#forbidden fruit

[theonevoice]

The First Cloud - At Sunset

It was a nice day...

[madamserpentessa]

“The fruit was never an apple”

Max Svabinsky, (1873-1962)

“In Paradise” circa 1918

[nizhspo]

forbidden fruit (miniseries).

trouble | 18+, porn with plot, oral sex, masturbation, satoru pines for over a decade.

m.list | satoru gojo x f!reader

synopsis: a destination wedding; a fresh breakup; your younger brother, doing everything in his power to keep you and his best friend apart; and satoru gojo, still harboring the same crush on his best friend’s older sister. what could possibly go wrong?

the first time satoru gojo saw you, he was six years old, white hair blinding under the sun and blue eyes an almost offensively bright shade, already possessed by the unshakeable conviction that the world was his for the taking and that everything within it would eventually bend to his will if he wanted it badly enough.

he stood on the shimmering, heat-baked asphalt of the first-grade playground, small frame vibrating with restless, poorly contained energy as he squinted through the midday glare, his attention drifting between the echo of a whistle and the scuff of sneakers until it caught, suddenly and completely, on a girl standing at the edge of the second-grade line. 

your hair was pulled into a high ponytail that shimmered when you laughed, and the sound of it carried, bright and silver, slicing cleanly through the chaos of recess like it had every right to be heard.

you waved.

it was an easy, rhythmic motion, casual and confident, like you belonged wherever you were standing, and satoru reacted on instinct alone, lifting his hand in response before he’d fully processed what he was doing. 

his heart kicked hard against his ribs, clumsy and uncoordinated, and his mouth curved into a smug little grin that assumed the moment was his by default, until he felt the boy beside him shift.

suguru geto, quiet and long-limbed, narrow-eyed with dark hair perpetually slipping loose from its tie, raised his own hand and waved back with a softness so unguarded it almost startled satoru. it was a rare expression on him, something genuine and unpracticed, and it transformed his face in a way satoru resented instantly.

his hand froze midair, fingers curling into a confused, embarrassed fist ,heat rushing up his neck while suguru shot him a brief, bewildered glance that carried the unmistakable message of why are you doing that before turning toward to walk toward the building, as if nothing had happened at all.

the sting in his chest was immediate and visceral, sharp as the burn that followed the day he’d tripped over his own feet reaching for extra markers in mr. yaga’s class, carpet scraping his palms, heat flooding his face as he looked up to find suguru staring down at him in quiet, assessing silence.

you hadn’t been looking at him. your smile hadn’t been meant for him at all. it had been for suguru, his self-appointed arch nemesis, the boy who spent every recess proving his presence through speed, restraint, and an infuriating ease that made satoru’s certainty wobble in places he didn’t yet have words for.

it wasn't until a week later that the pieces finally clicked into place of just how exactly suguru knew you, a discovery born from a particularly violent game of "cars" on the linoleum floor of the classroom. they had been smashing plastic wheels together, pretending the world was ending in a pile of primary-colored debris, when suguru, pale and sweating from the effort of trying to out-shout satoru, had abruptly vomited across satoru’s lap, cementing yet another reason for satoru’s growing list of grievances against him.

the nurse's office smelled of peppermint and clinical disinfectant, and satoru sat on a crinkly paper-covered cot, fuming over his ruined pants, until the door opened with a soft click, his attention lifted despite himself as a woman stepped inside, her presence calm and composed, her posture carrying the same quiet elegance he’d noticed on the playground days earlier. 

she crossed the room without hesitation and reached for suguru, fingers brushing gently through his hair as she murmured something low and soothing, and that was when satoru saw you standing just behind her, expression pinched with worry, your eyes searching suguru’s face with a devotion that made satoru’s throat go dry. 

it was so unfair. suguru didn't just win at racing; he won at life because he got to go home to you every single day.

tt was this knowledge that fueled a three-year feud that was as exhaustive as it was petty. satoru became obsessed with the pursuit of being better, faster, and louder than the boy who shared your last name. 

if suguru had the pencil case with the most compartments, satoru would show up the next day with one that had a built-in sharpener and a hidden drawer. he spent his afternoons training to reach the top of the jungle gym three seconds faster than suguru just to look down at him from the bars with a gaze that said see? satoru, petty as he was, lived for the small, irritated twitch in suguru’s jaw, for the way suguru’s eyes would narrow when satoru outscored him on a math test. 

satoru haunted the periphery of your life through suguru, his every achievement a noisy, desperate plea for you to look at him the way you looked at your brother. it was a bitter, exhausting cycle of one-upmanship that only stopped when they finally grew tired of fighting the same shadow, a kind of slow collision that only occurs when two boys refuse to look away from each other long enough to stop circling. 

their convergence only occurred after a fight, stupid and loud and entirely disproportionate to the offense, a shove over a snapped pencil that escalated into desks scraping and fists flying, both of them red-faced and shaking with a fury that had very little to do with the classroom and everything to do with pride.

they were dragged out by the arm and sentenced to in-school suspension, marched down the hall like criminals and locked into the same cramped, windowless room under the watchful eye of principal toji fushiguro, a former prison warden who ran iron mountain elementary with the same unyielding severity, as if the walls were meant to teach discipline through fear alone.

toji ran the ISS room like a punishment experiment, arms crossed as he barked orders and made them do wall pushups instead of their fifth-grade math problems, his voice flat and unimpressed as their shoulders burned and their elbows shook. 

suguru glared at the floor in tight-lipped silence, satoru muttered curses under his breath with theatrical outrage, and somewhere between the fifth pushup and the tenth, something shifted. exhaustion stripped the edge off their anger, replacing it with a shared misery that felt strangely binding, and when toji finally dismissed them hours later, they left the office shoulder to shoulder, fingers briefly hooking together like they’d decided without speaking that solidarity was better than solitude.

from there, the rivalry softened into routine. they were still competitive, still sharp with each other, but the fights turned into arguments, the arguments into laughter, and the laughter into a familiarity that stuck. 

satoru haunted the edges of your life through suguru, trailing behind him after school and into your kitchen, his every victory announced too loudly, his every failure shrugged off with bravado, each moment a plea for your attention. 

yet, through the years of scraped knees and shared secrets, suguru remained a steadfast wall between satoru and the only prize that actually mattered. he was the gatekeeper of your time and your attention, always reminding satoru of the invisible line he wasn't allowed to cross. 

"you aren't dating my sister, satoru," suguru had stated as they sat on the curb of the middle school parking lot, passing a single bottle of water back and forth. his voice carried that weary, protective gravity that satoru had grown to loathe. "you’re a grade below her and still act like a kid. it’s gross."

of course, like everybody else in his life—his mother with her careful warnings, his father with his clipped disapproval, every teacher who had ever sighed his name—satoru hadn’t listened.

there had to be a way this ended with you choosing him, some inevitability he just hadn’t reached yet, some future where wanting something badly enough meant the world would eventually comply.

so when you were in seventh grade and the school dance was already dissolving into sticky floors and bad pop music, when he was in the bathroom furiously rubbing at a pizza stain on his collared shirt with a wad of paper towels, he caught word that you were slow dancing with a boy from your class. 

the boy satoru had been eavesdropping on, who’d leaned in to whisper the news to his friend, didn’t even get to finish the sentence before satoru took off down the hall like a madman, paper towels abandoned in the sink, shirt still half-unbuttoned, tie crooked and forgotten.

he barreled through the crowd, lights flashing, music thudding too loud in his ears, and grabbed your wrist, yanking you back against his chest while the boy you’d been dancing with stumbled away, stunned.

“she’s too young for you to be touching her like that,” satoru shouted, chest heaving, glasses slipping down his nose, blue eyes blazing with something feral and absolute. “that’s for marriage only, and if she’s gonna get married, it’s gonna be to me.”

you had rolled your eyes then, patting his head with the patronizing affection one reserves for a noisy puppy. you’re just a kid, satoru, you’d said.

it was those five words which became the persistent refrain of his life. constantly echoing, a low, unrelenting refrain that reminded him how you saw him, no matter how badly he wanted that vision to change.

by his freshman year of high school, after surviving one treacherous year of eighth grade without you and riding a growth spurt he was embarrassingly proud of, satoru had learned how to keep himself occupied during the summer you and suguru spent in the mountains with your grandmother, cut off by spotty cell service and distance, which meant he had to find new ways to distract himself without his two favorite people to bother. 

those distractions mostly came in the form of girls, and through trial and error, plenty of failed attempts, and more than a few disgusted looks, satoru figured out how to weaponize his annoying openness into something resembling flirtation, an undeniable charm sharpened by newfound height and confidence. 

by the time late august rolled around and you were gearing up for tenth grade, satoru was already well known across the nearby high schools, the school’s golden boy by reputation alone, and it was during those early high school years that he picked up a habit of cycling through crushes and rumors that never quite held his attention, all while still finding time to lean against your locker, grin, and wink like you were the only constant he never intended to give up.

