance at your watch nervously. You hope this class is released on time, because attending it was only the second thing you’ve checked off your mile-long to-do list for the day.
You have a student council meeting at 2 p.m., a meeting with Professor Yaga at 3:15 p.m. about an upcoming scholarship opportunity, and a study date with Sukuna at 4 p.m.—where he doesn’t do much of anything at all aside from scrolling through red pill looksmaxxer Instagram reels for two hours.
A test is lazily tossed back onto your desk, and you pick it up immediately.
It’s a 98%. An A.
You smile to yourself, but it doesn’t last very long. It falters the moment you feel a presence looming over your shoulder—one that carries the scent of expensive cologne. It’s light and masculine, and reminds you of summer, for whatever reason. You may have complimented it if the presence hadn’t beaten you to speaking.
“Only a ninety-eight? Poor thing. Didn’t sleep well or something?”
Suddenly, your compliment dries up, because you’d know that voice anywhere. Satoru fucking Gojo.
You snap your head around so fast it nearly spins off your spine. “Stay away from me and get a life,” you say through gritted teeth, but snatch his test from his hands despite yourself.
And there, in the top corner, written in pen, is a 100%. From what you can tell from all the talking he’s doing right now—which you aren’t listening to a lick—he’s pretty intent on rubbing it in your face.
He clicks his tongue and places his hand on the back of your seat, using it for leverage as he leans over you a bit more. “See? You got number thirteen wrong. You said the fluid inside body cells is extracellular fluid. Ouch.” He pats the back of your seat, as if it’s any consolation. “You know, I’m free Thursday afternoons. I could tutor you, and once the exam comes around, that frown will be turned right-side up—”
You stand abruptly and hand his test back to him, your wrist so rigid it may as well cut through ice. “Oh, I’m so good off that. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with an ice pick.”
Satoru tilts his head, his grin so smug it makes you sick. “Well, suit yourself. Speaking of—pretty sure ice picks are usually on clearance this time of year. Y’know, with it being spring and all.”
A single glance around the room tells you nearly everyone else has already left, and that it’s painfully obvious you and Satoru are the only ones who stayed behind to talk. You’d rather not be spotted with him again. You don’t bother hiding your eye roll as you zip up your backpack and walk away, crumpled test in tow.
“Hey, where are you going? What about our riveting conversation?” he calls after you, and you can practically hear his grin when he speaks. “It was a funny joke!”
The door slams shut behind you.
☆
You can’t stand Sukuna—no matter how hard you try.
“Can you at least turn that down?”
Sukuna grumbled under his breath before slumping even lower into the seat he dwarfed in size, but he lowered the volume of his Instagram reels just enough to pacify you. “What’s it matter, anyway? There’s nobody here.”
You huffed and tried not to take it personally, as the single person currently sitting beside him. “It matters to me because, unlike some people, I actually care about my grades. Very shocking, I know.”
It might be shocking to most—which you’d understand, because it even shocks you on most days—but Sukuna is one of the few people in your life who understands you.
Not when it comes to the things that make you who you are as an independent person. He couldn’t recite your full name if he tried, nor could he remember your birthday, favorite color, or go-to drink order at your favorite café.
Because at the end of the day, Sukuna doesn’t see you. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t have to. But after everything, he knows you better than most. He knows about the things you don’t say out loud. He knows how much you hate going home, because he hates it just as much. He knows that none of this truly matters, because your parents have had your futures lined up for over a decade, and none of your hard work plays a factor in that.
Where the two of you differ is this: you still seem to be under the assumption that hard work might relieve you of your fate, but Sukuna has long since adopted a different worldview. He thinks that if everything is going to work out in the end—a nice house, a somewhat decent spouse, a few kids in the far future—then what’s the point in trying in the meantime?
“Jeez, woman. I was just asking. It that time of the month or somethin’?”
You scoffed, but didn’t dignify him with a reply.
You don’t know what this is exactly—whatever you and Sukuna are. You aren’t dating. You have kissed a few times—experimental and primarily drunk kisses shared at parties that never amounted to anything, because, well… you just don’t like each other. You aren’t sure if you’re even friends, or if you’d want to be.
At most, you’re familial acquaintances, which is the polite way of saying that he is supposed to be your husband one day, if your parents have anything to say about it.
“I just need to focus. Yaga said I have a good chance at landing the internship, but that doesn’t mean I should start slacking off now.”
“What internship?”
You blinked.
“The internship I applied for three months ago?”
Sukuna blinked.
“The one I passed three rounds of interviews for?”
You scoffed. “For fuck’s sake, Sukuna, it’s just about the only thing I’ve been talking about for months!”
He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, okay. Jeez. The only thing I’m noticing right now is that I’m not the only one being loud in the library anymore.”
A swarm of harsh replies flooded your mind, but you tamped them down—because you were 99% percent sure Sukuna was far too dim-witted to grasp whatever insult you could chuck his way anyway.
“Whatever. I need to get going.” You packed up your belongings and stood, taking a step in the opposite direction before he caught your arm. You glared back at him. “What?”
“Are you mad at me or somethin’? What’d I say?”
Once again, you didn’t give him a reply and walked away.
Sukuna leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest with a shake of his head. “Women.”
Once in the hallway, you approached the vending machine. You could use a pick-me-up, even if it were in the form of junk food. Just as you were within a few feet of it, an infuriating man with white hair slid in front of you. Satoru was quick to slide a dollar into the machine and punch in whatever he wanted.
“Oh—sorry, did you want something?” he asked over his shoulder, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.
You were fed up with men today. No, scratch that. You were more than fed up with men today. You rolled your eyes and began to walk away, and maybe Satoru had a change of heart, or maybe he realized that your fallen expression didn’t just have to do with running into him.
“Hey, no— come back, I’m serious,” he called after you. He reached into his pocket and slid another dollar into the machine. “What do you want?”
You turned around, eyeing him closely. “I don’t need your dollar, Gojo.”
Unfazed by your tone, he laughed. It was boyish and carefree in a way that surprised you. “I know you don’t,” he said simply. “Way to make me feel nice about my good deed, though. I didn’t know a single dollar could move you so much.” You narrowed your eyes at him, and he tilted his head toward the machine in response. “C’mon. Pick something.”
And because you just couldn’t catch a break today, your stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. You placed a hand over your abdomen immediately, your face nearly losing its color.
“…Gummy bears,” you finally managed to choke out. “Please.”
Satoru smiled and punched in the corresponding code for a bag of Haribo Gummy Bears. “Decent choice for a starving woman. Not sweet enough for my taste, but decent.”
You huffed out a breath, watching him retrieve both of your chosen snacks. “Sour Patch Kids? Really?”
He handed you the gummy bears before nodding once. “Yup. Really.” He paused, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “I thought you’d like them. I mean, you’d definitely fit in with them.”
“Fit in with who?”
Satoru tore the bag open and popped one into his mouth. “The Sour Patch Kids. Y’know—with this whole mean-girl-who-hates-me getup you’ve got going on. Really sour of you.”
Your eyebrows pinched together. “That’s so stupid.”
“Yeah, but you almost smiled. Saw it with my own eyes,” he chirped back, chewing on the candy. You smoothed your expression, and he shook his head. “No, no, no— don’t hide it now. That’s just unfair. I paid a dollar for that smile.”
Your face tightened, because now you really were fighting the urge to smile, damn it. “Whatever,” you snapped as you started to walk away—then stopped, your expression tightening even more. “I mean… thank you. For the gummy bears.” You said one last thing before turning your back on him. “And don’t think this means I like you now, because I don’t.”
Satoru just smiled. “Yeah, of course, wouldn’t dream of it.”
☆
Your phone vibrated late into the night.
If it were any other day, you would’ve been fast asleep by now. You’d been strict about your sleep schedule ever since you accidentally discovered—at twelve years old, six hours into a late-night 3 a.m. deep dive—that not sleeping enough can result in the brain eating itself.
But even the fear of having a peanut-sized brain by the time you were forty hadn’t been enough to lull you to sleep tonight, which was how you found yourself watching ASMR cat spa day videos at 1 a.m.
You groaned when you glanced at the top of your screen and saw who dared to interrupt your doomscrolling.
sukuna: hey
sukuna: i can see u reading my texts.
sukuna: stop being mad at me and listen
sukuna: theres a party tomorrow night and i think you should come
sukuna: and before u get all “i need to focus and stay in and be boring all the time” on me just listen
sukuna: u should take time away from your hw and relax
You nearly smiled. This might’ve been the nicest thing Sukuna had ever said to you.
sukuna: plus i wanna go and it looks bad if we arent there together. people talk.
Never mind.
you: i’ll think about it
sukuna: cool. be ready by 9
you: i never said i was going???
☆
Spoiler alert: you wound up coming to the party.
The air is stale and smells of vape smoke and alcohol. The frat house is far too crowded, and from where you’re standing in the kitchen, everyone looks like a pack of sardines wiggling around to a 2010s pop song that no one has quite caught the rhythm for yet. And yet, for all of your complaining, you’re still here—looking your best, at that.
You weren’t as much of a bore as Sukuna made you out to be, but you could admit that you didn’t party nearly as much as you had when you first started at Mikage. The passing of time makes you more responsible, or whatever the poets say—you can’t remember, and you’re honestly a little tipsy already, truth be told.
Suddenly, Shoko nudges your side with her elbow. “Hey, party girl. You gonna stand in here all night, or do you plan on joining us at some point?”
“I didn’t even see you there,” you say through a laugh, waving a hand through the air to dissipate some of the vape smoke Toji blows only a few feet away. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
You follow her through the crowd, only managing to bump into a few people along the way while clutching your Solo cup tight to your chest. It’s warmer now that you’re enveloped in this sea of bodies; your cheeks feel hot, but you pay no mind to it. You’re not sure how long it takes before you and Shoko reunite with Utahime and Nobara, the four of you forming a little circle for yourselves—something that looks conspiratorial from the outside, but feels like a haven on the inside.
“Took you long enough,” Nobara says by way of greeting. She glances down at your cup. “What’d you find in the kitchen?”
“I don’t even know what the hell this is. I just grabbed whatever was unopened and poured it into a cup with ice. I’m hoping it’ll water down,” you reply with a shrug.
Nobara scoffs. “Toji never stocks shit for these parties—deadass, this is the worst frat. I don’t even know why we come here.”
Shoko laughs, though you can barely hear it over the music. “We come here because girls get in free at the door. I mean, if I’m gonna get shitfaced and regret my decisions tomorrow morning, I sure as hell don’t wanna pay for it.”
Utahime taps Shoko’s cup. “Yeah, speaking of getting shitfaced—you’re drinking water once you finish that. I can’t carry you back to your dorm. The last time I tried, I basically dragged you there.”
Shoko groans but doesn’t fight it. All of a sudden, the three of them lock eyes on something directly behind you, and their expressions fall.
Utahime’s face goes white as she places her hands on your shoulders. “Girl, don’t turn around. I’m so serious.”
“What are you talking about?” Your brows knit together, even as you’re already turning.
And when you see it, your eyes widen.
Sukuna is making out with some girl in the center of the room, and while the sight doesn’t make you sick, it does make you nervous. In the span of three seconds, a million thoughts rush through your mind.
You’re granted a glimpse into your future: a future where you marry a man who invites you to a party just to make out with another girl right in front of you. A future where you never feel secure enough to let your guard down, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. A future where you die even more miserable than you feel right now.
Not because you’re jealous. No, you couldn’t care less what the hell he does. It’s the principle that bothers you.
If you were expected to keep up appearances and make time to “bond” with him out of your already packed schedule, why was he allowed to do whatever he pleased?
You hope no one else is paying as much attention to him as you are, because the last thing you need is both of your parents finding out and breathing down your neck, trying to put Sukuna on a leash.
“Just classless,” Shoko hums.
You turn back around, laughing. “He’s a mess. I don’t know what the hell my parents are thinking.”
Nobara sighs. “You should run away and join the circus or something. They’ll never find you.”
You laugh to yourself, knowing they’re only trying to make you feel better. But the impending doom of your upcoming graduation feels worse than ever now. You feel suffocated—like the air is too warm to breathe—so you mumble out a half-assed excuse before slipping through the crowd and out onto the balcony.
It’s cold outside. Refreshing against your skin.
The party has spilled out onto the front lawn, and the sight is so ridiculous it brings you an odd sense of comfort. Choso wobbles on two unsteady legs with Nanami perched on his shoulders, currently trying—and failing—to fish toilet paper out of a tree. Two seconds later, they go tumbling over together, face-planting into the grass.
“That’s gotta hurt.”
You gasp, wrenching away from the edge of the balcony to look behind you.
And there he stood.
Satoru fucking Gojo.
Only now, he looks different. More casual. Relaxed, right down to the smoothed wrinkle between his eyebrows and the clothes he’s wearing now. You’ve never seen him in anything but collared dress shirts and black slacks, courtesy of Mikage Academy’s suffocating dress code.
He takes a step closer. Then another. Soon he’s beside you, forearms resting on the railing. His shirt stretches across his frame, and your eyes traitorously trace the curve of his bicep. The sharp line of his jaw. The slope of his nose.
You tear your gaze away before it gets embarrassing. Has he always looked like that?
Clearing your throat, you mirror his posture. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he replies easily. He glances at you, then back out at the lawn. “Nice party. Solid DJ choice.”
You huff. “Small talk? Really?”
Satoru shrugs. “I figured I should ease into it. You don’t exactly look like you’re in the mood for my usual charm.”
“You mean being insufferable?”
“Wow,” he says. “I was more so going for memorable.”
Your eyes meet. You’re the first to look away.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “I don’t really know how to talk to you when I’m not irritated with you and your stupid gloating.” You pause, then lift a finger. “And before you say anything—I aced the quiz yesterday. So if you came out here to rub it in, save it.”
“Oh no,” Satoru deadpans. “My entire plan— ruined right before my eyes.”
You glance at him. He’s smiling, but it’s softer than usual.
“No,” he continues, dropping his head slightly. “That’s not why I came out here.”
Your brows pinch together. “No?”
“Nope. I needed air. And maybe a tetanus shot after sitting on that couch, ‘cause that thing’s disgusting.”
You laugh despite yourself.
“And,” he adds casually, “I saw you come out here.”
You turn toward him. Somehow, his eyes look brighter at night. “Is that your official reason?”
“Mostly,” he says. “What can I say? I’m curious.”
“About?”
“About why you look like you’d rather be anywhere else than at a party like this.”
You hesitate. “It’s… complicated, I guess.”
“Ah,” Satoru nods.
You scoff, easily reading between the lines. “It has nothing to do with Sukuna. Well— okay, maybe a little. But not like that.”
He tilts his head. “You sure? Because from where I’m standing, it kinda looked like your boyfriend might have a lot to do with it.”
“Ew. No,” you say quickly. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Something shifts in Satoru’s expression. “Good to know.”
You blink. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Just is.”
You roll your eyes, but continue anyway, words spilling easier now. “If my parents have their way, he’ll probably be more than my boyfriend someday.” You grimace. “Which is terrifying, because he’s about as smart as a box of rocks, and I can’t be around him for more than ten minutes without wanting to bang my head against the wall.”
Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Here I thought I was harsh.”
Panic flickers through you when he doesn’t say anything else right away.
“I know it sounds stupid,” you rush on. “There are people who’d kill to have something lined up like that, and here I am complaining. My mom married my dad for business reasons and they’re… fine. I think.” You run a hand over your hair. “But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be married right after graduation. I don’t even know if I want to get married at all.”
