Hello there! ꨄ︎ I go by Ann here on Tumblr ꨄ︎ 24 y/o ꨄ︎ she/her ꨄ︎ located in Canada (EST/EDT) ꨄ︎ pisces
WHATS NEW??
s. geto modern au ── Friend-Of-A-Friend chapters 9/??
s. gojo university au ── Knock First coming soon!!
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author's note ⸺ Guess who's computer broke...? any guesses?? IT WAS ME!! (i have a macbook...thats why) sorry for the delay, but now you all have Suguru's POV form last chapter...he be YEARNINGGGG UGH!!!
I have a few more chapters ready so I should be able to be posting regularly (every week or 2) for this series...guys some of you have messaged me/responded telling me you like this series and TYSM!!
I love hearing you're input and if you ev ery want to see something specific happen or have any thoughts about the series, PLEASE REACH OUT - ILOVETALKINGTOYOUUU
***PLEASE SEE DISCLAIMER REGARDING TAGLIST AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER***
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, Surgur's POV, detailed descriptions smoking (weed + cigs), high tensions, taglist at end, 5.2k she longggg, this is an 18+ series - mdni!!
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
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The elevator moved upward, the vibrations under your feet matching the steady beat of your own thoughts. You leaned lightly against the polished wall, hands resting over the strap of your bag, as if holding onto it anchored you in the quiet aftermath.
You could still feel it—the press of his presence earlier, the way it lingered like a shadow just behind your shoulder, like the air had remembered him long after he’d gone.
A soft ding signalled your floor, and the doors slid open with their usual, muted whoosh. The hallway stretched before you, warmly lit, familiar.
Inside, your apartment was quiet, untouched since you’d left that morning. You dropped your bag on the counter and pulled your coat off, shaking it slightly, but your mind stayed half outside, tracing the line of the sidewalk, the rhythm of his steps beside yours.
For a long moment, you just stood there, the hum of the city outside muted behind the walls. Your fingers brushed the counter absentmindedly, tracing the edge, as if grounding yourself back in the normal, in the predictable.
Then your phone buzzed, and without any hesitation, you looked.
“Text me later about the party prep?”
Your chest tightened just slightly—not from anticipation exactly, more from the quiet weight of knowing you’d see him again soon, and that the space between you wasn’t really empty.
You set the phone down, leaning against the counter for a second longer. The elevator, the street, the rain…everything still felt charged with that small, almost imperceptible shift.
A shiver ran through you—not from cold this time, but from something softer, less tangible. A feeling that maybe the night hadn’t really ended.
And somewhere beneath it all, a quiet, almost guilty smile tugged at your lips.
Because even in the stillness, even in the muted warmth of your apartment, you could feel him there.
Not beside you. Not in the room. But in that space that lingered after words, after brushes of skin, after silences that said more than they could ever speak.
And for a moment—just a heartbeat—you let yourself linger there, letting the memory of him fill the quiet.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
Suguru’s POV:
Rain slicked the city in a mirror-like sheen, glinting off the streetlights in quick flashes.
And after twenty-five minutes of waiting, there she was.
He spotted her first—her familiar figure braced against the drizzle, shoulders slightly hunched under the weight of her laptop bag. Suguru’s grip tightened slightly on the umbrella in his hand, not from effort but from anticipation.
She looked up, and her eyes met his. A small, easy smile tugged at his lips, though his chest carried a quiet, electric thrum that refused to quiet. She waved.
“Hi.” He offered the umbrella with one hand, and without hesitation, reached for her laptop bag with the other.
“Here,” he said, his voice calm. “You’re carrying too much. Let me.”
The way she stiffened under his hand as his fingers brushed her shoulder to grab her bag—the subtle recoil, the grip she kept on the strap—drew a subtle tension through him.
“Really?” His tone softened, “Just let me.”
She blinked at him, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief, and in that fraction of a second, his gaze lingered on her face. Her expression—the faint wideness of her eyes, the almost imperceptible lift at the corners of her lips—made something inside him clench in that familiar, quiet way.
And then he noticed it: the barest hint of pink creeping across her cheeks, subtle, fleeting, and impossibly endearing. It struck him as utterly, unexpectedly cute, and for a fraction of a heartbeat, the careful control he held over himself faltered, just enough to appreciate the way she looked in that small, unguarded moment.
The rain picked up, heavier, slapping against the sidewalk in irregular bursts.
She tilted the umbrella, the angle imperfect, struggling to keep both of them fully covered. His left hand, still carrying her laptop bag with practiced ease, moved over without hesitation.
The motion was effortless, casual, yet precise—the movement drew her closer, pressing their sides together under the canopy. The slight brush of her body against his triggered a measured tightening through his torso and shoulders, a restrained awareness that ran down to the tips of his fingers.
His right hand drifted to her back, landing softly just above the curve of her shoulder. He guided her gently, pressing her against him under the umbrella, each movement measured and careful.
On the surface, it was practical—an innocent gesture to keep them both dry—but the way he angled her closer, the subtle weight of his body near hers, carried a quiet intention he didn’t bother to hide from himself.
The heavy rain offered the perfect cover, a plausible reason for proximity, while every fibre of him acknowledged how consciously close he had drawn her.
Through the thin fabric of her blazer, he felt the warmth of her body, the steady, grounding heat that contrasted sharply with the damp chill of the rain-soaked afternoon.
The sensation sent a slow pull through him, a quiet tension he acknowledged and barely contained.
Under the navy-blue dome of the umbrella, their small, shared space became a private world of closeness, controlled yet charged with something unspoken.
“Better?” He murmured, low, careful, letting the words carry the quiet authority he didn’t need to enforce, just to suggest.
She nodded, and just for a fraction of a second, leaned into him—not fully, and possibly not intentionally, but enough for him to feel the press of her body against his side.
Something in him pulled, a quiet, controlled acknowledgment rather than need or urgency, as if the world had narrowed to the small space between them.
That slight, almost imperceptible shift carried more weight than words ever could; in that moment, it felt like a small, silent surrender, and a part of him almost allowed himself the thought that he had been “successful” in drawing her closer to him.
Even in the rain, even in the gleaming, indifferent city around them, Suguru felt the pull of her presence like a tether he could not release nor ignore, a quiet ache in his chest that demanded restraint, attention, and, most of all, patience.
The subway entrance appeared a half-block ahead, fluorescent lights cutting through the gray wash of rain, and he fell into step beside her.
Under the awning, he snapped the umbrella closed with a flick of his wrist, tucking it under his arm with her laptop bag as they stepped inside, the warmth of the station already brushing against his damp clothes.
The subway car was crowded; the heat of damp clothes and metal pressed against him as water dripped from umbrellas into small dark puddles. He released his hand from her shoulder but stayed close, adjusting the laptop bag slightly, letting the sleeve of his coat brush her arm in a calculated, unspoken way.
A soft sigh drifted from her, brushing against him. “Finally dry.”
He let a subtle smile trace his lips at her sigh, the one that drifted toward him like a quiet echo of relief.
He could tease her…
“Yeah…Though I can’t say I minded the arrangement.”
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mind at all,” she replied, the corner of her mouth tugging into a crooked smile, casual and teasing, but enough to make him shift fractionally closer in the cramped space.
The train lurched, jolting them, and her hand shot out instinctively to the pole. His own fingers closed lightly on her upper arm, warm and steady, anchoring her just long enough before easing away as the car settled. The simple act left a faint charge lingering beneath his composure, a reminder of how deeply she’d rooted herself there years ago—without ever knowing.
“You good?” He asked, voice low, a thread of quiet amusement in the words.
Her nod, the breath that followed, the almost-laugh in it—it threaded through him like a tether. ‘Subway trying to take me out,’ she said. His lips curved into a modest smile, more in his eyes than his voice.
“Good thing I’m here then,” he said lightly, letting the teasing thread ride alongside the reassurance.
She rolled her eyes subtly, and he felt it, the easy way she leaned into the narrow space they occupied. Each minuscule movement she made—slight press of her body, small turn of her head, soft cadence in her voice—registered with him, setting the rhythm of his attention.
Her eyes lifted toward him, and he felt it—the subtle, magnetic awareness of her gaze.
The bar above their heads forced his arm to angle just so, pulling the fabric of his coat taut along the length of his shoulder and arm. He noticed her gaze drifting, lower, then scanning back up towards his face.
He let it be, letting her observe him while he drank in every detail of her presence. Strands of damp hair clung to her temples, curling softly, catching the harsh fluorescent light and drawing his gaze downward to the subtle swell of her cheeks.
Then, finally, her eyes met his. Half a second of lock, and the rest of the subway fell away—the lights, the commuters, the smell of damp clothing—all secondary to that small, quiet confrontation of attention.
“You okay?” His voice was low, threaded with both amusement and satisfaction, but careful. Not sharp, not pressing, merely acknowledging the space she allowed him.
“Or did you find something interesting?”
Her answer came a touch too quickly, too light. “Mm, nothing interesting, just zoning out.”
He didn’t move. He let the corner of his mouth shift subtly, restrained, as if noting the slight dissonance between words and presence. The gap intrigued him, and a quiet certainty settled into his expression.
Finally, he decided to go for it.
“You checking me out on the subway?” He murmured, letting the tension linger without demanding an answer. He wanted her to know without having to say anything. No edge, no trap—just amusement threaded beneath calm observation.
Her muffled scoff, the turn of her head, it all fed the slow, quiet thrum in his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
He exhaled almost to himself, a faint, airy laugh that was more acknowledgment than reprimand.
“Ah… that’s disappointing,” he said. He didn’t move away from her after, didn’t shift to give the words distance—just stayed there, close enough to feel the space she chose not to widen.
After a few minutes had passed, he noticed her tilt her head toward the display, eyes tracking the blinking line as it inched closer, confirming what she already knew.
“This one?” He asked, his voice low, measured to fit the quiet that had settled through the subway car.
She nodded. “Yeah. Five stops go by faster than you think.”
“Depends who you’re with,” he said, letting the words hover lightly, carrying a warmth beneath the surface.
The car lurched once before settling. Doors chimed. A faint shuffle rippled through the crowd as people edged toward the exits.
As she reached the doors, he eased back slightly, extending a hand to keep the doorway open.
“After you,” he murmured. There was a quiet thread of amusement in his tone, velvety and intimate, that made the warmth rise unbidden in him as he watched her step through.
The platform air hit them both—a cooler, damp reminder of the rain outside. The train’s departing rush stirred the hem of her coat, and he followed closely behind, doors sliding shut with a crisp chime.
A subtle pull ran through him as she glanced up at him, voice teasing, light. “So you still planning on walking me allllll the way back to my apartment?”
He didn’t answer with words immediately. Instead, he fell into step beside her.
He let the movement of the crowd carry them, bodies angled together in the loose funnel of passengers, the hum of the station settling around them like a muted soundtrack to their small orbit.
“Thought that was already decided.” He said, confirming his intention.
Her laugh came soft under her breath as she stepped onto the escalator first. He followed just behind, the steady mechanical rhythm carrying them upward, the noise of the platform fading beneath them.
Then she turned to face him.
The movement caught his attention immediately—not just that she turned, but that she chose to face him, closing the space in a way that wasn’t necessary. The step above should have created distance. It didn’t.
She stood just slightly higher than he, enough to shift the angle.
And he felt it immediately.
His gaze lifted to meet hers, and he didn’t look away. The shift in perspective—it shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it consumed him. The way she looked down on him, deliberate yet casual, pressed against every restraint he kept.
He registered the details without thinking—the way the light caught her features from above, the quiet focus in her eyes now that she wasn’t half-turned away from him but facing him fully.
He felt the panging ache of wanting her, raw and immediate.
Every glance carried the weight of his desire, and he longed to hide it, to keep it from spilling over. If he could, he would draw himself over her, cast his presence like a shield, guarding her from the heat simmering within his own gaze.
By the time she turned forward again, the daylight had already begun to wash over the top of the escalator. She stepped off first, the motion automatic.
He followed a half-step behind, close enough to feel the lingering warmth of where she’d been, the echo of that brief shift still settled somewhere deeper than he cared to name.
After a short walk, filled with easy banter that lingered longer than it should, they arrived at her building. The soft glow of the lobby lights spilled onto the slick pavement, catching in the puddles left behind by the rain. The city felt quieter here, muted, almost intimate, as though it had bent itself around this moment.
He stopped just behind her, letting her reach the door first, but not moving away. Closer than he needed to be, close enough that the warmth radiating from her brushed him in the narrow space.
She paused, fingers tightening briefly around her keys, and he waited, aware of every small gesture. Her hesitation pulled at him, stirred him in ways he hadn’t let himself fully acknowledge on the walk over.
Then she spoke, and her words made his pulse stutter.
“If you want,” she said, voice far lighter than the significance of the invitation, “you can come up for a bit.”
The way she was looking up at him through her lashes made his skin burn. He wanted to step forward, to close the distance, to let his presence sweep over her completely, but restraint held him just enough.
The invitation was a lifeline. A reason to step closer without apology, to let the desire simmer without burning the moment to ash. She had given him an excuse, and he was thankful for it.
Thankful that he didn’t have to ask, thankful that the space between them could be narrowed under the guise of civility, when everything else screamed otherwise.
A breath left him, quiet, measured, as though he were drawing himself back from a space he hadn’t fully allowed himself to enter.
He opened his mouth, “I—” but the words faltered, trailing into nothing. A small shake of his head followed, more to steady himself than to apologize. “Sorry,” he said, his tone careful, controlled, denying something he never thought he would. “I actually have to head out.”
“I’m meeting someone,” he added. He caught a flash of something in her expression, a subtle shift that had nothing to do with the meeting itself, and it unsettled him more than it should have. “About a space. I’ve been trying to sort something out.”
Her response was flat, casual, and he nodded, acknowledging it without breaking his focus entirely.
“It’s for a party,” he said after a pause, voice lighter, an attempt at ease. “For Gojo’s birthday.”
Her reaction—a small lift of the brows, the tension in her shoulders loosening—hit him subtly, a reminder that he’d been holding himself tighter than necessary. He allowed a fraction of a breath to leave him, steadying against the pull that came whenever she reacted to him in these small, unspoken ways.
She questioned, he answered, their conversation threading lightly around him like a current he had to keep careful footing on. The ease, the humour, the tiny rhythms of their banter—they mattered, but not as much as the gravity underneath it.
Then she offered to help with the planning, and he noticed, quietly, the way her gaze rose to meet his.
His eyes followed, tracing the line of her face—down from her eyes to her lips. They looked soft and bore a natural curve that held a quiet invitation he wasn’t supposed to notice, and yet couldn’t look away from. The sheen of moisture from the rain or perhaps the warmth of her breath made them slightly shiny.
Then he noticed how her lips parted ever so slightly, a subtle promise in their stillness. He imagined the weight of them, the feel of them pressed close, the way they would respond if he leaned in—thoughts that forced a sharp intake of breath he couldn’t quite hide.
“Yeah?” Her voice came softer, a fraction of hesitation tucked beneath the casual words. The way she asked, careful yet unguarded, made his chest tighten in that familiar way he hadn’t quite managed to tame all evening.
He paused, weighing his response, and let the smallest movement of his hand adjust the umbrella. The motion was barely there, but it grounded him, slowed the pull of the want he felt to reach closer, to bridge the narrow space that held so much tension.
“Only if you want to,” he said, though the words felt more like a promise than a choice. “Thought it might be easier with two people.”
Her mouth shifted, a soft, fleeting curve that teased the corner of his restraint. “Or you just don’t trust yourself to plan something without me,” she said, voice light, teasing—but he noticed the way her gaze stayed on him, steady and deliberate.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and he allowed a fraction of a grin. “Something like that.”
The quiet stretched, thick and intimate, the soft patter of rain above framing the moment. Her shoulder brushed against his, a mere whisper of contact, but it sent a pulse of heat through him he couldn’t deny. His body remembered every inch of proximity, every brush of skin, and he had to fight to keep his movements measured, to keep his gaze anchored on hers and not drift where it ached to go.
“Okay,” she said finally, quieter, almost yielding. “This weekend’s fine.”
Her words were enough to steady the tremor of want beneath his ribs, though it didn’t fade—just became something restrained, like a coiled spring.
He let his eyes hold hers for a beat longer than necessary, memorizing the way they lingered on him, before giving a small, controlled nod. “Yeah? Okay great. Well, I’ll text you.”
He started to step back, deliberate, the subtle shift signalling the end of the night.
Then her gaze flicked to the strap of his laptop bag still draped over his shoulder. “Uh—” she began, a soft, awkward laugh escaping. “Do you mind if I take that back?”
His eyes dropped, a careful acknowledgment. “Right,” he said, quieter now. He let the strap slip off, but slower than necessary, letting his fingers brush hers.
“Thanks for getting it, and I got home safe,” she said, playful but warm, and he allowed the faintest exhale through his nose, a small, controlled response to the intimacy of the gesture.
“Yeah,” he murmured, the single syllable carrying far more than it should.
He stepped back just enough to let the space return, measured, careful—but every step was a restraint, a conscious denial of how much he wanted to linger, to stay pressed against her, to let the night stretch a second longer.
“I’ll text you,” he said finally.
“Sounds good.”
He turned, hands slipping into his coat pockets, forcing his body to follow the retreating motion of his words. Each step away lengthened the distance, and with every pace, he felt the pull—wanting, needing—linger in the space between them. Until he became just another figure under the muted glow of the streetlights, carrying the memory of her closer than he was willing to admit.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
You texted him that night.
Kept it simple. Light. Easy.
He responded not long after.
And somehow, between a few short messages and a back-and-forth that never quite tipped into anything too deliberate, the plan had settled itself—Saturday afternoon.
It made sense. Neutral. Casual. Something easy to agree to without thinking too much about it.
Still—
The next day didn’t move the way it should have. It barely felt like Friday at all.
The day slipped through your hands in fragments—emails answered without much thought, conversations half-heard, the clock moving faster than it should have. Every time you glanced at it, more time had passed than you expected.
By the time evening came, it felt less like a full day and more like something you’d skimmed through.
And then—
Saturday.
The afternoon light stretched softly through your apartment windows, catching along the edges of your furniture in that quiet, unhurried way weekends always seemed to carry.
You’d been ready too early.
That was the first problem.
The second was that you’d noticed.
Your apartment sat in a state that didn’t quite match your usual routine—cleaner than necessary, small things adjusted just slightly out of place. A blanket smoothed over the couch. A mug set neatly by the sink instead of left where you’d last used it.
Nothing obvious.
But enough.
You moved through the space again anyway, adjusting something that didn’t need adjusting, straightening something already straight. Your fingers lingered a second too long on the back of a chair before you pulled your hand away.