"i'm just practicing for you, princess," he’d say, grinning when you’d groan in disgust. "saving myself for the day i'm rich enough to buy you the ring you deserve."

"in your dreams, satoru," you’d reply, pushing his face away.

it was high school too, with your new wardrobe and his hormones and his habit of not-so-accidentally showing up at the same parties as you, that turned him into a flustered, overaware mess, forever trying to hide his racing pulse behind a mask of cool indifference. 

he couldn’t flirt the way he used to, not smoothly, not playfully, not leaning into the kitchen space to grab the cereal box you couldn’t reach or tossing corny lines from the living room with the confidence of someone who didn’t care if they failed. five minutes around you in a tank top was enough to short-circuit him entirely, sending him retreating down the hall under the excuse of “using the bathroom” whenever you came downstairs in sleep shorts, heart pounding like he’d done something wrong just by looking. 

and even as girls in his grade and upperclassmen alike whispered about how handsome he was, how obvious it should have been, you barely seemed to notice, offering him nothing more than a curt nod before heading upstairs or leaving the house altogether, and still, he couldn’t get you out of his head. 

no matter how many names blurred together over time, his thoughts always circled back to you, constant and unshakable, like a song stuck on repeat he never learned how to turn off.

he figured you might not be interested in a relationship at all, considering he’d never really seen you with anyone besides that one fleeting incident back in seventh grade, and even that had felt more like a rumor than something real. maybe you weren’t into boys at all, and satoru simply didn’t have the range to recognize it. he built explanations on top of explanations, little mental architectures meant to justify your indifference, scenarios he replayed until they almost felt convincing, until it hurt less to believe you were unavailable than to believe you were uninterested in him specifically.

then came naoya.

naoya was a senior gym rat with ugly blond hair that satoru found genuinely jarring, paired with a cold, dismissive disposition that made his blood simmer on sight. satoru hated him with a primal, visceral intensity, the kind that settled deep in his chest and refused to move. 

he hated the way naoya looked at you, slow and assessing, like he already felt entitled to your attention, and he hated it even more that you looked back. naoya was an asshole, a known womanizer, the sort of boy whose reputation lingered in locker rooms and group chats long after he left the room, and satoru couldn’t understand how you didn’t see it. 

hell, satoru knew he was bad in his own ways, reckless and indulgent and loud about it, but the things he’d heard about naoya were somehow even worse, a different caliber all together, and it made his jaw tighten every time he saw the two of you in the same space.

it was on your senior prom night that satoru finally understood, in a way that settled heavy and irreversible in his chest, just how terrible naoya really was. 

suguru was out of town for a debate tournament, which meant satoru had spent most of the evening stretched out on his bed, staring at the ceiling and pretending he wasn’t checking his phone every few minutes, pretending he didn’t know exactly where you were or who you were supposed to be with. 

the suit he’d worn earlier hung abandoned over the back of his chair, shoes kicked off without care, tie loosened and forgotten, the night passing in slow, restless increments until his phone buzzed against the mattress, your name lighting up the screen.

“s’toru,” you sniffled on the other end, your voice thin and broken in a way that made his stomach drop, “are you busy?”

his heart skipped, sharp and instinctive, already racing ahead of his thoughts, already cataloguing every possible way you could be hurt, every reason you might be calling him instead of anyone else. “what happened?” he asked, sitting up so fast he nearly knocked the phone from his hand.

you hesitated, breath hitching, and that pause told him everything he needed to know. “can you come get me?” you said quietly. “please?”

he didn’t answer with words. he didn’t need to. satoru was on his feet before the call even ended, halfway down the stairs with his keys clutched tight in his fist, heart pounding hard enough to rattle his ribs. 

he didn’t bother letting his car warm up, didn’t care about the engine protesting as he pulled out too fast, phone in one hand and gripping the steering wheel with the other like it was the only thing keeping him grounded as he sped toward the hotel ballroom where prom had been hosted.

he found you sitting alone on the curb just outside the venue, knees drawn in slightly, your silk dress wrinkled and dulled where it brushed the concrete, mascara streaked down your cheeks in dark, uneven lines. the music inside thudded faintly through the walls, distant and obscene, like the night was still carrying on without you. 

naoya, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

satoru parked crooked and jumped out before the car fully stopped, crossing the distance between you in long, urgent strides, shrugging out of his zip-up to drape it over your shoulders, careful and deliberate, his hands warm against your arms as he pulled it closed around you. uou’d looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, lips trembling.

“c’mon,” he said softly, holding out a hand.

he helped you into the passenger seat, buckling you in like it was second nature, like he’d been doing this his whole life, then shut the door with more care than he thought he had in him. only once he was back behind the wheel, knuckles tight yet his voice uncharacteristically soft, did he speak.

"he’s a loser," satoru murmured as he drove you home. "i’d never treat you like that. you’re the most beautiful girl in this entire city, and he’s too blind to see it."

“thanks, satoru,” you’d sniffled, leaning over to rub his head in that familiar, absentminded way you used to when he was six and scraped his knees on the playground, fingers gentle in his hair, unthinking and warm. “i’m glad suguru has a best friend like you. you’re a good kid.”

he’d felt his heart fracture a little then, the weight of the "kid" label pulling at him. couldn't you see? he was seventeen, for gods sake, tall enough now to block doorways, old enough to drive, old enough to bleed and ache and want in ways that no one seemed willing to see. he was right there, couldn’t you see? 

yet, like all moments between you, the moment passed as all things did, quietly and without mercy.

soon, you’d graduated, leaving for college with packed boxes and promises to call as satoru finished out his last year of high school drifting through it on momentum alone, sleeping around with a careless ease that never stuck, collecting names and bodies without keeping any of them. 

college followed in much the same blur, a haze of drunken nights and shared bathrooms and once-a-month facetime calls with suguru, who somehow managed to live an entirely different life in the same four years. 

suguru fell in love sophomore year, settled into it with a steadiness that felt unfair, and moved into a small studio apartment with a woman named shoko ieiri, managing to build something quiet and real while satoru bounced between suite-style housing and roommates who treated mess like a lifestyle choice.

he tried, once, to date seriously, with a woman named utahime. the relationship lasted two months before she ended it gently, eyes apologetic, hands folded in her lap. “your head is always somewhere else,” she told him. “you’re looking for someone who isn’t me.” 

he didn’t attempt argue, because she was right.

you stayed just a year ahead of him, as always, graduated and stepped into the professional world with the same composure you’d carried since childhood. 

you started dating a man named sukuna ryomen, all fiery red hair and tattoos and sun-warmed skin, sharp where satoru was soft, deliberate where he was reckless. yet another gym rat you’d ended up with, of course, which felt personal at that point. 

satoru couldn’t imagine dedicating himself to lifting weights and counting protein, preferring sweets and late mornings and trusting his metabolism and genetics to keep him afloat, alongside doomscrooling your facebook photos, jaw tightening with every swipe of your bliding smile alongside sukuna, anger building until he closed the app and stared at the ceiling instead.

suguru found his peace with shoko. you built a life with someone else. and satoru stayed exactly where he was.

two and a half weeks after his twenty-fourth birthday, he spent christmas dinner at suguru and shoko’s place, fresh off a work trip and far too exhausted to attempt flying home, where his mother would have inevitably launched into another interrogation about when he planned to give her grandchildren, or at the very least introduce a girl she could start sizing up for the role.

the apartment smelled like roasted vegetables and citrus candles, soft music playing in the background, the kind of night that felt settled and complete. halfway through dessert, suguru cleared his throat, shoko smiling nervously beside him, and they announced their wedding plans for the following spring, a destination ceremony somewhere tropical and warm.

satoru had smiled, congratulated them, raised his glass, and yet, inside, something old and stubborn shifted, a quiet bitterness threading through his uncertainty as the question settled in his chest, uninvited and insistent: when would that be him?

but alas, persistent as ever, the world kept moving and satoru moved with it, throwing himself into work with the same reckless dedication he applied to everything else and filling the quiet gaps with self-improvement that felt productive enough to pass as progress: early mornings at the gym, blind dates he almost always regretted only after he’d already sat down and ordered a drink, and the deliberate act of no longer scrolling through your page like it was a wound he kept reopening. 

and whenever the loneliness crept back in anyway, he settled for mindlessly swiping through dating apps, searching for literally any other woman he might find as beautiful as you, knowing even as he did it that the bar was unfair and unreachable.