Satoru doesn’t interrupt, but when he does speak, his voice is quieter. “That doesn’t sound stupid. In a place like this,” he gestures toward campus, “everything’s a transaction. Degrees, connections, last names.” He scoffs lightly. “My parents won’t shut up about networking. Meanwhile, the best relationship I’ve built here is with the lady who gives me extra french toast in the dining hall.”
You laugh, clearly surprised. Not only because the french toast sucks, but because you wouldn’t expect something like that from him. It should make you feel less impressed with him, but for some reason, it doesn’t.
“I’m serious,” he adds. “Peace isn’t exactly encouraged around here. If anything, you’re expected to trade for it.”
“And you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. “You don’t seem all that worried about it, for someone who comes from a family like yours.”
Satoru shrugs again, but this time it’s different. Less flippant. “Guess I just decided a while ago that I’d rather disappoint my parents than disappoint myself.”
The quiet that follows is heavier than the music inside. You can hear the hollers and shuffling feet just inside, but it fades away just as quickly as it came.
“You make it sound easy,” you say.
He smiles. “Hey, I never said it was. It’s just easier than the alternative, is all.”
You nod because it feels appropriate, and you aren’t sure what else you should do. Talking with him is surprisingly easy, but that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to be doing it. That you should be doing it. Even now, you wish you could resonate with Satoru’s ideology, because all you can think about is how much your parents would hate this.
“My parents would hate this,” you blurt out, accidentally saying your thoughts aloud.
You look at him, embarrassed and doing your best to hide it. It feels strange, knowing just how much you’re supposed to hate talking to him yourself, but don’t.
He rubs the back of his neck. “This conversation?”
You try not to stare at his bicep, flexing right in your face.
“Yeah,” you admit. “My parents hate your family. Always have.”
“Mine aren’t exactly fans of yours either.” Satoru laughs, tilting his head slightly. The feeling was mutual—he couldn’t take much offense at it. Still, he asks, “Do you feel that way too?”
“What do you mean?”
He turns to look at you, his expression almost serious. “Do you hate me?”
You huff. “I don’t even understand the reasoning all that much. I just know that the animosity exists, and that I’m expected to respect it— and I guess I have, for the most part.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” he replies simply. “Do you hate me? On your own terms?” He pauses then, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked a tad nervous. “I’m sure I’ve given you enough of a reason to. More than one, I’d bet.” He glances away. “The first time we ever spoke, I spilled beer all over your shoes. I shouldn’t have been holding it anyway— I hate beer.”
“I knew you remembered!” you yell, pointing a finger at him. “I’ve been holding that grudge against you for years now.”
“What? Of course I remember. I apologized immediately,” he says quickly. “Pretty sure I almost got on my knees and everything.”
You click your tongue and shake your head. “The damage was already done.”
The conversation stills for a moment, and you choke over your words before managing a more serious reply.
“For as obnoxious as you are, I don’t hate you. No. I don’t even know you well enough to hate you if I wanted to.”
“Alright, I’ll take it.” Satoru smiles to himself. “I think you’d form a better opinion of me if you let me get to know you. You’re a tough nut to crack, you know— been tryin’ for years.”
You stare at him, and he doesn’t cower in response. Not that he typically would, but you half-expected him to.
“I’m serious,” he says instead. “We should be friends.”
Your laugh comes out sharp. “Absolutely not. My parents would be livid. Beyond livid, actually—they’d probably murder me. And I mean, a true crime podcaster’s wet dream type of murder. No joke.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I think we should definitely be friends,” he says through his laughter. “I’ve always wanted to be in a documentary. Confessionals and all. A face like this is made for the cameras.”
“You’re such a jerk,” you scoff, nudging his side, barely able to fight off your smile.
“Mm-hmm. A big jerk that you’re still talking to,” he replies. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted to be my friend too.”
You don’t reply, which might have just been an answer in and of itself.
For the first time throughout this entire conversation, Satoru turns his body to face you properly. His head tilts down enough to accommodate the height difference between you.
“I think this might be the first argument you’ve ever let me win,” he grins.
You narrow your eyes. “This isn’t a win. It’s more like… a draw. A tie.”
“Sure. A draw, a tie. Potato, potahto. Whatever.” He extends his hand toward you. “So. Friends?”
You take it and shake it. “Yes. Friends.”
He smiles. “See? Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
When your hands fall apart, Satoru’s hand stills at his side—fingers flexing—before he grasps the railing. You straighten, stepping back from it yourself. The night air suddenly feels too thin, as if there isn’t enough of it for the two of you to breathe anymore. More anxiety than anything else.
“I should probably go,” you murmur. “It’s late.”
And you’ve been talking for quite some time now, which only means it’s a matter of time before someone notices and writes a blind item in that stupid newspaper column.
“Right,” he replies. “Need someone to walk you home?”
You shake your head. “I think I’ll manage.”
Satoru nods, his smile slow as it turns up at the corners. “Alright. Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
“Night,” you reply weakly before reemerging into the party.
You reunite with your friends, who seem even more over the night than you are. The four of you walk back to your dormitory together.
☆
You royally fucked up this time.
To no surprise, you won the student council election with flying colors. No one had the balls—or…clit? You don’t discriminate—to run against you throughout the election cycle.
With some surprise, however, you decided to celebrate your victory with the other board members, taking way too many shots from a bottle that was emptied far too quickly.
On a fucking Tuesday.
You mentally kicked yourself—and you would’ve done the same physically if you weren’t on the verge of blacking out.
Vision splotchy, you glanced around the dorm, only to find that everyone was already passed out cold. You couldn’t stay here—you had a meeting bright and early!
And so, with some difficulty, you finally managed to find your purse—the one you had hidden while sober, back when your only concern was someone stealing the $60 in cash from your wallet.
Widening your eyes, the bright screen was a blur of letters and colors, but you managed to open your contacts app. Typing in an ‘S,’ you clicked Shoko’s contact, praying she was awake and able to come pick you up from the off-campus housing.
The line rang twice before someone answered.
You sigh in relief. “Girl, red alert! Get your sexy ass up and come pick me up!…please.”
“Woah, Prez. I had no idea you thought about me this way. Tell me more.”
Your heart dropped straight to your ass.
“Satoru…?” you whine, more than ask.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m startin’ to think you meant to call someone else. Bit of a blow to my ego, but I can handle it.”
Slumping against the couch, you huff. “Meant to call Shoko. Need a ride.”
Silence filled the line for a moment, then an insufferably attractive laugh broke it. “Are you drunk right now?”
You sniffled. “A little. I mean—a lottle. I-I mean, a lot. Very drunk. Drunk and stranded.”
You heard rustling on the other end, the faint jangle of keys. Your eyes fell shut. You were so damn tired.
“Okay, I just left my apartment. Where are you?”
In any other situation, you would’ve refused Satoru Gojo’s help. You were a strong, independent woman. You didn’t need a man to come to your rescue.
But the longer you sat on this couch, the more you wanted to ditch your mandatory meeting in the A.M. and pass out right here.
Even in this state, you were smart enough to know staying wasn’t an option.
“I’m at off-campus housing down the street. Please hurry. And bring water. And snacks. And a blanket. And—”
“Yes, boss, I’ve already got all of that—along with a partridge in a pear tree. Jeez, you’re needy.” He laughed, and it made you pout. “I’m only a few minutes away. Hang tight.”
⭑
“Watch your head, watch your head!”
Thunk.
“Oww,” you whine, rubbing the top of your head while Satoru busied himself fastening your seatbelt.
Rounding the front of his sports car, he slips into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life a few seconds later, but the car stayed in park. Instead, he reaches for the ice-cold water bottle in the cup holder, twisting off the cap before handing it to you.
“How much did you have to drink?” he asks, sounding almost agonized. “Don’t know if you know this, but it’s Tuesday night.”
It took you about ten seconds, a long drink of water, and a deep sigh of relief before you answered.
“I won the presidency,” you finally say, as if that answered everything.
“Ah.” He reaches for a nearby pack of gummy bears. “This good? That’s all I could find on the way.”
“Yes,” you barely cared, tearing the package open. “Y’know, Gojo…you’re kinda nice.”
He huffs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, really? What gave you that idea?”
Chewing thoughtfully, you started listing things your sober self would’ve never admitted.
“You came to get me even though I’m such a bitch to you. And you brought me water, and my favorite candy, and—hic!”
“And you tease me all the time, but you aren’t that mean when it comes down to it…” You sniffle. “I honestly wish you were. It’d be easier to hate you.”
He laughs, shaking his head as he finally shifts the car into drive. “Aw, sorry about that. I can be mean to you if you want?”
The drive was quiet, mostly because it was so short—the streets were empty at this ungodly hour. When Satoru parked and killed the engine, he turned to look at you and froze.
You were chewing on gummy bears with tears streaming down your cheeks.
“Are you a sad drunk?” he asks, even though he already knew. “Aw, you are, aren’t you?”
You sniffle. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He shifts toward you, more careful now, lifting the water bottle back to your lips. “‘Cause we’re friends now. I’m nice to my friends. C’mere.”
To his surprise, you let him tip the bottle, drinking without protest.
Swallowing, you frowned. “No, you aren’t.” Sniffle. “You’re mean to Suguru. And Nanami. And Toji…”
Satoru’s smile is lopsided. “You have a point. Guess I’m just nice to you then.”
“But why?” you press, not even realizing it. “You have no reason to be.”
Satoru was the type of man who had never needed to wish on stars to get what he wanted.
All it took was a swipe of one of his many credit cards or the mention of his family name. It worked without fail.
For everything except one thing, and she was sitting right beside him.
Oblivious to the fact that since freshman year, she’d made his heart race every time she was near. From the moment he met her in biology—cut down by her sharp tongue—he’d felt motivated instead of defeated.
He’d gone home that night thinking about her. Stayed up, even, planning ways to talk to you the next day. Ways to make you look at him. Talk to him. Give him the time of day.
You had no idea what you did to him, and right now, he had no place to tell you.
He leans back with a quiet hum. “For someone so smart, you can be a little dense sometimes.”
Your sniffle cut him off. His head snaps toward you, and his chest nearly caved in at the sight of fresh tears welling up.
“No, no, no, no— hey, I was joking! I didn’t mean it, I swear.”
Satoru cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away your tears. His eyes searched yours, softening despite himself. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“You’re kinda cute when you’re drunk,” he says.
What the fuck?
Why would he say that out loud? Right now? Of all times?
“You’re kinda cute all the time,” you replied easily, fingers fumbling with the pendant on his necklace. “You smell really nice, too.”
Satoru’s heartbeat doubled, but he forced himself not to read into it. Not now. Not when you’re in this state.
He cleared his throat, pulling his hands away. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”
He stepped out first, then opened your door. Your eyes met his as he reached in to unbuckle you. “Easy,” he murmured.
Getting you out of the car was about ninety-five percent Satoru’s effort; you leaned into him the majority of the way, the two of you making your way toward the side entrance. It felt like it took hours to climb the stairs—but in reality, Satoru carried most of your weight without breaking a sweat.
By the time you reached your room, he helped you onto your bed, carefully slipping off your heels. His hand lingered at your ankle, thumb brushing over the faint mark the strap had left behind. He leaned over you slightly, hand smoothing over your hair.
“Get some sleep, okay?”
You didn’t notice when he set a bottle of aspirin and fresh water on your nightstand. You just curled under your blankets on instinct, heavy with exhaustion. Your eyes cracked open just enough to catch your on-call-Uber-driver-slash-friend retreating toward the door.
“Satoru?” you called.
He paused, one foot already out. “Mm?”
“I like it when you’re nice to me.” You shook your head. “No—I mean… I like being your friend.”
Satoru smiled faintly. “Me too.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
☆
You despise how much you enjoy being friends with Satoru Gojo.
You despise how attentive he is. How he silently hands you a pencil a beat after you realize you’ve come without one. How he holds the seat down for you so you can sit more easily in the lecture hall. How he gives you one of his AirPods whenever you’re in the library together, looking for your own books respectively, yet highly aware of how far you are from him when the music begins to chop up.
You despise how much he’s gotten you to let your guard down. How he makes you laugh whenever one of your student council meetings goes awry, because the high of being reelected as council president only lasts until the first meeting. How he assures you that you can get through whatever issue you’re working through with your boardmates, because, according to him, if you were able to snag his vote, then you can just about do anything. How he references Digimon or whatever video game he’s played last into just about every other conversation, to the point where it borders on endearing and annoying—but the expression he wears when he talks about it makes you easily decide on the former.
You despise how he makes you feel. How a simple nudge to your side whenever you reply with a smartass comment makes your face feel warm. How the scent of his cologne lingers after he leaves, and how you feel disappointed when it finally dissipates. How you’ve now become acutely aware of the length of his eyelashes, the vibrance of his eyes, the smile lines that look more handsome on him than you’d ever like to admit.
But more than anything, you despise that you just can’t find anything to hate about him—no matter how hard you try.
It had only been a little over a month, and yet it’s difficult to remember what it was like when the two of you weren’t friends, or what faulty reason you had to hate him in the first place.
You doodle a bit rougher in your notebook as you wait for instruction to begin, trying to get your mind off it. Off him.
Like clockwork, he plops down into the seat beside you, lazily extending his legs before placing a small white box on your desk.
“What’s this?” you ask, setting your pen down. When you open it, you find your favorite pastry sitting inside, untouched. Your brows knit together. “How’d you know this was my favorite?”
When you look at him, he’s already chewing a bite of the muffin he bought for himself.
“We’ve been to the café twice together and you got the same thing both times. How could I not know by now?”
You take a bite of your own, chewing thoughtfully. You’ve been to the café with Sukuna more times than you can count on both hands, and not once has he remembered what your go-to order is. It shouldn’t mean so much—in the grand scheme of things, it’s just a four dollar pastry—but it does. It feels good to be known, even in the simplest way.
“Well… thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, no prob,” he replies, setting his muffin down. “Your stomach growls when you don’t eat in the morning—I could hear it from three aisles back.”
You shove his shoulder, eyes wide. “Shut up. No, you couldn’t.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he relents with a grin, glancing your way. “It was four aisles back.”
You roll your eyes, face warm. You glance down at his muffin, and he clutches it closer to himself.
“No looksies,” Satoru says firmly. “Daddy doesn’t like to share.”
You grimace. “Ew. Gross. Don’t call yourself that.”
“Mommy doesn’t like to share?”
“Even worse.”
Satoru sighs in playful defeat, and just in time—before he can try again—your professor addresses the class and starts the lecture.
And no more than five minutes later, he doesn’t even complain when you ask for a bite of his muffin.
☆
You’re nervous about your upcoming Anatomy & Physiology exam.
The air outside is brisk, the cold biting at your cheeks as you speedwalk toward your dormitory. Even though this is nowhere near your first rodeo with the freezing-to-pleasant transition between winter and spring, it never gets easier to manage. Especially not now, with your arms full of flash cards, two folders, an oversupply of fresh scratch paper, and blank scantrons that are just about begging to be practiced on—which means you don’t have a free hand to grab a hot chocolate from the on-campus café. What a great start to your study session this is.
Your steps are quick, and from afar, you probably look like you’re lightly jogging, which isn’t the best look considering you’re wearing a thick, furry winter coat and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants. It isn’t ideal, but you planned for this venture outside your dorm room to be quick.
That is, until you trip on a shift in the sidewalk and tumble forward.