The quiet pressed in around you.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… aware.
Your gaze drifted to the door.
Then away.
Then back again a few seconds later.
You exhaled slowly, crossing your arms loosely over your chest before letting them fall again, the movement restless without direction. Your foot tapped once against the floor before stilling, only to start again a moment later.
This was fine.
It was just planning.
Just a birthday party. Just an afternoon. Just—
A sound in the hallway.
Faint. Indistinct. But close enough that your body reacted before your thoughts caught up, your attention snapping toward the door as your breath hitched—just slightly.
Footsteps passed.
Not stopping.
The tension eased just as quickly as it had come, leaving something quieter behind—something that settled deeper instead of disappearing.
You let out a small breath, shaking your head once under it, but the feeling didn’t fully leave.
Because now—
Now you were waiting.
And it felt different when you noticed it.
Your gaze found the door again, lingering this time.
Annnny second now.
The thought settled in your chest, steady and undeniable, tightening just slightly with each passing moment.
He would be here any second. And then—
A knock.
Not loud. Not rushed. Just enough to carry through the door, deliberate in a way that made your breath catch before you could stop it.
You stilled.
For half a second, maybe less.
Then you moved.
Your hand smoothed over the front of your sweater—pointless, automatic—before reaching for the handle. Your fingers curled around it, pausing just briefly, like something in you needed that extra second to settle into place.
You opened the door anyway.
Suguru stood on the other side of the door, close enough that it felt like he’d just stepped back from knocking. His coat hung open, his hair tied back loosely, a few strands already slipping free.
His gaze lifted as the door opened, and landed on you.
“Hey,” he said, the corner of his mouth pulling just slightly.
Your throat felt a little tighter than it should have.
“Hey.” The word came out even, but softer than you meant it to.
A beat passed.
Not long. Just enough for you to notice.
You shifted slightly, starting to feel a bit awkward, your hand still resting on the edge of the door, your body angled halfway between inside and out.
“Come in—” you started.
But he didn’t step forward.
Instead, his head tipped just slightly, the smallest motion toward the hallway behind him.
“You ready?” he asked.
The question landed a second off from what you’d expected.
You blinked once. “Ready?”
“Thought we could head out,” he said, easy, like it had already been decided somewhere between last night and now.
There was something in the way he said it—not forceful, not even particularly deliberate. Just… set. Like he’d already moved the afternoon forward a step and was waiting for you to catch up.
You hesitated.
It showed, just slightly—your hand still resting on the edge of the door, your weight not fully shifting either way.
Not because you didn’t want to go.
Just—
“I thought we were gonna do the planning here,” you said, a touch lighter than the thought itself. Last-minute changes had never been your thing. It always took you a second longer than it should have to settle into them.
His gaze held yours, steady.
“We can,” he said. “Just figured it might be more fun somewhere else.”
A small pause.
“I found a cool place.”
Something in your chest shifted at that—small, but immediate, like the idea had landed before you could think it through.
Not enough to name. Just enough to feel.
“Yeah?” you asked, the word coming out a little softer this time.
His shoulder lifted slightly, almost a shrug. “It’s quiet. Good for talking.”
Another beat.
“And they’ve got a decent setup. Vinyl, mostly…”
You watched him for a second.
Took in the way he stood there—unhurried, like he wasn’t concerned about filling the silence, like he didn’t need to push the moment one way or another.
Like he’d already decided, and was giving you the space to meet him there.
Your grip on the door shifted, fingers tightening briefly before easing again.
“Okay,” you said.
The answer came easier than you expected.
His expression didn’t change much—but something in it eased, just slightly.
You stepped back then, pulling the door open a little wider before turning inside.
“Give me a second,” you added over your shoulder.
“Take your time.”
You turned back into the apartment, grabbing your purse from the couch. Your fingers checked for your keys without thinking, then you slipped your shoes on near the door.
For a second, you just stood there.
Then you moved again.
When you turned back, he was still by the door. Not far in. Not quite outside either.
“Okay,” you said, adjusting the strap over your shoulder.
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
You stepped past him, your arm brushing his on the way out. It was quick, easy to miss—but you felt it anyway.
He followed behind you, the lock automatically clicking shut behind you.
The hallway stretched out ahead, quiet in that familiar, mid-afternoon way. Your footsteps fell into rhythm quickly, his matching pace without needing to adjust.
Luckily, the elevator was already on your floor—your building was never overly busy with people going in and out…one of the few good things about it.
The doors slid open with a soft chime as you approached, the motion smooth and practiced. You stepped inside first this time, turning slightly as you moved toward the side to make room.
Suguru stepped in after you.
The doors slid shut behind him, the quiet settling quickly as the elevator began its descent. The space felt smaller this time, the distance between you reduced to something noticeable, harder to ignore.
“So,” you said after a second, glancing over at him, “where are we going?”
His gaze shifted briefly ahead, then back to you.
“Not far,” he said. “Couple blocks over.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “That’s it?”
A small pause.
“What’s it?” He retorted, sounding puzzled at your words.
“What is this?” You added, the corner of your mouth pulling just a little. “You’re seriously not going to tell me where we are going?”
His expression didn’t change much, but there was something there—just enough to give him away.
“Thought I’d keep it a surprise,” he said.
You let out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. “A surprise? For a planning meeting?”
“Mm.”
You shook your head, glancing forward again. “That’s…a bit odd, actually.”
That earned a quiet huff from him.
The elevator slowed, the soft chime cutting through the space as the doors slid open. You stepped out first, the shift back into the open lobby easing the closeness just slightly, though he stayed near as he followed.
“So I’m just supposed to trust you?” You added, glancing over your shoulder as you pushed through the front doors.
“Yeah, as if you haven’t been trusting me for years,” he said easily.
You fell into step beside him, the air between you lighter now that the elevator was behind. The streets were quiet, the kind of soft afternoon hum that made the city feel smaller, cozier. You stole a glance at him, noticing the way he carried himself—easy, unhurried, like he knew exactly where he was going and didn’t need to rush you to keep up.
“And you’re really not going to give me a hint?” you asked, a teasing edge creeping into your voice. “Am I just supposed to blindly follow you?”
He glanced down at you briefly, lips quirking. “Would that be so bad?”
“Pretty horrible, actually.” You said, glancing over at him. “Look at you. Gatekeeping hidden spots now?”
“Mm,” he hummed. “Something like that.”
You shook your head, a small smile pulling at the corner of your mouth before you looked forward again.
The city passed around you in pieces—storefronts, muted conversations, the occasional car rolling by. The pavement was still faintly damp from the night before, catching light in soft, uneven streaks as you walked.
A few steps passed in quiet.
Not empty.
Just settled.
“You’ll like it,” he added after a moment, voice quieter now, like the words were placed more carefully than the ones before.
Your gaze flicked to him again.
“Yeah?”
He didn’t look at you right away.
Just kept his eyes forward for a second longer before they shifted, meeting yours briefly.
“Yeah.”
Something in your chest tightened.
A corner loomed ahead, the faint aroma of coffee wafting out, promising warmth, music, and the sort of small reveal that felt ridiculously exciting. You imagined what he had planned and rolled your eyes at yourself for caring so much.
The closer you got, the more your pulse raced—impatient, playful, and entirely unreasoned. Somewhere behind that careful composure of his, you suspected he knew exactly the effect he had on you.
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author's note ⸺ HELLOOOOO, this chapter is now out for you to read..feel free to send me an ask to tell me your thoughts on the series so far :)
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, miss gorl finally realized her feelings, detailed descriptions smoking (weed + cigs), high tensions, I want them both so bad taglist at end, 4.6k, this is an 18+ series - mdni!!
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
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“Better?” He murmured, his voice just above the rain, low and careful.
You nodded, not trusting your voice. The closeness made the rhythm of your heart feel louder than the rain, the pulse in your chest syncing with the quiet, deliberate steps you shared down the slick sidewalk.
You leaned just a fraction into him, letting the protection of his presence—literal and figurative—anchor you as you navigated the steps toward the subway station.
Even in the rain, with the city glinting wet beneath streetlights, it felt like the two of you had created a small, suspended world under the navy-blue canopy of the umbrella.
The subway entrance came into view a half block ahead, the fluorescent lights beneath the awning glowing against the gray wash of rain. You both picked up your pace, shoes splashing through shallow puddles as you hurried for cover.
The moment you stepped under the overhang, the sound of rain softened from a roar to a distant hiss. Suguru tilted the umbrella away from you and gave it a quick shake before folding it neatly, the fabric snapping closed with a practiced flick of his wrist. He tucked it under his arm beside your laptop bag.
Inside, the station was warm and bright compared to the wet street outside. You fished your transit card from your pocket as the two of you moved toward the gates.
Tap.
Your card chimed and the turnstile unlocked. Suguru followed a second later, the soft beep of his own card echoing behind you as he stepped through.
You both started down the platform stairs at a quick pace, the concrete steps still damp from commuters tracking rainwater inside.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low. “These steps are pretty slippery.”
“I’m fine,” you said, though the small brush of his arm against yours made your stomach twist pleasantly.
He gave a faint smirk, the kind that didn’t need words. “Sure you are,” he teased softly, adjusting the laptop bag on his shoulder.
When the two of you reached the bottom of the stairs, the train lights were just appearing in the tunnel. You both quickened your pace, moving toward the platform edge just as the distant rumble began to build.
The doors slid open just as you got to the platform, and god did you love when it aligned like that…the subway platforms always smelled like piss…you hated waiting down there.
A rush of damp commuters spilled out first—umbrellas dripping, coats brushing past your shoulders. Suguru’s hand shifted lightly against your back, guiding you through the small wave of bodies before you stepped inside.
The subway car was already crowded, the air thick with the smell of wet fabric and metal warmed by too many people. Water dripped steadily from someone’s umbrella near the door, pooling in small dark spots on the floor that rocked gently with the motion of the train.
You barely had time to adjust your footing before the doors chimed shut behind you.
He released his hand from your shoulder, but couldn’t go far, considering how packed the train was.
“Finally dry,” you said, a small laugh escaping as you broke the silence.
“Yeah,” he replied, glancing at you, voice quiet but teasing. “Though I can’t say I minded the arrangement.”
A short breath of laughter slipped out of you before you could stop it, your head tilting slightly as you looked up at him. The fluorescent subway lights caught the damp edges of his hair, dark strands curling faintly where the rain had touched them.
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mind at all,” you said, the corner of your mouth pulling into a crooked smile.
He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, adjusting the strap of your laptop bag where it rested against his shoulder. The movement shifted him a fraction closer in the cramped space, the sleeve of his coat brushing your arm as another wave of passengers pressed further into the car.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The train lurched forward with a sudden jolt, metal screeching softly against the rails. Your hand shot out instinctively, catching the cool pole beside you before the motion could throw you off balance.
Suguru’s hand moved just as quickly.
His fingers closed lightly around your upper arm—steady, warm—holding there only long enough for the train to settle back into its rhythm before easing away again.
“You good?” he asked.
You nodded, letting out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“Subway’s trying to take me out, apparently.”
A quiet smile crossed his face at that, the kind that lingered more in his eyes than his mouth.
“Good thing I’m here then,” he said lightly.
You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at that. Lately, the more time the two of you spent alone together, the bolder his remarks seemed to get—small comments delivered with that quiet certainty of his.
Last night had been the first time it really stood out.
And, to your mild irritation, the version of him that showed up in those moments had begun to grow on you.
The car rocked gently as it picked up speed, the tunnel lights sliding past the windows in flashes of dull yellow. Around you, damp coats brushed together, and the faint scent of rain clung to the air.
Suguru glanced down at you again, something easy and familiar settling into his expression.
Suguru glanced down at you again, a quiet familiarity settling across his expression.
“So,” he said, adjusting his grip on the metal pole above you, “how many stops until yours?”
“Five,” you replied, leaning your shoulder a little more firmly into the narrow strip of space the two of you occupied. “Maybe ten minutes.”
“Not bad,” he said. “Could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug. “If the train behaves.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Bold assumption.”
The car swayed again, the movement sending a ripple through the line of standing passengers. His hand tightened slightly around the pole to steady himself, the sleeve of his coat brushing your arm as the train settled back into its rhythm.
For a moment, the conversation fell away.
The steady rumble of the train filled the space instead—metal wheels against the track, the low whine of the tunnel air rushing past the windows.
You shifted your gaze upward.
Suguru stood a good deal taller than you, the overhead bar forcing his arm to angle slightly above your head. The position pulled the fabric of his coat taut across his shoulder and down the length of his arm.
Your eyes drifted lower.
His hand wrapped easily around the metal pole, long fingers loose but steady with the movement of the train. Faint lines of veins ran beneath the skin along the back of his hand, shifting subtly each time the train car jolted.
Another sway of the train nudged your shoulder against his chest.
Your gaze moved again—this time higher.
The fluorescent lights overhead caught the edges of his features in pale bands of light and shadow. Damp strands of dark hair had loosened slightly near his temples, curling faintly where the rain had touched them earlier.
His lips curved almost absently at something happening somewhere else in the car—a quiet reaction to a conversation you couldn’t hear. The movement was small, barely there, but it softened the line of his mouth.
Then his eyes dropped.
Right to you.
For half a second, your eyes stayed locked on his.
The train roared through the tunnel, the lights outside the window flashing past in quick bursts.
Suguru’s brow lifted just slightly, his gaze not breaking from yours.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low, edged with something faintly amused. “Or did you find something interesting?”
A warm prickle climbed up the back of your neck.
“Mm, nothing interesting,” you murmured, your gaze slipping past him toward the opposite side of the car. “Just zoning out.”
The answer came a touch too quick, the words a little too light.
He didn’t move right away.
But the corner of his mouth shifted—subtle, restrained—like he’d noticed the gap between what you said and what lingered in the space between you. Something settled into his expression then, quiet and self-assured, like he’d arrived at a conclusion he wasn’t in any rush to hide.
“You checking me out on the subway?” He murmured, quieter this time.
There was no sharpness to it. No edge meant to corner you. Just a soft thread of amusement, the kind that settled low in his voice instead of rising to the surface. And you couldn’t stop the small rush that ran through you.
You scoffed under your breath, turning your head slightly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
A pause.
Then, just as quietly—
“Ah,” he said, almost to himself, the faintest exhale of a laugh following it. “That’s disappointing.”
The words landed lightly, but something in the way he said it—measured, unbothered—left a small shift in the air between you, like he’d set something down and let it sit there without pressing further.
The train swayed again, pulling the line of bodies with it. His shoulder brushed yours once more, steadier this time, less accidental. His hand remained wrapped around the pole above, fingers flexing slightly with the motion, tendons shifting beneath the skin in the harsh overhead light.
His fingers wrapped loosely around the metal, steady, unhurried. The faint pull of his sleeve revealed the line of his wrist, the subtle movement beneath his skin as his grip adjusted with the motion of the train.
The fluorescent lights overhead flickered faintly, catching along the sharp line of his jaw, the slight curve of his mouth still holding onto that quiet amusement.
Your gaze lingered a second too long.
Then moved.
The train announcement crackled overhead, distorting slightly through the speaker.
“Next stop—”
Your stop.
Your head tilted up toward the display instinctively, watching the blinking line inch closer, confirming what you’d already heard. Around you, people shifted—small movements at first, bags being adjusted, hands tightening on poles, bodies angling toward the doors in anticipation.
Suguru followed your line of sight, then looked back down at you.
“This one?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yeah. Five stops go by faster than you think.”
“Depends who you’re with,” he said, easy, like it didn’t weigh anything.
The train began to slow, the hum dipping lower as the brakes caught. The sway changed—subtle, but enough to pull everyone slightly forward.
His hand found your upper arm again, lighter this time. Not catching—just there. Steadying. Making sure you didn’t fall backwards at the sudden speed change, as if you didn’t do this every day.
The car lurched once before settling.
The doors chimed.
A soft shuffle moved through the crowd as people began to filter toward the exits. Suguru shifted, turning slightly to create space, his hand brushing briefly along your arm as he guided you forward through the small cluster of bodies.
As you reached the doors, he eased back slightly, holding a hand out to keep the door open for you.
“After you.”
There was something faintly amused in the way he said it, but softer than before. Quieter. Suguru’s words left your cheeks burning faintly, unbidden.
You stepped out onto the platform, the air cooler here, tinged with the lingering damp from outside. The noise shifted instantly—the enclosed echo of the station replacing the tight hum of the train car.
Suguru followed right behind you, the doors sliding shut again at his back with a sharp chime.
Then the train pulled away, a damp wind rushing past you in its wake, stirring the edges of your coat.
You turned slightly, glancing up at him. “So you still planning on walking me allllll the way back to my apartment?" You asked, voice light and teasing, glancing over at him as you stepped toward the escalator, letting the motion of your shoulders carry the playfulness.
He didn’t answer right away.
Not with words, at least.
But he fell into step beside you without hesitation, close enough that the edge of his coat brushed yours as you approached the escalator. The movement of the crowd carried you both forward, bodies funnelling into a loose line, the low hum of the station settling back in around you.
“Thought that was already decided,” he said after a beat, voice quiet, threaded with something easy.
You huffed a small breath of a laugh, stepping onto the escalator first. The metal ridges caught under your shoes as you moved upward, the steady climb pulling you out of the fluorescent wash of the platform below.
Suguru stepped on just behind you.
The metal steps carried you upward in a slow, steady rhythm, the hum of the mechanism settling beneath the distant echo of the platform below.
After a few steps, you turned.
Fully.
The movement brought you face-to-face with him—closer than expected, the narrow width of the escalator leaving little space between you. The step above should have put you higher, created some distance.
It didn’t.
He was still right there, just below eye level with you despite it, his height closing the gap you hadn’t accounted for. The difference barely registered—only enough to make the closeness feel more deliberate, harder to look away from.
From this angle, the overhead lights caught differently.
They traced along the bridge of his nose, the line of his cheek, leaving the rest in softer shadow. Damp strands of dark hair had loosened near his temples, curling faintly where the rain had touched them earlier. One piece had fallen just slightly out of place, close enough that you noticed before you could stop yourself.
You wanted to reach out. But your hand didn’t move.
But the thought lingered for a fraction longer than it should have.
The escalator hummed beneath your feet, carrying you both upward, but the space between you felt suspended—untouched by the motion, held in something quieter.
His gaze shifted once. Not away—just lower, briefly, like he was taking in the angle, the closeness, the way you’d turned toward him instead of forward. Then it returned to your eyes, steady, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to stand there and look.
The space between you wasn’t large—just a single step—but it didn’t feel like distance. Not with the way his presence settled there, steady and familiar.
