shoko's fingers drive into you, and your body betrays you instantly.
your back arches off the mattress, a sharp, involuntary movement, like your spine is trying to lift you toward something you can't name. her fingers are curved, pressing against that spot inside you that makes your vision go white at the edges, and she's moving them in a rhythm that feels practiced, deliberate, like she's been studying your body your whole life.
"what happened to not being a lesbian, huh?" her voice is honey and smoke, warm and teasing, and you can hear the smirk in it without even opening your eyes. "you said you weren't into girls. you said it was a sin. you said—"
"i know what i said," you cut her off, your voice tight, strained. you roll your eyes, but it's hollow, a reflex more than anything else. you're trying to hold onto something, some shred of denial, but it's slipping through your fingers like water.
she laughs, soft and low, and pushes deeper. your breath catches.
you shouldn't be here. you know you shouldn't be here. every sunday morning of your childhood flashes through your mind like a warning—the wooden pews, the stained glass, the pastor's voice droning on about temptation and the narrow path. you remember the way your mother's hand would tighten on your shoulder whenever a woman on tv was dressed too provocatively, the way she'd murmur "that's not how a lady behaves." you remember the pamphlets, the youth group sermons, the whispered prayers for forgiveness over sins you hadn't even committed yet.
and yet here you are. legs spread, sheets tangled, a woman's fingers inside you.
god feels very far away right now.
shoko's thumb finds your clit, circles it slowly, and you gasp, your hips bucking against her hand. she's watching you, you can feel her gaze on your face, studying every expression, every twitch, every sound that escapes your lips. she's so attentive. so present. it makes you feel seen in a way that terrifies you.
"you're so tense," she murmurs, her free hand pressing flat against your stomach, feeling the way your muscles contract with every thrust of her fingers. "relax. just let go."
"i can't," you whisper, and you're not sure if you mean physically or emotionally or both.
"yes you can." she curls her fingers again, hitting that spot, and your mouth falls open in a silent cry. "i've got you. just let me take care of you."
you don't want to let her. you want to push her away, to pull your clothes back on, to run back to the safety of your beliefs and your guilt and your loneliness. but your body won't listen. your body is a traitor, and it's sining under her touch, and you hate how good it feels.
she adds a third finger, stretching you, filling you, and you whimper, your hands flying up to grip her shoulders. she's still wearing her shirt, just her shirt, and you can feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. she leans down, presses a kiss to your collarbone, and you feel her smile against your skin.
"you're doing so well," she whispers. "so good for me."
you hate how much you want to hear those words.
the pressure builds, coiling low in your belly, and you try to fight it. you try to hold back, to keep yourself from falling over the edge, because if you cum, if you let go, then it's real. then you can't pretend anymore. then you have to admit that this is what you want, that she is what you want, and that means everything you were taught is wrong.
but the coil tightens, and your breath quickens, and shoko's fingers are relentless, and—
you cum with a broken cry, your back arching off the mattress, your nails digging into her shoulders. the pleasure washes through you in waves, hot and overwhelming, and for a few precious seconds, you forget about god and sin and guilt. you just feel.
afterward, she pulls her fingers out slowly, carefully, and you watch through half-lidded eyes as she brings them to her lips, tasting you with a satisfied hum. then she curls around you, her arm draping over your waist, her lips pressing soft, lazy kisses to your shoulder.
"you did so well," she murmurs, her voice drowsy and warm. "i'm so proud of you. you're so beautiful when you let yourself feel."
you roll your eyes, staring at the ceiling. "don't."
"don't... say things like that."
she's quiet for a moment, and you feel her shift, propping herself up on one elbow to look at you. her dark hair falls forward, brushing against your cheek, and her eyes are soft, searching. "why not?"
"because." you close your eyes, turning your head away from her. "just don't."
she doesn't push. she's good at that, knowing when to press and when to pull back. she just hums, a soft, contented sound, and settles back down against you, her head resting on your chest, her hand splayed across your stomach. you lie there in the dark, listening to her breathing slow, feeling the weight of her body against yours.
eventually, she falls asleep.
you lie awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breathing beneath your hand. the room is quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside, and the silence presses in on you like a physical weight. your chest feels tight, your throat thick, and before you know it, tears are sliding down your temples, disappearing into your hair.
you cry quietly. you've gotten good at that over the years. silent tears, barely a hitch in your breath, nothing that would wake her. you don't want her to see this. you don't want her to see the shame and the fear and the confusion that's been eating you alive since the first time she touched you.
why does it have to feel so right if it's so wrong?
you don't have an answer. you've never had an answer. you've only ever had guilt, heavy and suffocating, wrapped around your heart like a chain. you think about your mother, about the way she'd look at you if she knew. you think about the church, about the pews and the prayers and the promises you made to a god who feels more like a stranger every day. you think about shoko, about the warmth of her skin and the softness of her voice and the way she makes you feel like you're not broken.