You catch yourself on your hands, which only makes you realize that your supplies are now blowing away. You manage to pick up a few things on your own and reach for a folder—only to realize someone else has already picked it up.
“Nearly gone with the wind,” Satoru sighs. “Good thing I was here to save the day. No need for thanks— it’s all in a day’s work.”
You straighten once you’ve gathered the rest of your things. “You and your gloating. Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, then glances down. “Cute slippers.”
Your eyes follow his gaze to the fuzzy slippers you only ever dare to wear out when your feet are freezing. You shift your feet and nudge his chest. “Shut up. They’re warm!”
“And fashionable,” he lilts, and gestures to the armful in your hands. “What’s all this for?”
“Studying,” you answer, because it’s obvious. “I’m gonna make flashcards for the A&P exam and probably take a few practice tests.” You reach for the folder still in his grasp. “So, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down a sec.” Satoru lifts the folder out of reach. “Let me help you out, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes. “Why? Don’t you want to score better than me anyway?”
“Oh no,” Satoru says flatly, face blank. “You’ve exposed my master plan once again. Whatever will I do?” Then he grins. “How could you think so little of me? I’ll score better than you without sabotage, you know that.”
“As if,” you retort, averting his gaze.
Satoru raises an eyebrow. “If you’re so confident, prove me wrong.”
You tuck your lips into your mouth, weighing his offer. On one hand, you’re hesitant to let him into your room—afraid that you might not dislike it. That you might even like being alone with him. On the other, you’ve never been one to back down from a challenge like this.
Your pride settles it for you.
“Fine,” you say. “I will. Follow me.”
☆
Rumor has it that this was where it all truly began.
Your bedroom.
It was all rather easy at first. You’d spent about an hour making flashcards, a time primarily spent in silence—save for his voice making noise pollution every so often. Mostly moans and groans about how bored and hungry he is, which fall on deaf ears.
By the time you finish the deck, Satoru’s jacket is hanging on the back of your desk chair, and he’s lazily sprawled across your bed. He’d offered to take the chair, but you insisted that sitting made you focus better. Which it does, but you’re also too nervous to sit beside him on the bed right now.
He tosses a stress ball toward the ceiling, catching it with one hand. “Done yet? I’m dying here. The fun part is supposed to be me quizzing you.”
You straighten the cards before tossing them his way, the deck landing on his stomach. “Yes, now hurry up. I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he chirps, propping himself up against your pillows as he gathers the cards. He clears his throat, glances once at you, then back down. “What are the two primary functions of the skeletal system?”
It doesn’t take you more than a second. “Support the body and protect softer body parts.”
He hums and flicks to the next card. “What three things does the muscular system allow the body to do?”
You hum, rubbing your chin. “Movement, support, and… heat production.”
Another flick. “What about the nervous system?”
“It controls immediate responses to stimuli,” you answer easily.
Satoru huffs, flipping through card after card as you breeze through half the deck. Soon you’re naming the primary functions of individual muscles—temporalis, masseter, sternocleidomastoid, extensor digitorum—you’ve lost count of how many you’ve answered correctly. You’re zoned in, until he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.
“These are too easy for you,” he declares. “You need something more challenging.”
You squint and lean back in your chair. “What? These are plenty challenging.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced. “Nope. You need more independent practice. Stuff you can’t predict.”
“Like what?” you ask. “Since you’re so smart, I’m assuming you have an alternative method. Put up or shut up.”
Satoru exhales through his nose, meeting your gaze without missing a beat. He’s long since learned your tone, your bite. He grins and sits up straighter, lifting an arm and pointing to his own. “What does the tricep do?”
You blink. “Straightens the arm at the elbow? Duh. I thought this was supposed to be hard.”
“Shh, be patient. A master is at work.” He pauses, then asks, “What about the orbicularis oris?”
Your posture straightens against your will, gaze dropping to his mouth. Your eyes trace the curve of his lips—where that muscle would be—and you watch as the corners of his mouth tug upward. Five seconds pass—longer than any question has taken you so far.
“It allows for movement in the lips,” you finally say.
“Mm,” he sighs. “Only half credit. That’s a little vague. Name three specific functions and I might reconsider.”
The room feels warmer. You clear your throat. “Speech, whistling, and… kissing.” Your eyes flick away to your desk as you fuss with loose papers, trying to come off as busy or distracted. You add quickly, “It’s informally known as the kissing muscle. Everyone knows that.”
A low whistle leaves him as he rises from the bed, stretching his arms over his head before stalking toward your desk. He stops behind your chair, flashcards still in hand.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, still facing forward.
He sets the cards down in front of you and places one hand on the desk, leaning just slightly over you. He isn’t touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel the heat of him at your back, and certainly close enough to make your thoughts scatter.
“Told you,” he murmurs. “I’m helping you study.”
You swallow. “How, exactly?”
He exhales, breath brushing your neck. “Have you practiced for the muscle identification portion yet?”
Shit. You’d nearly forgotten about that. From what you remembered your professor saying, there would be anatomy models stationed around the classroom, highlighted with nothing more than a single muscle on each one. It would be your responsibility to name the muscle and its function on the spot.
“Not really,” you admit, shrugging. Your back brushes his chest, and you clear your throat quickly. “How do you plan on helping with that?”
Satoru brushes your hair off your shoulder, knuckles barely grazing the back of your neck before his thumb presses gently into a muscle along your upper back. “For starters: what muscle just helped you shrug your shoulders?”
You swallow thickly. Your breath leaves you shaky, and you hope he doesn’t notice the goosebumps rising on your skin when his thumb traces again, slow and deliberate. Meant to tease you, you’d imagine.
“Upper trapezius,” you say, breathy despite yourself.
“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. His hand moves, thumb sliding to the back of your neck. “Your neck’s tense.”
“Well,” you say, forcing a shaky exhale, “it’s not every day I become a study tool. First day on the job.”
He laughs, and there’s something charged beneath it. “You saying you don’t like my method?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all,” you blurt. You glance up and freeze at how close his face is. “...I’ve liked others less. That’s all.”
A lopsided smile. “So you want to continue?”
Your answer is immediate. “Yes.”
His thumb presses more firmly at your neck. “What muscle is tensed up here?”
“Trick question,” you mutter, “still the upper trapezius.”
“Good.” His hand flattens, gliding down your back, following the natural arch of your spine as your breath catches in your throat. “Now tell me—”
Your heart is pounding.
“—what muscle is making your back arch like that?”
You scoff, trying to straighten. “You’re ridiculous.”
“That’s not an answer,” he tuts. “Don’t know it, huh?”
“Of course I do,” you stammer.
“Then tell me, smart girl.”
Your stomach twists with nerves and something far more dangerous. He shouldn’t excite you. He should make you pull away, push him out, undo whatever this is. And yet, your mind wanders to what it would be like if you didn’t. If you invited him to stay instead.
You shake your head, grounding yourself. “Erector spinae.”
He hums. “See? Not so hard.”
“It was plenty hard,” you murmur, stealing a glance up at him.
He tilts his head, just enough to meet your eyes. Your lashes flutter as you switch between each of his eyes. His nose is nearly brushing yours, and it terrifies you just as much as it intrigues you. No, actually—what you’re feeling now goes beyond simple intrigue. It’s excitement. Bordering on longing.
“What are you doing?” you ask, words tumbling out of your mouth.
“Just lookin’ at you,” he replies easily. “You’re pretty.”
“Wha–? Sh-Shut up.”
He grins. “You’re cute when you’re shy, too.”
From the beginning, Satoru was supposed to be nothing more than a thorn in your side. Someone sharp and irritating. Something to endure. But when given the chance to poke where you were weakest, he’d held you instead.
His hand slides to your waist, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. He still hasn’t pulled away, and you pray that he doesn’t. You don’t want him to.
You lick your bottom lip without thinking. His eyes drop instantly, tracking the movement—and he doesn’t bother hiding it, even after he’s sure you’ve noticed.
And when he’s least expecting it, at least as far as you can tell, you rock up onto your toes, hands fisted into his shirt, and press your lips to his.
Your lips slot into his like two puzzle pieces fitting together. His hands tighten their hold on your waist, and when you force yourself to pull away, to face the music of your decision made on a whim, you find a blushing Satoru staring back at you.
A soft, nervous laugh leaves his lips, breath warm against yours.
“Well, if you thought studying was hard…”
…Oh?
Your gaze dips.
Oh.
He’s hard.
From a single peck.
His sweatpants hang low on his hips, giving you a slight glimpse of the light trail of hair that leads toward the prominent bulge in the fabric. The sight alone makes your mouth water, enough for you to, within the span of a second, wonder what it’d be like to feel it. From sight alone, it looks big. Heavy.
Every warning system inside your head blares all at once, telling you that this is a bad, bad, bad, horrible, horrible, horrible decision. And yet, you lean into him again.
You kiss him once more, hands clutching onto his shirt as you tug him down to meet your mouth, which he does with no hesitation. His lips are softer than you imagined, gentle on yours.
“And which muscle is responsible for that?” you ask against his mouth.
He smiles, you can feel it. “Ischiocavernosus.”
Satoru’s large hands smooth over the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing at all. You’re lying on your bed before you realize it, and he is hovering atop in between your parted legs.
His lips tear away from yours, kisses mapping out a trail of heat along your jaw. Your hand slips into his hair, tugging when his mouth finds the sweet spot just beneath your ear.
Your back arches off the bed as a signifier.
“Found it,” he rumbles against your skin, smiling against it.
His mouth is searing, kissing down your clothed chest until he pushes your shirt up just enough to expose your belly. Open-mouthed kisses mark his exploration of your skin, hot and wet as he traces the curve of your side.
Your stomach flutters when his mouth kisses down your belly, strong hands holding your waist in place while his tongue darts out to get a taste of your skin.
Satoru’s movements, you realize, seem automatic. Like he’s thought about this before, planned for it, even—he was just waiting for you to give him the chance.
Hands suddenly paw at his shoulders, your hips squirming slightly. “Stop teasing me, Satoru.”
Satoru laughs, fingers tugging your fuzzy pajama pants down just enough to kiss your hip bone. “Fine, fine. Under one condition.”
Your heart pounds. “What is it?”
His hands smooth over your thighs as he shifts a bit lower. “Let me taste you.”
You blink a few times, clearly surprised. You’ve never been with a guy whose first move is to go down on you. “Okay… I mean, if you want to—ah!”
His hands are skilled in the way that they pull the hem of your pants down, leaning back just enough to peel them down your legs and toss them aimlessly onto the floor.
Satoru’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, focused on the apex of your thighs as he flattens to his stomach. His hands move your legs to rest on his shoulders, his lips already on your inner thigh.
“Fuck, thank you,” he whispers against your skin, wet kisses inching closer to your core.
And when his mouth finds the wet patch on the gusset of your panties, Satoru knows he’s a goner.
His grip tightens on your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, he flattens his tongue over the fabric. That only lasts a few seconds before his fingers tug the flimsy material down your legs, and his lips are latching onto the true source.
A groan escapes him the moment his tongue laps at your essence. “Tastes so sweet.”
Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging at the root when his lips close around your clit. Your hips would’ve bucked into his mouth if his iron grip wasn’t keeping you in place.
Even with his face buried in your pussy, he manages to speak.
“Mmh— tastes like candy, baby. Thought about this s’many times.”
The confirmation only makes you twitch, which he seems to notice if the firm press of his tongue to your clit is any confirmation.
“Ah— shit, Satoru. Right there.”
Satoru thinks that he could do this forever. Could live and die a happy man, cheeks warmed by your thighs pressing in on them and the taste of you on his tongue.
His nose bumps against your clit, tongue slipping lower to gather more of you on his taste buds. His hips begin to rut into the mattress like a dog in heat, a whimper leaving his throat when you tug particularly hard on his hair.
“S-Sorry,” you manage, fingers releasing the strands of his white hair.
Blue eyes meet yours, and he forces himself to pull his tongue off you just long enough to speak. “Baby, I don’t care. Tug on it even harder if you wanna. Your pleasure feels good to me.”
“Masochist,” you say through a breathy laugh.
His mouth is back on you. “Only for you.”
You’re like sugar on his tongue, the type of ambrosia that men should go to war for. Satoru knows he would in a heartbeat.
The feeling of his tongue kitten licking your clit has your hands shooting down, one sliding back into his hair and the other scratching at the back of his hand on your thigh.
Satoru gives it to you without a second thought, your fingers lacing with his as you press his hand down on your stomach.
His eyes crack open to watch your face, twisted in a pleasure that he’s proud to have given you. He sucks your clit into his mouth before releasing it with a slick pop.
Only, your hand in his hair presses his face back into your pussy, and Satoru is nothing if not willing to please you.
The groan that leaves him travels up your spine, and your hips begin to twitch, thighs closing in on his head. A mewl leaves your lips, clutching his hand before you cry out, the first wave of your orgasm wracking through you.
Satoru flattens his tongue, licking up every drop of your syrupy release, hellbent on committing the taste of you to memory.
His voice is deep and scratchy when he speaks. “You’re beautiful when you cum.”
Your eyes snap open, a newfound heat finding your cheeks. “Shut up.”
He’s crawling up to meet your lips with a smile, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. Just telling the truth.” He kisses your lips, and you taste yourself on them. “Sweetest pussy. I’d go for seconds if you let me.”
You’re tempted by the offer.
Only, something else tempts you more than it should.
Satoru hisses the moment your palm presses against the bulge in his sweatpants, forehead knocking into yours. His hips twitch against your hand, and when he closes his eyes, you can tell he’s doing his best not to grind into your hand.
A quiet laugh leaves your mouth. “I think I’d rather do something else.”
His hands fist into the bedsheets in an act of restraint. “Like what?” he asks, voice strained.
You huff, free hand taking hold of his chin, forcing him to look at you. “I think you’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“I don’t wanna assume. It’s ungentlemanly, y’know?” His lips press against yours, pulling back before you have the chance to deepen the kiss. “Ah-ah-ah, can’t do anything more ‘til the lady asks.”
He’s so fucking annoying.
The pout on your lips is too cute to handle. Satoru debates kissing it away. Only, your next words stop him in his tracks.
They come out more demanding than you intended, trying to hide how needy you really are. “Stop wasting my time. I want you to fuck me, Satoru.”
His cock twitches against your hand. Maybe bossiness works best with him.
“That’s so hot,” he says, panting.
Satoru immediately reaches for the hem of his sweatpants and boxers, pushing them down his legs in a hurried, uncoordinated manner. He nearly topples over once or twice in his haste.
Soon, though, his erection springs free, slapping against his stomach. It’s somehow even bigger than you initially imagined…lengthy, and flushed a pretty shade of pink at the tip.
This time, Satoru doesn’t tease you like you were expecting him to. Doesn’t gloat.
Instead, he kisses your cheek, then your forehead, until his mouth finally finds yours, a broken sound escaping him the moment he rubs his tip through your folds.
Then, his eyes find yours, and it feels like the world stops on its axis.
Forehead to forehead. Chest to chest. Your hand in his hair, his on your cheek. With Satoru Gojo of all people. The one person in this world whom you should stay away from.
And here he is, looking at you like you’re worth more than your family name and the money bags that come with it, like he wants you for you. Nothing else.
“We don’t have to, baby,” he whispers, sweet and gentle, as if sensing the mental games you’re playing with yourself. “I’m happy to just be here with you. I mean it.”
There it is. An out.