You let the escalator carry you the rest of the way up, the gray wash of daylight growing clearer with each second.
You stepped off first, the motion automatic, your foot landing on solid ground just as the sound of the city replaced the low hum of the station. Suguru followed a half-step behind, close enough that you felt it before you saw it.
The air outside was cooler than you’d expected.
You paused just past the exit, glancing up instinctively.
The rain had stopped.
Not completely gone—there was still a thin mist from spraying down from above, the pavement slick and shining under the streetlights—but the steady downpour from before had softened into something quieter.
The kind of aftermath that left the city damp and reflective, the air cleaner than usual.
“Well,” you said, exhaling lightly, “that’s pretty convenient.”
Suguru followed your line of sight, gaze lifting briefly before returning to you.
“Good timing,” he said.
The umbrella stayed closed at his side.
You stepped out onto the sidewalk together, falling into pace without needing to adjust. The street was a bit quieter now, the earlier rush thinned out, leaving behind the occasional passerby and the low hiss of tires moving through wet roads. It helps that your apartment wasn’t in the heart of the city, but just outside.
Your shoes tapped lightly against the pavement, the rhythm steady.
A few steps passed before he spoke again.
“You take this every day?” He asked.
You glanced over, the question landing a second off-beat. “The subway?”
“Mm.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the street, where a line of cars sat idling at the intersection ahead, brake lights glowing red against the wet pavement.
“You don’t have a car?”
You let out a short breath of a laugh, shaking your head.
“In this economy?” You said, glancing back at him. “No.”
As if on cue, a car inched forward only to stop again a few feet later, a horn blaring as the driver tapped their brakes a little too sharply.
Then, with a small tilt of your head—
“I’ll do you one better,” you added. “With this traffic? There’s no way I’m driving.”
Suguru watched the car line up for a moment.
Then huffed a quiet laugh.
“Fair enough, I guess,” he said.
“At least on the subway I can zone out and pretend I’m not wasting 5 hours a week commuting.”
His gaze shifted back to you.
“Zoning out?” He repeated, something faintly amused threading through it.
You caught it immediately.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he said, too easily.
“You were about to.”
“Was I?”
You held his gaze for a second, unimpressed.
He didn’t look away.
The corner of his mouth moved—just slightly, like he wasn’t in any rush to deny it.
You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head as you looked forward again, though the small smile didn’t quite leave.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered.
“Mm,” he hummed beside you.
The conversation fell quiet after that, but not in a way that felt empty.
The city stretched out ahead of you, damp and dimly lit, the glow of streetlights reflecting in long streaks across the pavement. Your steps stayed in sync, unspoken, your shoulder brushing his once, then again a few seconds later.
Neither of you adjusted.
Somewhere behind you, a car horn sounded, distant and impatient.
Ahead, your street waited—just a few blocks more.
You didn’t speed up.
Eventually, your building came into view.
The soft glow from the lobby lights spilled out onto the sidewalk, catching in the shallow puddles along the curb. The rain had left everything slick and reflective, the city quieter now, like it had settled into itself.
You adjusted your pace as you approached the entrance, fingers slipping into your coat pocket, brushing against your keys. The motion was automatic—familiar, something you’d done every day without thinking. This time, you noticed it. The way the walk was ending. The way it was supposed to end.
You stopped just short of the door, turning slightly as he came to a stop beside you.
Close. Closer than he needed to be now that there was nowhere left to go.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
This was the part that should’ve been easy. A quick thank you. Something light. A step back. The door opening, the moment closing before it had the chance to stretch into something else. You’d done it before—with coworkers, with friends, with people who walked you home because it made sense at the time and nothing more.
There was a version of this that stayed exactly that.
Simple. Normal.
Your fingers curled loosely around your keys, but you didn’t reach for the handle.
It wouldn’t be weird.
The thought came quietly, settling into place before you could push it away. People invited friends upstairs all the time. It didn’t have to mean anything.
You were still just friends.
The word lingered a second longer than it should have. Because nothing had actually happened. No lines crossed. No moment you could point to and say that was different.
And yet—
Your gaze dipped for a moment before rising again—only to find his already on you. Lately, it felt as though they always were. Or maybe you’d only just begun to notice.
Your grip on your keys tightened for a second, the cool metal pressing into your palm before easing again.
“Thanks for walking me,” you said, your voice slipping in just enough to ease the quiet that had begun to settle too heavily between you.
His expression softened, just slightly. “Of course. I was in the area anyway…plus I’ve heard that the subway can be sketchy.”
“Mm,” you said, glancing over at him. “Guess I got lucky tonight.”
The corner of his mouth moved, faint but there. The moment stretched again.
You felt it—that point where it could end. Your fingers shifted slightly around your keys.
If you invite him up, he might take it the wrong way.
The thought came, clear. Not entirely the ‘wrong way’ anymore—just heavier than you intended, carrying implications you weren’t yet ready to stand behind. Your gaze flickered to him for a second, then back to the door.
But…would that be so bad? Would it truly be so bad if he mistook your gesture as something more?
A small pause settled in. Maybe it would be good to see the way he’d react. Whether anything in his expression would shift—just slightly—like it had been all night.
Your grip tightened briefly, then eased.
And if he did take it the wrong way—
You could fix it.
Play it off. Keep it light. Say you meant it casually, like it wasn’t anything more than that. Like he was the one who misinterpreted you.
Your gaze lifted again.
“If you want,” you said, those first words coming a touch quicker than the rest, “you can come up for a bit.” Your eyes tipped up to his—wide, a little too open, the look lingering just a second longer than it needed to, as if something in it might be enough to keep him there.
It sounded lighter than it felt.
The space between you seemed to settle into itself—not empty, but suspended, like something unseen had drawn tight and held the moment in time.
Suguru didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed on yours, steady, like he was weighing something. Not the words themselves—you got the sense it wasn’t that simple. Something quieter. The timing. The shift.
For a second, it looked like he might say yes.
It wasn’t obvious.
Just the smallest change—the way his shoulders eased, the way his attention didn’t waver, like he’d already stepped a fraction closer to the idea of it.
Your grip tightened slightly around your keys.
Then—
A breath left him, quiet, almost thoughtful. His gaze dipped for a second, like he was pulling himself back from something he hadn’t fully stepped into.
“I—” he started, then paused, the word trailing off.
A small shake of his head followed, more to himself than to you.
“Sorry,” he said, softer now. “I actually have to head out.”
“I’m meeting someone,” he added. The words settled somewhere deep, quiet but undeniable, tugging at your chest in a way you couldn’t quite place. And noticing it—feeling it linger—only made it worse, left you turning inward, unsure why it mattered at all.
He glanced past you briefly, like he was checking the time without actually looking at anything. “About a space. I’ve been trying to sort something out.”
“Oh,” you said flatly. “Right. Yeah, of course.”
You nodded once, like it made sense.
He looked back at you then.
There was something in his expression—faint, but there. Not regret exactly. Not hesitation either.
“It’s for a party,” he added after a beat, voice a little lighter now. “For Gojo’s birthday.”
Your brows lifted, the tension in your chest loosening almost all at once. The tight, unfamiliar pull from before unravelled, leaving something steadier in its place—something easier to breathe through.
It wasn’t like he was meeting some girl - not that it should matter.
“A party?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Yeah,” he said, the corner of his mouth shifting faintly. “I was gonna tell you. Planning a surprise party for Gojo’s birthday. Figured I’d try to plan something without him catching on for once.”
A small breath of laughter slipped out of you. “Good luck with that.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “I’ll need it.”
The moment settled again.
Different this time.
You nodded, glancing down briefly as your fingers adjusted around your keys. “Well… let me know if you need help. With planning or whatever.”
“I will,” he said, easily.
A pause.
Then—His gaze lingered just a second longer than it needed to.
“I actually have been thinking, maybe you could help me out with some of the planning this weekend.” He added, quieter.
The offer hung there, just slightly off from the ease of everything he’d said before—placed more carefully, like it mattered where it landed.
Your gaze lifted.
His gaze drifted subtly, moving from your eyes down toward your mouth before returning, slow enough that you didn’t catch it—at least, not fully.
“Yeah?” You said, softer now, the word coming out before you fully settled into it. “You want help with that?”
A brief pause.
“Only if you want to,” he said, though it didn’t quite feel like an out. His hand adjusted slightly on the umbrella, a small movement that stilled just as quickly. “Thought it might be easier with two people.”
Your mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile. “Or you just don’t trust yourself to plan something without me,” you said, light, but your gaze didn’t leave his.
That subtle shift returned at the corner of his mouth.
“Something like that.”
The quiet stretched again—closer now. The rain tapped softly overhead, filling the space neither of you moved to break.
Your shoulder brushed his, barely there, the contact lingering a second longer than it needed to.
“Okay,” you said after a moment, the word quieter this time. “This weekend’s fine.”
His gaze held yours for a beat—just long enough to register—before he gave a small nod.
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay, great…Well, I’ll text you.”
He started to shift back, the movement small but clear—an unspoken signal that he was about to leave.
Your gaze caught the strap of your laptop bag still resting against his shoulder.
“Uh—” you began, a soft, awkward laugh slipping out. “Do you mind if I take that back?”
His eyes flicked down, as if he’d only just remembered it was there.
“Right,” he said, quieter now.
He slipped the strap off his shoulder, the motion easy, but slower than it needed to be. His hand brushed yours as he passed it back—light, brief, but enough to register.
“Thanks for getting it and I home safe,” you said playfully, adjusting the weight of it against your side.
“Yeah.”
He took a small step back, enough to ease the closeness that had hung between you.
“I’ll text you,” he said.
“Sounds good.”
He turned then, hands slipping into his coat pockets as he started down the sidewalk. The distance came back slowly—step by step—until he was just another figure moving through the dim wash of the streetlights.
You stayed where you were for a second longer, watching him as he walked away from you. Your gaze lingered on his retreating figure until he turned the corner and disappeared from view.
Only then did you move.
You stepped inside your building, the warmth of the lobby settling around you, familiar and unchanged.
The quiet hum of the air conditioning and the soft shuffle of papers from the older lady at the front desk filled the space, but it didn’t reach you. Your fingers brushed the strap of your bag, tracing the faint indentation where his hand had been. A small shiver ran up your arm—not from cold, but from the memory of how close he had been, how easily the air between you had shifted.
The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for your floor. The small space felt impossibly quiet after your walk home, the soft whir of the machinery filling in around you.
And for a moment, trapped in the quiet silver of the elevator, you couldn’t quite tell if anything had actually happened at all.
Or if everything just had.
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**please note: if your name is striked out, that means I was unable to tag you, please check your settings if you'd like to be tagged**
the way that you guys are so creative…you guys have sent me so many ideas/‘visions’ to include in the rest of this series. It’s so cool to hear about what your thoughts are and what you hope happen - KEEP IT COMING!!!!
author's note ⸺ Wrote a cheating fic!! WHOOPS! lmk your thoughts on this!! I hope you all enjoy cheating on your deadbeat husband with your daughters sexy ass teacher <3
pairing ⸺ teacher!Suguru Geto x parent!reader
word count ⸺ 4k
content warnings ⸺ 18+ only - mdni!, adultery!, grey morals, reader uses female pronouns, reader has a vagina, fingering, p in v intercourse, nipple play, rough grip?idk, not edited
teaser ⸺ "You’re a married woman, after all. You’re loyal, and I respect that. But..." He pauses, his lips curling into a knowing smile, the hint of something far more dangerous in his eyes. "It would be wrong of me to let you leave here tonight without telling you... that you deserve more than this. You deserve to feel wanted, to feel desired." Something inside you snaps.
୨ৎ simplygojo masterlist ୨ৎ request guidelines ୨ৎ
Your husband wasn’t always like this.
Or maybe he was, and you just didn’t notice it at first.
There was a time when you believed in the love you shared—the way he used to pull you close without needing a reason, the way he promised that no matter what, it would always be both of you against the world. And for a while, it felt real. Then life happened. Then the baby came.
And slowly, little by little, you started doing everything alone.
At first, it was small things. He worked late, so you handled bedtime. He forgot to grab the groceries, so you took care of it. He stayed home when your child had a fever, but somehow, you were the one up all night, holding them while they cried.
Then, the little things became everything.
You started managing schedules, meals, school functions, doctor’s appointments, PTA meetings—every single thing that kept your child’s world turning.
And your husband? He was there, technically. He existed in the house, he took up space in the bed, but he was more like an afterthought in your life than a partner.
You’d hear other moms talk about how they split responsibilities with their husbands—how he got up for night feedings, how he packed lunches in the morning, how they took turns being the “fun parent” so the other could have a break.
You stopped talking in those conversations.
Because what would you even say?
That your husband doesn’t even know your child’s teacher’s name? That you’ve gone to every parent-teacher night alone for the past three years? That sometimes, when you wake up next to him, you feel more alone than if the bed was empty?
You tried to fix it. You really did. You asked him to come to school events—he always had an excuse. You asked him to help with homework—he’d forget. You asked him if he was happy—he shrugged.
And eventually, you just stopped asking.
Instead, you did what you always did: you handled it.
You got up every morning and made breakfast. You checked backpacks, signed permission slips, scheduled playdates. You listened when your 6 year old came home talking about her day. You made sure they felt loved, seen, safe. You gave them everything you never had.
And you told yourself, this was enough.
You told yourself you didn’t need to feel wanted.
You told yourself you didn’t need someone to look at you the way that he used to.
You told yourself you didn’t need more than this—but you knew that none of that was true.
The clock ticks past 9 PM. The school halls are eerily quiet now, save for the soft hum of the overhead lights, casting long shadows along the walls. It’s well past the usual time for parent-teacher conferences, and once again, you’re the last parent left.
The usual scenario.
You check your phone for the fifth time—no texts, no calls. Your husband’s absence from this school event doesn’t surprise you anymore, but it still stings in ways you can’t shake. There’s a lingering resentment there, buried beneath the routine, hidden in the cracks of your patience.
You tap your foot against the tiled floor, feeling the exhaustion deep in your bones. It’s been a long day of running from work to school pick-up, to soccer practice, to dinner, to bedtime—only for your husband to still be nowhere to be found.
He’s present physically, but emotionally? Mentally? Nowhere.
You’ve long since stopped asking him to show up at these meetings, to participate in the day-to-day, to even make an effort. You’ve grown used to doing it all, but some nights, like tonight, the weight of it feels like too much.
The door to the classroom finally opens.
And there he is. Suguru Geto.
His eyes soften when he sees you standing alone in the hallway. It’s nearly 9:30 now, and he has that gentle look on his face, the one he always wears when he’s speaking with you. There’s a warmth there, but tonight, you can’t help but feel like he’s been watching you for longer than you realize.
"You’re the last one," Suguru says, his voice smooth and calm, as though he’s already made peace with the late hour. "Sorry to keep you waiting."
You offer a tired smile, trying to mask the fatigue that’s clearly weighing on you. "It’s no problem," you say. "I’m just used to it."
He steps aside to let you into the classroom.
The soft glow of the desk lamps and the smell of chalk and paper fill the air as you sit down, the worn-out chair creaking slightly under your weight. Suguru takes his usual spot at the desk, but instead of diving into the paperwork, he looks at you with a level of attention that makes you feel like the only person in the room.
“Everything going okay?” He asks, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of concern. You think he’s been asking you that for weeks now, and for weeks, you’ve given the same nonchalant answer.
“Yeah, just the usual,” you reply, keeping your gaze steady on the desk in front of you. “Busy. You know how it is.”
Suguru nods, but his eyes don’t leave you. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel exposed, like he sees more than just the tired mom who’s barely holding it together. He watches you as if he’s picking up on the subtle cracks in your composure, the ones you’ve been trying to hide for so long.
“I’ve noticed,” Suguru says, his voice steady, yet his eyes seem to soften with understanding. “You’re here for every parent meeting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your husband at one.”
You stiffen slightly, but not enough to make it obvious. Of course, Suguru would notice. He’s always been observant, always so aware of the details. He’s never commented on it before, but the fact that he does now makes something inside you ache.
Your gaze flickers to the side, focusing on anything but him.
“Well,” you start, your voice quieter than usual, “he’s always… busy with work.”
Suguru’s gaze doesn’t falter. “I get it,” he says, his voice even, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. "Work can be demanding."
You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, and you try to laugh it off. “Yeah, it’s just... me, really. I handle everything at home, too.”
There’s a long pause as Suguru silently assesses you. His eyes narrow slightly, not in judgment, but in a way that makes you feel seen. Really seen.
“You’ve been doing it all alone for a while, haven’t you?” He asks it softly, like a statement more than a question.
The words hit you harder than you expected. You swallow, the pressure in your chest growing heavier. It’s not like you haven’t noticed it yourself. You’ve been doing this on your own for a while now—balancing everything, carrying the weight of your family’s responsibilities while your husband remains detached. But hearing Suguru say it, hearing him acknowledge it, makes you feel more vulnerable than you care to admit.
You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze as your throat tightens.
"Doesn’t seem fair, does it?" Suguru continues, his voice still calm, but his eyes darken ever so slightly, an intensity that wasn’t there before.
You don’t know how to respond. All you can do is sit there, feeling the weight of his words hang in the air between you.
“Sometimes, people don’t realize what it means to be present,” Suguru murmurs, his tone laced with something more than just professional concern.
And in that moment, you realize just how much you crave someone to acknowledge the effort you’ve been putting in—to see you as more than just a mother, more than just someone who’s keeping everything together by sheer force of will.
The silence stretches between you two, but Suguru doesn’t look away. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to say something.
And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re on the verge of saying something that you definitely shouldn’t.
The weight of Suguru's gaze is palpable, drawing you in like a magnetic force. For the first time, you're not looking for validation from the outside world, from your husband or anyone else. You’re looking at him, and his presence seems to fill the entire room, suffocating yet somehow liberating.
"Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, all of it. The constant doing, the giving... but it’s never enough. It feels like I’m just... waiting. For someone to notice. For someone to... care."
Suguru’s expression shifts, and he leans in just slightly, as though he’s pulled by some invisible thread. There’s something in his eyes that’s far from the calm teacher you’ve known. It’s deeper, darker—filled with a quiet understanding that makes the air between you both thick with unspoken emotions.
"You deserve more than that," he murmurs, his voice low, almost intimate. “You deserve someone who sees you. Not just the mother, not just the wife. But you.”
You take a shallow breath, feeling the rush of emotions swirl inside you.
You’ve heard those words before, but from him, they hit differently. The way he’s looking at you, the way his words seem to reach right inside you, it’s too much to ignore.