spring arrived without ceremony, satoru now twenty-five, and suddenly he was standing in a humid, tropical airport in the middle of nowhere for suguru and shoko’s wedding, sunlight beating down through wide glass windows as he waited at baggage claim, sweat already clinging to the back of his neck. 

he turned his phone back on out of habit more than expectation, only to see a message from suguru waiting for him: can’t make the pickup. shoko needs me at the venue. my sister is at the arrivals curb in a white rental. don’t be a dick.

he hadn’t seen you in two years, your contact reduced to polite text messages sent on birthdays and anniversaries, the latter typed with a bitterness he never quite managed to hide. 

you’d spent the last few holidays with sukuna, your absence slowly solidifying into something permanent, and without suguru there to casually bridge the gap between you, satoru had been forced to learn how to exist in a world where your shadow no longer fell across his days.

satoru grabbed his suitcase off the luggage carousel, only faintly aware of the lingering stares from women clearly bound for girls’ trips and sun-soaked escapes from marriages that had gone stale, before pushing through the sliding glass doors and stepping straight into the heat, it hitting him like a physical weight, thick and humid and immediate, the kind that settled on skin and stayed there. 

he scanned the pickup area with narrowed blue eyes, squinting against the glare and already irritated by the brightness, until his gaze caught on you.

you were leaning against the hood of a silver suv, all casual composure and quiet gravity, the island sun catching warm gold along your skin. you wore a yellow sundress that moved with the breeze, fabric light and effortless, your hair loose and kissed with salt, sandals slipping easily against your feet, toes freshly painted and visible as you shifted your weight. your phone was in your hand, thumb hovering like you were seconds away from texting him, and the sight of it made his chest tighten.

you looked older, sharper, impossibly radiant in a way that felt unfair, like time had chosen you as its favorite. 

satoru stumbled on his way toward you, heel catching awkwardly against the concrete, breath leaving him entirely when you looked up and tilted your head in that same familiar way you always had, and in an instant, painfully and vividly, underneath your stare—he felt sixteen all over again.

you smiled when he reached the car, slow and warm, the kind that settled into your cheeks before it reached your eyes, and it undid him far more efficiently than the sun or the jet lag ever could. 

stepping forward without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around him, satoru freezing for half a second before returning it, arms careful at first and then tightening when your scent hit him, something clean and familiar layered with salt and heat and you. two years vanished in that moment, replaced by the quiet certainty of your body against his and the steady rise and fall of your breath. 

“it’s so good to see you, satoru,” you said softly near his shoulder, voice sincere and unguarded. 

“it’s good to see you too,” he replied, a little awkward, a little breathless, pulling back just enough to look at you.

“you look, uh,” he paused, not sure what words sukuna might be comfortable with him using to compliment you. “you look nice.” he settled for, the words coming out simpler than he meant them, stripped of everything he considered say. 

you laughed, small and pleased, brushing it off with a light, “thank you,” before turning to pop the trunk.

satoru lifted his suitcase and set it inside, movements automatic, grateful for something to do with his hands, and a moment later you were sliding into the driver’s seat while he took the passenger side, suddenly aware of the absence of a steering wheel to occupy him. his hands hovered uselessly before settling on his thighs, fingers flexing once, twice. 

you glanced at him as you pulled away from the curb, eyebrow lifting just slightly. “you’ve been hitting the gym?” 

the question caught him off guard, a startled, breathy chuckle slipping out before he could stop it, the realization that you noticed sending a shy warmth through his chest. 

“yeah, yeah i have,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck, not sure what else to say. in his silence, the car settled into a brief, comfortable quiet as you turned the music up a notch, the low hum filling the space between you before satoru started again, silence never lasting quite long around him. 

“so, uh, what have you been up to?” he asked, tone casual, curiosity earnest. 

he caught the minute clench of your jaw before you answered, so subtle it almost escaped notice.

“um, well, i was in a relationship for a while,” you said, eyes flicking to the road, “but that didn’t really work out. i got a new place a couple months ago.” your fingers fidgeted against the steering wheel, tapping once before stilling, and you looked down for a beat, the weight of it lingering. 

so clearly sukuna was out of the picture, satoru thought, trying to fight the smile fighting to tug at his lips, and if it weren’t for the way your shoulders dipped, the way you looked similarly to how you did on the curb of your senior prom, satoru might have done something embarrassingly triumphant. 

instead, he swallowed, “i’m sorry to hear that,” he offered, “i mean, at least you’re on vacation now, right?” the words sounded clumsier aloud, and he winced internally, bracing for them to land wrong, but you just snorted lightly, shaking your head.

“yeah, i mean, all things end eventually, right?” then, brighter, turning the conversation with practiced ease, “but hey, suguru told me you got a fancy new job. how’s that like? anything new? anyone new?” 

“nah,” satoru said, shrugging, gaze drifting out the window. “i travel a lot for work. makes it hard to build relationships.” the lie slid out smoothly, worn thin from repetition.

(satoru just-so-happened to be the only one of his co-workers not in a relationship.)

you nodded, thoughtful, and for a split second he could have sworn there was something there in your eyes, a flicker of hope or relief that disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving him unsure whether he’d imagined it.

the rest of the drive unfolded easily after that, conversation flowing as if no time had passed at all, laughter spilling over stories about work, cities, mutual acquaintances, jokes layered with shared history and comfortable familiarity. 

you talked about everything that had filled the years since high school, skirting instinctively around the one subject that had always sat between you, unspoken and persistent, letting it remain untouched as the car carried you both forward: satoru’s crush on you.

when you’d arrived at the house, only a short walk down the beach from the wedding venue, you explained in a low, casual voice that shoko’s family hadn’t landed yet and your parents were already down at the site handling last-minute details, mentioning you hadn’t been feeling great earlier, which was why you’d stayed back and volunteered to pick him up instead of setting up the venue, also telling him that most of the other guests were scattered between nearby rentals or still mid-flight, the place unusually quiet for something meant to host a wedding weekend. 

you led him through the house at an unhurried pace, pointing out the open living area, the kitchen stocked with fruit and bottled water, the doors that slid straight out to the pool and the ocean beyond, while satoru followed half a step behind, hands shoved into his pockets, doing his absolute best to keep his eyes trained anywhere but the soft line of your back and the way the sundress moved with you as you walked.

the main house sat tucked into a slope of palms and flowering vines, all white stone and weathered wood softened by the humidity, its wide balconies opening straight toward the ocean as if the water had been factored into the architecture from the very beginning. 

the exterior was open and airy, tall sliding doors replacing most solid walls, letting sunlight spill freely across pale tile floors that stayed cool beneath bare feet. inside, the space felt expansive without being grandiose, the kind of luxury that leaned into comfort rather than spectacle, with woven furniture, linen cushions, and low wooden tables scattered through a living area that smelled faintly of salt and citrus.

ceiling fans turned lazily overhead, and everywhere there were windows, framing the sea in uninterrupted stretches of blue, the sound of waves bleeding softly into every room. each bedroom branched off its own quiet corridor, private, all outfitted with simple canopy beds, gauzy curtains that stirred with the breeze, and glass doors that opened onto small terraces or garden paths. 

the bathrooms were sleek and spa-like, stone sinks and open showers edged with greenery, some partially open to the air so you could hear birds while rinsing off sunscreen and sweat, and outside, the villa spilled into a shaded patio and an infinity pool that seemed to dissolve straight into the horizon, lounge chairs clustered beneath umbrellas, the entire place wrapped in the hum of cicadas and the slow rhythm of the tide. 

it felt remote in the best way, like the rest of the world had been politely asked to wait somewhere far away.

satoru’s room was placed directly beside yours, separated only by a jack-and-jill bathroom with twin sinks and a shared shower, an arrangement that felt either unfortunate or deeply suspicious depending on the time of day and his level of self-control; it was a layout that would only ever truly function if his body didn't possess the traitorous habit of waking up more enthusiastic to see you than even his heart was, his own physical architecture proving much harder to discipline than his wandering mind.

when the tour ended almost perfectly in sync with suguru and shoko returning from the venue, followed closely by you and your parents, satoru snapped out of the soft, dangerous haze he’d already started slipping into, the shift immediate and sobering, but even after four years of college and two very different lives separating them, suguru clocked the change in satoru’s demeanor just as fast, one sharp eyebrow lifting as his gaze flicked between the hallway you and satoru emerged from.

you and shoko, ever oblivious of the holes suguru’s eyes were boring into satoru, were launched into an animated discussion about seating arrangements and florals, blissfully unaware of the silent interrogation happening a few feet away. 

satoru, for his part, leaned hard into politeness, hugging your mom and dad with exaggerated enthusiasm and laughing at all the right moments, all while pointedly refusing to acknowledge the way suguru was staring at him like he was one bad decision away from being buried in the sand out back.

the energy slowly settled as the reunion buzz wore off, conversations splintering, bags being dropped in corners, drinks poured, until your mom, for what felt like the seventh time, sighed happily and said, “oh, doesn’t satoru just look so handsome all grown up?” and that was apparently suguru’s breaking point. 

clapping a hand on satoru’s shoulder, suguru very promptly steered him toward the patio with a firmness that left no room for interpretation, sliding the glass door open and ushering him outside as if escorting a liability out of a crime scene.

satoru barely got his mouth open before suguru cut him off.