You should stop this before it starts. You should do your best to save the peace between you and your parents—what’s left of it, anyway. You should forget about the way your chest warms up when his thumb strokes over your cheek.
But then, wise words ring out in your mind.
I’d rather disappoint my parents than disappoint myself.
And in this moment, you realize that losing Satoru would far surpass mere disappointment. It isn’t something you can bear, nor do you ever want to.
You shake your head, leaning up to kiss him, nice and soft. “I want this. So… stop making me wait.”
Satoru laughs, lips on your cheek as he notches himself on your entrance. “Yes, ma’am.”
Inch by inch, his length stretches you open, making your hands grasp at his shoulders for purchase, nails sinking into his skin. You whine at the intrusion, not used to his size by any means.
“You’re okay, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, one hand holding your cheek while the other strokes your hip. “Doing so good for me. Just a liiittle more.”
You huff, risking a glance downward, only to see he was only half inside. You throw your head back on the pillow. “Liar.”
He smiles against your lips, kissing you. “Figured a little white lie never hurt anyone.”
A moment later, Satoru pushes his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You both release breathy moans at the same time, grips tightening on each other.
He pulls out, just the tip remaining, before sliding back inside your warmth, creating a slow, languid pace—giving you the chance to adjust to him.
You kiss him then, all teeth and tongue and want, panting hot against his mouth while your hands slip into his hair. “Fuck— faster, Toru. Please.”
The sound of his name on your tongue, so wanton while he’s inside you, spurs him on in a way he’s never felt before. His hands take hold of your hips, angling them up slightly so that he can fuck you deeper, the pace of his hips growing needier with each passing second.
“Mmh, wanted you for so long,” he says, words muffled against your skin while he kisses down your neck. “This—hah—can’t be real, baby. Feels so good.”
You drag his mouth back up to your lips, tongues sliding against each other in a fit of passion that you can hardly comprehend right now with how good he feels.
“So good,” you whimper into his mouth. “Want more, Satoru, please—”
“Shh, I got you,” he says.
And then his hands press down on the back of your thighs, folding them up against your chest. He pounds into you without sense, the new angle opening you up to him in a way that makes you see stars.
The sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room, the sounds of your pleasure only adding to the conversation.
Satoru pushes your shirt up, a sound between a whimper and a gasp, leaving him the moment his gaze sets on your breasts. His mouth latches onto your nipple before he can think twice about it.
“You weren’t—mmh—wearing a bra the whole time?”
You whine, trying to drag his mouth back to yours by your grip on his hair, but he doesn’t let up. “Y-You ask stupid questions.”
He flattens his tongue, laving over the underside of your breast, his hips never faltering. He groans against your skin. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t give me that attitude. Haven’t I been good? Yeah?”
A pout forms on your kiss-bruised lips. “Mm— I’m not giving attitude.”
Satoru laughs, the sound raspy and deep. “You are, pretty girl, but it’s okay. Toru’ll make it all better.”
His lips are back on yours, to your satisfaction, and his hand slips between the two of you, thumbing at your clit. You gasp, stealing the air from his lungs, clinging onto his shoulders and back like a koala bear.
A warmth coils in your stomach, making you squirm against his thrusts. Your nails claw into his back, raking down his skin, surely leaving marks that Satoru will admire for days. A memento of the moment he’s been waiting for.
His cock twitches inside you when you moan again, your pussy clenching around him like a vice, tight and warm.
You whine. “Satoru—”
“Mm-hmm, I know, baby, don’t you worry,” he says, voice slightly smug as he continues to draw circles over your clit, feeling the way it pulses against his thumb. “Give it to me, sweets, know you can do it.”
Your hips buck up against his, your orgasm crashing into you. Your body tenses around him, squeezing him impossibly tighter.
If the way his pace stutters is any clue, you know he’s close. When you pulse against him, he drops his head onto your shoulder.
Satoru whimpers, so lost in his pleasure that he can no longer function. He fucks you shallowly now, and lost in your own mind, you turn your head to whisper in his ear.
“Inside,” you request, voice breathy. “Please, Toru.”
That makes Satoru cum before he can realize it.
Hot spurts shoot inside you, his sounds muffled against your skin while his own climax wracks through him. It seems like it goes on forever, but the moment he kisses the underside of your jaw, you realize that he’s finished, finally slipping out of the post-orgasm delirium you put him in.
When your eyes meet his, both of your eyes widen, expressions almost sheepish.
As if it were finally occurring to you that you just had sex with Satoru fucking Gojo, you feel a bit shy, blinking up at him and absolutely unsure what to say.
“…Hi,” you whisper.
Satoru seems to share your thoughts. He brings his hand to your cheek, knuckles brushing over your flushed skin. “Hey, baby.”
Unsure of what to do, you decide to lean back into your old reliable method. The only way you know how to talk to him is without allowing a hint of affection to seep into your voice. Be mean to him.
“Get off me,” you say, pawing at his chest halfheartedly, “you’re heavy.”
It seems that Satoru has learned you well enough to know exactly what you’re doing. Trying to push him away the moment it all feels like too much to handle, reverting to what you know best.
He lowers his head, brushing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Mm, no can do, pretty. I like to cuddle after sex, guess you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”
You squirm as he begins to pepper your face with kisses, wet and dry, trying to get a proper reaction from you.
“Okay, okay!” you exclaim, laughing without realizing it. “Fine. We can cuddle…but we have to clean up first.”
Satoru beams at that. He kisses your forehead before practically leaping off your bed, searching for a towel. You aren’t sure why the sight of him prancing around your room in his birthday suit makes you feel so…warm and tingly inside.
God, what has he done to you?
You yawn, rubbing your eyes. “On the left side of the closet. Third drawer down.”
A second later, he’s back and wiping away the mess between your legs, careful with his movements. Once finished, he pokes around in your clothing drawers, managing to find a pair of fresh underwear and a pretty blue shirt that you should've known he’d pick out.
“Matches my eyes,” he preens, doing most of the work as he pulls the panties up your legs and the shirt over your head.
“Of course you’d notice that,” you scoff, trying to ignore how warm this all makes you feel.
With his boxers back on, he climbs back into bed with you, lying on his back. A surprised sound leaves him when you rest your head on his chest, hand draped over his middle.
Satoru wears a smile as he wraps an arm around you, free hand lacing with yours. “Thought you didn’t wanna cuddle.”
“I never said that,” you grumble.
He laughs to himself, the kind that signifies he’s up to no good. “Aww. Just a cute little cuddle muffin you are.”
“I’ll get off you right now if you don’t—”
He immediately stops laughing and tightens his hold on you. “Sorry, sorry. You run a tight ship.”
☆
In your experience, the morning after could go one of two ways.
You could either cringe at yourself and your decisions, make awkward small talk with the person you had shared not only your body but also a bed with, and then tiptoe out of your hookup’s room, or not-so-discreetly kick them out of yours.
Or, you could still make equally awkward small talk upon waking up, limbs still entangled and clothes mostly scattered across the floor, but not feel the gnawing feeling to run away and never speak to this person again.
And so far, you’re in no rush to make him go.
Satoru shifts in his sleep behind you, one arm draped lazily over your middle while the other pillows your head. You blink blearily as you run your fingertips along his forearm, tracing the veins in his hand until you cover it with your own. His fingers slightly twitch until they fill the spaces between yours.
His nose brushes the back of your neck, inhaling indulgently. His arm beneath your head bends and curls inward, his nails gently scratching your scalp. “Morning.”
You feel your heartbeat quicken in your chest. His voice is deep and groggy from sleep, his lips just barely grazing your skin as he speaks. It only gets worse (or better?) when he presses a kiss to the crook of your shoulder and neck, firmer now yet unhurried.
The strap of the camisole you’d thrown on last night after your shower was now pinched between his thumb and forefinger, slowly slipping it down the curve of your shoulder as his lips explored further.
“Good morning,” you manage out, voice slightly weak but not entirely from just waking up. “How’d you sleep?”
You can feel his lips twitch against your skin, probably turning into a smug grin if you had to guess. His hand stopped on your bicep, his chin now resting on your shoulder as he pulls you closer.
“Better than usual,” he says, voice rumbling in his throat. “Even with you stealing the covers from me all night, it’d be worth it every time to wake up to this.” He picks his head up just enough to look down at you. “You?”
Your cheeks are warm, and you bury half of your face into the pillow. “Better than usual. I actually feel rested.”
Reaching an arm out, you turn the clock on your nightstand toward the bed. 2:38 p.m.
“We slept the whole day away!”
Satoru hums behind you, chest rumbling against your back. “Mm, good sex tends to do that to people.”
You smile, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Oh? So that’s why you were snoring into my ear all night?”
“Precisely why,” he replies easily, before pecking your lips. “Pussy put me right to sleep.”
This time, you lean in to kiss him. When you pull away, you freeze.
Oh fuck.
Then you shoot up out of bed, eyes wide and panicked. It’d just dawned on you that, for all the days you could have had sex with your annoying-rival-to-friend, it had to be the day of the Ryomen dinner. And, of course, you had to oversleep with said annoying-rival-to-friend-and-now-hookup still in your bed.
The drive alone would take two and a half hours.
“Holy shit, I need to go,” you say, scatterbrained as you rush into your closet.
Satoru props himself up on his elbow, sounding more panicked than he likely intended. “What? Why?”
You return to his line of sight, already half-clothed in a pristinely ironed dress, bouncing on one leg as you tug your stockings up. “I have to go to dinner with my family and the Ryomens. My mom is going to kill me.”
And he’s left to watch, helpless, as you check yourself in the mirror—putting your earrings on, looking beautiful as ever…to go have dinner with another guy and his family.
Satoru knows he should be relaxed about this. He needs to chill out. You had sex, yes, but it’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything.
(Even though he’d thought about how great that would be as he admired you while you slept.)
“Oh, cool,” he says, forcing a cheery tone into his voice. “What for?”
You press your lips together, hastily applying your makeup lest you show up late with none on. “I’m not really sure. Probably to talk about their plans for us post-graduation. That’s all they talk about these days.”
He bites the inside of his cheek.
Doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Sex between friends can be…casual. Don’t read into it so much.
“Right,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck, doing his best to seem relaxed. “Sounds boring.”
You nod at him through the mirror before turning to face him. “Yeah, it will be.”
A silence settles the moment your eyes meet.
Slowly, you walk over to him—still lying in your bed, clad in nothing but his boxers. “I’m sorry I’m leaving like this.”
He waves a hand through the air, making an exaggerated pshhh sound. “Don’t worry about it. I get it.”
You give him a lopsided smile before leaning down to kiss him. He barely has time to close his eyes—to savor it—before you’re already pulling away.
“I’ll text you, okay?” you say. “You can use my shower again if you want. Make yourself at home while I’m gone. Just don’t use up my body wash—it’s expensive.”
Satoru lets out a laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, no promises. Have fun.”
And then you’re gone, the door clicking shut behind you.
He falls back against the mattress, dragging his hands over his face.
It’s casual, he tries to remind himself. Don’t be a crybaby.
But you kissed him goodbye.
What was casual about that?
☆
The hallways are abnormally crowded today.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, Shoko’s messages flooding in.
shoko 💗: hi
shoko 💗: how was the dinner?
shoko 💗: did your parents finally come to their senses
shoko 💗: and drop the stupid engagement idea????
you: i wish
you: they seem even more into the idea now
you: mind you, sukuna fell asleep at the dining table with his fork hanging out of his mouth
you: like oh okay i’m seeing it now, total HUSBAND MATERIAL right here
shoko 💗: fuck my chungus life
you: fuck mine too
The sound of hushed voices in the distance distracts you, making you glance in that direction.
Only then do you realize that they’re looking right at you.
Actually, it feels like everyone is looking at you.
No, worse. It feels like everyone can see through you. Like they know exactly what you’ve been up to. What you did when no one was around.
But that’s ridiculous. How could anyone know?
Suddenly hyper-aware of yourself, you glance back down at your phone.
you: i feel like everyone is staring at me today
shoko 💗: maybe because you look sexier than usual?
you: one can only hope
You crash into someone, limbs flailing, only to be steadied by a gentle grip.
“Watch where you’re going, iPad kid,” Satoru teases, a wide smile on his face.
You pocket your phone, huffing out a laugh despite yourself. “I was watching where I was going. You just came out of nowhere.”
“Uh-huh, totally,” he says.
Without thinking, you glance over your shoulder toward the group that had been watching you earlier, the itch still unscratched.
Always observant, Satoru tilts his head. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” you answer instinctively.
“Talk to me,” he says, nudging your arm softly, still trying to keep things light.
Then your eyes meet his—his blue irises practically begging you to open up.
“It’s just…” Your voice trails off, growing quieter. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you? About…”
Satoru leans back slightly, like the question physically hit him.
“Uh— no,” he says. “No, I didn’t. Promise.”
You catch the shift in his expression—the way it falters, like something just closed off.
Your eyes squeeze shut. Shit. “No, it’s not that I regret it or anything, it’s just that—”
“It’s okay,” he cuts in, rubbing the back of his neck. “Really. It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.” His eyes meet yours again. “I didn’t tell anyone. Don’t worry.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes quickly. “Good. I’m glad we got that figured out.”
“Me too,” you say, though you don’t sound convinced anymore. “Did— did I say something?”
Satoru shakes his head, that boyish smile slipping back into place. “Nah. You’re good.”
You glance around again. “…Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats. “Are you going to the party this weekend? Choso’s frat is throwing.”
You nod. “Yeah, I’ll be there. I assume I’ll see you there too?”
“Yup,” he says with a nod. “Well, I’ve gotta get to class. I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yeah,” you say, turning to watch him walk away down the hallway.
Well… that conversation went well.
Right?
☆
After a few days of Satoru avoiding you like the plague, you’re starting to think your conversation didn’t go so well.
He’s only sent you one Instagram reel over the last three days—and it was about tips and tricks for studying anatomy. Was he doing this on purpose? The last time you studied for anatomy, it ended with you in bed with him.
For what feels like the tenth time this hour, you check your messages.
Satoru :D: Good morning
Satoru :D: Sleep well?
you: good morning
you: yes i did, did you?
And there’s been no response since.
You wonder if you should message him again.
Maybe his phone got swept up in a tornado. (It’s 75°F and sunny outside.)
Maybe he’s currently being attacked by alligators and desperately needs you as a lifeline. (Though you know he wouldn’t even accept your help—he’d be convinced he could take an alligator in a fight.)
Maybe he just hasn’t seen your text. (You saw him repost a TikTok about boba milk tea an hour ago.)
You tap on the text bar, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
“There’s no way you’re about to double text a man.”
You jump, quickly locking your phone. “Utahime, I was not. I was just checking our messages.”
Utahime hums, clearly unconvinced, scrolling on her own phone. “You keep telling yourself that, girl.”
Rolling onto your back, you stare at the ceiling, hands folded over your chest.
“Are you seriously sulking right now?”
“I’m not sulking!”
(You were definitely sulking.)
Utahime sighs, nudging your side. “Did you read this week’s blind items?”
You shake your head. “No.”
She tilts her head down at you. “Well, I’m pretty sure one is about you.”
“WHAT?!”
You’ve never sat up this fast in your life—lightheaded and dizzy as you reach for Utahime’s phone.
There is going to be an engagement post-graduation between a male and female from two of the most well-known families on campus.
A male who lives on floor three in the Newbrooke dormitory has still been shitting in the showers. (P.S. Can you please stop already?)