Without thinking, your gaze flickers down to his lips, then back up to his eyes. And you see it then—the shift. The barely perceptible tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders tense as if he’s fighting some invisible current pulling him toward you.
You stand abruptly, the sudden movement shaking you from the haze of desire that had slowly clouded your mind. Your pulse races in your ears, and you feel a rush of heat flood your face, the intensity of the moment unsettling you.
You attempt to gather yourself, your mind a chaotic storm of conflicting emotions.
“Is there... anything my daughter needs to work on—uh, outside of school?” You ask, your voice lacking the usual certainty, the question tumbling out awkwardly as if to distract yourself from what’s happening between you.
Suguru stands slowly from his chair, the chair legs scraping against the floor as he glides around the desk with measured steps, his gaze never leaving you. Every movement of his feels deliberate, calculated, and yet somehow fluid, like he’s in complete control of the space around you.
He comes to stand directly in front of you, just close enough that his presence fills the air, thick and charged with an undeniable tension.
You can’t help but notice the way his body moves, the subtle power in the way he stands, shoulders broad, chest rising and falling in time with his deep, steady breaths.
“Your daughter?” Suguru repeats, the corners of his lips curling up slightly as he leans in just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “You’re not really thinking about her right now, are you?”
You want to pull away, to say something, anything that could snap you out of this, but his presence is overwhelming, and your body betrays you with every passing second.
"I..." you try to say something, anything to pull yourself together, but the words falter in your throat. The part of you that knows better, the part of you that remembers you’re married and committed to someone else, is struggling to assert itself.
But the other part of you, the one that’s been ignored for so long, is screaming to be heard, to finally feel seen, to be touched like how he could touch you, to have someone care.
Suguru watches you carefully, sensing the internal conflict as his fingers twitch at his sides. He takes a small step closer, his hand brushing against your arm just lightly enough to send a ripple of heat through your skin.
"I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do," he says softly, his voice almost a caress.
You notice the way his body towers over yours, his broad chest just inches from yours, making you feel small in comparison. The warmth of him radiates against your skin, and it’s hard not to notice how much bigger and stronger he is than you.
The sharp, intoxicating scent of his cologne wraps around you like a blanket, mingling with the faint trace of cigarette smoke that clings to him, adding a dangerous edge to the allure of his presence.
It’s impossible to ignore how every inch of him feels commanding, even in the way he stands so close to you.
"You’re a married woman, after all. You’re loyal, and I respect that. But..."
He pauses, his lips curling into a knowing smile, the hint of something far more dangerous in his eyes. "It would be wrong of me to let you leave here tonight without telling you... that you deserve more than this. You deserve to feel wanted, to feel desired."
Something inside you snaps.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion, the loneliness, the months—years—of feeling like you married a bum who couldn’t give a damn about you.
Or maybe it’s the way Suguru is looking at you now, those sharp dark eyes, like he already knows how this is going to end, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.
You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re in each other’s space, the tension breaking like a dam.
His mouth is on yours, firm and demanding, swallowing the sharp, needy gasp that escapes you as his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him.
Your fingers find the front of his black button-up, fisting the fabric like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His lips part against yours, a low sound vibrating in his throat when you arch into him.
His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your back, sliding down to your hips, fingers pressing in like he needs to memorize the feel of you beneath them. He walks you backward with slow, deliberate steps, forcing you to move with him, until the edge of his desk digs into the backs of your thighs.
A sharp inhale is all you manage before he lifts you effortlessly, his hands gripping your hips as he hoists you onto the desk.
He steps between your legs, crowding you, his breath hot against your lips. His hands spread over your thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as he tugs you forward, drawing you closer with a grip that’s firm, possessive.
One hand drifts upward, sliding to the back of your neck, his fingers curling there as he tilts your head back slightly, deepening the kiss with a slow, consuming hunger.
“This is what you need, isn’t it?” Suguru murmurs against your mouth, his voice rough, thick with something dangerous. “Someone to take care of you for once?”
You nodded weakly in response, your breath hitching as you let his mouth roam yours.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and the low groan he lets out makes heat pool deep in your stomach. He presses himself between your legs, the firm drag of his body against yours making you gasp into his mouth.
Suguru breathes against your lips, his voice a low rasp as he rolls his hips into yours, just enough for you to feel how hard he is through the fabric of his slacks. "Feels good, doesn’t it?"
A soft whimper slips past your lips before you can silence it, your nails grazing his scalp as you clutch him closer.
His response—a low, guttural mix of a groan and a growl—rumbles against you, sending a sharp jolt of heat through your body.
One of his hands slides up your thigh, slow and deliberate, his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin until he reaches the hem of your skirt. His touch is light, teasing, his fingertips barely skimming beneath the fabric before he grips the material and pushes it up, baring more of you to him.
"You’ve been running yourself ragged, haven’t you?" Suguru murmurs, his lips moving to your jaw, trailing heat along your skin as he speaks. "Taking care of everyone else while no one takes care of you."
His other hand stays firm at the back of your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants you as his lips drag lower, grazing over your pulse point before he nips at the sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp.
His fingers, deft and sure, find the first button of your blouse. He flicks it open with ease, then another, and another—each one undone with deliberate precision, as if savoring the act of peeling away the layers you’ve hidden beneath for so long.
"And all this time," he continues, his voice like silk laced with something darker, "you’ve been aching for someone to touch you like this."
You should push him away, should tell him this is wrong, but when his teeth scrape lightly against your throat and his fingers slide higher, your resolve shatters completely.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, though his grip on you says he already knows you won’t.
Instead, you tilt your head back, baring your throat to him in silent invitation. A satisfied hum rumbles from his chest as his hand finally finds the heat between your legs, fingers pressing against the thin fabric covering you.
As he pops open the final button, the fabric parts, slipping from your shoulders as he slides the blouse down your arms, letting it pool behind you on the desk.
His gaze darkens as he drinks you in, his thumb brushing against the newly exposed skin, tracing slow, lazy circles over your collarbone before dipping lower.
"Fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he feels how soaked you already are. His fingers flex, teasing over the damp fabric, and when you arch into his touch, he exhales a shaky breath. "You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?"
Your hips jerk instinctively, chasing the friction, but he pulls his hand back just enough to keep it out of reach.
"Be patient," Suguru murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he presses down even further on your panties. "I’m going to make this so fucking good for you."
And when his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding your bare skin, you realize—he’s going to ruin you.
A shaky breath stutters from your lips as he works you open, his fingers sinking deeper, curling just right. The sensation is almost too much, a slow, aching pleasure that makes your stomach tighten, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"Does this feel good..?" He breathes against your mouth, his voice laced with something tender, something reverent. "Because you fuckin’ deserve it."
You barely register his other hand moving until you feel the warmth of his palm smoothing up your stomach, then higher, slipping beneath the lace of your bra. His thumb drags over your nipple, a soft, teasing brush that sends a shudder rolling down your spine.
You gasp into his mouth, your body arching into him as his fingers press deeper inside you, a slow, deliberate stroke that has your thighs trembling around his waist.
His fingers curl just right, pressing into that sweet, aching spot inside you, and the cry that leaves you is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses you deeper, his tongue sweeping over yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.
The slow, insistent roll of his fingers inside you has you spiraling, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, and when his thumb finds your clit, circling with just enough pressure, your breath stutters, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.
His thumb strokes over your nipple again, this time pinching lightly, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers, and the sensation sparks through you like a live wire. Your hands clutch at his broad shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as a sharp gasp escapes you.
The dual sensation—his fingers working you open with slow, deliberate strokes while his other hand teases your breast—has your body arching into him, desperate for more.
Suguru chuckles, low and pleased, his lips brushing against your jaw. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, giving your nipple another slow roll between his fingers before soothing the sting with a warm, open-mouthed kiss against your throat.
Your head tips back against the desk, thighs trembling around his waist. “Suguru—” you gasp, a desperate plea wrapped in his name.
He groans in response, the sound low and wrecked, vibrating against your skin. His fingers retreat suddenly, leaving you empty, and you whimper at the loss. But before you can protest, he’s shifting, straightening up between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you closer to the edge of the desk.
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs caressing the side of your cheek, his voice thick and warm against your kiss-swollen lips. His fingers find the waistband of your underwear, hooking into it as he tugs the fabric down, his knuckles brushing against your thighs as he bares you to him.
His dark eyes flicker up to meet yours, filled with something deep, something hungry—but there’s tenderness there too, something almost reverent as he takes you in.
His hands smooth over your thighs, parting them further as he shifts between them, his own clothes rustling as he undoes his belt, his zipper—getting ready to help you where you need him most.
“‘M gonna take care of you,” he promises, low and fervent, his fingers curling around your thighs, hiking them up just a bit as he lines himself up. "Gonna make you feel so fucking good."
And then—he pushes inside, stretching you, filling you, tearing a gasp from your lips as your fingers claw at his shoulders.
His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your moans, his pace already deep, deliberate—like he’s set on making you feel every inch of him, making sure you know exactly what it means to be wanted.
Suguru’s grip tightens on your thighs as he lifts them higher, angling you just how he wants, and then—he drives into you, deep and unrelenting.
Every roll of his hips knocks the air from your lungs, every deep, deliberate thrust sends another ripple of heat cascading through you.
You can barely think, barely breathe, your mind foggy with the heady mix of desire and disbelief—disbelief that this is happening, that you let it happen, that it feels so impossibly, devastatingly good.
Suguru groans low in his throat, his grip tightening, his fingers pressing bruises into your thighs as he holds you exactly where he wants you, giving you exactly what you needed.
His lips brush against your jaw, his voice dark and hushed when he murmurs, "Not so bad for a parent-teacher meeting, hmm?"
The desk creaks beneath you, the sharp edge digging into your back, but you barely register it over the heat flooding your veins, over the way he stretches you, fills you, drags pleasure from you with every purposeful thrust.
Your fingers claw at his shirt, desperate to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensation. His name spills from your lips in a breathless gasp, your body arching into him, chasing more, more, more—
"That's it," he murmurs, voice rough, almost reverent. "Taking me so well."
His hands pull your legs even further up, deepening his angel, holding you open as he moves harder, faster, his breath hot against your cheek. The sharp, rhythmic press of him inside you has you unraveling, pleasure curling tight in your core, so close you can taste it, so close you can feel yourself slipping—
And then?
Well.
You never complained about going to parent-teacher meetings alone again.
a/n ⸺ I may or may not already have half of a choso version drafted if anyone wants to see that PLS LET ME KNOW
series summary ⸺ You and Gojo have been best friends ever since you met him in university, through your long study nights with Gojo, you met his other best friend, Suguru Geto. Although the two of you never really became close, the three of you spent a lot of time together at school. About a year or so after graduation, you had found yourself working a corporate job for some big shot insurance company in the city. Geto, on the other hand, had always been more of a background presence, he was a friend-of-a-friend. That’s why it caught you off guard when, out of nowhere, he reached out to you asking you to catch up, one-on-one. What started as a simple catch-up soon became something else, shrinking the distance that had always existed between you.
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
series content warnings ⸺ this is an 18+ series - mdni, platonic-bestie!gojo, corporate-worker!reader, reader uses female pronouns, reader has a v*gina, alcohol use, smoking (both cigs and weed), drug use, p in v intercourse, oral sex (both ways), semi-public sex, size kink, ROUGH sex, themes of substance abuse & high functioning addiction, a bit of emotional manipulation, exhaustion from working, burnout, corporate world bs, mildly anxiety inducing.
taglist ⸺ check latest chapter
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
୨୧ simplygojo masterlist ୨୧ Ao3 series link ୨୧
author's note ⸺ HELLOOOOO, this chapter is now out for you to read..feel free to send me an ask to tell me your thoughts on the series so far :)
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, miss gorl finally realized her feelings, detailed descriptions smoking (weed + cigs), high tensions, I want them both so bad taglist at end, 4.6k, this is an 18+ series - mdni!!
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
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“Better?” He murmured, his voice just above the rain, low and careful.
You nodded, not trusting your voice. The closeness made the rhythm of your heart feel louder than the rain, the pulse in your chest syncing with the quiet, deliberate steps you shared down the slick sidewalk.
You leaned just a fraction into him, letting the protection of his presence—literal and figurative—anchor you as you navigated the steps toward the subway station.
Even in the rain, with the city glinting wet beneath streetlights, it felt like the two of you had created a small, suspended world under the navy-blue canopy of the umbrella.
The subway entrance came into view a half block ahead, the fluorescent lights beneath the awning glowing against the gray wash of rain. You both picked up your pace, shoes splashing through shallow puddles as you hurried for cover.
The moment you stepped under the overhang, the sound of rain softened from a roar to a distant hiss. Suguru tilted the umbrella away from you and gave it a quick shake before folding it neatly, the fabric snapping closed with a practiced flick of his wrist. He tucked it under his arm beside your laptop bag.
Inside, the station was warm and bright compared to the wet street outside. You fished your transit card from your pocket as the two of you moved toward the gates.
Tap.
Your card chimed and the turnstile unlocked. Suguru followed a second later, the soft beep of his own card echoing behind you as he stepped through.
You both started down the platform stairs at a quick pace, the concrete steps still damp from commuters tracking rainwater inside.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low. “These steps are pretty slippery.”
“I’m fine,” you said, though the small brush of his arm against yours made your stomach twist pleasantly.
He gave a faint smirk, the kind that didn’t need words. “Sure you are,” he teased softly, adjusting the laptop bag on his shoulder.
When the two of you reached the bottom of the stairs, the train lights were just appearing in the tunnel. You both quickened your pace, moving toward the platform edge just as the distant rumble began to build.
The doors slid open just as you got to the platform, and god did you love when it aligned like that…the subway platforms always smelled like piss…you hated waiting down there.
A rush of damp commuters spilled out first—umbrellas dripping, coats brushing past your shoulders. Suguru’s hand shifted lightly against your back, guiding you through the small wave of bodies before you stepped inside.
The subway car was already crowded, the air thick with the smell of wet fabric and metal warmed by too many people. Water dripped steadily from someone’s umbrella near the door, pooling in small dark spots on the floor that rocked gently with the motion of the train.
You barely had time to adjust your footing before the doors chimed shut behind you.
He released his hand from your shoulder, but couldn’t go far, considering how packed the train was.
“Finally dry,” you said, a small laugh escaping as you broke the silence.
“Yeah,” he replied, glancing at you, voice quiet but teasing. “Though I can’t say I minded the arrangement.”
A short breath of laughter slipped out of you before you could stop it, your head tilting slightly as you looked up at him. The fluorescent subway lights caught the damp edges of his hair, dark strands curling faintly where the rain had touched them.
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mind at all,” you said, the corner of your mouth pulling into a crooked smile.
He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, adjusting the strap of your laptop bag where it rested against his shoulder. The movement shifted him a fraction closer in the cramped space, the sleeve of his coat brushing your arm as another wave of passengers pressed further into the car.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
The train lurched forward with a sudden jolt, metal screeching softly against the rails. Your hand shot out instinctively, catching the cool pole beside you before the motion could throw you off balance.
Suguru’s hand moved just as quickly.
His fingers closed lightly around your upper arm—steady, warm—holding there only long enough for the train to settle back into its rhythm before easing away again.
“You good?” he asked.
You nodded, letting out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh.
“Subway’s trying to take me out, apparently.”
A quiet smile crossed his face at that, the kind that lingered more in his eyes than his mouth.
“Good thing I’m here then,” he said lightly.
You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at that. Lately, the more time the two of you spent alone together, the bolder his remarks seemed to get—small comments delivered with that quiet certainty of his.
Last night had been the first time it really stood out.
And, to your mild irritation, the version of him that showed up in those moments had begun to grow on you.
The car rocked gently as it picked up speed, the tunnel lights sliding past the windows in flashes of dull yellow. Around you, damp coats brushed together, and the faint scent of rain clung to the air.
Suguru glanced down at you again, something easy and familiar settling into his expression.
Suguru glanced down at you again, a quiet familiarity settling across his expression.
“So,” he said, adjusting his grip on the metal pole above you, “how many stops until yours?”
“Five,” you replied, leaning your shoulder a little more firmly into the narrow strip of space the two of you occupied. “Maybe ten minutes.”
“Not bad,” he said. “Could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug. “If the train behaves.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Bold assumption.”
The car swayed again, the movement sending a ripple through the line of standing passengers. His hand tightened slightly around the pole to steady himself, the sleeve of his coat brushing your arm as the train settled back into its rhythm.
For a moment, the conversation fell away.
The steady rumble of the train filled the space instead—metal wheels against the track, the low whine of the tunnel air rushing past the windows.
You shifted your gaze upward.
Suguru stood a good deal taller than you, the overhead bar forcing his arm to angle slightly above your head. The position pulled the fabric of his coat taut across his shoulder and down the length of his arm.
Your eyes drifted lower.
His hand wrapped easily around the metal pole, long fingers loose but steady with the movement of the train. Faint lines of veins ran beneath the skin along the back of his hand, shifting subtly each time the train car jolted.
Another sway of the train nudged your shoulder against his chest.
Your gaze moved again—this time higher.
The fluorescent lights overhead caught the edges of his features in pale bands of light and shadow. Damp strands of dark hair had loosened slightly near his temples, curling faintly where the rain had touched them earlier.
His lips curved almost absently at something happening somewhere else in the car—a quiet reaction to a conversation you couldn’t hear. The movement was small, barely there, but it softened the line of his mouth.
Then his eyes dropped.
Right to you.
For half a second, your eyes stayed locked on his.
The train roared through the tunnel, the lights outside the window flashing past in quick bursts.
Suguru’s brow lifted just slightly, his gaze not breaking from yours.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low, edged with something faintly amused. “Or did you find something interesting?”
A warm prickle climbed up the back of your neck.
“Mm, nothing interesting,” you murmured, your gaze slipping past him toward the opposite side of the car. “Just zoning out.”
The answer came a touch too quick, the words a little too light.
He didn’t move right away.
But the corner of his mouth shifted—subtle, restrained—like he’d noticed the gap between what you said and what lingered in the space between you. Something settled into his expression then, quiet and self-assured, like he’d arrived at a conclusion he wasn’t in any rush to hide.
“You checking me out on the subway?” He murmured, quieter this time.
There was no sharpness to it. No edge meant to corner you. Just a soft thread of amusement, the kind that settled low in his voice instead of rising to the surface. And you couldn’t stop the small rush that ran through you.
You scoffed under your breath, turning your head slightly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
A pause.
Then, just as quietly—
“Ah,” he said, almost to himself, the faintest exhale of a laugh following it. “That’s disappointing.”