“before you say literally anything,” suguru said, voice low and tight, hands braced on the railing as he stared out at the water, “the bedrooms were shoko’s idea. not mine.”

satoru blinked. “uh. okay?”

suguru turned then, expression sharp, jaw set in a way satoru recognized immediately as restrained anger. 

“look, man. she’s coming off a rough breakup. like, actually rough. the guy was a controlling, cheating asshole who treated her like garbage, and it’s only been a couple months since the whole thing blew up.” his fingers curled against the wood, knuckles whitening. “so just… cool it, yeah? i’m serious.”

satoru nodded slowly, hands lifting in surrender. “i wasn’t—”

“i know,” suguru cut in again, softer this time but no less firm. “and i trust you. mostly. but shoko’s got friends in the other villas. plenty of options. do whatever you want with whoever you want.” his eyes locked onto satoru’s, unblinking. “just not my sister.”

the message landed heavy and unmistakable.

satoru swallowed, nodded once, and said quietly, “got it.”

but, for all it was worth, discipline had never quite been satoru’s strong suit, and directions, especially the ones that mattered most, had a way of slipping through his fingers no matter how sincerely he tried to hold onto them.

…

the rest of the day unfolded in the unremarkable, sun-dazed rhythm typical of destination weddings, guests filtering in from staggered flights, the house gradually filling with movement and voices as shoko’s family arrived alongside friends dispersed among nearby villas, everyone jetlagged and glowing with the anticipatory relief of having nowhere to be for at least a few hours. 

satoru, best man to a groom whose tension radiated in short bursts and clenched jaws, found himself with very little to do beyond hovering, hands in his pockets, scanning for usefulness, the hour still too early for day drinking and his stomach too full from airport food to justify another meal, boredom settling in like a low-grade itch.

suguru and shoko insisted on keeping the first day gentle, encouraging everyone to rest, nap, wander, acclimate, their attention fixed less on ceremony logistics than on the people they’d brought all this way. it showed in the small ways. suguru drifted through rooms checking in on guests with a sharp eye and clipped concern, redirecting anyone who tried to fuss over him, while shoko moved more quietly, a cigarette pinched between her fingers whenever she slipped outside, dark crescents under her eyes betraying the strain she otherwise carried with ease. 

when satoru asked if he could help with anything, shoko only shrugged, rolling one shoulder as she flicked ash away and glanced at him sideways, mouth tilting with something amused. “nah,” she said easily. “rest while you can.” 

her eyes sharpened just a touch, a glint of dry promise flashing through as she added, “we’re working your ass tomorrow.”

and that was that. 

satoru’s parents arrived sometime after noon, sweeping into the villa with the same practiced ease they brought to everything, his mother already reaching for her phone before her suitcase had even been set down, eyes bright and appraising as they landed on satoru and suguru standing shoulder to shoulder near the entryway. 

she made a small sound of delight, the kind that preceded a flurry of activity, and immediately began fussing, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from satoru’s shirt, tilting his chin up with two fingers so the light caught his face just right.

“stand closer,” she insisted, already framing the shot. “no, closer than that. suguru, darling, put your arm around him. you’re practically brothers anyway.”

suguru complied with the long-suffering patience of someone who had already accepted his fate, while satoru leaned in, blinking against the flash as it went off once, twice, five times in quick succession, his mother humming approvingly as she checked each photo. 

she made them swap sides, told them to smile wider, scolded satoru for squinting, then finally seemed satisfied enough to lower the phone, only to launch straight into commentary.

“my god, look at you,” she said, hands back on his shoulders, eyes shining with pride. “all grown up, traveling for work, such a good job. you look so handsome in this light, don’t you think?” she glanced around, as if polling the room. “women must be lining up.”

satoru gave a tight smile, nodding through another round of greetings as shoko and suguru’s relatives filtered past, each conversation blurring into the next, all heat jokes and polite laughs and the same tired question repeated over and over. 

how was the flight? isn’t it warm? such a beautiful place! yes, very long. yes, very humid. yes, stunning.

his mother, however, was undeterred.

she leaned in again once the immediate crowd thinned, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that somehow still carried. “you know, seeing suguru settle down like this really makes you think,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the house, toward shoko somewhere beyond it all. “it’s such a good age to find someone serious. you’re stable now. successful. it wouldn’t hurt to start looking.”

suguru shot satoru an apologetic look over her shoulder, lips twitching as if to say good luck, while satoru resisted the urge to groan, settling instead for another nod, another practiced murmur of acknowledgment, his patience already worn thin from the combination of travel fatigue, social pleasantries, and the familiar weight of expectation pressing in on him.

by the time his mother was pulled away by another guest eager to comment on the weather or the view, satoru felt wrung out, his smile stiff, his jaw aching. all he wanted now a quiet room, a closed curtain, and a few uninterrupted minutes where no one asked him how his life was progressing compared to someone else’s.

when he arrived back into his room, the curtain was still pulled back from earlier, sunlight spilling across the floor and walls, the ocean visible in a bright slice of blue. he crossed the room intending to close it, already planning a short nap before the evening’s welcome dinner, when movement outside caught his eye.

you were at the pool.

you wore a sheer cover-up over an orange bikini, fabric lifting in the breeze as you stood near the edge, laughing at something said by a teenage girl with brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, her resemblance to shoko unmistakable enough that satoru immediately clocked her as family. 

he watched as you gestured toward the water, shaking your head with an exaggerated grimace, clearly explaining how cold it felt, easing one foot in, then the other, inching forward with a hissed laugh as you acclimated.

satoru, acutely aware of how strange it was to be lingering at the window, gaze fixed on his best friend’s older sister with a focus that bordered on inappropriate even by his own generous standards, still didn’t move, his hand hovering uselessly near the curtain as if restraint alone might count for something.

from this distance, everything felt softened by light and glass, the way your smile lingered, the way you pushed the cover-up back over your shoulders before lowering yourself into the pool, the sun catching on your skin as you went. 

he thought, fleetingly and with a twist of guilt, about suguru’s warning, about discipline and restraint and good intentions, and still found himself unable to look away, attention fixed on the simple, disarming familiarity of you laughing by the water, existing with an ease that pulled at him despite his better judgment. 

the sun caught the surface of the water in a way that felt blinding, but satoru’s eyes were locked on the path of a single, stray droplet as it carved a slow line down the center of your chest, disappearing into the dip of your cleavage where the orange fabric of your bikini met your skin. 

he watched you shiver, your shoulders hiking up toward your ears as you laughed, eventually shaking your head toward the teenage girl and giving up on the slow torture of the shallow end.

you climbed back out of the pool in one fluid motion, the water sheeting off your curves and catching the light like liquid glass. every muscle in your back shifted beneath the thin, wet fabric of your cover-up, and satoru felt the air in the room turn suddenly, violently thin.

god, he was so fucked.

he watched you head toward a sun chair, the fabric of your bikini bottom clinging to you in a way that made his throat go dry, making the (rookie) mistake of looking down at himself; the front of his shorts pulled into a tight, blatant, shameful tent of fabric that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

lettting out a sharp, hissed curse, satoru yanked the curtain shut with a force that nearly tore the rod from the wall, the sudden darkness of the room doing nothing to cool the frantic heat rising up the back of his neck.

his ears felt like they were on fire. he felt like a goddamn teenager again, sixteen and pathetic, standing at the edge of the neighborhood pool while suguru yelled at him for missing another serve in volleyball. back then, satoru had been too busy tracing the line of your collarbone to care about a game, and apparently, ten years and a professional career hadn't changed a single thing about his lack of self-control.

he was a grown man, for fuck’s sake. he was twenty-five years old, he had a high-paying job, he had been with plenty of women who were considered objectively beautiful, and yet here he was, getting full, rock-hard at the mere sight of his best friend’s sister in a swimsuit. 

he paced the length of the room, hands raking through his white hair until it stood up in every direction, his heart thudding a bruised, heavy rhythm against his ribs.