A notorious rich student was spotted talking to a girl who comes from a family that begins with the last letter of the alphabet. Are sparks flying?
A male has been making piss-poor SoundCloud music at 4 AM for the past week. (Please stop. You are better off sticking to your career path in accounting.)
A pit forms in your stomach.
Had Sukuna told someone about your situation? You want to say no—but once he’s had enough to drink, anything is possible.
But the one that concerns you more is the third item.
Could Satoru have already moved on? To a girl from the Zenin family?
Utahime presses her thumb between your eyebrows, smoothing out the crease. “Hey. What happened to taking these with a grain of salt? They’re probably not real. Aside from the shower shitter—that one seems pretty legit.”
You let out a weak laugh. “Yeah… you’re probably right.”
Even still, the pit in your stomach doesn’t go away.
☆
Music thrums against the walls, people packed in like sardines, moving with no particular rhyme or rhythm. Smoke fills the air, a thick fog that has no chance of dissipating.
Sukuna’s arm is snug around your shoulder, something that you would have never thought twice about before. Now, though, you notice it like a thorn in your side.
You try to scan the room, in search of your friends who you knew would be here tonight. Only, a hand on your face draws your attention elsewhere, and Sukuna is kissing your cheek in farewell before you can even realize he’s leaving you to fend for yourself.
“Later, girl,” he says, so casually, as if he had the right.
Fucking typical.
You huff and wave your arm through the air, coughing quietly. Once the smoke cleared just enough, your gaze locked in on something in the distance.
Satoru. Standing beside a girl from the Zenin family.
But even as he stands beside her, his glowing eyes are already on you.
Suddenly, it hurts to breathe. The walls are caving in on you. The music fades into a silence that becomes even more overbearing than the bass.
Anger rises in your throat. Anger you have no right to feel.
After all, Satoru wasn’t yours. You weren’t his. He can do what he wants, as can you. How could you forget that? And why did you want to?
If you were a braver person, one who could be honest with herself, you would walk across this room. You’d tell him how you feel. You would say it now, out loud and to his face. At least then, he’d know how you felt.
The problem, though, was that you weren’t any of these things. You were terrified and hesitant—so all you could do was this. Look at him and hope he can put the puzzle pieces together on his own. You can only hope he likes how it looks once it is completed.
Your feet are moving before you can realize it. A moment later, you find yourself in the bathroom, pressing your back against the door to slam it shut.
You release a sharp breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your hands cover your face as you approach the sink, palms pressing against the countertop.
Then, you catch your reflection in the mirror.
You know better than this.
You know better than to wish for something that you have no right to.
You know better than to want Satoru. You know better than to envision a simple life with him. To want him in a way that is uncalculated and real.
Dropping your head, you close your eyes. Squeeze them shut, and hope that you were anywhere else but here, in this dingy bathroom with a flickering lightbulb above your head.
The door opens and shuts behind you.
You pick your head up, and there he is.
Satoru.
His chest presses to your back, his hands bracketing yours on the counter as he dips his chin into the crook of your neck. “Were you not going to come say hi?”
You roll your eyes despite yourself, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror. “No. Seems like you were a little preoccupied.”
Silence stretched thin between you.
Then his hands find your waist, spinning you around to face him.
“Don’t do that,” he says, voice soft and almost pleading.
You swallow. “Don’t do what?”
“You know what,” he replies, “act like… you don’t care. Like you don’t feel anything for me, just because you’re upset.”
You avoid his gaze. “I’m not upset. It’s not like we’re dating. You can do what you want with…whoever you want.”
Satoru huffs, forehead knocking into yours before he pulls back. “How long are we going to keep doing this, baby?” he asks, hands finally coming to settle on your waist. “I don’t want anyone else. Not like how I want you.”
Finally, you tilt your head up, eyes meeting his.
It almost made you want to cry, realizing how easy things with Satoru were. How he opened himself up to you without fear, because he didn’t want an ounce of doubt to live in your head.
Maybe it was your turn to return the message.
“Me neither,” you finally admit.
His expression softens in relief.
“Good,” he murmurs, brushing your hair away from your face.
Your lips press together. “But why’d the blog say you were with a girl from the Zenin family?”
“The same reason that the stupid blog says you and Sukuna are together,” he says with a shrug. “It’s a rumor. People see you standing next to someone—at a very healthy distance, by the way, a very platonic and normal distance—and run with it.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t go around letting my rumored girlfriends kiss me on the cheek, though.”
You tilt your head, knowing full well that Satoru was capable of knowing that there were no feelings between you and Sukuna. “Careful, you almost sound upset.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders, tilting his head in the same direction you did. “Depends. Is he a good kisser?”
Your fingers are still gripping the edge of the counter. “He is.”
Satoru glances over your face, the corner of his mouth twitching once he notices the slight pout on your lips. “Better than me?”
You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you’re not a liar. “No.”
A small smirk. “Good.”
“Maybe you should get back to your friend,” you retort, shaking your head.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Satoru coos, hand cupping your cheek, thumbing over your bottom lip.
You splutter. “What? I’m not.”
“No?”
“No.”
Satoru’s hand starts to pull away. Panic sparks in you, and your hand shoots up, wrapping around his wrist to keep his palm against your face. He smiles softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
“...Only a little,” you finally admit.
Satoru’s fingers thread into your hair, guiding your forehead to his lips. “That’s okay. I was jealous too.”
“Jealous? You?”
“Jealous. Me.”
You clear your throat, and for the first time in your life, you decide to prod for further reassurance.
“Do you like her?” you ask, voice small.
He seems distracted, his lips on your cheek now in a chaste kiss. “Hm?”
“Do you like her?” you repeat, hands prodding at his chest to make him meet your eyes. “That girl you were talking to.”
Satoru scoffs, like the answer was obvious. “No. I’m a one-lady type of guy.”
That answer shouldn’t make your face feel warm, but it does. He’s turned you into mush, putty in his hands.
His thumb brushes over your hip bone. “Did you let Sukuna kiss you because you like him?”
You shake your head. “Maybe I just like kissing people. It’s fun, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, nose brushing yours. “But do me a favor, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, heart rate doubling in your chest.
“The next time you wanna kiss someone, come to me instead,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your sides. “I’m better at it, anyway. Said it yourself.”
You can’t bite back your smile now, nor do you try to. “Okay.”
“Okay, baby.”
You hoped no one noticed how long you’d both been gone from the party, but when you exited the bathroom together—lip gloss smeared on Satoru’s mouth and your hair messier than before—it likely told the entire story for you.
☆
You wake up wrapped in a Digimon throw blanket.
A small, sleepy groan leaves you as you try to move—to stretch your limbs after a night of sleep.
Only, the heavily weighted blanket on top of you, known as Satoru Gojo, doesn’t make it very easy.
His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that you’d think he was afraid you might slip away in the middle of the night—so he set up precautions beforehand. His cheek is pressed against your bare chest, using your breasts as pillows.
The best pillows on the market, he says.
Blinking blearily, you scan his bedroom. Now, after only two months of dating, it looks like a shrine to you.
A framed photo of you hangs on his wall, another propped up on his bedside table. There’s one on his desk too—taken on the first day of your internship—set beside his computer.
Because, as he says, “seeing you smiling in that pretty little dress motivates me to study, ‘cause I need to pay for your tastes somehow.”
You’re smiling now, glancing down at him, his cheek squished against your skin. Your fingers glide through his hair before smoothing down his back, soothing the faint sting of the scratches you’d left the night before.
A quiet whine leaves him, and he fumbles blindly for your hand, guiding it back to his hair so you’ll keep playing with it.
“Good morning to you, too,” you murmur, scratching lightly at his scalp.
“Morning, baby,” he mumbles, voice rumbling against your skin.
Without opening his eyes, he presses a kiss to the underside of your breast, his mouth already trailing down the column of your stomach.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, smiling.
“Eating breakfast,” he replies simply, mouthing at your hip bone.
Just as he reaches for the hem of your panties, his phone begins to buzz on the bedside table. Undeterred, he tugs them down an inch.
“Ignore it.”
Then his phone buzzes again. And again.
A moment later, yours buzzes too.
Slightly concerned now, you reach for it, unlocking the screen to a message from Shoko.
shoko 💗: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP
shoko 💗: [article link]
You tap the link, your eyes widening as you read the headline.
“What?” he asks, already pouting slightly at the interruption. “What is it?”
Wordlessly, you turn the phone toward him.
Satoru Gojo and Y/N L/N were spotted on the Gojo family’s personal yacht, indulging in promiscuous activities.
And to make matters worse, front and center is a picture of you sitting in his lap—his hand squeezing a handful of your ass like he’s afraid it might run away from him.
You press your palm to your forehead. “I told you we shouldn’t have taken the yacht out that day.”
Satoru hums, clearly distracted. “How do I save this picture? You look really sexy in this.”
“Satoru, focus!” you say, lightly swatting his shoulder. “What should we do?”
He shrugs, fingers resuming their slow work of tugging your underwear down your legs. “Right now, I’m thinkin’ I’ll finish my breakfast. We’ll figure the other stuff out later.”
You think you should protest—but the moment his mouth finds you, every argument dies on your tongue.
Because you know that he’ll make good on his promise. This will be figured out, one way or another.
And as long as you have Satoru by your side, you think you’ll be just fine.
Rumor has it you brought him home the next weekend to meet your parents.
Rumor also has it that from that moment on, the arranged engagement with Sukuna was off.
a/n: heyyyy yallll!!! how are you?
me?? posting 2 fics in one month?? #imonaroll #unstoppable
no, but seriously, if you read this all the way through thank you so much!! it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written so it’s a lil experimental for me. this is also my first time writing for gojo in about two years and it’s my second time writing him ever sooo i’m still figuring out how i want to characterize him lol
anyway i hope you enjoyed, as always please let me know your thoughts <3
Okay, no, contrary to popular belief and to what your friends teasingly say about you when you hang out, you are not paranoid. No, you're not.
There are signs you constantly see. For instance, how Sukuna comes home at irregular hours now, even if his position as bartender is a strict 9-5 job. Sometimes he leaves home at 7 or 8 am and comes home at 6pm — and even 9 once. At first you brushed it off as an increasing workload due to the incoming war between the countries of the Middle East. You knew how hard work could be anyway, as your job required much mind work, leaving you tired almost every night. But oftentimes, he'd come home exhausted, in a sour mood. He wouldn't eat, claiming he's not hungry, and would retreat to the room without talking to you.
You'd once try to ask him if he was okay, if work was alright, if he wanted to talk about it, and that you were always here for him. That you loved him, and cared for him. In response, he snapped at you. "It's none of your own business," he said, his typical, pissed frown on his face, and you'd recoiled, resuming to eat quietly alone while he retreated to the room.
You missed his smile; you rarely see it now.
Today was the day you decided that you were fed up with it.
It really wasn't an easy decision. You'd thought this over often, wondering why your relationship had come to this. Sukuna used to be such a happy, gentle, and loving person. He'd constantly be smiling, kissing you on the cheek before going to work along with a teasing remark or a loving comment. He was always excited for mealtimes, enthusiasm showing clearly as he scarfed down any meal you prepared, raining down sincere compliments. He'd listen to your long talking sessions, the things you found joy in, and just anything you wanted to share to him. In return, he'd share things with you too — something he didn't often do before you entered his life.
You really thought he loved you. And maybe he did. But one thing was for sure — he didn't anymore, now.
The front door opened and you paused mid-pack, your frame freezing. You sucked in a slow breath, nerves climbing into the edge of your thoughts.
You wondered how long it would take for Sukuna to notice that you weren't waiting for him downstairs, like usual.
Well, approximately two hours, because when it struck 10:00pm, you heard Sukuna's voice faintly call your name. "(Name), where are you?" he said, and you could hear the irk in his voice. You winced, the pain in your heart growing.
Am I really so insignificant that the fact I didn't show for two hours went unnoticed? You thought to yourself, folding a sweater and placing it gently on the luggage. You tried to ignore the slight tremble on your fingers when you brought it down, carrying your entire room with you to leave what once was your whole life, behind.
"What're you doing?" Sukuna asks gruffly from the couch as you near the door. The bags slung over your shoulders jingle lightly with the keychains you'd collected from over the years as you spun to face your loving husband.
"I'm leaving," you said flatly, hating how a slight tremor touched the edges of your words.
Sukuna scoffed, making you flinch. "Don't take too long. I'm waiting for dinner." He wets his lips, turning the TV back on.
And that's when you break. A bag slips off one of your shoulders, falling to the ground with a quiet thud as you sniffle, walking over to grab the remote from Sukuna's large hand and turning the TV off. He looked at you, incredulous. "What's with you?" he said, already glaring.
"What's with you?" you said, your voice cracking.
He looked at you, frowning in confusion. "Nothing. You're the one who turned the fucking TV off while I was watching."
"And you were the one who decided first that you didn't want this life anymore!" you said loudly. Sukuna blinked stunned, and you clenched the remote harder around your hand, breathing out a shuddery breath. "I've been trying every day to be a supportive wife to you. I've been trying not to nag you about the times you leave and come home without saying anything. I've been trying my best to awaken that fiery love we had before again, but every time, Sukuna. You brush me off." you sniffle, wiping your nose with your arm. "I really don't understand you anymore."
A long pause. Then-
"Is there another woman?" you whisper.
Sukuna stared at you before quietly replying, "Yes."
Your hands flew up to your mouth, the remote dropping with a clatter as tears streamed down your face. Sukuna looked at you, his expression quiet and exhausted.
"There's another woman. A lot of other women, actually. I've just- look, (name), I've been so tired and stressed at work recently that I just had to cool off sometimes, you know?"
"Sometimes?" you wobbly repeated. "Or every day?"
Sukuna looked at the ground and didn't answer.
You sucked in a sharp breath, your fists clenching. "I'm sorry that I didn't provide you with what I needed. I'm sorry if I'm not the kind of woman that you actually wanted." Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Your hands tremble.
"And I'm sorry that I wasted half of my life with you!"
The door banged sharply in front of Sukuna, who was left staring at the smooth, mahogany wood. The one you'd told him looked nice because it accented the rest of the house, a long, long time ago.
"I'm sorry," he whispered under his breath, but you were already gone.
── .✦ fratjo hates going down, but you're the exception !
the first rule of being satoru gojo was simple: you never, ever went down on a girl.
“it’s undignified,” he declared, leaning back in the worn-out frat house armchair, one leg slung over the arm. a bottle of cheap beer dangled from his fingers. “like, biologically, it makes no sense. you’re putting your face in a swamp. a swamp.i have standards.”
his friends—a chorus of nodding, beer-addled bros—laughed and clinked bottles in agreement. “preach, man!”
“seriously,” gojo continued, warming to his theme, his white hair glowing under the shitty fluorescent light. “what’s in it for me? the view is mid. the taste is questionable. naaah. my talents are better utilized elsewhere.” he gestured vaguely with the bottle. “let them worship me. that’s the natural order. i’m a giver, sure, but that’s just… not in my repertoire. ever.”
he said it with such absolute, unshakeable conviction that it became gospel in the frat house. gojo doesn’t eat pussy. it was a known fact, like the sky being blue or his ego being planetary in size.
cut to three hours later.
the same satoru gojo is currently buried so deep between your thighs he might need a rescue team. the arrogant smirk is gone, replaced by a look of single-minded, desperate devotion. his glasses are discarded somewhere on your bedroom floor.