The words landed lightly, but something in the way he said it—measured, unbothered—left a small shift in the air between you, like he’d set something down and let it sit there without pressing further.
The train swayed again, pulling the line of bodies with it. His shoulder brushed yours once more, steadier this time, less accidental. His hand remained wrapped around the pole above, fingers flexing slightly with the motion, tendons shifting beneath the skin in the harsh overhead light.
His fingers wrapped loosely around the metal, steady, unhurried. The faint pull of his sleeve revealed the line of his wrist, the subtle movement beneath his skin as his grip adjusted with the motion of the train.
The fluorescent lights overhead flickered faintly, catching along the sharp line of his jaw, the slight curve of his mouth still holding onto that quiet amusement.
Your gaze lingered a second too long.
Then moved.
The train announcement crackled overhead, distorting slightly through the speaker.
“Next stop—”
Your stop.
Your head tilted up toward the display instinctively, watching the blinking line inch closer, confirming what you’d already heard. Around you, people shifted—small movements at first, bags being adjusted, hands tightening on poles, bodies angling toward the doors in anticipation.
Suguru followed your line of sight, then looked back down at you.
“This one?” he asked.
You nodded. “Yeah. Five stops go by faster than you think.”
“Depends who you’re with,” he said, easy, like it didn’t weigh anything.
The train began to slow, the hum dipping lower as the brakes caught. The sway changed—subtle, but enough to pull everyone slightly forward.
His hand found your upper arm again, lighter this time. Not catching—just there. Steadying. Making sure you didn’t fall backwards at the sudden speed change, as if you didn’t do this every day.
The car lurched once before settling.
The doors chimed.
A soft shuffle moved through the crowd as people began to filter toward the exits. Suguru shifted, turning slightly to create space, his hand brushing briefly along your arm as he guided you forward through the small cluster of bodies.
As you reached the doors, he eased back slightly, holding a hand out to keep the door open for you.
“After you.”
There was something faintly amused in the way he said it, but softer than before. Quieter. Suguru’s words left your cheeks burning faintly, unbidden.
You stepped out onto the platform, the air cooler here, tinged with the lingering damp from outside. The noise shifted instantly—the enclosed echo of the station replacing the tight hum of the train car.
Suguru followed right behind you, the doors sliding shut again at his back with a sharp chime.
Then the train pulled away, a damp wind rushing past you in its wake, stirring the edges of your coat.
You turned slightly, glancing up at him. “So you still planning on walking me allllll the way back to my apartment?" You asked, voice light and teasing, glancing over at him as you stepped toward the escalator, letting the motion of your shoulders carry the playfulness.
He didn’t answer right away.
Not with words, at least.
But he fell into step beside you without hesitation, close enough that the edge of his coat brushed yours as you approached the escalator. The movement of the crowd carried you both forward, bodies funnelling into a loose line, the low hum of the station settling back in around you.
“Thought that was already decided,” he said after a beat, voice quiet, threaded with something easy.
You huffed a small breath of a laugh, stepping onto the escalator first. The metal ridges caught under your shoes as you moved upward, the steady climb pulling you out of the fluorescent wash of the platform below.
Suguru stepped on just behind you.
The metal steps carried you upward in a slow, steady rhythm, the hum of the mechanism settling beneath the distant echo of the platform below.
After a few steps, you turned.
Fully.
The movement brought you face-to-face with him—closer than expected, the narrow width of the escalator leaving little space between you. The step above should have put you higher, created some distance.
It didn’t.
He was still right there, just below eye level with you despite it, his height closing the gap you hadn’t accounted for. The difference barely registered—only enough to make the closeness feel more deliberate, harder to look away from.
From this angle, the overhead lights caught differently.
They traced along the bridge of his nose, the line of his cheek, leaving the rest in softer shadow. Damp strands of dark hair had loosened near his temples, curling faintly where the rain had touched them earlier. One piece had fallen just slightly out of place, close enough that you noticed before you could stop yourself.
You wanted to reach out. But your hand didn’t move.
But the thought lingered for a fraction longer than it should have.
The escalator hummed beneath your feet, carrying you both upward, but the space between you felt suspended—untouched by the motion, held in something quieter.
His gaze shifted once. Not away—just lower, briefly, like he was taking in the angle, the closeness, the way you’d turned toward him instead of forward. Then it returned to your eyes, steady, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to stand there and look.
The space between you wasn’t large—just a single step—but it didn’t feel like distance. Not with the way his presence settled there, steady and familiar.
You let the escalator carry you the rest of the way up, the gray wash of daylight growing clearer with each second.
You stepped off first, the motion automatic, your foot landing on solid ground just as the sound of the city replaced the low hum of the station. Suguru followed a half-step behind, close enough that you felt it before you saw it.
The air outside was cooler than you’d expected.
You paused just past the exit, glancing up instinctively.
The rain had stopped.
Not completely gone—there was still a thin mist from spraying down from above, the pavement slick and shining under the streetlights—but the steady downpour from before had softened into something quieter.
The kind of aftermath that left the city damp and reflective, the air cleaner than usual.
“Well,” you said, exhaling lightly, “that’s pretty convenient.”
Suguru followed your line of sight, gaze lifting briefly before returning to you.
“Good timing,” he said.
The umbrella stayed closed at his side.
You stepped out onto the sidewalk together, falling into pace without needing to adjust. The street was a bit quieter now, the earlier rush thinned out, leaving behind the occasional passerby and the low hiss of tires moving through wet roads. It helps that your apartment wasn’t in the heart of the city, but just outside.
Your shoes tapped lightly against the pavement, the rhythm steady.
A few steps passed before he spoke again.
“You take this every day?” He asked.
You glanced over, the question landing a second off-beat. “The subway?”
“Mm.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward the street, where a line of cars sat idling at the intersection ahead, brake lights glowing red against the wet pavement.
“You don’t have a car?”
You let out a short breath of a laugh, shaking your head.
“In this economy?” You said, glancing back at him. “No.”
As if on cue, a car inched forward only to stop again a few feet later, a horn blaring as the driver tapped their brakes a little too sharply.
Then, with a small tilt of your head—
“I’ll do you one better,” you added. “With this traffic? There’s no way I’m driving.”
Suguru watched the car line up for a moment.
Then huffed a quiet laugh.
“Fair enough, I guess,” he said.
“At least on the subway I can zone out and pretend I’m not wasting 5 hours a week commuting.”
His gaze shifted back to you.
“Zoning out?” He repeated, something faintly amused threading through it.
You caught it immediately.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything,” he said, too easily.
“You were about to.”
“Was I?”
You held his gaze for a second, unimpressed.
He didn’t look away.
The corner of his mouth moved—just slightly, like he wasn’t in any rush to deny it.
You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head as you looked forward again, though the small smile didn’t quite leave.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered.
“Mm,” he hummed beside you.
The conversation fell quiet after that, but not in a way that felt empty.
The city stretched out ahead of you, damp and dimly lit, the glow of streetlights reflecting in long streaks across the pavement. Your steps stayed in sync, unspoken, your shoulder brushing his once, then again a few seconds later.
Neither of you adjusted.
Somewhere behind you, a car horn sounded, distant and impatient.
Ahead, your street waited—just a few blocks more.
You didn’t speed up.
Eventually, your building came into view.
The soft glow from the lobby lights spilled out onto the sidewalk, catching in the shallow puddles along the curb. The rain had left everything slick and reflective, the city quieter now, like it had settled into itself.
You adjusted your pace as you approached the entrance, fingers slipping into your coat pocket, brushing against your keys. The motion was automatic—familiar, something you’d done every day without thinking. This time, you noticed it. The way the walk was ending. The way it was supposed to end.
You stopped just short of the door, turning slightly as he came to a stop beside you.
Close. Closer than he needed to be now that there was nowhere left to go.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
This was the part that should’ve been easy. A quick thank you. Something light. A step back. The door opening, the moment closing before it had the chance to stretch into something else. You’d done it before—with coworkers, with friends, with people who walked you home because it made sense at the time and nothing more.
There was a version of this that stayed exactly that.
Simple. Normal.
Your fingers curled loosely around your keys, but you didn’t reach for the handle.
It wouldn’t be weird.
The thought came quietly, settling into place before you could push it away. People invited friends upstairs all the time. It didn’t have to mean anything.
You were still just friends.
The word lingered a second longer than it should have. Because nothing had actually happened. No lines crossed. No moment you could point to and say that was different.
And yet—
Your gaze dipped for a moment before rising again—only to find his already on you. Lately, it felt as though they always were. Or maybe you’d only just begun to notice.
Your grip on your keys tightened for a second, the cool metal pressing into your palm before easing again.
“Thanks for walking me,” you said, your voice slipping in just enough to ease the quiet that had begun to settle too heavily between you.
His expression softened, just slightly. “Of course. I was in the area anyway…plus I’ve heard that the subway can be sketchy.”
“Mm,” you said, glancing over at him. “Guess I got lucky tonight.”
The corner of his mouth moved, faint but there. The moment stretched again.
You felt it—that point where it could end. Your fingers shifted slightly around your keys.
If you invite him up, he might take it the wrong way.
The thought came, clear. Not entirely the ‘wrong way’ anymore—just heavier than you intended, carrying implications you weren’t yet ready to stand behind. Your gaze flickered to him for a second, then back to the door.
But…would that be so bad? Would it truly be so bad if he mistook your gesture as something more?
A small pause settled in. Maybe it would be good to see the way he’d react. Whether anything in his expression would shift—just slightly—like it had been all night.
Your grip tightened briefly, then eased.
And if he did take it the wrong way—
You could fix it.
Play it off. Keep it light. Say you meant it casually, like it wasn’t anything more than that. Like he was the one who misinterpreted you.
Your gaze lifted again.
“If you want,” you said, those first words coming a touch quicker than the rest, “you can come up for a bit.” Your eyes tipped up to his—wide, a little too open, the look lingering just a second longer than it needed to, as if something in it might be enough to keep him there.
It sounded lighter than it felt.
The space between you seemed to settle into itself—not empty, but suspended, like something unseen had drawn tight and held the moment in time.
Suguru didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed on yours, steady, like he was weighing something. Not the words themselves—you got the sense it wasn’t that simple. Something quieter. The timing. The shift.
For a second, it looked like he might say yes.
It wasn’t obvious.
Just the smallest change—the way his shoulders eased, the way his attention didn’t waver, like he’d already stepped a fraction closer to the idea of it.
Your grip tightened slightly around your keys.
Then—
A breath left him, quiet, almost thoughtful. His gaze dipped for a second, like he was pulling himself back from something he hadn’t fully stepped into.
“I—” he started, then paused, the word trailing off.
A small shake of his head followed, more to himself than to you.
“Sorry,” he said, softer now. “I actually have to head out.”
“I’m meeting someone,” he added. The words settled somewhere deep, quiet but undeniable, tugging at your chest in a way you couldn’t quite place. And noticing it—feeling it linger—only made it worse, left you turning inward, unsure why it mattered at all.
He glanced past you briefly, like he was checking the time without actually looking at anything. “About a space. I’ve been trying to sort something out.”
“Oh,” you said flatly. “Right. Yeah, of course.”
You nodded once, like it made sense.
He looked back at you then.
There was something in his expression—faint, but there. Not regret exactly. Not hesitation either.
“It’s for a party,” he added after a beat, voice a little lighter now. “For Gojo’s birthday.”
Your brows lifted, the tension in your chest loosening almost all at once. The tight, unfamiliar pull from before unravelled, leaving something steadier in its place—something easier to breathe through.
It wasn’t like he was meeting some girl - not that it should matter.
“A party?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Yeah,” he said, the corner of his mouth shifting faintly. “I was gonna tell you. Planning a surprise party for Gojo’s birthday. Figured I’d try to plan something without him catching on for once.”
A small breath of laughter slipped out of you. “Good luck with that.”
“Mm,” he hummed. “I’ll need it.”
The moment settled again.
Different this time.
You nodded, glancing down briefly as your fingers adjusted around your keys. “Well… let me know if you need help. With planning or whatever.”
“I will,” he said, easily.
A pause.
Then—His gaze lingered just a second longer than it needed to.
“I actually have been thinking, maybe you could help me out with some of the planning this weekend.” He added, quieter.
The offer hung there, just slightly off from the ease of everything he’d said before—placed more carefully, like it mattered where it landed.
Your gaze lifted.
His gaze drifted subtly, moving from your eyes down toward your mouth before returning, slow enough that you didn’t catch it—at least, not fully.
“Yeah?” You said, softer now, the word coming out before you fully settled into it. “You want help with that?”
A brief pause.
“Only if you want to,” he said, though it didn’t quite feel like an out. His hand adjusted slightly on the umbrella, a small movement that stilled just as quickly. “Thought it might be easier with two people.”
Your mouth curved faintly, not quite a smile. “Or you just don’t trust yourself to plan something without me,” you said, light, but your gaze didn’t leave his.
That subtle shift returned at the corner of his mouth.
“Something like that.”
The quiet stretched again—closer now. The rain tapped softly overhead, filling the space neither of you moved to break.
Your shoulder brushed his, barely there, the contact lingering a second longer than it needed to.
“Okay,” you said after a moment, the word quieter this time. “This weekend’s fine.”
His gaze held yours for a beat—just long enough to register—before he gave a small nod.
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay, great…Well, I’ll text you.”
He started to shift back, the movement small but clear—an unspoken signal that he was about to leave.
Your gaze caught the strap of your laptop bag still resting against his shoulder.
“Uh—” you began, a soft, awkward laugh slipping out. “Do you mind if I take that back?”
His eyes flicked down, as if he’d only just remembered it was there.
“Right,” he said, quieter now.
He slipped the strap off his shoulder, the motion easy, but slower than it needed to be. His hand brushed yours as he passed it back—light, brief, but enough to register.
“Thanks for getting it and I home safe,” you said playfully, adjusting the weight of it against your side.
“Yeah.”
He took a small step back, enough to ease the closeness that had hung between you.
“I’ll text you,” he said.
“Sounds good.”
He turned then, hands slipping into his coat pockets as he started down the sidewalk. The distance came back slowly—step by step—until he was just another figure moving through the dim wash of the streetlights.
You stayed where you were for a second longer, watching him as he walked away from you. Your gaze lingered on his retreating figure until he turned the corner and disappeared from view.
Only then did you move.
You stepped inside your building, the warmth of the lobby settling around you, familiar and unchanged.
The quiet hum of the air conditioning and the soft shuffle of papers from the older lady at the front desk filled the space, but it didn’t reach you. Your fingers brushed the strap of your bag, tracing the faint indentation where his hand had been. A small shiver ran up your arm—not from cold, but from the memory of how close he had been, how easily the air between you had shifted.
The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped inside, pressing the button for your floor. The small space felt impossibly quiet after your walk home, the soft whir of the machinery filling in around you.
And for a moment, trapped in the quiet silver of the elevator, you couldn’t quite tell if anything had actually happened at all.
Or if everything just had.
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author's note ⸺ well hey there....long time no see...I am sooooooo back. It's been 8 months. I accidentally took a break travelling the world and moving apartments. I have missed one of my favourite pastimes - writing. and I am excited to pick up where I left off. I hope some of you are still following this series lmaooo, if not, I hope to welcome some new readers. Thank you all for so many messages, I am okay and thank you endlessly for caring <3
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, miss gorl finally realized her feelings, detailed descriptions smoking (weed + cigs), high tensions, I want them both so bad taglist at end, 4.1k, this is an 18+ series - mdni!!
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
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That night, you went to bed almost immediately.
You moved through the apartment like someone trying to outrun something, drawing every curtain closed and flicking off each light as if dimming them could silence the way your thoughts were racing.
It didn’t work.
Lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling longer than you'd care to admit, eyes adjusting to the dark, mind doing anything but resting.
You flipped your pillow, tried breathing exercises, even contemplated putting on one of those high frequency background noise loops Gojo had once sent you—’for when your brain is being an asshole’—but none of it helped. The silence only seemed to sharpen the memory of his voice.
“I’ve always paid attention to you.” — “I think I started paying attention to you before you ever said a word to me.”
You ran those words through your mind so many times they started to lose their shape. By morning they didn’t feel like sentences anymore — just fragments you kept rearranging, trying to force them into something harmless.
He was just being kind, you told yourself. That was 110% platonic.
Yeah…well you can imagine how well that worked.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
Thursday came and went the way Thursdays always did. Work. Emails. A spreadsheet that wouldn't format properly, no matter how many times you sent the file to someone. But something was off-kilter.
By the time lunch rolled around, you gave up pretending.
You stepped out of the building without your jacket, leaving it hanging neatly over your chair. Your headphones rested around your neck, and you held your phone loosely in one hand.
The weather was deceptively pleasant—sunlight warmed your face, and a soft breeze moved through your blouse. It should have eased something in you, but it didn’t.
You didn’t even think about it. You just tapped Gojo’s name and brought the phone to your ear.
He picked up on the second ring. “Heyyyyyy,” he greeted, sing-song. “To what do I owe the lunchtime ca—”
“I think I’m losing it,” you said, abruptly cutting him off.
A pause. “Alright. Losing what, specifically?”
“My grip. On reality. On logic. I don’t know.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Well, lucky for you, I specialize in delusion. Walk me through it.”
You started talking. Or maybe rambling was the better word. You spoke so fast, Gojo didn’t even have time to speak—and that says a lot.
You didn’t say Suguru’s name—not yet—but Gojo didn’t need you to. You said “last night,” and “the way he looked at me,” and “he said something weird,” and Gojo made one noise of realization that told you he was already ten steps ahead.
The longer you talked, the more your feet moved. Past the café with the chipped tiles out front. Past the crosswalk with the busted button that never registered the first press.
“I mean—it wasn’t anything,” you said, more to yourself than him. “He was just being nice, probably? I’m definitely just reading too much into it. Like—it was just a friendly thing to say, right? People say stuff like that all the time.”
Gojo hummed. “Mhm. And if I looked at you all soft and said I’ve always paid attention to you—like, really paid attention—would you find that normal and platonic?”
Your nose wrinkled before you could stop it, mouth pulling to one side as the expression settled in. A quiet, wordless absolutely not written plainly across your face.
Silence stretched on the line—your answer given, just not out loud.
“Mhm,” he said again, smug. “Just as I thought.”
You were Olympic-level speed walking now, but guided by an unconscious direction.
A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you tried to counter his point. “You know you don’t know everything, right? Suguru has always been a mysterious guy…”
You hesitated just a second before walking into the corner store, and then headed straight to the check-out counter, waiting for the man who was working to finish with a previous customer.
Gojo was still talking in your ear.