pausing back in front of the window, satoru stared at the closed curtain, the muffled sound of your laughter still drifting through the glass, as he realized with a sinking, desperate clarity that this was going to be the longest four days of his entire life. 

if he couldn't even stand behind a window without his body turning into a traitorous, overstimulated mess, he had no idea how he was going to survive being anywhere near you during the welcome dinner.

satoru collapsed onto the bed, the mattress yielding beneath his weight as he let out a long, jagged exhale. 

he’d peeled his shorts off in a fit of irritation, tossing them toward the corner of the room, but the relief was non-existent. his boxers were pulled taut, the tent of fabric an embarrassing, persistent reminder of the girl currently lounging only a few yards away. 

he rolled onto his side, clutching a pillow to his chest, but the movement only served to friction against the heat coiled low in his gut.

every time he closed his eyes, the darkness behind his lids became a projector screen. he saw the way the orange fabric had strained against your skin, the way your ponytail had seemed almost orange in the sun when you laughed, the exact path of that water droplet as it slid down your chest. 

his mind was a loop of sensory details he hadn't even realized he’d cataloged—the curve of your hip, the slight, sun-dazzled flush on your cheeks, the way your toes had curled against the wet tile.

stop it. just fucking stop it.

the room felt stifling, the humidity of the island seeming to seep through the glass doors and settle into the very fibers of the sheets. despite being stripped down to his underwear, satoru felt like he was burning from the inside out. 

he tossed to his other side, then onto his back, staring up at the slowly spinning ceiling fan as if it held the answer to his lack of composure. he tried to think about work, about the stock market, about the goddamn seating chart suguru had sent him three days ago—anything to kill the image of you in that bikini.

it didn't work. 

twenty minutes of restless, agonizing friction passed before he finally snapped, tearing the covers off with a frustrated groan, the linen fluttering uselessly to the floor. 

he glared at the bedside analog clock, the second hand ticking with a rhythmic, taunting precision that felt like it was mocking the pace of his pulse. he’d spent nearly half an hour daydreaming about his best friend's sister like a starved animal, and the physical pressure in his loins was only getting worse.

"unbelievable," he hissed into the quiet room, his voice raspy and thin.

he stood up, his body feeling heavy and wound tight as he headed toward the bathroom. there was only one solution for a mind this loud and a body this disobedient, a trick he’d been using since those long, torturous summers in high school: a nice, long, cold shower.

satoru moved through the room with a jagged, frantic energy, unzipping his suitcase and dragging out a crisp linen shirt and dark trousers for the dinner with more force than necessary.

every time he caught his reflection in the full-length mirror, his eyes snared on the persistent, shaming silhouette of his own arousal, and he’d let out a sharp, hiss of air through his teeth, averting his gaze as if he could ignore the way his body was screaming for a release he wasn't supposed to give it.

he stepped back into the jack-and-jill bathroom, the air smelling of the citrus soap you’d clearly used earlier, and immediately turned to the door on your side, clicking the lock before testing the handle once, then testing it again. he stood there for a full ten seconds, staring at the wood, triple-checking the mechanism until he was certain there was no chance of you walking in on the pathetic display he was about to put on. 

once he’d locked his own door, he stripped out of his boxers and stepped into the glass stall, turning the handle straight to the cold setting, the water hitting him like a sheet of ice, making his breath hitch and his skin break out in an immediate, stinging chill. 

satoru leaned his forehead against the cool tile, eyes squeezed shut as he willed the freezing spray to do its job. he tried to focus on the sound of the drain, the hum of the pipes—anything but you.

it was useless.

the cold did nothing to dull the mental reel playing behind his lids. he saw you in the yellow sundress, the way it had hugged your waist as you showed him the villa; he saw you in the orange bikini, the sun catching the wet slope of your hip as you climbed out of the water. the more he tried to flush the images away, the more vivid they became, until he could almost feel the phantom heat of your skin through the freezing water. 

he looked down, a frustrated, breathless laugh escaping him when he realized the shower hadn't worked at all. he was still rock-hard, his pulse thrumming thick and heavy in his throat, a dull ache settling deep in his groin that the cold water only seemed to sharpen.

"fine," he rasped, his voice barely audible over the spray. "fuck it."

he reached down, his fingers trembling slightly as he wrapped a hand around himself. the contrast of his warm palm against his chilled skin making his head tilt back, his mouth falling open as a jagged breath left him. 

he closed his eyes and let the fantasy take over, replacing the clinical tile of the shower with the memory of your bedroom, mere feet away from his. he pictured your hand over his, your fingers small and soft against the rougher planes of his palm, and the thought made his grip tighten instinctively.

the sound of the water was joined by the rhythmic, wet slide of his hand moving up and down his length, the friction building a slow, agonizing heat that the cold spray couldn't touch. he imagined you on top of him, your hair falling forward to brush against his chest, the weight of you settling between his thighs as you looked down at him with those quiet, knowing eyes. 

he bit back a groan, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to stifle the sound as he increased the pace, his thumb grazing over the sensitive head of his member as his stomach coiled—a tight, electric knot of tension beginning to pull at his navel. 

the images were coming faster now—the sound of your voice whispering his name, the imagined pitch of your moans as he moved inside you, the way your back would arch under his touch. 

the pace of his hand quickened, a blurred, desperate rhythm that echoed the frantic thud of his heart against his ribs. the cold water was a distant afterthought, no longer capable of reaching the white-hot core of heat building behind his navel. 

the mental images were no longer just pictures; they were a sensory assault. he could practically feel the salt-air dampness of your skin, see the way your throat would work as you swallowed a moan, and then, with a sharp, violent hitch of his breath, the images became too much to hold back.

his head snapped back against the tile, eyes squeezed shut so tightly he saw stars, and he came with a force that left him lightheaded, the evidence of his frustration spilling onto both his hand and the shower floor, thick and white before being caught by the water. 

a low, guttural groan tore itself from his throat, a sound he tried to swallow but failed to contain, his teeth sinking into his lip to keep from shouting your name into the empty air.

it was a messy, undignified release, and the silence that followed was heavy with the immediate, crushing weight of shame satoru felt standing there, chest still heaving, watching as the remnants of his desire were washed toward the drain by the cold water. 

the pressure was gone, replaced by a hollow, aching embarrassment that made him feel small. he was soft now, shivering under the ice-cold water, looking down at his own hands with a look of pure, unadulterated self-loathing.

this wasn’t a new feeling, not really. 

he’d spent half his adolescence doing this, sneaking into the guest bathroom of your house during middle school to rub one out because you’d walked past him in sleep shorts that were a little too loose, and even more nights in high school staring at his phone screen, your photos glowing in the dark as he imagined a reality where he wasn't just suguru's annoying friend. 

but this? this was absurd. it had been seven years. seven years since he’d touched himself to the thought of you. 

he’d convinced himself he was over the "weirdo" phase, that he’d grown into a man who didn't need to hide in showers and fantasize about a girl who called him a good kid. yet here he was, in a tropical villa, acting like a hormonal teenager before the sun had even set on day one.

"god, you're pathetic," he muttered, his voice sounding thin and ragged in the small space.

he reached out with a trembling hand and twisted the handle, turning the water from freezing to a punishingly hot temperature as he grabbed the loofah, scrubbing at his skin with a frantic, aggressive energy, as if he could actually wash off the shame of wanting you this much. 

satoru stayed under the warm water until his skin was flushed a raw, angry red, trying to scrub away the memory of his own groan and the way his body had surrendered so easily to the thought of your touch.

when he eventually shut the water off, he stood there for a moment longer than necessary, steam clinging to the glass and to him alike, shame curling low and heavy in his gut as he reached for a towel and dried off with brisk, efficient movements, as if speed alone could distance him from what he’d just done. 

he unlocked the door to your side first before unlocking his as well, retreating back into his own, his limbs suddenly leaden, exhaustion crashing into him all at once now that the tension had finally burned itself out.

he toweled his hair quickly, barely bothering to comb through it, and collapsed onto the bed without ceremony, the mattress giving way beneath him as sleep claimed him almost immediately, the kind of abrupt, merciless sleep that followed emotional whiplash. 

his dreams were vivid and deeply unpleasant, suguru looming large and furious, voice sharp and echoing as he tore into satoru for thoughts he had no right to have, for lines crossed in silence, for betrayals imagined and condemned all the same.

sleep released him only when someone started pounding on his door, the sound insistent and unyielding, rattling him awake in a fog. satoru groaned, squinting at the ceiling before dragging himself upright and shuffling to the door, cracking it open on instinct.

there you stood, like a dream come to life, already dressed for dinner, jewelry catching the light at your collarbone, hair done neatly, sunglasses perched atop your head like an afterthought, your expression shifting into surprise the moment your eyes dropped to his bare chest and boxers.