“fuuuhhck,” he slurs, the word muffled against your skin as his tongue—that clever, wicked tongue he claimed was too good for this—lashes your clit in tight, frantic circles. “fuck, fuck, fuck… mmmh, so good…”
he’s not just doing it. he’s feasting. one large hand pins your hip to the mattress, the other is tangled in the sheets like he’s holding on for dear life. the wet, obscene sounds filling the room are coming from him as much as from you— slurps, groans, hungry hums that vibrate straight to your core. each flick of his tongue draws a new, breathy moan from him, a symphony of whines and low, possessive growls.
you card your fingers through his sweaty white hair, tugging gently. “t-thought you didn’t do this,” you gasp, arching into his mouth.
he pulls off just enough to growl, his lips and chin glistening. “shut up,” he breathes, pupils blown wide, looking utterly pussydrunk. a string of saliva connects his lower lip to your folds. “you taste like fucking heaven. ‘s different.” he nuzzles back in, inhaling deeply with a shuddering sigh. “god, you smell so good… mmph…” then he dives back in with a needy whimper, his nose pressing against you as he laps at your entrance, drinking you down like a man dying of thirst. every swallow is punctuated by a soft, satisfied groan from the back of his throat.
he’s lost all composure, all his cool, frat-boy posturing dissolved into a primal, whimpering mess. he moans into you, a continuous, low-pitched moans synced with the thrust of his tongue, his hips grinding uselessly against the mattress. when your legs start to shake around his head, he lets out a muffled, encouraging “yesssss, c’mon, baby, g-give it to me— n-need it s'bad—”
when you finally come, crying out his name, he doesn’t pull away. he rides out every pulse with his tongue, swallowing every drop, a deep, resonant sigh of pleasure vibrating against your oversensitive flesh until you’re pushing his head away, trembling and spent.
he collapses beside you, breathing raggedly, a dazed, blissed-out smile on his slick lips. he looks ruined, triumphant, and utterly, completely yours. he lets out a long, shaky exhale that’s almost a laugh.
“…okay,” he pants after a minute, turning to nuzzle your shoulder. he presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “maybe i do go down. but only for you.” he licks his lips, still tasting you, and lets out another soft, involuntary sigh. “and you better not tell anyone.”
"we'll see about that," you just smile, running a thumb over his swollen lower lip. your secret.
You repeat this to yourself as you pace your quarters well after the sun has dipped beneath the auburn horizon and the stars have kissed the tapestry-like sky—moonlight weaving through your velveteen drapes and casting a glow on your finicky distress. Your soles pelt the icy tiles with each unstaunchable and restless step, the cold as your only grounding measure.
You are not jealous.
If anything, you’re thankful. Thankful that you aren’t expected to be the sole bed warmer to a man who severs heads when he’s merely nettled and spews venom at even a sideways glance.
That grating seven letter word is entirely out of your vocabulary as a concubine to the strongest man to walk the earth.
But still.
Something aches in your chest as you think of her—younger than you, brighter, softer—writhing beneath him while he expels his worldly stresses. While she calls out his name, his title, and he groans for her and just her.
His newest addition to an empty harem.
You plop down at the edge of your bed, picking at your cuticles and feeling your lip tremble.
As a concubine, you cannot express the feelings swirling deep within the recesses of your mind. A green serpent taking root in your psyche. It is entirely unheard of, and utterly shameful. You have no place to do so. Sukuna does not belong to you. He doesn’t belong to anyone.
He’s called you his on more than one occasion. Whether he was knuckle deep inside your fluttering heat and lapping at you, or when he’s dismissed the servants meant to bathe you after the fact and took matters into his own hands. Held your back against his chest in the hot spring, lounging like this was commonplace when you’d rarely ever seen his sharpened edges softened as such.
But thanks to a gift from another kingdom after protecting their territory, they’d offered up one of their daughters to be his and his alone.
Sukuna didn’t grumble, didn’t turn her away—instead, he barely offered a reaction and waved her towards the palace grounds.
Today marks his first night with her. Perhaps she’s desirable over you, something he realizes as he finishes inside.
A tear runs errant down your cheek as your mind betrays your heart, generating and conceiving notions that make your gut wrench.
And then you hear a knock at the door. Quickly followed by another.
Before you have the chance to respond, the door is being pushed wide open.
Candlelight from the sconces adorning the corridor walls flood inside, illuminating your fidgeting lady-in-waiting, her fingers curled around the doorknob like it’s meant to keep her steady.
“The King is throwing a fit and demands to see you, My lady.”
Your eyes flicker wide.
This is it, you think. Another has taken his heart and replaced you. Now, he must toss you aside.
You swallow thickly before making your way out of your room, quivering fingers curling in your nightgown.
It is not a far walk, yet it manages to stretch into an eternity. One where you contemplate your final moments in the only walls you’d ever known, where you wonder what kind of legacy you will leave behind. Will his future concubines use your story as an example? That they are nothing but disposable and temporary to a King that chases pleasure, breeds chaos and contempt.
It’s when you stand before his chambers that it truly settles in. The room where you’d spent most of your nights—tangled in limbs and silk with a man feared across the lands—will now be where you’ll be formally exiled. Or rather murdered, if he’s feeling rather merciless this fateful evening.
“Where is she?”
Your heart stutters. The low, wrathful voice of his rolls around in the cavity of your chest like a rumbling thunder, muffled through thick layers of oak.
You push the doors open, step inside and shut the doors behind you. You keep your head downcast, fingers clasped before you, the image of reverence—lest you upset the man any further, lest you become the target for his vitriol. “You have summoned me, Your grace.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you take a chancy peek towards the bed, not sparing your heart in the slightest for what you may see. But, where you’d expected to spot his new lover draped across the indent you’d left, you are met with nothing.
Your breath catches in your throat.
“Are you avoiding me?” He grunts, striding towards you slowly with a prominent crease between his eyebrows. Two of his hands are clasped behind his back while the other two remain planted firmly at his waist. He’s in nothing but a kimono split down the middle, his preference for evenings left to lounge in the privacy of his chambers, not leaving much to the imagination. “I will not tolerate such disobedience.”
Your brows knit as you meet his gaze, shrouded in ambivalence. “...No, Your grace. I was told that another was accompanying you for the evening.”
Disgust brews in his fiery irises, like a fire lapping at your skin and leaving scalding wounds in its wake. “Another?”
“In the council hall earlier this evening,” you clarify. “You had taken in a woman as a kept mistress, so I excused myself to my own quarters.”
There’s a silence as he reads your expression, fingers twitching at his waist. “I see.”
You drop your gaze again, and you can feel the enlightenment of something settle on him, cogs ricketing and chugging in his brain.
And then he’s closing the distance and gripping your forearm.
You don’t fight it, but Sukuna is not one dabble where he is unwanted. He’s isn’t particularly rough if something upsets him when he can just deal with it simply—banishment, murder, the whole nine yards.
He pushes you onto the bed and points towards the headboard.
You follow his gaze, bewildered, and return his look with even more puzzlement.
“That pillow has your dusting powder from two nights ago,” he huffs, lips snarling as if you’d somehow just done him a disservice and flashing a canine like he might tear into you.
“My deepest apologies. I will fetch a servant to replace these at once, Your grace—.”
When you attempt to stand to your feet and hurry past him, he places two hands on your biceps and pulls you before him. Not roughly, but firm. Keeping you in place.
He stares down at you from the bridge of his nose, expression suddenly pinched up.
He’s uneased at how vacant you peer back at him.
“I said,” he grumbles, leaning down and frowning. “That pillow has your dusting powder. Not another woman’s—yours.”
You feel your stomach tumble over in your chest like a drunkard.
If anything, Ryomen Sukuna is not one for words. Yes, for vituperation and diatribes, but to reserve space for such warmth is past him.
Or so you thought.
His grip lessens and you glance back towards the pillow, heat emanating from your nape up to the crowns of your ears, before you’re meeting his gaze again.
The fire has softened, nearly snuffed out. Replaced with reassurances you never could’ve expected.
You know he won’t say anything else. But you are aware of what he’s aiming to express; in all time, there has never been another concubine for the King of Curses—and there never will be.
There is just you.
You don’t know what that means for you in the future, but you find yourself leaning into his touch for the first time without any doubt, without a tinge of unease or green gnawing at you.
A hand lifts to cradle the back of your head, and your worries dissipate like they’d never ever even nestled in your gut like a rock, fluttering away in the night. His lips brush against yours like he’s sealing a promise onto them, claiming stake and affirming what you’d longed for. His hands caress you with something akin to possessiveness—almost a quiet desperation that maybe he’ll never bare his soul to another like he does with you.
And soon, you learn that he simply gave quarters to that young lady. Made sure she was bathed, fed, given tasks to keep her long days busy away from home.
Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t have to announce it, but his chambers are reserved for himself, and his sole concubine. And that’s the way it shall stay.
yes this is a repost if you recognize it. also realizing how i have barely written for my husband on this blog yet so we shall be seeing more of him now
synopsis: your one friend. your only friend. the one friend who became your "too little too late". the boy who asks on a visit back home from college for that pact deal that either makes or breaks you.
pairing(s): nerdjo x shy fem!reader
c.w. & w.c.: 8k :: plot plot plot :: smut with plot :: virgin nerdjo :: virgin reader :: p in v :: oral :: m & f receiving :: nerdjo is lwk dumb :: unrequited feelings :: angst :: slow burn slow burn :: they are ADULTS
you were quiet, you always had been. silent and going unnoticed.
you struggled to make friends with your damned shyness. it was a curse, you were sure of it.
your parents tried their hardest to get you into things- play dates when you were a child, sports in each year of school- until they finally gave up when you entered your high school years, figuring you'd make a friend or you wouldn't when their efforts over the years ultimately failed.
either way, they brushed their hands clean of the problem and left it in your hands.
you didn't really expect to make a friend. you didn't particularly care to, either. you just wanted silence- you wanted to go to the library, read and study for your tests or go on a walk and leave it at that.
that was until he landed in your lap-
you were new to the school, family just moving to a new town for your dads work- better paying job or something; you didn't pay much mind to it.
you had moved a lot over the years, which you very well believed contributed into why you were so shy- anytime you would think you were making a friend, a move would happen.
it didn't finally slow until you turned 18 and your parents decided to make this move the last one. the permanent move.
it was lunch hour when you decided to walk into the library instead of sitting next to a bunch of girls and the jocks who just wanted another body added onto their roster. pigs. they were all pigs.
but he wasn't.
you were sitting criss-cross applesauce on the rough carpet of the library, each torn fray scratching on your leg with your back hunched over in search of one of your favorite books when it landed right into your lap, literally.
then came his voice with no face.
"did that hit you?!" his voice was smooth, with a layer of panic before you heard quick footsteps shuffling around to the other side where you sat.
his face. oh he was pretty- too pretty.
his blue eyes were framed with those plastic rectangular frames, his white hair that looked as soft as clouds and his pale skin that mirrored the assumption that he rarely stepped outside for too long.
you blinked before looking away quickly- forcing yourself to look away with how hard your heart was pounding in your chest and down to the book in your lap- reading the cover 'The Catcher In The Rye by J.D. Salinger' again and again. anything to avoid those eyes.
"i didn't realize someone was over here," he rambled off, clueless to the fact that you were okay, "i should've been more careful."
everything flying out of his mouth except an apology, not that you cared. you found it funny over anything.
it was a different way to begin a friendship.
but it happened.
you learned quickly that his name was satoru gojo. he was the nerd of the school, picked on and bullied for always having his face shoved into a book instead of sneaking out and partying every weekend.
study sessions that ran long from debates turned into unplanned movie nights where gojo whispered commentary the entire time, unprovoked.
the back corner of the library unofficially became y'all's nook that nobody ever seemed to bother.
the long walks shared became a time where the two of you would spill your secrets out to one another- things nobody else would ever hear, confessions that strengthened your bond, the kind of secrets that either had you laughing breathlessly or wanting nothing more than to wrap each other up in a hug.
-
high school graduation crept up faster than you expected. faster than either of you expected.
the past few months leading into the final weeks before graduation were filled with sending off applications to dream colleges, waiting for your cap and gown, final testing that had your hearts pounding and palms sweating.
it was tense- stressful and growing quiet.
you were in the library. yours and gojo's nook. your safe place.
your heart was in your stomach and a lump growing in your throat that you couldn't force back down.
the paper in your hands was shaking from the trembling you couldn't get rid of-
"thank you for your application to our college. after careful review of an exceptionally competitive pool of applicants, we deeply regret to inform you-"
the paper stains with the tears falling off your cheeks, words unreadable by the weight in your eyes.
this was the college that both you and gojo had applied to- in the hope that the two of you would be accepted and be somewhere new. but with each other.
your mother gave you the letter last night, eyes big and hopeful that you'd open it with her so she could see the look on her face. only to be disappointed when you told her-
"i'll open it with gojo tomorrow."
you had hope. excitement, even.
your grades were great, you had done so much volunteering, clubs, stacked your schedule with planned extracurricular - all in hopes that it would make your application stand out more.
just for them to be dwindled down to nothing in just a few words on cheap paper.
the only noises filling the air were the tissues crumpling under your fingertips and the sound of whispers and pages flipping down the aisles of books.
had you not done enough? were your grades not to their liking? your mind was filled with hurt, confusion and simmering anger beneath all of it.
you were so confident that you'd be accepted.
you were too lost in your thoughts to hear gojo's quick footsteps approaching the corner.
"hey! you get your letter yet?" excitement and anticipation lacing his tone.
before he could see, you shove the letter back inside your bag, blinking away the tears.
you couldn't tell him. this was embarrassing. you were ashamed, even when you knew that you did your best.
you finally turn to look at him, plastering your infamous fake smile onto your lips. "hm? oh. not yet, it might be in the mailbox when i get home." your voice came out steadier than how you felt.
"are we still going to open them with each other?" gojo asks. he moves to pull the chair out across from you. "because i got mine, but i can wait to open it until you get yours."
there's a beat of silence before you force yourself to speak. "what? no! don't wait for me, open it!"
gojo doesn't hesitate. a grin sliding onto his face, that easy confidence he always wore around you.
he tears the envelope open. that same exact one you received.
you focus on his hands holding the paper. watching for if they tighten around it, how they always do if he got good news. or if they'd tremble the same way yours did.
the silence is deafening while his eyes trace each line. taking each word in.
"holy-" he laughs under his breath, eyes widening as they flick back to the top of the page, making sure he wasn't hallucinating the words. "i got in!"
the words feel like they echo.
you swallow down the lump in your throat.
"that's- that's amazing!" you say quickly, too quickly. you hope he doesn't catch the way your words waver at the edges. "i knew you would!"
his eyes are still on the paper. that grin still plastered on his face. it makes your chest swell and clench at the same time.
you were happy for him, really you were. even when your letter shattered your heart and your hope. more thoughts consumed you in the silence.
would the two of you still be friends? would you two still talk? would he visit?
you clear your throat softly. "i'm gonna go to the bathroom then head to my next class." you watch as gojo's eyes finally lock onto you, there's a flicker in his eyes. he's reading you, like always.
"i'm so happy for you!" you add on quickly, hiding the way your hands began to tremble again with your backpack.
his mouth is already opening before you can walk away fast enough.
"do you want me to ride with you after school?" his grin faltering, just barely. "in-case you got your letter, you can open it with me?"