“Right,” he said. “Because men always say cryptic, emotionally loaded things for completely normal friendship reasons.”
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay, well when you put it like that, I sound stupid for questioning things.”
“I’m just saying,” he went on, tone infuriatingly casual, “when I want to signal to someone that we’re just friends-of-friends, I totalllyyy make intense eye contact and tell them I’ve been silently observing them for years. Super normal. Very low-stakes.”
“I’m just tired. My brain’s being dramatic—It really isn’t that deep.” You kept your voice low, eyes locked on the rows of gum and lighters beside the counter, searching for something to focus on. The cold air inside the store prickled against your arms, too sharp after the sun, and still, a strange heat crept upward—starting in your chest, rising into your face.
“Oh, for sure,” he said. “That’s why you’re calling me on your lunch break, speed-walking across the city like you’re being chased by your own feelings.”
Gojo let out another dramatic sigh—though it was less exasperated this time, more thoughtful.
“Suguru’s not the kind of guy who dives in headfirst. He takes his time. Really waits it out.”
You stayed quiet, walking a little slower now as you approached the crosswalk.
“He doesn’t say things like that unless he means them,” Gojo continued. “And he doesn’t mean them unless he’s already sure.”
You exhaled hard through your nose. “Yeah? And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You said, sharper than you meant to. “You know you’re starting to sound pretty cryptic to me now too–Uh–just hold on one sec, okay?”
You shoved your phone into your back pocket, ensuring that Gojo would not be able to eavesdrop, as you nodded at the guy behind the counter. He didn’t look up from his register when he asked, “What’ll it be?”
“Just a pack of reds,” you said quietly.
He reached for the pack, slid it across the counter with a flat kind of indifference.
The sound of the scanner beeped, harsh and sterile against the hum of the store’s air conditioning. You dug a few bills from your pocket, passing them over without thinking.
You mumbled a thanks, pushed the door open with your shoulder, and the bell overhead chimed as you stepped back into the sunlight.
“Alright, back to what I was saying…” You said bluntly, bringing your phone back up to your ear.
“You’re starting to sound pretty cryptic, for the love of god, please, just say what you mean Gojo.” You adjusted your grip on the phone, the cigarette pack still cool against your palm.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t just put me in your pocket…” You could hear him shifting on the other end—some faint rustling, a soft exhale like he was weighing what to say next.
The street noise around you faded a little, replaced by the muted pulse of your own heartbeat in your ears. For once, he didn’t sound like he was gearing up for another joke. “The question’s not about him anymore. It’s about you.”
You didn’t answer right away. Not because you didn’t have thoughts—but because there were too many, actually.
All tangled. All loud. And none of them felt safe to say out loud yet. You watched your own feet move along the sidewalk, scuffed the tip of your shoe against a crack in the concrete, and focused on the sound of your breathing instead.
“I mean,” he said, a little lighter, “you can keep spiralling and pretending you don’t know how you feel. That’s finee. To be honest, I don’t really care how long this takes. I find it quite entertaining…But he’s already decided how he feels, and you can obviously see that now. He’s just waiting for you to catch up.”
There was a long silence on the line. You could hear the quiet hum of traffic in the background—his end or yours, you weren’t sure.
Then, interrupting your thought process as per usual. “So. What’re you gonna do with that?”
There was a tight pull in your chest that hadn’t eased since you left the office—maybe even since last night. You wanted to say something, anything, but every answer felt like it might tip you too far in one direction. Too close to honesty. Too close to what you weren’t ready to name yet.
You reached the corner and pretended to study the walk signal, even though the light hadn’t changed.
“Not sure yet,” you said finally, voice quiet. “I’ll have to keep you posted.”
Gojo didn’t press. Just made a small noise of acknowledgment that sounded strangely fond.
“But I gotta go,” you added quickly, already pulling the phone away from your cheek. “I’m at my building.”
No you weren’t.
“You better text me later,” he threatened. “I need a play-by-play when you inevitably unravel again.”
You rolled your eyes. “Goodbye, Gojo.”
“Talk to ya’ later, emotional disaster.”
You slipped your phone into your back pocket again, the weight of it settling against your hip as you tore open the pack of cigarettes. The foil crackled under your thumb. One cigarette slid free, familiar between your fingers in a way that made something in your chest twist—not guilt exactly, just recognition. The lighter you’d forgotten was still in your jacket pocket sparked on the second try, a small flare against the afternoon light.
You took a slow drag as you started walking, the smoke catching at the back of your throat before you exhaled toward the street. It didn’t calm you down, not really. But it gave your hands something to do while your head stayed a mess—the illusion of control, or whatever.
Yeah, so maybe you’d lied a little to Gojo. You weren’t at your building. You were still a few blocks away. But if that aggravating white-haired prick knew you’d bought a pack, he wouldn’t have been nearly as easy to hang up on.
You slowed your steps once you turned the corner, the street quieter here, just the hum of distant traffic and the click of your shoes against the pavement. The cigarette burned low between your fingers.
Gojo’s voice lingered anyway—obvious, he’d said. Like it was that simple.
Maybe it was, for him. He’d always been good at saying things out loud, at naming them before they could turn into something complicated. But for you, it didn’t feel obvious. It felt… blurred. Unsteady.
You tried to think back—when had it started? When had the air between you and Suguru shifted from easy to careful? You’d spent so long convincing yourself it was nothing, just the way he was, the way he looked at people—soft, steady, kind.
But Gojo wasn’t wrong. He rarely was when it came to other people’s feelings.
You took another drag of your cigarette, slower this time, and let the smoke drift out in front of you.
If Suguru had already decided, if he’d been standing there, steady and sure—Then the only thing left unsettled was you.
The thought made your stomach turn, not unpleasantly, just with the kind of weight you couldn’t walk off.
You stubbed the cigarette out, tucked the pack back into your pocket and kept walking to your office building.
The air felt heavier now, like the city itself was leaning in, waiting for you to make sense of everything rattling around in your chest. You kept your eyes forward, counted the cracks in the sidewalk, anything to keep from circling back to his voice in your head.
By the time your hand touched the glass door, your pulse had finally slowed. Not settled—just slowed.
You exhaled, stepped inside, and let the familiar smell of the lobby wrap around you. Safe, neutral, anonymous. But standing there, you couldn’t tell if you felt steadier than before, or if you’d only added more weight to the mess already inside you.
You crossed the threshold anyway, carrying both possibilities upstairs to your cubicle.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
The afternoon dragged in its usual way — a haze of emails, phone calls, and the hum of the office air system that seemed louder than the chatter of your coworkers. You clicked through spreadsheets without really absorbing the numbers, fingers moving on autopilot.
Rows of data blurred together. You corrected a formula. Replied to an email. Moved a column over by one cell.
None of it stuck.
Every few minutes your eyes flicked down to your phone, where it sat face-up beside your keyboard, silent and dark. You told yourself it was habit—nothing more than the same restless checking everyone did during slow afternoons.
Still, your attention kept drifting there.
The cursor blinked impatiently in the spreadsheet. You typed another number. Deleted it. Re-entered it.
Across the office someone laughed too loudly. A chair rolled across the tile. The printer spat out a stack of papers with a mechanical whir. Everything carried on exactly the way it always did.
But something from last night lingered, quiet and stubborn beneath the surface of it all.
Suguru’s voice.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just steady.
I’ve always paid attention to you.
Your fingers stilled on the keyboard as your thoughts became more persistent.
The memory didn’t arrive all at once. It came back in pieces — the cool night air on the balcony, the way the city lights had caught in the glass door behind him, the faint curl of smoke drifting between you.
And the way he had been looking at you. Not the easy, friendly look he gave everyone, no it was something far quieter than that—More deliberate.
You leaned back slightly in your chair, rubbing a thumb along the edge of your desk.
Gojo’s voice slipped back into your head too, annoyingly clear.
He doesn’t say things like that unless he means them.
The thought sat there, heavy and uncomfortable. Because the truth was—you’d always known Suguru paid attention. He was just that kind of person. He noticed things about people that others overlooked. Small habits. Subtle shifts in mood. The way someone’s voice changed when they were tired. It had always felt safe, somehow. Easy to assume that warmth was just part of who he was.
But last night…
Last night hadn’t felt like that.
There had been a difference you couldn’t quite smooth back into something harmless. The memory refused to settle into the neat, familiar shape you’d always given it—the easy explanation that Suguru was simply attentive by nature. Kind. Observant. The type of person who made everyone feel quietly seen.
What lingered from the balcony didn’t feel broad like that. It felt… distinct.
And the more your mind circled the moment, the more it began to pull other fragments loose—small things you’d never bothered examining before. The way his attention sometimes settled on you a second longer than necessary during group conversations. The way he’d remember details you’d mentioned offhand from years go, bringing them up again with that same calm certainty, as if they’d never left his mind. The quiet patience he showed whenever you spoke, even when you were rambling or half-distracted, like he was willing to wait out every unfinished thought until you reached the end of it.
Back in university, it had always just blended into the background of who he was. Suguru was simply like that with people.
But sitting here now, staring at the blinking cursor on your monitor, those moments rearranged themselves into something sharper. Something with clearer edges.
And a slow, unsettling realization crept in alongside them—
That difference you’d felt last night might not have appeared out of nowhere. It might have been there all along. You’d just never stood still long enough to notice where it had been pointing.
Your jaw tightened slightly. Gojo’s words returned again, irritatingly calm.
He’s already decided.
You stared at your monitor. The spreadsheet numbers had long since stopped making sense.
Your phone sat there beside your keyboard, perfectly still.
He hadn’t texted.
Which wasn’t surprising, really. Suguru wasn’t the type to chase a moment right after it happened. If anything, he tended to give people space — letting conversations settle before returning to them. Which meant the silence between you now wasn’t unusual.
Still, your attention drifted back to your phone. It sat exactly where you’d left it beside the keyboard, the screen dark, the glass catching a dull reflection of the fluorescent lights overhead.
You stared at it for a moment.
Then reached for it before you could reconsider.
The screen lit up beneath your thumb.
No notifications.
The message thread with Suguru sat a few rows down in your messaging upp, unchanged since the last time you’d looked at it. Something casual from earlier in the week — a half-finished conversation about grabbing drinks with Gojo that had dissolved the way most of your group chats did.
Nothing remarkable.
Nothing that hinted at the quiet shift that had taken place last night.
The cursor blinked patiently in the empty message field.
You could leave it alone.
Close the app. Set the phone back down. Let the moment settle the way Suguru always seemed to prefer—quietly, without rushing it into something louder than it needed to be.
It wasn’t as though there was anything urgent to say. Nothing that needed to be sent right now. But the thought of closing the conversation again—of letting the quiet stretch on indefinitely—sat somewhere under your ribs in a way that felt oddly unfinished.
Like walking away from a question that had already been asked.
Your thumb tapped lightly against the edge of your phone case.
You scrolled up through the thread without really reading it. Old messages slid past—random jokes, half-formed plans, the easy back-and-forth that had always come naturally between you.
Normal.
Comfortable.
Your gaze lingered there for a moment. Then drifted back down to the blinking cursor again.
There was a brief, stubborn moment where your brain tried to assemble something reasonable to send—something neutral enough to slip into the conversation without shifting the ground beneath it.
Nothing came.
A frustrated breath left your nose.
Somewhere along the line, you’d stopped caring how nonchalant your words would read.
Your thumbs moved before you could stop them. You typed. Paused. Then, with a small flick of your thumb—
Sent it.
You: I just realized you never rated my balcony hospitality.
For a second you just looked at it, cringing as you reread your own words.
Then you set the phone face down beside your keyboard, as if putting a little distance between yourself and the words might make them feel less deliberate.
Your eyes returned to the spreadsheet.
The numbers still didn’t mean anything.
A second passed.
Then a few minutes.
Your phone buzzed softly against the desk.
You scrambled to flip your phone over, and you felt a warmth inside you that grew when you saw his name light up your screen.
Suguru: Gonna have to give you a 7/10…
You let out a small laugh, which sounded much louder than intended in your quiet office.
You: Only a 7…what gives?
He responded immediately.
Suguru: Could've been a 10 if I hadn't been kicked out…
Suguru: But don’t take it personally, I’ll give you a second chance
It was impossible not to smirk at that. After your morning of reflection, you felt a newfound sense of confidence…well, almost.
You: Alright, well, you’ll still have to buy dinner to keep the experiences consistent.
You waited for his reply, thumb hovering over the screen, feeling the slight pull of anticipation with every second it took to appear
Suguru: Always.
You blinked, staring at the screen for a beat longer than necessary. There was a momentary pause—neither of you typing, just the soft hum of the office around you—and the silence felt loaded, like the tiny space before a wave breaks.
Suguru: Hey. I’ll be in your area after work today. Want a walking buddy?
Your fingers froze over the keyboard. Walking buddy. Just that, casually phrased, but somehow it carried everything—the familiarity, the quiet suggestion that he wanted to be near you, and maybe… more.
You typed quickly, unsure if you sounded too eager or not eager enough:
You: Uh…You wanna walk me home? Sure. Where are you headed?
Suguru: Just somewhere near your place. Thought I’d see if you wanted to keep me company while I run a few errands. Only if that’s okay, of course.
You: Yeah, of course. I’d like that.
Suguru: Great. Do you happen to have an umbrella? Looks like they’re calling for some heavy rain this afternoon.
You: Nope. I prefer to face nature head-on. Builds character.
Suguru: Ha. Alright, then suit yourself :)
The screen went quiet again, leaving you staring at it, the hum of the office suddenly louder. A slow pulse of anticipation threaded itself through your limbs. He’d asked. He’d made the effort. And just like that, the ordinary afternoon had shifted.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
You shut down your computer, the soft click of the final key echoing against the cubicle walls.
The office felt heavier now, charged with the quiet electricity of the afternoon. You grabbed your bag, slung it over one shoulder, and headed for the elevator, every step feeling slower than usual, like anticipation had stretched the space between you and the world.
The elevator ride was short, but long enough for your thoughts to ricochet between your conversation with Suguru and the drizzle you could already hear pattering against the windows outside. You checked your phone once more—no new messages, just the glow of an empty lock screen— then slipped it into your pocket.
Stepping out of the elevator, the lobby smelled faintly of wet concrete and polished floors.
You pushed the glass doors open, and the cold, damp air hit you immediately. It had always shocked you how this city could experience all four seasons in a day.
Rain coated the city in a slick, reflective sheen. And there he was.
Suguru stood under the overhang just outside the building, a big navy-blue umbrella in his hand. Suguru looked impossibly put together, as if the city itself had paused for him to appear.
When your eyes met, he gave a small, easy smile, and you waved.
“Hi.” He offered the umbrella with one hand and, without waiting, reached for your laptop bag with the other. “Here,” he said. “You’re carrying too much. Let me.”
Your shoulders stiffened, and your fingers unconsciously gripped the strap a little tighter. The sudden proximity, the deliberate care in his gesture, made your chest constrict in a way that felt equal parts grounding and alarming. You blinked, trying to mask the quickening of your pulse, and forced your voice into something casual. “No, it’s fine—I’ve got it.”
“Really?” His tone was gentle but firm, low and steady, carrying a quiet weight that pressed softly against your chest.
There was a calm certainty in the way he spoke, like a hand guiding you without force, and the sound of it—rich, measured, just a touch warm—made arguing feel suddenly pointless.
“Just let me.”
Before you could protest further, he took the bag from you and slung it over his left shoulder. It was surprisingly heavy, but in his grip it seemed to weigh nothing. You blinked at him, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
“Okay, fine,” you said, letting him shoulder it. “I’ll hold the umbrella for us then.”
You adjusted your grip on the umbrella, holding it in your left hand so it arched perfectly between the two of you as he fell into step at your left. Rain had started to fall more steadily now, tapping a quick rhythm against the fabric above your head.
“Long day?” You asked, trying to keep your voice light as you walked.
“Not too bad,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. “Busy, but nothing I couldn’t handle. You?”
You shrugged, shifting the umbrella slightly in your hand. “Eh, nothing crazy, actually, I think the day felt so long because I was just so bored.” You exhaled softly, and for some reason, the sound felt too loud in the quiet space between the rain and the city hum.
He chuckled—a soft, low sound that somehow threaded around the raindrops and wrapped gently through the space between you.
“Tough life. At least you survived,” he said sarcastically, his gaze flicking to your face for a beat, warm and steady.
You smiled despite yourself. “Some days I’m not sure survival is guaranteed.”
He let out a short laugh. “Well, you’ve got me here to make sure you keep making it through.”
You borderline snorted at his remark; it was rather forward, but despite how his words made your heart flip, you couldn’t hold in your reaction.
“Yeah right, your heroic efforts are noted…”
The rain picked up then, heavier, and the small puddles along the sidewalk splashed under your feet. You tilted the umbrella, trying to shield both of you, but the wind caught it, making it almost impossible for you to keep the both of you covered.
Without a word, his left arm, still carrying your laptop bag as if it weighed nothing, reached over to take the umbrella from your hand. He tilted it slightly higher, angling it so the canopy covered both of you more completely. The motion was effortless, almost casual, but it brought you closer in a way that left no space between your bodies.
His right hand came to rest at your back, settling lightly against your right shoulder as he drew you in—close enough that the narrow shelter of the umbrella covered you both.
The movement was subtle, natural, deliberate—pressing you gently against his right arm.
Your sides were now flush, a shared space carved out from the rain, protected under the navy-blue dome above your heads. You could feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your blazer, a quiet, grounding heat that contrasted sharply with the damp chill of the street.
“Better?” He murmured, his voice just above the rain, low and careful.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
This closeness made the rhythm of your heart feel louder than the rain, the pulse in your chest syncing with the quiet, deliberate steps you shared down the slick sidewalk.
You leaned just a fraction into him, letting the protection of his presence—literal and figurative—anchor you as you navigated the steps toward the subway station.
Even in the rain, with the city glinting wet beneath streetlights, it felt like the two of you had created a small, suspended world under the navy-blue canopy of the umbrella.
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author's note ⸺ well hey there....long time no see...I am sooooooo back. It's been 8 months. I accidentally took a break travelling the world and moving apartments. I have missed one of my favourite pastimes - writing. and I am excited to pick up where I left off. I hope some of you are still following this series lmaooo, if not, I hope to welcome some new readers. Thank you all for so many messages, I am okay and thank you endlessly for caring <3
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, miss gorl finally realized her feelings, detailed descriptions smoking (weed + cigs), high tensions, I want them both so bad taglist at end, 4.1k, this is an 18+ series - mdni!!
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
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That night, you went to bed almost immediately.
You moved through the apartment like someone trying to outrun something, drawing every curtain closed and flicking off each light as if dimming them could silence the way your thoughts were racing.