“oh shit,” satoru blurted, mortification hitting him in full force. “sorry, fuck—i thought you were suguru.”

your own face flushed as you waved a hand quickly. “no, that’s my bad. i should’ve said it was me when i knocked. sorry.”

he rubbed at his face, suddenly hyperaware of everything at once, the way his hair stuck up in odd directions, the faint crease in his cheek from the pillow, the very real possibility of drool on his face which he did not want to confirm.

“we’re about to head out,” you said, tone easy, polite, eyes returning to his face. “dinner’s at a small place down the beach. fifteen minute walk. you still coming?”

“yeah,” he said immediately, voice hoarse. “yeah. sorry, i, uh, overslept. plane stuff.”

you smiled, soft and brief. “no worries. just didn’t want to leave you.”

“i’ll be right behind you,” he added, already stepping back as you nodded, closing the door gently behind you.

satoru stood there for a second longer, forehead dropping into his palm as he let out a slow, silent groan, before turning back toward the room and forcing himself into motion, the haze lifting just enough for him to start getting ready.

…

in classic satoru fashion, he made it halfway down the beach before realizing his wallet was still on the dresser, doubling back to the villa at a clipped pace, only to discover he’d been heading the wrong way to begin with, setting off again in the proper direction while speed-walking past couples lingering at the shoreline and groups of women angling their phones for sunset photos. 

by the time he reached the restaurant and was guided to a long table tucked toward the back, another realization landed with a dull thud: he was late, conspicuously so, the twenty-odd seats already filled with shoko and suguru’s family, heads turning in unison as he offered a sheepish wave and slipped into the only open chair beside one of shoko’s many brown-haired relatives, directly across from you, suguru close enough to lift an eyebrow in quiet, familiar judgment.

dinner unfolded the way these things always did, conversation swelling and receding in overlapping currents, laughter breaking out in pockets as plates arrived and wine was poured. 

satoru found himself deep in an animated back-and-forth with you and suguru’s father about the stock market’s latest chaos until your mom fixed them both with a look sharp enough to cut glass. 

“no job talk at the table,” she said, decisive, turning back around as your dad mouthed “women” across the table, satoru stifling a laugh behind his glass, the moment easing into another round of chatter.

throughout the meal, he kept sensing a presence, the unmistakable prickle of being watched, and yet, every time he glanced up his eyes met empty air, your attention seemingly elsewhere, focused on someone speaking or the food in front of you, leaving him to wonder if the feeling was something he’d conjured on his own. 

he avoided seeking you out directly, ears warming whenever the memory of his afternoon activities intruded, instead leaning into polite conversation, answering questions about being the best man, recounting how he and suguru had spent five years of elementary school locked in competitive stalemate before eventually becoming best friends.

the table erupted when satoru shared a few carefully chosen college stories, detailing late-night calls where suguru sounded genuinely undone, spiraling over shoko’s nonchalance and what it might mean, the fondness in his voice obvious despite the teasing. 

suguru rolled his eyes and shot him a glare that lacked any real heat, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth all the same.

during those bursts of laughter, satoru let himself steal quick glances your way, brief and cautious, catching the curve of your smile as you laughed along, and on those rare occasions when your eyes met his for a heartbeat, the shared amusement feeling especially grounding, the room loud and warm and full, the night settling into something easy despite the tension he carried quietly with him.

when the bill arrived, satoru reached for it without hesitation, fingers already sliding his card free before the server had fully set the leather folder down, which immediately prompted a chorus of protests from the bride and groom. 

suguru leaned across the table first, voice low and insistent, while shoko followed with a tired sigh and a look that suggested she had neither the energy nor the desire to argue logistics tonight.

“absolutely not,” suguru said. “this is on us.”

satoru waved him off with an easy grin, already tucking the card inside. “relax. i live alone, i travel for work, and i don’t have a significant other draining my bank account with matching towels and throw pillows. let me have this.”

shoko snorted, cigarette laugh trapped in her throat. “you’re impossible.”

“also,” satoru added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “i told my boss this was a networking dinner. technically, this is a business expense.”

suguru stared at him flatly. “you did not.”

satoru’s smile widened. “correct.”

shoko’s grandmother let out a delighted whoop from the far end of the table, glass raised high. “oh, bless you, handsome,” she declared, already half a bottle of wine past restraint, prompting laughter from the surrounding women who suddenly seemed far more attentive to satoru than they had been moments earlier.

as he handed the folder back to the server, satoru’s gaze lifted almost instinctively, meeting yours across the table. your expression held a flicker of surprise, brows lifting just slightly, interest quiet and unmistakable, the kind that felt observational, as though you were reassessing him in real time. the moment lingered for a breath, something unspoken passing between you, before the noise of the table reclaimed it and you turned back to your conversation with shoko.

the walk back along the beach fractured into small groups, some guests stopping to pose for photos against the dark water, others already loosening ties and heels in favor of the promise of the villa. nearly everyone paused to clap satoru on the shoulder or offer thanks as they passed, gratitude layered thick in their voices.

(everyone but you, of course—always the outlier when it came to satoru.)

suguru slowed until he was beside satoru, hands shoved into his pockets. “you didn’t have to do that, you know.”

satoru bumped his shoulder lightly, the contact familiar and unceremonious. “yeah, i did. let me take care of you for once. you’ve got a big day coming up.”

suguru huffed a quiet laugh. “still.”

“you can thank me tomorrow,” satoru said. “with those jello shots you keep bragging about.”

suguru’s smile broke through fully then. “fine. deal.”

the group gradually peeled off into their respective rooms, the villa settling into a low, contented hum as doors closed and lights dimmed, everyone retreating to rest before whatever tomorrow would demand of them.

satoru lingered in the bathroom longer than necessary, letting the warm water chase the salt and restaurant noise from his skin, toweling off before pulling on soft pajama pants and a loose t-shirt. the villa cooled noticeably after dark, air drifting in through the open slats and carrying the steady chorus of night insects from somewhere beyond the palms, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound that filled the space once the lights were low. 

through the thin wall, he caught the muted signs of you returning from your walk along the ocean with shoko, footsteps crossing your room, drawers opening and closing, the faint clink of jewelry set aside, until the rush of your shower joined the night sounds and he figured you were winding down too.

he flopped onto the bed and flicked the tv on, volume low, something mindless playing while his body refused sleep after the earlier nap. a few minutes passed before two light raps sounded at his door, quick and unmistakable. satoru frowned, glancing toward the shared bathroom as the shower continued to run, then padded over and opened the door.

suguru stood there with two beers in hand, hair damp from his own shower, expression calm and restless in equal measure.

“couldn’t sleep,” suguru murmured.

“yeah,” satoru said, already reaching for one. “figured.”

they drifted into the kitchen, bare feet quiet against the tile, leaning back against the counter with the doors open to the patio. the view stretched dark and expansive, moonlight catching on the water, the beach barely visible beyond the railing. they spoke softly, voices carrying just enough to fill the space between sips, trading updates they’d never managed to finish over the years, work frustrations, travel stories, the strange feeling of being back in the same place after so long apart.

somewhere between laughs and pauses, the conversation veered into a half-serious debate about whether the nfl was scripted, satoru insisting it had to be with a grin, suguru scoffing and arguing logistics, when a quiet creak cut through the air.

both boys turned toward the hallway in a singular, synchronized movement, their attention snapping to the sound of your bedroom door swinging open. 

the kitchen light was dim, but it was bright enough to illuminate you as you stepped into the common area, wearing nothing but a pair of loose pajama shorts and a thin, ribbed tank top, the fabric of the tanktop far too soft for satoru’s comfort. so soft, in fact, that it clung to you in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, your bare nipples silhouetted clearly against the light cotton.

a cute little 'o' formed with your mouth, your eyes widening in a flicker of shock to find your brother still standing in the kitchen so late at night. 

beside him, satoru felt the air leave his lungs in a sudden, violent rush. his grip on his beer can tightening until the aluminum groaned under his fingers, and he forced a tight-lipped, strained smile onto his face, his blue eyes fixed determinedly on a point somewhere near your shoulder.

"oh, hey sugu," you said, your voice soft and heavy with sleep. "couldn't sleep?"

you shot suguru a knowing look, a small, teasing smile tugging at the corner of your mouth that spoke of two decades of shared secrets and pre-wedding nerves. suguru nodded, his expression softening with that specific, weary affection he only ever reserved for you, the protective wall he usually kept around his life dropping just an inch.

you walked further into the room, the hem of your shorts riding up with every step, and slipped behind suguru to wrap your arms around his middle. you leaned your chin on his shoulder, ruffling his dark, damp hair with a playful hand. 