"gojo. i- " you debate telling him, his eyes are locked onto your face. waiting. "i think i just want to open mine with my mom."
he gives you a nod. "okay. will you let me know what it says, at least."
"yeah, of course." it was another lie and he probably knew it. "you'll be the first person i call."
you don't give him the chance to say anything else before your feet are carrying you towards the library doors.
each step feels heavier than the last. you didn't know how you were going to tell him. regardless, you knew he'd go anyways and you already got a college acceptance letter from the local one here.
the library doors push open with a soft creak, the noise sounds too loud in your ears. too final.
you can feel gojo's gaze on your back as you walk out and into the hall. you don't turn around. you can't break here.
the halls are packed with students, maneuvering their way to their next class. talks of college and the excitement in their whispers and shouts as they're telling their friends they got accepted into the college they wanted.
must be nice.
each one made your own hurt grow deeper and question yourself right over the edge.
you quickly make your way to your next class, drying the tears that slipped over the whispers on your sleeve. nobody you know, at least that well is in this class. it feels like a relief, it only lasts for second before your mind is going back to gojo.
the hurt that flickered across his blue eyes when you told him you'd just open the letter- the letter you already opened, with your mom. when you two promised to open them together. or the way his hand looked like it wanted to stop you from leaving.
you shouldn't have lied to him. he knew your smallest and darkest secrets and never failed to listen with no judgment and there was never pity in his eyes.
your heart clenches at the thought of him still in that library nook. alone and confused. if he was even still there, probably already heading to his next class. did he sense you were lying? is he going to be mad that you lied to him? disappointed in you for not getting in?
another tear is welling up before you can stop it. he'll be gone in no time, traveling to his new college and this is how you choose to spend the last few weeks with him. telling him lies that are bound to come out?
you shake your head quickly before refocusing your attention on your teacher who was going around the room with a pop quiz to end the school day off with. it wasn't what you were hoping for but maybe it would help take your mind off of everything.
a heavy hand lands on your shoulder and the quiz slides onto your desk. "try to focus, honey. it's the end of the year."
"yes, sir." your voice is a whisper. your teachers hand gives you a light squeeze before moving onto the next student.
you glance down at the quiz, eyes scanning the questions. it's questions you already know the answers to which makes it so much easier. you'll fly through this, no issue. then you can finally go home and sulk in peace.
a timer is set in the front of the room for 30 minutes.
"this is for a grade, don't panic about how you'll do." your teacher announces to the class, finger on the start button. "it's not a grade that will stop you from graduating. just wanna see how many of you have paid attention this year."
his chubby fingers smashes the start button in. "think of it as- if you fail, study harder because college is worse than me. good luck."
it probably wasn't a joke but it was enough to make you crack the slyest of smiles.
your pencil lands on the paper and immediately starts filling the little bubbles in. your mind was free of the college worries, your mind was too busy comprehending the questions to focus on the letter. or him.
the 30 minutes fly by. though, your paper was already done and flipped with 12 minutes to spare. you're confident you passed. confident enough not to trace back over your answers to double check anything.
you also couldn't find it in you to necessarily care either. it wouldn't stop you from graduating, your teacher said that himself and it's not like you were getting into your favorite college either.
-
the day finished quickly after that. you were able to dart out of class, through the halls and squeezing through bodies to make it out to the bike rack. everything to avoid gojo.
or so you thought.
because there he was, right next to your bike and waiting with his. helmet in his hand, his fingers running over the ridges on the top, not noticing your presence yet.
"gojo" you call out. your voice carrying over the noise in lot. you didn't need to ask why he was here. he always put his bike right next to yours.
his attention snaps up. "hey! i know you said you were gonna open it with your mom but i figured i could still ride home with you."
you blink. mouth opening to try and find any words to talk him out of it-
"and if it's there then we can still open it together-"
"gojo, i didn't get in." it comes out before you can stop it. your tone snappier than you intended for it to be.
you're already taking your backpack off and quickly unzipping it before pulling out the letter. "i got it yesterday, i opened it in the library while i was waiting for you. i didn't get in, it's fine. so, drop it."
gojo takes the letter from your hand, scanning each line with his eyes. "i- i'm so sorry" gojo's voice is a whisper. "i can always apply for the college you do get into, you and i both know-"
"gojo." your voice slices through his words, you force your voice to be steady. your skin is already prickling with irritation. you should've known he'd say this. "it's fine, really. i'm sure i'll get into the local one here. college is college."
before he can say anything else, you're taking the letter back from his hand and placing it back into your bag. not caring if it's crumpled or not, you'd end up burning it anyways.
"you know we'll still be friends, right?" gojo's eyes are locked on you as you pull the wheel of your bike from the rack. "and i'll come visit and you can come visit me."
you sigh. plastering that fake smile onto your lips, trying your hardest to make it seem genuine. "i know, 'toru."
"i can apply to the local college here"
"i know."
"do you want me too?" gojo's voice is hesitant, careful.
there's a beat of silence. "are you pitying me right now?"
"what? no! i- i just know we both wanted to get into the same one, being.. friends and all."
there was a hesitant pull in his words. his gaze won't stay on you, eyes darting anywhere but your face - his bike tire, his helmet, other students walking by.
"yeah," you whisper. "it's unfortunate this is how our cards fell."
your heart is pounding in your chest, deepening the cracks with every pulse.
"we're still gonna talk." you force a smile. "it's okay. it's gonna be okay."
the afternoon sun is beating down on gojo and he's still not meeting your eyes.
and suddenly, you're noticing the things you never paid much attention to before..
like how the sun reflects onto gojo's hair like a halo, or how the sun glimmering in his eyes make them paler as they reflect the sky or how his skin almost glimmers like porcelain.
your breathe is catches in your throat before you can stop it. you blink, once, twice- like it might reset your brain. or your eyes.
you clear your throat softly, but it doesn't slow down the pounding in your chest. it's faster now as you notice the things about him that have always been there.. as you're losing him.
a faint cherry stain is covering your cheeks, something you hope he doesn't notice.
"i need to get home." you say softly. you pull your bike back, the tires scraping against the lot before swinging your leg over the seat and setting your helmet onto your head.
gojo's gaze finally snaps to you. "text me when you're home?"
the words land heavier than they should- hesitant in a way that makes it seem he wants to ask for more than just a mere text.
"of course, 'toru."
and with that, you're peddling off the lot. the tires sending sending a jostle through you with each crack and bump in the road, it grounds you, just barely as your mind still is still swimming with him. with the things you noticed that made your heart clench and swell.
-
you didn't talk to gojo much after that interaction, besides sending him a quick text that you were home before showing your mom your rejection letter and crying into her arms. her hand was soft on your hair, stroking it like you were just her lap-sized child again.
her whispers brought you more calmness than anything. her voice drenched in the same warm tone she used to comfort you with when you scraped your knee or when you'd come home crying over mean children at school.
"how did gojo react? did you tell him?"
your heart squeezes painfully in your chest, the images of gojo's eyes filling your mind like venom wrapped in lace. "i snapped at him, told him i didn't get in." you whisper.
her hand pauses on your hair- her fingers resting on your scalp. then a sigh escapes her. "did you apologize?"
your mother knows better than anyone that you don't snap, you don't bite, you don't attack without reason. and you hate that she knows something is brewing. somewhere.
"why would i? i was. . .vulnerable, i don't know." you'd be lying to her and to yourself, if you said you didn't feel bad. "he gets it."
all you could see were his eyes. those electric blue eyes that fell dull, like a light turning off before he couldn't even meet your gaze. as if it were too painful to even look at you.
was it because you snapped? was it because he was disappointed in you for failing to get into the college you were both so excited about? was it something unspoken?
your hair pulls when you lift your head out of your moms lap, needing to go do something else. watch a movie, read a book. anything to take your mind off. . .everything before you break down into tears again.
you stand from the couch, slowly feeling your heart sink back into your stomach like a weight unseen. your knees ache from their bent positioning, you look back to take a glance at your mom- to thank her, to ask what was for dinner.
your eyes are begging more than you thought. pleading for the silence to be cut by her words. something filled with comfort, something warm, something that grounds you.
her eyes are locked onto your face when your eyes reach her. her eyes suddenly more serious, still filled with warmth but you know that look- the look she gives you before delivering the cold hard truth. the one you end up denying, fighting and fleeing from.
"the kind of relationship the two of you share," she starts, voice unwavering in its firmness. "you don't want to mess up, not now."
you blink. your heart pounds louder in your chest. what did she mean by that?
"the kind of relationship we have? we-we're friends." you stammer out. your fingers twitch unbidden, a heat crawling up your neck like a second skin. "what do you mean?"
a small grin pulls at her lips. "you two think y'all are still friends? just friends?"
her question makes your breath catch in your throat. had she seen things you never did? that you never caught? or things you ignored?
your mother stands from the couch, sparing you a glance before her legs are carrying her towards the kitchen. she pauses at the entryway before turning to look at you.
"friends. . .if that's what you two are content on calling each other, don't look at each other like that."
and with that, before you can even get another word out. she's gone and into the kitchen. the only sounds coming out were the hums your mother always hummed after making a point that she knew was right.
and you hated it.
you hated that it gave you a warm feeling in your chest.
you hated that everything came flooding in-
the moments you forgot; when you'd hand him something and his fingers would linger on yours, a silent plea to hold it longer or when you'd speak and he'd look at you with a glint in his eyes that cried out for more.
it slammed in like a tidal wave. all of it. everything you've overlooked. everything you've ignored.
and now, it was all too late.
graduation was right around the corner. days away.
gojo would be far away, probably little to no visits, making new friends, finding someone else, talks only through texts and phone calls, facetimes would probably grow less frequent with how busy your schedules would be.
you don't remember walking to your room, sitting at your desk or even moving your fingers until they grazed over gojo's contact name.
you wanted to text him again, call him, ask him to come over.
you stare at the last text you got from him. it was hours ago, he hadn't even replied. or read it.
you set your phone down before you can spiral further. you didn't understand all of these feelings flooding into your mind like waves.
the way your heart clenched at the thought of him being gone soon. your first true friend who you were terrified of losing. the warmness that filled your body when you remember the softness in his touch, the crow's feet that greeted his smile.
it was all too much.
-
the days passed in a flurry- last minute school pictures, club photos, sporting events, and the final tests that would determine if you got to walk across the stage with that practiced bright smile and walk away with your diploma and into the doors of college.
you had seen gojo a handful of times, the feelings digging deeper into your soul each time you looked at him. you shoved each one away like it was a poison you couldn't ingest.
and it hurt each time.
you were currently walking through the hall, students passing you one by one, the excitement filled whispers that graduation was tomorrow met your ears. you were excited, actually excited. you found out you passed your final test with flying colors.
and on top of that, you received your acceptance letter from your local college. it wasn't the original plan but at least it was something. it would further your education, even if you weren't with your best friend.
"hey!" a voice called out from behind you, nearly swallowed from the crowd of students. "wait up!"
gojo.
you slow your steps, turning just enough to see that white blur of hair towering over the crowd.
you can already feel the heat creeping up your spine, your hand grips the strap of your backpack tighter. you quickly plaster a small grin on your face when the sound of his footsteps come faster, gathering beside you.
"gojo. hi, what's up?"
"hey," he sighs out, catching his breath from his short trot. "um- can i come over later? i just. . .want to talk to you."
your heart picks up speed. what could he want to talk to you about?
his voice was strained. like he was nervous, like he could back out if you hesitate too long on your answer.
"oh. uh, sure." you stammer out. "what about?"
"just.. something, i don't know. like a plan, a pact for the future."
his eyes are locked onto yours. even with the nerves shooting through his every vein. his nails are bitten when you look- a nervous tic he always did. you wouldn't question it further. not now.
"o-okay, yeah- we can walk to my place after school."
"good. i mean- yeah, good." there's a small smile on his lips. his eyes flicker once to your mouth before averting his gaze to a student walking by with his cap and gown.
"have you grabbed your cap and gown, yet?" you ask. spotting the same student and wanting to break the short silence before it could grow awkward.
"no, want to go there now together? then we can walk to your place?"
you make a triangle loop of your arm for him to slide his arm through. "let's go, we're gonna need them anyways."
the walk was short after gojo looped his arm through yours but the line was long. of course. every student, including gojo and you were professional procrastinators, why wouldn't you wait till last minute?
"oh!" gojo says. his looped arm tugging you just a little closer. close enough to feel his warm skin. "i leave for college. . .like next week."
you look up at him and blink. "next week? college doesn't start for another few months, right?"
you couldn't deny the way your heart clenched in your chest, his words pulled at your heart strings. he'd be leaving so soon?
"yeah. my parents want me out of the house a little sooner," gojo says. his tone is normal, like this doesn't bug him. "we're adults now and they want me to learn the place, got me an airbnb for a few months then i'll be in the dorm once college starts."
"next student!" the woman calls.
she already has two caps and gowns in her arms, just waiting for your name and student id.
"names?" she asks. eyes only on her clipboard.
you and gojo give your names and student id number before taking your assigned cap and gown from her arms and exchanging a quick thank you.
the two of you, still looped arm in arm walk away with your things. a new excitement and bubbling nerves coming up. you knew it was real. graduation. but it feels undeniable now when you look at the cap and gown in your arm.
"is that what you wanted to talk about? you leaving?" you ask gojo. weaving through the bodies of students.
gojo blinks, taking a quick glance down at you. "what?"
he laughs. forced, strained from the nerves.
"no, no. more serious than that, promise."
your stomach tightens at his words. you were an anxious person, impatient. a little nosey.
you catch yourself fidgeting with the sleeve of gojo's sweater- a frayed piece of fabric hanging on by a thread, finding yourself twisting it around your finger, dazed in your thoughts of what he could possibly be.
gojo catches it. the look in your eyes. your anxiousness.
he always does.
"fine," gojo says playfully. he takes ahold of your arm and drags you into an empty classroom. "i'll go ahead and tell you. c'mon."
the door closes gently behind the two of you. the smell of the room hits your nostrils- expo markers, paper, pencil sheddings hidden dumped in the mini can.
your heart is pounding in your chest when you turn to see gojo standing close enough- too close. a shred of paper couldn't even fit in between the two of you. you didn't even hear him moving.
"gojo," you breathe out. hoping and praying he can't hear how hard your heart is pounding in your chest. "what is it?"
he takes a step back. realizing how close he was actually standing to you.
he clears his throat softly. "we're both adults now. legally."
"yeah?"
"and. . .we're both-" the room feels tense. gojo stuttering over his words. "we haven't been with anyone."
there it is. kind of. not really.
"what do you mean? like. . .sleeping with people?" you ask. your nerves are in your throat, so thick. you're surprised it isn't choking you.
"y-yeah, that's it. i mean, we've never even kissed anyone."
oh. you did forget telling him that.
irritation starts bubbling deep in your chest, a mixture of the nerves clashing like blades.
"gojo, what's the point of this? can we- can you get to the point?" you didn't mean to snap. it just came out. much like the time when you snapped at him breaking the news.
gojo's eyes widen, barely. but noticeable.
he sighs. "we make a pact. deal, plan, i don't know. we're inexperienced."
gojo pauses, looking into your eyes with those electric blue ones that suddenly seem darker in the illuminated room.
"i'm going off to college, you're staying here. if by the time i come back for a visit, if we haven't slept with anyone. . .w-we do it, we sleep with- um, each other."
you blink. once. twice. your breathing has completely stopped. was it the shock? or is your body giving out?
the silence is deafening until a student a few classes over coughs. knocking you from your frozen state.