It didn’t work.
Lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling longer than you'd care to admit, eyes adjusting to the dark, mind doing anything but resting.
You flipped your pillow, tried breathing exercises, even contemplated putting on one of those high frequency background noise loops Gojo had once sent you—’for when your brain is being an asshole’—but none of it helped. The silence only seemed to sharpen the memory of his voice.
“I’ve always paid attention to you.” — “I think I started paying attention to you before you ever said a word to me.”
You ran those words through your mind so many times they started to lose their shape. By morning they didn’t feel like sentences anymore — just fragments you kept rearranging, trying to force them into something harmless.
He was just being kind, you told yourself. That was 110% platonic.
Yeah…well you can imagine how well that worked.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
Thursday came and went the way Thursdays always did. Work. Emails. A spreadsheet that wouldn't format properly, no matter how many times you sent the file to someone. But something was off-kilter.
By the time lunch rolled around, you gave up pretending.
You stepped out of the building without your jacket, leaving it hanging neatly over your chair. Your headphones rested around your neck, and you held your phone loosely in one hand.
The weather was deceptively pleasant—sunlight warmed your face, and a soft breeze moved through your blouse. It should have eased something in you, but it didn’t.
You didn’t even think about it. You just tapped Gojo’s name and brought the phone to your ear.
He picked up on the second ring. “Heyyyyyy,” he greeted, sing-song. “To what do I owe the lunchtime ca—”
“I think I’m losing it,” you said, abruptly cutting him off.
A pause. “Alright. Losing what, specifically?”
“My grip. On reality. On logic. I don’t know.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Well, lucky for you, I specialize in delusion. Walk me through it.”
You started talking. Or maybe rambling was the better word. You spoke so fast, Gojo didn’t even have time to speak—and that says a lot.
You didn’t say Suguru’s name—not yet—but Gojo didn’t need you to. You said “last night,” and “the way he looked at me,” and “he said something weird,” and Gojo made one noise of realization that told you he was already ten steps ahead.
The longer you talked, the more your feet moved. Past the café with the chipped tiles out front. Past the crosswalk with the busted button that never registered the first press.
“I mean—it wasn’t anything,” you said, more to yourself than him. “He was just being nice, probably? I’m definitely just reading too much into it. Like—it was just a friendly thing to say, right? People say stuff like that all the time.”
Gojo hummed. “Mhm. And if I looked at you all soft and said I’ve always paid attention to you—like, really paid attention—would you find that normal and platonic?”
Your nose wrinkled before you could stop it, mouth pulling to one side as the expression settled in. A quiet, wordless absolutely not written plainly across your face.
Silence stretched on the line—your answer given, just not out loud.
“Mhm,” he said again, smug. “Just as I thought.”
You were Olympic-level speed walking now, but guided by an unconscious direction.
A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as you tried to counter his point. “You know you don’t know everything, right? Suguru has always been a mysterious guy…”
You hesitated just a second before walking into the corner store, and then headed straight to the check-out counter, waiting for the man who was working to finish with a previous customer.
Gojo was still talking in your ear.
“Right,” he said. “Because men always say cryptic, emotionally loaded things for completely normal friendship reasons.”
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay, well when you put it like that, I sound stupid for questioning things.”
“I’m just saying,” he went on, tone infuriatingly casual, “when I want to signal to someone that we’re just friends-of-friends, I totalllyyy make intense eye contact and tell them I’ve been silently observing them for years. Super normal. Very low-stakes.”
“I’m just tired. My brain’s being dramatic—It really isn’t that deep.” You kept your voice low, eyes locked on the rows of gum and lighters beside the counter, searching for something to focus on. The cold air inside the store prickled against your arms, too sharp after the sun, and still, a strange heat crept upward—starting in your chest, rising into your face.
“Oh, for sure,” he said. “That’s why you’re calling me on your lunch break, speed-walking across the city like you’re being chased by your own feelings.”
Gojo let out another dramatic sigh—though it was less exasperated this time, more thoughtful.
“Suguru’s not the kind of guy who dives in headfirst. He takes his time. Really waits it out.”
You stayed quiet, walking a little slower now as you approached the crosswalk.
“He doesn’t say things like that unless he means them,” Gojo continued. “And he doesn’t mean them unless he’s already sure.”
You exhaled hard through your nose. “Yeah? And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You said, sharper than you meant to. “You know you’re starting to sound pretty cryptic to me now too–Uh–just hold on one sec, okay?”
You shoved your phone into your back pocket, ensuring that Gojo would not be able to eavesdrop, as you nodded at the guy behind the counter. He didn’t look up from his register when he asked, “What’ll it be?”
“Just a pack of reds,” you said quietly.
He reached for the pack, slid it across the counter with a flat kind of indifference.
The sound of the scanner beeped, harsh and sterile against the hum of the store’s air conditioning. You dug a few bills from your pocket, passing them over without thinking.
You mumbled a thanks, pushed the door open with your shoulder, and the bell overhead chimed as you stepped back into the sunlight.
“Alright, back to what I was saying…” You said bluntly, bringing your phone back up to your ear.
“You’re starting to sound pretty cryptic, for the love of god, please, just say what you mean Gojo.” You adjusted your grip on the phone, the cigarette pack still cool against your palm.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t just put me in your pocket…” You could hear him shifting on the other end—some faint rustling, a soft exhale like he was weighing what to say next.
The street noise around you faded a little, replaced by the muted pulse of your own heartbeat in your ears. For once, he didn’t sound like he was gearing up for another joke. “The question’s not about him anymore. It’s about you.”
You didn’t answer right away. Not because you didn’t have thoughts—but because there were too many, actually.
All tangled. All loud. And none of them felt safe to say out loud yet. You watched your own feet move along the sidewalk, scuffed the tip of your shoe against a crack in the concrete, and focused on the sound of your breathing instead.
“I mean,” he said, a little lighter, “you can keep spiralling and pretending you don’t know how you feel. That’s finee. To be honest, I don’t really care how long this takes. I find it quite entertaining…But he’s already decided how he feels, and you can obviously see that now. He’s just waiting for you to catch up.”
There was a long silence on the line. You could hear the quiet hum of traffic in the background—his end or yours, you weren’t sure.
Then, interrupting your thought process as per usual. “So. What’re you gonna do with that?”
There was a tight pull in your chest that hadn’t eased since you left the office—maybe even since last night. You wanted to say something, anything, but every answer felt like it might tip you too far in one direction. Too close to honesty. Too close to what you weren’t ready to name yet.
You reached the corner and pretended to study the walk signal, even though the light hadn’t changed.
“Not sure yet,” you said finally, voice quiet. “I’ll have to keep you posted.”
Gojo didn’t press. Just made a small noise of acknowledgment that sounded strangely fond.
“But I gotta go,” you added quickly, already pulling the phone away from your cheek. “I’m at my building.”
No you weren’t.
“You better text me later,” he threatened. “I need a play-by-play when you inevitably unravel again.”
You rolled your eyes. “Goodbye, Gojo.”
“Talk to ya’ later, emotional disaster.”
You slipped your phone into your back pocket again, the weight of it settling against your hip as you tore open the pack of cigarettes. The foil crackled under your thumb. One cigarette slid free, familiar between your fingers in a way that made something in your chest twist—not guilt exactly, just recognition. The lighter you’d forgotten was still in your jacket pocket sparked on the second try, a small flare against the afternoon light.
You took a slow drag as you started walking, the smoke catching at the back of your throat before you exhaled toward the street. It didn’t calm you down, not really. But it gave your hands something to do while your head stayed a mess—the illusion of control, or whatever.
Yeah, so maybe you’d lied a little to Gojo. You weren’t at your building. You were still a few blocks away. But if that aggravating white-haired prick knew you’d bought a pack, he wouldn’t have been nearly as easy to hang up on.
You slowed your steps once you turned the corner, the street quieter here, just the hum of distant traffic and the click of your shoes against the pavement. The cigarette burned low between your fingers.
Gojo’s voice lingered anyway—obvious, he’d said. Like it was that simple.
Maybe it was, for him. He’d always been good at saying things out loud, at naming them before they could turn into something complicated. But for you, it didn’t feel obvious. It felt… blurred. Unsteady.
You tried to think back—when had it started? When had the air between you and Suguru shifted from easy to careful? You’d spent so long convincing yourself it was nothing, just the way he was, the way he looked at people—soft, steady, kind.
But Gojo wasn’t wrong. He rarely was when it came to other people’s feelings.
You took another drag of your cigarette, slower this time, and let the smoke drift out in front of you.
If Suguru had already decided, if he’d been standing there, steady and sure—Then the only thing left unsettled was you.
The thought made your stomach turn, not unpleasantly, just with the kind of weight you couldn’t walk off.
You stubbed the cigarette out, tucked the pack back into your pocket and kept walking to your office building.
The air felt heavier now, like the city itself was leaning in, waiting for you to make sense of everything rattling around in your chest. You kept your eyes forward, counted the cracks in the sidewalk, anything to keep from circling back to his voice in your head.
By the time your hand touched the glass door, your pulse had finally slowed. Not settled—just slowed.
You exhaled, stepped inside, and let the familiar smell of the lobby wrap around you. Safe, neutral, anonymous. But standing there, you couldn’t tell if you felt steadier than before, or if you’d only added more weight to the mess already inside you.
You crossed the threshold anyway, carrying both possibilities upstairs to your cubicle.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
The afternoon dragged in its usual way — a haze of emails, phone calls, and the hum of the office air system that seemed louder than the chatter of your coworkers. You clicked through spreadsheets without really absorbing the numbers, fingers moving on autopilot.
Rows of data blurred together. You corrected a formula. Replied to an email. Moved a column over by one cell.
None of it stuck.
Every few minutes your eyes flicked down to your phone, where it sat face-up beside your keyboard, silent and dark. You told yourself it was habit—nothing more than the same restless checking everyone did during slow afternoons.
Still, your attention kept drifting there.
The cursor blinked impatiently in the spreadsheet. You typed another number. Deleted it. Re-entered it.
Across the office someone laughed too loudly. A chair rolled across the tile. The printer spat out a stack of papers with a mechanical whir. Everything carried on exactly the way it always did.
But something from last night lingered, quiet and stubborn beneath the surface of it all.
Suguru’s voice.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just steady.
I’ve always paid attention to you.
Your fingers stilled on the keyboard as your thoughts became more persistent.
The memory didn’t arrive all at once. It came back in pieces — the cool night air on the balcony, the way the city lights had caught in the glass door behind him, the faint curl of smoke drifting between you.
And the way he had been looking at you. Not the easy, friendly look he gave everyone, no it was something far quieter than that—More deliberate.
You leaned back slightly in your chair, rubbing a thumb along the edge of your desk.
Gojo’s voice slipped back into your head too, annoyingly clear.
He doesn’t say things like that unless he means them.
The thought sat there, heavy and uncomfortable. Because the truth was—you’d always known Suguru paid attention. He was just that kind of person. He noticed things about people that others overlooked. Small habits. Subtle shifts in mood. The way someone’s voice changed when they were tired. It had always felt safe, somehow. Easy to assume that warmth was just part of who he was.
But last night…
Last night hadn’t felt like that.
There had been a difference you couldn’t quite smooth back into something harmless. The memory refused to settle into the neat, familiar shape you’d always given it—the easy explanation that Suguru was simply attentive by nature. Kind. Observant. The type of person who made everyone feel quietly seen.
What lingered from the balcony didn’t feel broad like that. It felt… distinct.
And the more your mind circled the moment, the more it began to pull other fragments loose—small things you’d never bothered examining before. The way his attention sometimes settled on you a second longer than necessary during group conversations. The way he’d remember details you’d mentioned offhand from years go, bringing them up again with that same calm certainty, as if they’d never left his mind. The quiet patience he showed whenever you spoke, even when you were rambling or half-distracted, like he was willing to wait out every unfinished thought until you reached the end of it.
Back in university, it had always just blended into the background of who he was. Suguru was simply like that with people.
But sitting here now, staring at the blinking cursor on your monitor, those moments rearranged themselves into something sharper. Something with clearer edges.
And a slow, unsettling realization crept in alongside them—
That difference you’d felt last night might not have appeared out of nowhere. It might have been there all along. You’d just never stood still long enough to notice where it had been pointing.
Your jaw tightened slightly. Gojo’s words returned again, irritatingly calm.
He’s already decided.
You stared at your monitor. The spreadsheet numbers had long since stopped making sense.
Your phone sat there beside your keyboard, perfectly still.
He hadn’t texted.
Which wasn’t surprising, really. Suguru wasn’t the type to chase a moment right after it happened. If anything, he tended to give people space — letting conversations settle before returning to them. Which meant the silence between you now wasn’t unusual.
Still, your attention drifted back to your phone. It sat exactly where you’d left it beside the keyboard, the screen dark, the glass catching a dull reflection of the fluorescent lights overhead.
You stared at it for a moment.
Then reached for it before you could reconsider.
The screen lit up beneath your thumb.
No notifications.
The message thread with Suguru sat a few rows down in your messaging upp, unchanged since the last time you’d looked at it. Something casual from earlier in the week — a half-finished conversation about grabbing drinks with Gojo that had dissolved the way most of your group chats did.
Nothing remarkable.
Nothing that hinted at the quiet shift that had taken place last night.
The cursor blinked patiently in the empty message field.
You could leave it alone.
Close the app. Set the phone back down. Let the moment settle the way Suguru always seemed to prefer—quietly, without rushing it into something louder than it needed to be.
It wasn’t as though there was anything urgent to say. Nothing that needed to be sent right now. But the thought of closing the conversation again—of letting the quiet stretch on indefinitely—sat somewhere under your ribs in a way that felt oddly unfinished.
Like walking away from a question that had already been asked.
Your thumb tapped lightly against the edge of your phone case.
You scrolled up through the thread without really reading it. Old messages slid past—random jokes, half-formed plans, the easy back-and-forth that had always come naturally between you.
Normal.
Comfortable.
Your gaze lingered there for a moment. Then drifted back down to the blinking cursor again.
There was a brief, stubborn moment where your brain tried to assemble something reasonable to send—something neutral enough to slip into the conversation without shifting the ground beneath it.
Nothing came.
A frustrated breath left your nose.
Somewhere along the line, you’d stopped caring how nonchalant your words would read.
Your thumbs moved before you could stop them. You typed. Paused. Then, with a small flick of your thumb—
Sent it.
You: I just realized you never rated my balcony hospitality.
For a second you just looked at it, cringing as you reread your own words.
Then you set the phone face down beside your keyboard, as if putting a little distance between yourself and the words might make them feel less deliberate.
Your eyes returned to the spreadsheet.
The numbers still didn’t mean anything.
A second passed.
Then a few minutes.
Your phone buzzed softly against the desk.
You scrambled to flip your phone over, and you felt a warmth inside you that grew when you saw his name light up your screen.
Suguru: Gonna have to give you a 7/10…
You let out a small laugh, which sounded much louder than intended in your quiet office.
You: Only a 7…what gives?
He responded immediately.
Suguru: Could've been a 10 if I hadn't been kicked out…
Suguru: But don’t take it personally, I’ll give you a second chance
It was impossible not to smirk at that. After your morning of reflection, you felt a newfound sense of confidence…well, almost.
You: Alright, well, you’ll still have to buy dinner to keep the experiences consistent.
You waited for his reply, thumb hovering over the screen, feeling the slight pull of anticipation with every second it took to appear
Suguru: Always.
You blinked, staring at the screen for a beat longer than necessary. There was a momentary pause—neither of you typing, just the soft hum of the office around you—and the silence felt loaded, like the tiny space before a wave breaks.
Suguru: Hey. I’ll be in your area after work today. Want a walking buddy?
Your fingers froze over the keyboard. Walking buddy. Just that, casually phrased, but somehow it carried everything—the familiarity, the quiet suggestion that he wanted to be near you, and maybe… more.
You typed quickly, unsure if you sounded too eager or not eager enough:
You: Uh…You wanna walk me home? Sure. Where are you headed?
Suguru: Just somewhere near your place. Thought I’d see if you wanted to keep me company while I run a few errands. Only if that’s okay, of course.
You: Yeah, of course. I’d like that.
Suguru: Great. Do you happen to have an umbrella? Looks like they’re calling for some heavy rain this afternoon.
You: Nope. I prefer to face nature head-on. Builds character.
Suguru: Ha. Alright, then suit yourself :)
The screen went quiet again, leaving you staring at it, the hum of the office suddenly louder. A slow pulse of anticipation threaded itself through your limbs. He’d asked. He’d made the effort. And just like that, the ordinary afternoon had shifted.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
You shut down your computer, the soft click of the final key echoing against the cubicle walls.
The office felt heavier now, charged with the quiet electricity of the afternoon. You grabbed your bag, slung it over one shoulder, and headed for the elevator, every step feeling slower than usual, like anticipation had stretched the space between you and the world.
The elevator ride was short, but long enough for your thoughts to ricochet between your conversation with Suguru and the drizzle you could already hear pattering against the windows outside. You checked your phone once more—no new messages, just the glow of an empty lock screen— then slipped it into your pocket.
Stepping out of the elevator, the lobby smelled faintly of wet concrete and polished floors.
You pushed the glass doors open, and the cold, damp air hit you immediately. It had always shocked you how this city could experience all four seasons in a day.
Rain coated the city in a slick, reflective sheen. And there he was.
Suguru stood under the overhang just outside the building, a big navy-blue umbrella in his hand. Suguru looked impossibly put together, as if the city itself had paused for him to appear.
When your eyes met, he gave a small, easy smile, and you waved.
“Hi.” He offered the umbrella with one hand and, without waiting, reached for your laptop bag with the other. “Here,” he said. “You’re carrying too much. Let me.”
Your shoulders stiffened, and your fingers unconsciously gripped the strap a little tighter. The sudden proximity, the deliberate care in his gesture, made your chest constrict in a way that felt equal parts grounding and alarming. You blinked, trying to mask the quickening of your pulse, and forced your voice into something casual. “No, it’s fine—I’ve got it.”
“Really?” His tone was gentle but firm, low and steady, carrying a quiet weight that pressed softly against your chest.
There was a calm certainty in the way he spoke, like a hand guiding you without force, and the sound of it—rich, measured, just a touch warm—made arguing feel suddenly pointless.
“Just let me.”
Before you could protest further, he took the bag from you and slung it over his left shoulder. It was surprisingly heavy, but in his grip it seemed to weigh nothing. You blinked at him, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
“Okay, fine,” you said, letting him shoulder it. “I’ll hold the umbrella for us then.”