"aw, you'll be fine," you murmured, squeezing him briefly. "you're just getting cold feet because you realized shoko is actually smarter than you."

suguru huffed a quiet laugh, his hand coming up to pat your arm. "not helpful."

"plus," you added, your gaze shifting to satoru for the first time that night, a playful glint in your eyes as you referenced the dinner bill, "you've got mr. big shot here to bail you out if it all goes south."

satoru let out a short, jagged snort, the sound intending to hide the fact that he was currently fighting the hardest battle of his life. 

he couldn't even enjoy the praise, couldn't even lean into the "big shot" persona he’d spent all night cultivating, because every time he breathed, he was acutely aware of the thinness of your tank top and the way your chest moved as you laughed.

his ears were burning, the heat spreading down his neck, and he focused entirely on the condensation on his beer can, praying that the low light of the kitchen was enough to hide the frantic, desperate direction of his thoughts.

look at the wall. look at the fridge. just don't look at her.

you bent down to inspect the lower cabinets, the movement causing the hem of your pajama shorts to ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of soft, tanned skin at the curve of your thigh. satoru’s gaze snagged on it instantly, his throat tightening as he watched a frustrated pout form on your lips when you didn't find what you’d been searching for in the cabinet. 

he snapped his head back toward the dark window, his pulse hammering a frantic rhythm in his ears, hyperaware that he was staring and even more aware of suguru standing mere inches away.

suguru turned around fully then, leaning back against the counter with a tired sigh. "what are you looking for?"

"just a glass," you murmured, straightening up and brushing a stray hair from your face. "i can't find where shoko put them."

"top cabinet," suguru said, gesturing vaguely toward the space right next to where satoru was rooted to the floor. "right behind satoru."

satoru turned just as you sidled up beside him, the scent of your shampoo hitting him like a physical blow. the architecture of the villa was built for aesthetics rather than reach, the cabinets soaring toward the ceiling in a way that made even satoru feel like he had to stretch. you reached up, your fingers wiggling as you tried to hook the rim of a glass, rising onto your tiptoes with an unthinking ease, the movement pulling your tank top even tighter across your chest, and satoru felt his brain leave the room entirely, replaced by a singular, focused heat.

without thinking, he stepped in behind you. "here," he rasped, his voice sounding deeper than he intended.

he reached over your head to snag the glass just as you came down from your tippy toes, and for a fraction of a second, your back rubbed against his front—soft, warm linen meeting the heat of his t-shirt—and the friction sent a prompt, electric jolt all the way from satoru's brain straight to his dick.

you both froze, and it was as if the kitchen seemed to contract, the only sound the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant crash of the tide. 

satoru could feel the heat of your body through his clothes, could feel the way your breathing hitched, and he was acutely aware that if he stayed this close for another second, the hard line of his desire would be impossible to hide.

"there you go," he said, pulling back and offering a short, breathless laugh to mask the panic rising in his chest.

you laughed too, the sound slightly forced, a flush creeping up your neck. "thanks, satoru. i forget how tall you got."

"yeah, well," he muttered, already shuffling quickly toward the other side of the counter. he sat down heavily on one of the barstools, his knees pulled together to hide the growing, insistent boner that was currently throbbing beneath the fabric of his pajama pants.

satoru took a long, desperate pull of his beer, staring down at the label like it held the secrets to the universe, while suguru watched him with a look of quiet, surgical intensity. 

you, either unphased or ignorant, continued to move around the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as if you were completely unaware of the fact suguru was trying to kill satoru with his eyes alone. it was a heavy, pointed silence, suguru watching satoru’s every micro-expression as if he were trying to stare straight through his soul and find the evidence of the betrayal satoru was currently nursing beneath the counter.

the silence that rushed in after the click of your bedroom door was deafening, leaving the two of them standing in the dim kitchen like statues in a gallery. it had only been a few moments since you’d stepped between them, ruffling suguru’s hair and patting his stomach with a playful warning about a beer belly before you’d retreated. 

you’d offered satoru a final, soft goodnight that had left him anchored to the spot, his heart still knocking against his ribs with a frantic, uneven rhythm.

satoru waited until he was sure the hallway was empty before he finally let his gaze drift back to suguru, who was already glaring at him with a look of pure, surgical loathing.

“i–” satoru started, his voice a low, jagged rasp. he cleared his throat, trying to find some semblance of his usual bravado while his heart was still hammering against his ribs. “c’mon, man—you saw that! what, you just wanted me to let your sister drop a fucking glass on her head? i was being a gentleman!”

suguru didn't move, his jaw set so tight satoru could see the muscle jumping in his cheek. he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a harsh, dangerous whisper-shout that barely carried past the counter. 

“oh, so that’s what they call it now? being a gentleman?” his eyes flicked down to satoru’s lap with a look of visceral disgust. “stand up then, satoru. stand up and show me how much of a gentleman you are.”

satoru felt the heat flare in his cheeks, a humiliating, bright red that he couldn't hide. he didn't move from the barstool, his knees pressed together in a desperate attempt to conceal the truth. 

“oh, fuck you, man,” he hissed back, his own voice hushed but frantic. “like you’ve never been hard before—it’s a biological response, suguru, i can’t exactly tell my nervous system to shut down because it’s inconvenient for you.”

“well, i know i’ve never gotten hard for one of your fucking cousins,” suguru countered, his eyes narrowing until they were just dark, lethal slits.

“well, that's not fair. they’re all in their fucking forties!” satoru waved a hand in the air, a sharp, agitated motion. “i haven’t had some in damn near six months, suguru. cut me some fucking slack. it’s the heat, it’s the beer, it’s… it’s a lot of things.”

suguru let out a short, biting scoff, shaking his head as he stared at the floor. “you’re unbelievable. genuinely, satoru.”

“oh, my goddd,” satoru groaned, the sound muffled as he rubbed a hand over his face. “look, okay, suguru, i’m sorry. i’m not trying to fuck your sister. i’m really not.”

suguru turned back to him then, his expression shifting as he just stared at satoru, the silence stretching out until the hum of the refrigerator felt like it was vibrating in satoru’s teeth. 

“really?” suguru asked, the word clipped and dry.

satoru faltered, his gaze flickering away toward the dark patio. “okay, well… i’m not like, actively trying to fuck her,” he muttered, the caveat hanging in the air like a confession.

suguru didn't even bother to respond to that. he just shook his head, a half-bitter, half-exhausted "goodnight" slipping from his lips as he turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, leaving satoru sitting there alone in the dark, the half-empty beer can sweating against his palm.

satoru took a slow, deliberate sip of the lukewarm liquid, staring at the empty doorway where you had stood only minutes before. he leaned his head forward against the cool countertop and exhaled, his mind already beginning to spiral. 

you guys weren't in high school anymore. you were all grown, consenting adults with jobs and lives and histories, and yet suguru was acting like he was still patrolling the hallways of iron mountain elementary.

he wondered, with a sudden, sharp spike of irritation, if suguru had even considered the alternative. did he even think about the possibility—even though satoru didn't really believe it himself—that maybe you wanted to fuck him, too? that maybe the way your back had pressed against him wasn't entirely accidental?

doubtful, he thought, staring at the pattern of the marble counter. but god, a man can dream.

…

satoru woke up the next morning to the distinct sensation of something soft colliding with his face, a pillow hitting him square in the nose, followed by suguru’s flat, unsympathetic voice telling him he had shit to do. satoru managed one incoherent, muffled groan in protest, which was promptly met with one of his own loafers—plucked from his open suitcase—thudding against the side of his head.

"okay, okay, fine! i’m up!" satoru barked, bolting upright and rubbing the spot where the leather had made contact, waiting just long enough for suguru’s footsteps to fade from the hall before he collapsed back onto the mattress,  fumbling for his phone and setting a fifteen-minute timer with the grim efficiency of a man who knew himself too well. 

he was asleep again before the screen dimmed.

when the alarm finally blared, it felt like a siren in his skull. satoru jolted awake, heart hammering as he realized he had exactly thirty minutes to be dressed, ready, and out the door before suguru came back with something heavier than a shoe. he scrambled out of bed, tearing a clean shirt and shorts from his bag with frantic, clumsy fingers, stumbling half-awake into the bathroom with his toothbrush in hand before freezing abruptly.

you were already there, caught in a similar whirlwind of morning chaos, leaning over the left sink and frantically brushing your teeth, hair tied back but a few loose strands framing a face that still looked soft from sleep. 

you caught his reflection in the mirror and offered a muffled, foamy “mornin’” through a mouthful of toothpaste.