"w-what?" you ask. voice no larger than a mouses whiskers on the floor.
"if you don't want to then- then it's fine! it's just. . .we're so close, we know everything about each other, we trust each other. i-i think we could trust each other with that."
gojo's chest is falling and rising faster than your eyes can follow. you could probably see the wheels in his mind turning in a fire if you looked hard and deep enough.
your stomach is in knots.. but, he made a good point.
you would trust him with it. what would it do with your feelings though?
the things your mom had said. the things you had noticed and the complicated feelings you became overwhelmed with. would it ruin the friendship? would it build something?
"gojo-"
you're quickly cut off. "i'm sorry! i shouldn't have said anything-"
"gojo-"
and again. "it was a bad idea-"
"gojo!" you snap. "i- i'm not. . .against the idea."
you couldn't believe the words that came out of your mouth. but you meant them.
gojo's breath stutters. audibly. attached with a sigh, of relief?
"seriously?"
you blink. he's going to make you say it again?
"yeah. i'm serious. . .i mean, if you are." you whisper. sudden shyness creeping over you again.
your hand is suddenly the most interesting thing in the room- you pick at your nails, not being able to meet gojo's eyes. just knowing and feeling his eyes on you is enough to send a chill up your spine.
"want- want to shake on it?"
your hand extends before his does, a slight tremble that you barely notice until he larger and warmer hand grabs yours. steadying you. grounding you.
you let out a slight cough as your hands move up then back down. confirming. if the time comes. "and if we- if either of us want to back out, that's fine too."
"of course, of course. yeah, no- if you're uncomfortable, tell me."
that makes your heart ache. it goes both ways. "gojo, that means you too."
he still has your hand in his, thumb absentmindedly tracing over the scar on your knuckle. "i couldn't ever be uncomfortable with you."
-
the deal was a secret. nobody knew of it. nobody ever would.
it had been months since that day in the empty classroom. coming up to the year mark. but it still felt fresh to you. you could still feel the touch of his soft hand in yours like he was still there, holding your hand. if you thought hard enough about it.
graduation came and went. parents throwing their kids parties, parents and family wiping their tears with tissues and cheering when their kid walked across the stage for their diploma.
gojo left, just as he said his plan was. his parents renting him an airbnb until college actually starts. learning the area, touring his new campus. exciting but nervewracking times. especially when you don't know anyone.
the goodbye was easier than you both expected. a shared tight hug and a few jokes. but not a single utter of the handshake just days prior.
the anticipation sat deep in your chest as each day passed. break was coming up. you knew he'd be coming for a visit. you two had talked about it over facetime. which was another positive, the two of you seemed to talk more now than you did when you were closer.
no questions were asked. nothing about sleeping with anyone. or parties. or even kissing. but there was something lingering in the wait. a shared glint in your eyes.
you hadn't met anyone. you hadn't shared anything intimate with a soul not because you didn't want to or because you were waiting on him. just nobody caught your eye. you were still that shy girl that had a library book land in her lap that time ago.
you'd be lying though if you sat here and said you didn't miss him. that you hadn't experimented with yourself to the thought of him. was it wrong?
you didn't think so. not when there was a literal agreement that you two shared.
you were at your parents place tonight to rummage their cabinets for food they hadn't touched in months for your own dorm. yeah, you lived in a dorm even still being in a local college. you wanted your own space.
and you adored your roommate, so nowhere to go wrong.
you were shoving cans of corn into your bag when your phone starts buzzing on the counter.
INCOMING CALL: SATORU GOJO
your hand hesitates on a can of corn. a burst of nerves ricochet throughout your body, eyes locked onto the glowing screen on the counter. it's still the same contact photo you gave him from the night you walked in the park and he got stuck in a baby swing.
your hand shoots out before the call can go to voicemail. dragging your finger across the answer button before the line crackles with background noise.
"hello?"
"hey!" gojo's voice comes through the line after a second. "i'm in town!"
your heart hammers in your chest. he wasn't supposed to come to town for another week or so. but you were happy regardless, you'd get to see your best friend again.
the boy you'd been thinking of daily for months. dreaming of running your hands through his hair. looking into his eyes again.
craving his touch. the touch that was never promised. the touch, if it came- the "maybe, one day" touch.
"are you there?" gojo asks, only hearing silence from the line.
you blink. gojo's voice snapping you clean from your thoughts.
"hu-yeah! i'm here, sorry." you say quickly. "how long are you here for?"
"just the weekend, i wanted to see you tonight. it's why i came sooner than the original plan."
"t-tonight?" your voice comes out shakier than expected, nerves bubbling up in your stomach.
at your dorm? you roommate would be there. she didn't leave for another few days.
"my roommate is still in town, we couldn't go there" you continue. "why tonight?"
there's a beat of silence. a shakey intake of breath from gojo before he's covering it with a cough.
"it- uh, do you remember our. . .handshake? the pact?
you answer before you can talk yourself out of it. "yes."
"i wanted to. .talk about it."
would it really be just talking? would this be the 'in' for the step you've been wanting?
you blink. "okay. my parents are out of town," you murmur into the phone. "you could come here, i still have my room here."
"i'll be there in an hour!" gojo's voice is excited. not a hint of nerves in his voice.
he's so oblivious to the lump in your throat. the pounding in your chest.
"okay, i'll see you soon, 'toru."
there were no 'byes'. there never were. what was the point in them? if someone knew the call was ending, why waste your breath?
you place your phone down on the counter before glancing down at yourself.
"at least i look okay." you whisper to yourself.
your dress, the black fabric that barely reached your mid thigh and hugged each curve like a hug. it was perfect. the first flimsy thing you threw on this morning to get out the door and your make-up covered your face in light shimmers. not too much and not too little.
but he did say just talking, right?- but that's always where it begins.
you didn't know what to do with your hands while you waited. you kept smoothing the hem of your dress, then tugging it down again like it might suddenly decide to behave. the house was too quiet—only the hum of the fridge and the faint tick of the clock in the hallway. every minute felt like ten.
when the doorbell finally rang, your stomach flipped so hard you almost dropped the glass of water you'd been pretending to drink.
you opened the door and there he was—satoru gojo, looking unfairly good under the porch light. his hair was a little longer now, curling at the ends, and the hoodie he wore hung loose on his frame but still showed the lean lines of his shoulders. those stupid blue eyes found yours immediately and softened.
"hey," he said, voice low and warm, like he'd been holding his breath the whole drive over.
you barely got out a "hi" before he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug. his arms wrapped around you tight, chin resting on top of your head, and for a second everything felt normal. safe. like nothing had changed.
except everything had.
"missed you so much," he mumbled into your hair.
you hugged him back harder than you meant to. "missed you too, 'toru."
he pulled back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing your cheek like he couldn't help it. "you look. . .wow. that dress."
heat crawled up your neck. "it's just something i threw on."
"liar." his grin was crooked, boyish. "you knew i was coming."
you rolled your eyes but let him inside anyway. shoes off by the door like always. he followed you to the living room, dropping onto the couch with that easy sprawl of his, long legs stretched out. you sat beside him- close, but not touching. not yet.
the silence wasn't awkward. it was thick. expectant.
he rubbed the back of his neck. "so. . .about the pact."
your heart slammed against your ribs. "yeah."
he turned to face you fully, knee brushing yours. "i haven't been with anyone. not even close. college is... a lot. parties every weekend, girls everywhere, but i just- " he shrugged, looking almost sheepish. "couldn't. kept thinking about our deal. about you."
your breath caught. stupid, hopeful thing your heart did at that.
but then he kept going.
"there's this girl, though. utahime. she's in my lit seminar. super smart, kinda bossy in the cutest way. we've been talking a lot. hanging out. she. . .i think she wants to sleep together. soon."
the air left your lungs in a slow, painful leak.
"oh," you managed. your voice sounded far away. hoping it didn't reveal too much.
"yeah." he laughed once, short and nervous. "but i don't wanna be that guy who has no idea what he's doing. i want it to be good. for her. she's amazing and. . .you're the only person i trust enough to- you know. practice with. if you're still okay with it."
practice.
the word tasted like ash in your mouth.
he didn't know. he had no idea that every time you thought about him your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with friendship anymore. he didn't know you'd touched yourself to the memory of his hands on your waist during movie nights, imagining them lower.
he didn't know this was going to ruin you.
but you smiled anyway. small. practiced.
"yeah," you said softly. "i'm still okay with it."
his eyes lit up. "seriously?"
you nodded. "if it'll help."
he exhaled like he'd been holding the breath for months. then he leaned in- slow, giving you time to pull away- and kissed you.
the talking was done for. already.
it started gentle. tentative. just lips brushing, testing. his hand found your cheek, thumb stroking soft, you melted into it. when you kissed back he made a quiet sound in his throat, almost a whine before the kiss turned deeper. hungrier.
his tongue slid against yours, heat pooling straight between your legs. you grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer causing him to groan softly into your mouth.
"do- do you want to go to the bedroom?" he rasped when you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, breathing hard.
"yeah."
you stood on shaky legs and led him upstairs. your heart was slowly, piece by piece falling apart with each step you took.
your childhood bedroom still smelled faintly of lavender from the candle you used to burn when you couldn't sleep. he closed the door behind you with a soft click.
then his hands were everywhere.
he kissed you again- harder this time, backing you toward the bed until your knees hit the mattress. you fell back together, him hovering over you, weight on his forearms so he didn't crush you. his mouth moved to your neck, sucking lightly, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.
"fuck," he breathed against your skin. "you smell so good."
your fingers slid under his hoodie, pushing it up. he helped yank it off, then his shirt, tossing both somewhere behind him. pale skin stretched over lean muscle. you ran your hands down his chest, feeling him shiver.
"your turn," he murmured, fingers catching the hem of your dress.
you lifted your arms and he peeled it off slow, like he was unwrapping something precious. when it hit the floor he just... stared. eyes dark, pupils blown.
"goddamn," he whispered. "you're so fucking pretty."
you were so lost in your thoughts. he never used to talk like this. college had changed him. in small ways, but noticeable enough to hurt.
and the worst of it. you were practice. practice for another girl.
he reached behind you, tearing you from your thoughts. fumbling a little with the clasp of your bra before it came undone. he slid the straps down your shoulders, eyes locked on your chest like he'd never seen anything better.
then his mouth was there- hot and wet. closing over one nipple, tongue flicking, sucking gently while his hand cupped the other, thumb rolling slow circles.
you arched, whimpering his name. " 'toru- "
he hummed, the vibration shooting straight to your core. he switched sides, giving the other nipple the same attention, teeth grazing just enough to sting sweetly.
your hands were in his hair, tugging lightly. he groaned against you, hips rocking forward once, pressing the hard length of him against your thigh.
"need these off," he muttered, hooking his fingers in your panties.
you lifted your hips and he slid them down your legs, tossing them aside. then he settled between your thighs, broad shoulders spreading you open.
he looked up at you, eyes asking without words.
you nodded, breath hitching.
his first lick was slow- testing. his flat tongue dragging up your slit, tasting you. you moaned, loud and unfiltered. he did it again before focusing on your clit, circling with the tip of his tongue before sucking gently.
"oh fuck- " your hips bucked. he pressed a forearm across your stomach, holding you down while he ate you out like he was starving.
two fingers slid inside you- long, curling just right causing you to cry out, back arching off the bed. he pumped them slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit.
"you taste so fucking good," he groaned against you. "could do this all night."
you were shaking, thighs trembling around his head. " 'toru- i-i'm-"
"come for me," he murmured, sucking harder, fingers curling deeper. "wanna feel it."
you shattered. hard. vision whiting out, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you clenched around his fingers, pulsing on his tongue. he worked you through it, licking slower, softer, until you were whimpering from overstimulation.
he kissed up your body- stomach, ribs, between your breasts. until he reached your mouth again. you could taste yourself on him. your release slipping from the tip of his tongue.
"your turn," you whispered, pushing at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back.
you straddled his thighs, tugging his jeans and boxers down together. he kicked them off, cock springing free- thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip.
you wrapped your hand around him, stroking slow. he hissed, hips jerking up into your grip.
"fuck- baby- "
the pet name slipped out like he didn't mean to say it. it made your heart clench even as you leaned down. he'd never know how painful this would be for you.
you licked the tip first, tasting salt and him, before taking him into your mouth. slow. shallow at first, then deeper, tongue swirling around the head every time you pulled back.
his hand fisted in your hair- not pushing, just holding. "shit- your mouth- so fucking warm- "
you hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, hand working the base in time with your mouth. he groaned your name like a prayer, hips twitching, trying not to thrust too deep.
"wait- wait- " he panted, tugging you off gently. "wanna come inside you. if that's okay."
you nodded, breathless. "yeah."
he grabbed a condom from his wallet- he came prepared. and rolled it on with shaking hands. then he pulled you back over him, hands on your hips.
"you sure?" he asked one last time, voice rough.
"yes."
you sank down slow.
the stretch burned sweetly- he was bigger than your fingers, bigger than your toys. you both groaned when you bottomed out, your hands braced on his chest.
"fuck," he breathed, eyes squeezed shut for a second. "you feel- so tight-"
you started moving- small rolls of your hips at first. testing. he groaned again, hands gripping your ass, helping guide you.
then he thrust up- sharp, deep- ripping a gasp from your throat.
"like that?" he rasped.
"yesyes! harder-"
he flipped you suddenly, pinning you beneath him, one of your legs hooked over his hip. the new angle let him go deeper, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
"fuck-right there" you whimpered, nails digging into his back.
he fucked you harder, steady, relentless. skin slapping, bed creaking, both of you breathing ragged.
his hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight circles.
"come with me," he panted against your neck. "wanna feel you-"
you were already close. the pressure built fast, overwhelming.
" 'toru- i'm- "
you came with a sob, clenching hard around him. he groaned loud, thrusts stuttering, then buried himself deep and followed- shuddering, spilling into the condom with a broken moan of your name.
he collapsed on top of you, both of you sweaty and panting. his face tucked into your neck, lips brushing your skin in soft, lazy kisses.
for a minute, it was perfect. quiet. his heartbeat against yours.
then he spoke.
"that was. . .incredible." he lifted his head, smiling soft. "thank you. seriously. utahime's gonna- fuck, i think i'm actually ready now."
your chest caved in.
you forced a smile, small and brittle. "glad i could help."
he kissed your forehead- sweet, affectionate, like it didn't mean anything more than that.
"you're the best," he murmured, rolling off to dispose of the condom.
you stared at the ceiling while he cleaned up in the bathroom, the ache in your chest spreading like ink in water.
he didn't know. he didn't know you look at him like you can see the world in his eyes.
he never would.
and after the weekend he'd go back to her.
while you stayed here, holding the pieces of whatever this was, pretending it didn't hurt.
the bathroom door cracked open, revealing gojo again. now covered with a towel. looking more put together.
“are you okay?” he asks gently, too small for this moment.
you still haven’t moved from where he left you. used. broken.
you force that small smile. it’s perfect. “yeah, i’m okay.”
he doesn’t look convinced but he blinks, quickly wiping away any thoughts that linger behind his eyes.
he cracks a smile. “good, i didn’t want to hurt you”
too little too late for that. were you to blame? should you have mentioned something before he left a year ago?
“you could never, remember?” your eyes are locked on the ceiling. your heart is in pieces lingering on the mattress.
“friends still?” his eyes, unseen by you are latched onto your frame.
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