You adjusted your grip on the umbrella, holding it in your left hand so it arched perfectly between the two of you as he fell into step at your left. Rain had started to fall more steadily now, tapping a quick rhythm against the fabric above your head.
“Long day?” You asked, trying to keep your voice light as you walked.
“Not too bad,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a smile. “Busy, but nothing I couldn’t handle. You?”
You shrugged, shifting the umbrella slightly in your hand. “Eh, nothing crazy, actually, I think the day felt so long because I was just so bored.” You exhaled softly, and for some reason, the sound felt too loud in the quiet space between the rain and the city hum.
He chuckled—a soft, low sound that somehow threaded around the raindrops and wrapped gently through the space between you.
“Tough life. At least you survived,” he said sarcastically, his gaze flicking to your face for a beat, warm and steady.
You smiled despite yourself. “Some days I’m not sure survival is guaranteed.”
He let out a short laugh. “Well, you’ve got me here to make sure you keep making it through.”
You borderline snorted at his remark; it was rather forward, but despite how his words made your heart flip, you couldn’t hold in your reaction.
“Yeah right, your heroic efforts are noted…”
The rain picked up then, heavier, and the small puddles along the sidewalk splashed under your feet. You tilted the umbrella, trying to shield both of you, but the wind caught it, making it almost impossible for you to keep the both of you covered.
Without a word, his left arm, still carrying your laptop bag as if it weighed nothing, reached over to take the umbrella from your hand. He tilted it slightly higher, angling it so the canopy covered both of you more completely. The motion was effortless, almost casual, but it brought you closer in a way that left no space between your bodies.
His right hand came to rest at your back, settling lightly against your right shoulder as he drew you in—close enough that the narrow shelter of the umbrella covered you both.
The movement was subtle, natural, deliberate—pressing you gently against his right arm.
Your sides were now flush, a shared space carved out from the rain, protected under the navy-blue dome above your heads. You could feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your blazer, a quiet, grounding heat that contrasted sharply with the damp chill of the street.
“Better?” He murmured, his voice just above the rain, low and careful.
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
This closeness made the rhythm of your heart feel louder than the rain, the pulse in your chest syncing with the quiet, deliberate steps you shared down the slick sidewalk.
You leaned just a fraction into him, letting the protection of his presence—literal and figurative—anchor you as you navigated the steps toward the subway station.
Even in the rain, with the city glinting wet beneath streetlights, it felt like the two of you had created a small, suspended world under the navy-blue canopy of the umbrella.
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scientists are trying to discover something harder than getting out of bed to go to work in the morning. and dont make a fucking penis joke ok they already checked everyone’s dick and it doesn’t even come close
author's note ⸺ Hi friends!!!! I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ONEEEE - It is not well edited because I am on the road traveling right now and have posted this to queue for later this month!! The tag list will also have not been updated since I have not been online…but I hope this works AND I CANT WAIT TO READ UR COMMENTS AND DMs WHEN I AM HOMEEEEE!!! LOVE YOU LMK HOW YOU LIKE THE SERIES SO FAR <3
pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader
content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, reader uses female pronouns, YEARNNINGGGGG, detailed descriptions smoking (weed + cigs), high tensions, Suguru's POV, taglist at end, 3.1k, this is an 18+ series - mdni
divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai
previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter
Suguru's POV: Present Day — On the Balcony
He hadn’t expected her to say anything.
But then she looked at him with that crooked little smile—equal parts curious and cautious—and said, lightly, “Didn’t think you were paying that much attention to me.”
It came dressed like a joke, but it wasn’t one. He could tell. It sat more like a shield than a punchline, softening something she wasn’t quite ready to name.
And god—how could she not have noticed before now?
He couldn’t help but admire the way she was always trying—at everything. Not in a desperate way, not in a loud way. Just… in the way that mattered.
And yet she said it like she was surprised. Like it hadn’t ever crossed her mind that he might be looking at her.
Something shifted in him then—stronger than it had before. Silence didn’t feel like an option anymore. Not saying anything felt too close to dishonesty.
So he said it, low. A little rougher than he’d intended.
“I’ve always paid attention to you.”
There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in him—just the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly what he meant. At least, that’s how it felt to him. Like she recognized it. Maybe she hadn’t meant to let it show, but she did. He knew that she knew.
And something in him gave, just slightly.
There was an uncomfortable tightness in his throat—a feeling growing behind the silence, held in check by steady breaths and quiet resolve.
He felt it then, how badly he wanted her to understand. How much he needed to give this part of himself over—to let it land and to let her know just how much power she held over him.
But he moved carefully, because the last thing he ever wanted was to give you a reason not to like him.
So when he spoke again, his voice came quieter. Closer.
Like a truth that had been held back so long it almost pained him to say aloud.
“I think I started paying attention to you before you ever said a word to me.”
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
Suguru's POV: Over The Years
He was supposed to meet Gojo and his new girlfriend.
It was the first day of classes after winter break. The cold was knife-sharp—one of those clear, windless days where every breath left your lips in smoke. His scarf itched at the edge of his jaw.
His hands were stuffed deep in his coat pockets. He was running late, boots clicking against the frozen pavers that cut across the quad.
Then he saw her.
She was standing just outside the library, half-shadowed by the arch of the building, talking to someone. To Gojo—as well as the person he could only assume was the girlfriend he was meant to meet.
Suguru slowed before he even realized he had.
She was turned slightly away, but he could see enough—the thick, rich blue scarf wrapped around her neck, pulled up over her head like a soft cocoon. Her hands were bare, curled around a paper coffee cup, steam rising in thin ribbons through the cold.
Her mouth moved, smiling around something Gojo must’ve said. But she didn’t laugh loudly. She didn’t throw her head back. It was just slightly quieter than that. Contained. Like the warmth she gave off wasn’t for show.
There was something about that moment—something painfully unremarkable in its simplicity—that hit him in a way he couldn’t name. Not then. Not yet.
She was just… there.
And suddenly, the day was not the same.
Suguru didn’t move. Didn’t call out. Gojo hadn’t noticed him yet, and he didn’t give himself the chance to be noticed, either. Something in him curled inward, protective. Possessive of the stillness, the not-yet.
He turned the other way.
Walked off slowly, like if he moved too fast, the spell might break.
He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know anything about her except the way the scarf framed her face and the way she smiled like it was hers alone.
And oh how he prayed that she wasn’t Gojo’s mystery girlfriend.
But even then, even before the first word, there was a part of him that already missed her.
He spent the rest of the walk imagining what she might have said. What she sounded like when she wasn’t with Gojo. Whether her smile looked different when no one was watching. Whether she would’ve turned to him—just once—if he’d called out.
He didn’t.
And she never saw him.
But that moment stayed with him. Lodged quiet and aching in some small pocket of his chest, like a song he couldn’t hum out loud.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
It was warm inside this apartment—humid, really. The kind of heat that came from too many bodies pressed into a too-small apartment, from coat piles on the bed and cheap wine in mismatched cups and bass-heavy music coming from someone’s sad little speaker setup in the corner, but the music was not bad
Suguru wasn’t sure why he agreed to come.
“I don’t know why we’re going to your ex’s place,” he’d said earlier that evening, tugging his hair into a half-knot with a lazy flick of his wrist. “Sounds like a setup.”
Gojo had just grinned, mouth full of nerd clusters (iykyk).
“We dated for like three weeks. It barely even counts, plus she doesn’t care. Besides, I’m tight with one of her roommates now.”
“Tight, huh,” Suguru had muttered, unimpressed.
But he came anyway.
And the moment he stepped inside, the air changed.
Because she was there.
The girl in the blue scarf.
Only—tonight she wasn’t bundled in wool or shadowed by cold. Tonight she was warm-lit and alive, shoulder tucked close to the kitchen archway, talking to someone over the rim of a red solo cup.
He knew it was her before his brain caught up.
Same mouth. Same eyes. Same posture—casual, a little self-contained, like she was only half-present, like a part of her lived somewhere softer, somewhere no one else could see.
Suguru stopped walking. Just for a breath. Just long enough to feel that same weight in his chest from weeks ago drop down again—low, familiar.
God, she was real.
He stood there quietly, unsure if he wanted her to see him yet.
Watching her laugh at something someone said, the way she tried to hide it behind her wrist.
Her hair was loose tonight. She wore a too-small tee shirt, paired with loose jeans that sat low on her hips—careless, effortless. Skin exposed in places he wasn’t ready for. He looked away. Unsure if he deserved to witness that kind of beauty—so easy, so unguarded. Like catching sight of something sacred when you weren’t meant to.
And then Gojo returned—two drinks in hand, bright as ever—and nudged his elbow.
“Oh—sick—there she is! Come on,” he said, already walking ahead. “You should meet her.”
Suguru didn’t move.
Something in him resisted. Not from fear exactly. Not from shyness either. Just from the knowledge that once he heard her voice, once she looked him in the eye—it would be over for him.
And it was.
“Hey!” Gojo said, slipping into her periphery.
“Suguru, this is my friend I was telling you about. She’s the one who dragged me to that gallery thing last week. Said I needed to learn how to shut the hell up and look at art.”
She laughed at that, the sound light and honest.
And then she turned to him.
And she smiled.
That smile was quieter and even more genuine than the laugh. Kind. No edge to it. No performative tilt. Just… genuine interest.
“Hi,” she said, and held out her hand for him to shake. “You’re Geto? I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Her voice was exactly as he’d imagined it—light, a little textured, like it sat closer to her chest when she spoke. “I’m—well. I guess you know that already.”
He blinked. Took her hand. “Yeah,” he said softly his eyes still stuck deep within hers. “Gojo talks.”
“God, I hope not too much.”
“He never really stops.”
That made her laugh—and oh god, it was real. No filter, no pullback. The kind of laugh that caught her off guard. Her fingers were still in his. Warm. No rush to let go.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, and finally, gently, pulled her hand back.
“You too.”
And he meant it more than she knew.
He didn’t know what he said next. Something boring measured, probably. Something forgettable.
But he remembered that her hand was smaller than his, and that her skin was cool from the drink, as well as that she smelled of warm vanilla and cinnamon.
Her eyes held his for just a second longer than politeness required. Or so he liked to think…Those eyes held his attention longer than most people could these days.
And he knew.
Knew in that breathless, doomed way that he’d only felt once before a few weeks prior. That this moment would mark something. That she would matter.
And that he was already too far in.
He spent the rest of the evening quietly orbiting her—always close enough to listen, never quite close enough to speak. Drifting between conversations, watching for a moment that might open naturally, something easy.
But nothing about the way he felt was easy. Not even close.
Still, no one noticed. He didn’t give himself away.
Suguru was never the obvious kind. His wanting lived beneath the surface—silent, steady—folded into glances and unfinished thoughts he wouldn’t let himself say out loud.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
The evening had begun to settle in, slow and colourless at first, barely shifting the light through the wide front windows. Inside, his and Gojo’s house began to darken as the evening began.
A candle burned low on the windowsill, something citrusy she’d lit without asking.
She was sitting there, on the floor again.
The mirror—a bent, square-framed thing with one chipped corner—sat propped against the coffee table. It hadn’t belonged in the apartment less than an hour ago.
She’d found it abandoned on the sidewalk while walking over and insisted on carrying it the rest of the way, arms wrapped around the metal frame, leather boots clicking against the pavement.
It was small. Barely wider than her face. Still, she set it down on the coffee table with a kind of ceremony, wiped the dust from the glass with her sleeve, and perched in front of it, already unzipping her makeup pouch.
Meanwhile, Suguru sat back against the couch. One arm was draped along the top cushion. The other wrapped around a sweating solo cup filled with a strong rum and Coke.
Across the room, her legs crossed and uncrossed beneath her oversized sweatshirt.
There was a fresh smudge of colour on her cheeks—still too vivid, not yet blended. Her knees shifted as she adjusted her angle in the mirror, and the hem of her shorts caught at the top of her thighs every now and then.
Gojo's voice drifted in from the hallway—something about a missing belt—and her laugh answered it without turning around.
She kept her eyes trained on the mirror. One corner of her mouth quirked up at her own reflection.
Mascara wand held steady, she blinked carefully, once, twice. A careful press to the lash-line.
The living room was filled with low music and the occasional demand for another round of shots. Nothing else.
She didn’t speak much when she was doing her makeup. Her face eased into something honest, almost tender, beneath the movement.
Lips parted slightly as she worked, brows soft. Every gesture precise. Fingertips patting, smoothing, blending.
Suguru hadn't moved in at least twenty minutes.
The light from the candle traced the curve of her jaw in a heavenly way.
There was no reason for anyone to look that good doing something so ordinary—and yet, she did. As if the divine had grown tired of grand gestures and tucked itself into the smallest, quietest things.
Her wine glass sat beside the mirror, nearly empty, lipstick blooming at the rim. She reached for it without looking, drained what was left in a single gulp, and gave a little cough behind her wrist.
The tip of her tongue passed over her bottom lip, catching a drip.
No part of her performance belonged to anyone else.
Suguru let his head fall back against the wall. Eyes low, half-lidded. His attention was unwavering from her.
From this distance, her scent still carried faintly on the air—something warm and cheap and unmistakably her.
Gojo passed through once, barefoot, muttering about changing his shirt. He tousled her hair as he went. She barely blinked.
No one noticed the way Suguru was watching her. They never did.
She leaned closer to the mirror. A gold hoop earring swung forward, brushing the side of her neck. Her lips drew together, then apart again, searching for symmetry.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
Her presence, casual and glowing, spread out across the room—through the candlelight, the cracked mirror glass, the stray flecks of powder on the coffee table.
He was mesmerized from the moment he saw her.
Not in the way people usually meant when they said that. Not in that cheap, stunned, double-take sort of way. It was quieter than that. Slower.
Then came the knock at the door that interrupted his thoughts…
Gojo answered it—loud as ever, already grinning. “Oh, hey! You made it.”
Suguru glanced up as the guy stepped in. Tall. Clean-cut. The kind of buttoned-up smile that looked like it was used to being believed.
And of course, it was someone she’d met through Gojo.
Suguru watched her rise from the couch, watched her walk over and kiss him like it was nothing. Like she didn’t even have to think about it. And something in his chest twisted—tight and hot, bitter in a way he hadn’t expected. Not jealousy, not quite. Something meaner than that. Possessive, maybe. Unwelcome.
She turned, still smiling, arm around the guy’s waist. “Suguru—this is my boyfriend.”
He nodded. Polite. Said something neutral. He didn’t hear her boyfriend’s response. Didn’t really care.
Later, at the party, Suguru found out everything he could about this guy. Asked the right people. Listened more than he spoke. It didn’t take long. Everyone always had something to say—most of it small, most of it stupid, but Suguru gathered it anyway, pieced together the shape of a man who didn’t deserve her.
Then he passed it all off to Gojo. Let him run wild with it, stretch the truth where it would sting, plant the seeds with a smirk and a shrug.
It wasn’t even a week before the two of you had broken up.
He didn’t say anything when he heard you'd broken up. Didn't need to.
Gojo told him, obviously—grinning like he'd just orchestrated a divine act of justice. Suguru had only lifted a brow and nodded, quiet and unreadable. But he’d felt it. That small, private satisfaction blooming somewhere deep in his chest. Warm. Vicious.
He didn’t feel guilty about it. Not really. The guy had been a dick. And you... You deserved better.
That satisfaction lasted exactly three days.
Because on the fourth, he stepped out of his room, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and found you curled on the couch in one of Gojo’s hoodies—eyes rimmed red, tissue in hand, looking like you hadn’t slept at all.
Gojo was beside you, cross-legged on the floor, remote in hand, flicking through Netflix like he was on a mission. “It has to be low-stakes,” he was muttering. “No heavy trauma. No dead dogs. Just hot people kissing and, like, one unrealistic career change.”
You let out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh. Quiet. Shaky. Suguru stood frozen in the hallway, suddenly unsure whether to walk in or disappear entirely.
That’s when you looked up and saw him.
And something in his chest sank. Because all at once, the satisfaction felt childish. Sharp-edged. Pointless.
He hadn’t expected to feel sorry.
Hadn’t expected it to ache.
But it did—watching you wipe at your face with the sleeve of a hoodie that wasn’t his, trying to laugh like you were fine. Like this wasn’t the first time you’d broken in half right in front of him.
And all he could do was stand there, and feel it all catch up to him.
୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧
Over the years in university, the trio grew even closer. But with her and Suguru…It hadn’t happened all at once.
The closeness crept in gradually—folded between late-night walks, shared playlists, the way her voice softened when she spoke to him directly, or at least he thought she did.
Somewhere along the way, she’d picked up his worst habit. At first it was teasing. The way she wrinkled her nose and stole a cigarette from the pack in his back pocket.
Then she asked for one of her own. Then, eventually, she didn’t need to ask.
Suguru didn’t mind. He liked having someone to smoke with.
Especially her.
It made the habit feel less like a vice and more like a ritual. Something private. Something slow.
That night wasn’t special. Not really. Just one of the ones that slipped in between—hot, airless, and too humid to sleep. Crickets chirped in the tall grass just beyond the porch, a soft, constant pulse in the background. The moon hung swollen and pale behind a gauze of clouds. Nothing moved.
They sat shoulder to shoulder on the porch steps. Her thighs stuck to the wood. She wore some kind of tank top, hair pulled back lazily, and she held the cigarette like she’d been doing it all her life. Their arms brushed when she passed it back to him, and he didn’t pull away.
They hadn’t said much. Didn’t need to.
The quiet was comfortable—settled. Words would’ve only interrupted the rhythm of the evening: the sharp inhale, the pass, the clink of ice in the glass beside her knee. Smoke drifted slowly up into the air above them, curling into the heat like it belonged there.
A few minutes passed that way. Back and forth. Cigarette, joint, silence.
There was sweat gathering at the base of his neck, and he could see it shining at the hollow of her throat too. A curl had come loose from her hair, sticking just slightly to her cheek.
She didn’t wipe it away.
Suguru leaned his head back against the wooden post, letting his eyes fall half-shut. The smoke tasted sweeter coming from her lips. Not the joint itself—just the trace of her on the paper, faint and lingering.
She reached down and scratched at a mosquito bite on her shin, muttering something under her breath. He didn’t catch it. Didn’t ask her to repeat it. He was just happy to be involved.
The night stretched out ahead of them, endless and still.
And in that stillness, he found a peace he didn’t know he needed.
He wouldn’t mind if every day unfolded like this.
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alright people, it’s finally time for me to release chapter 13…it will be up after I finish work in like 8 hours. Just incase anyone FORGOT, this is where we have left off…a little POV change for the DRAMAAAA