and then you think about how you can't have both.
you slip out of bed slowly, carefully, holding your breath as you pull your clothes back on. your hands are shaking, and you fumble with the buttons of your jeans, but you don't stop. you can't stop. if you stop, you'll stay, and if you stay, you'll never leave.
you don't look back at her. you can't. if you look back, you'll see the curve of her shoulder, the spill of her hair across the pillow, the soft, trusting expression on her sleeping face. and you'll break.
you leave without a sound, closing the door behind you with a click that feels louder than it is.
shoko hasn't heard from you. not a text, not a call, not a single word. she's checked her phone so many times she's memorized the time stamps on your last conversation, a series of messages that ended with you saying "goodnight" and never responding again. she's thought about showing up at your apartment, but she doesn't want to seem desperate. she doesn't want to seem like she cares more than you do.
but she does care. she cares a lot.
the party is loud, the kind of loud that rattles your teeth and vibrates through the floorboards. it's at some off-campus house, packed with students and red cups and bad decisions. shoko is standing in the corner with gojo and geto, a drink in her hand that she hasn't touched, her eyes scanning the crowd out of habit more than hope.
"she's ignoring me," shoko says, her voice flat, tired. "ever since we hooked up. she just... disappeared."
satoru raises an eyebrow, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "maybe you're just bad in bed."
suguru elbows him, his expression more serious. "have you tried talking to her?"
"she won't answer my texts. she won't pick up my calls. what am i supposed to do?"
gojo shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. "talk to her in person. isn't that her over there?"
shoko follows his gaze. and there you are.
you're sitting on a worn-out couch in the corner of the living room, wedged between utahime and yuki, laughing at something one of them said. your head is thrown back, your mouth open, and you look so carefree, so unbothered, like you haven't spent the last two weeks ignoring her existence. you're wearing a simple top, jeans, a necklace she's never seen before. you look happy. you look like you haven't thought about her at all.
something twists in her chest. jealousy, maybe. or hurt. or both.
"go talk to her," geto says, nudging her forward. "before you drive yourself crazy."
shoko hesitates. she takes a breath. then she sets her cup down on a nearby table and walks toward you.
"hey." her voice cuts through the noise, and you look up. your smile falters, just for a fraction of a second, before you smooth it back into place. but she saw it. she saw the flicker of panic in your eyes before you locked it away.
"hey." your voice is light, casual, like you're greeting an acquaintance. like she's just someone you know, not someone who's been inside you.
"can i talk to you? alone?"
you glance at utahime and yuki, who exchange a look but say nothing. you sigh, setting your drink down on the floor, and stand up. "sure."
she grabs your wrist and pulls you through the crowd, weaving between bodies and conversations, up the stairs, down a hallway, into the first empty room she finds. it's a frat boy's bedroom, messy and disorganized, with empty beer bottles on the nightstand and a pile of clothes on the floor and a half-eaten bag of chips on the desk. the sheets are rumpled, the pillow is on the floor, and there's a faint smell of stale cologne and sweat in the air. she doesn't care. she closes the door behind you and turns to face you.
"why are you ignoring me?"
you don't look at her. your eyes are fixed on a point somewhere over her shoulder, your expression carefully blank. your arms are crossed over your chest, a defensive posture she's seen you take a hundred times before. "i'm not ignoring you."
"don't lie to me." her voice cracks, just a little, and she hates it. she hates how vulnerable she sounds, how much she's showing. "you haven't answered a single text. you haven't called. you've been avoiding me for two weeks. why?"
you shrug, a casual, dismissive motion that makes her want to scream. "i've been busy."
"busy." she repeats the word like it's a curse, like it tastes bitter on her tongue. "that's all you have to say? you've been busy?"
"what do you want me to say, shoko?" your voice is flat, empty, like you've drained all the emotion out of it. "i've been busy. that's it."
"that's not it." she steps closer, and you step back, your shoulders hitting the door. she stops, her hands hanging at her sides, her heart pounding in her chest. "i thought we had something. i thought—"
the words hit her like a slap. she blinks, takes a step back, shakes her head. "so a few weeks ago meant nothing to you?"
something flickers in your eyes. anger, maybe. or pain. it's gone before she can name it, replaced by that same cold, detached mask you've been wearing since she pulled you up the stairs.
"it was casual, shoko." your voice is sharp now, cutting, like a blade. "it meant nothing to me. can we just leave it now?"
she stares at you, her heart cracking open in her chest. she wants to argue. she wants to scream. she wants to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until the truth falls out. but you're already turning away, already reaching for the doorknob behind you.
"casual, seriously?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
you open the door and walk out, the sound of the party flooding in for a moment before the door clicks shut behind you, leaving her alone in a messy frat boy's room with nothing but the echo of your lie.