“good morning,” satoru replied, the fog in his brain clearing instantly at your proximity.

he took his place at the right sink, the two of you working in a synchronized, hurried rhythm, satoru slightly (greatly) more distracted than you at the task at hand. he tried to keep his eyes on his own reflection, but his gaze kept betraying him, wandering to the side to catch the way your shoulder almost brushed his, or the way you squinted at the mirror while you rinsed. 

a small, quiet voice started humming in the back of his mind—a dangerous, persistent what if.

what if this was it? what if this wasn’t a temporary glitch in a destination wedding? what if he woke up to this every day, brushing his teeth beside you, sharing the same air, the same mirror, the same life? what if satoru didn't have to be alone in that silent, expensive apartment anymore?

the thought was so sharp and so sweet it nearly made him ache, but before he could even settle into the fantasy, you were gone, the tap clicked shut, and the door already closing behind you, leaving satoru alone with the scent of mint and the fading heat of your presence.

thankfully, due to his inability to wake up on time, he didn't have much time to dwell on it. 

the rest of the morning was a relentless, sweaty blur. shoko and suguru were working him like a rented mule, tasking him with everything from hauling heavy crates of artisanal glass lanterns to the beach to coordinating the delivery of three hundred pounds of ice that was currently melting in the tropical humidity.

the heat on the island was oppressive, a thick, wet blanket that turned every movement into an olympic event, and by noon, satoru’s linen shirt was completely soaked through, clinging to the muscles of his back and chest as he lugged oversized floral arrangements and stacks of wooden folding chairs across the sand. 

he was bone-tired, his skin humming with the beginning of a sunburn, and yet he was weirdly grateful for the months he’d logged in the gym. without the extra strength, he probably would have collapsed under the weight of the massive oak ceremonial arch he’d been forced to pivot ten times for shoko’s approval.

what didn't help his situation was that every woman in the bridal party seemed to have collectively decided that satoru was the only one capable of moving anything. 

he spent half his time being waved over to carry "heavy" boxes that turned out to be full of silk ribbons or napkins, the women lingering just a second too long as they thanked him, their eyes trailing over the way his damp shirt left very little to the imagination.

"thanks, satoru," one of shoko's cousins chirped, leaning against a table as he set down a crate. "you're a lifesaver."

he offered a strained, polite smile, his eyes already scanning the horizon for a cooler of water or, ideally, another glimpse of you.

suguru and shoko continued to pilot satoru like a high-performance vehicle with no oil for two more hours, only finally calling it a day around four in the afternoon, after satoru was already covered in a fine layer of sand and salt, having suffered an agonizing charley horse an hour prior that sent him toppling into a dune, bringing a heavy wooden crate of table centerpieces down right onto his forehead in the process.

suguru didn't even look guilty as he handed over the rental car keys, offering a firm pat on satoru's shoulder and a sly, knowing smirk. 

satoru figured the physical labor was less about the wedding and more about suguru's attempt to drain every ounce of testosterone out of him before nightfall—a quiet punishment for the biological betrayal in the kitchen the night before.

“grocery list is on the seat,” suguru murmured, his eyes lingering on the red welt on satoru’s forehead. “try not to hit anything else with your head.”

satoru grunted, dragging his exhausted frame toward the parking lot, the gravel crunching beneath his feet in a slow, punishing rhythm. he was halfway to the silver suv when the rhythmic slap of sandals against pavement started gaining on him, sounding like a small, frantic army of ducks coming to conquer him; half-convinced he was finally succumbing to a heat stroke, he turned slowly toward the sound, shielding his eyes from the low, golden glare of the sun, only to find you jogging toward him.

“wait up!” you called out, your chest heaving as you reached him, face flushed a soft, pretty pink. “i have to,” you paused to catch your breath, a hand resting on your knee, “i have to buy stuff, too. shoko realized we’re out of those specific flower pins.”

satoru stood frozen against the car door, his gaze drifting over you with a slow, dazed sort of focus that he couldn't quite snap out of. 

aside from the way your hair was a little windblown from the run and the shallow, rhythmic hitch of your breath as you recovered, you looked entirely too put together for the humidity they were currently suffering through. 

he took you in—the glow of your skin, the way you looked so effortlessly vibrant—and felt the stark, humiliating contrast of his own condition. he looked like he’d been dragged through a car wash on the back of a truck, salt-stained and gritty, while you stood there like a goddamn vision that had somehow escaped the day's grime. 

he figured it was because you’d spent the afternoon tucked away in the air-conditioned bridal suite instead of violating every known osha regulation out in the sun like suguru had him doing, but it didn't make the sight of you any less dizzying.

“yeah, i mean—of course you can come,” satoru said, his voice hitching. he hesitated, his hand hovering over the door handle as he glanced back toward the venue. “but, uh, does suguru know you’re coming?”

you blinked at him, looking genuinely puzzled. “shoko does, why?” you asked, your head tilting to the side. “does he need me for something?”

satoru felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. you clearly had no idea that your brother had spent the better part of the morning treating satoru like a pack animal specifically to keep him away from you. suguru was a d1 cockblock, and satoru was reasonably certain that if he saw you sliding into this car right now, he’d find a way to revoke satoru’s best man status on the spot.

“no, no,” satoru muttered, shaking his head as he walked to the passenger side and pulled the door open for you. “just wondering. he’s been… high-maintenance today.”

he held the door, and for a split second, as you stepped closer to slide into the seat, he caught it again; that same look from the dinner table. 

your eyes didn't just land on him; they lingered, tracing the line of his jaw and the damp fabric of his shirt with a quiet, observational intensity that made his skin prickle. it felt like you were looking at a version of him you hadn't seen before, re-evaluating the "kid" from the playground into something much more substantial.

but as soon as his blue eyes met yours, the look vanished, you offering him a soft, fleeting smile and a quiet, “thanks, satoru,” before tucking your dress around your legs and disappearing into the cool sanctuary of the car.

satoru shut the door, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. he took a long, stabilizing breath of the humid air, his reflection in the tinted window looking absolutely wrecked, before rounding the hood to the driver’s side.

twenty minutes in a car, he told himself, gripping the steering wheel. just be normal for twenty minutes.

the interior of the suv was a temporary sanctuary, the air conditioning struggling against the tropical heat as satoru pulled out of the gravel lot. you were sitting just inches away, the scent of your sunscreen—something coconut-heavy and sweet—filling the small space until it was all he could breathe. 

satoru, ever the careful driver (not), kept his eyes strictly on the winding coastal road, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, while you hummed along to a song on the radio, seemingly oblivious to the way his entire nervous system was vibrating.

when you reached the small, local market, the atmosphere was thick with the smell of overripe fruit and salt air. satoru followed you through the narrow aisles, dutifully tossing heavy bags of ice and crates of glass-bottled soda into the cart while you meticulously hunted for shoko’s specific floral pins. 

he watched the way you navigated the cramped space, moving with an ease that made him feel even more like a lumbering, oversized mess. 

at the checkout, an older woman with deep-set wrinkles and a bright floral apron began scanning the items, her gaze darting between satoru’s white hair and the way you were leaning against the counter to check your list. she let out a soft, delighted sound, her eyes crinkling.

"ah, honeymooners?" she asked in a thick accent, gesturing between the two of you with a small, knowing smile. "you look very happy. very beautiful couple."

the air in satoru’s lungs vanished. you froze, a bright, frantic flush climbing up your neck as you opened your mouth to correct her. "oh, no, we're actually—"

satoru didn't let you finish. a reckless, impulsive streak—the kind that had been getting him into trouble since the first grade—surged to the surface. he reached into his wallet, his fingers brushing against yours as he pulled out a heavy, matte-black business card, sliding it across the counter with a wink that felt like a deliberate provocation.

"just a celebratory weekend," he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, polished register he used when he was closing a deal. "we're celebrating a very big occasion."

he didn't look at you, but he could feel the heat of your stare burning into the side of his face as the cashier beamed, tucking the card away like it was a treasure, while satoru shouldered the heavy bags with an ease that felt purely performative. 

the minute you stepped out of the shop and began the trek toward the car, you turned to him, a playful, disbelief-laden edge to your voice. “honeymooners, really?”

satoru didn't even flinch, popping the trunk with a smooth flick of his wrist. “hey! sometimes the locals like throwing in free stuff for couples, you never know,” he countered, winking at you with a confidence that felt far more grounded than his usual theatrics.

you just shook your head, biting back a smile as you watched him effortlessly hoist the heavy bags into the suv, the muscles in his arms tensing and cording under the salt-stained fabric of his shirt. 

satoru took a brief, secret glance at you as he adjusted the last crate, catching you mid-stare; you were biting your lip, your gaze lingering on the line of his shoulders with a quiet, unshielded focus.

the moment he caught you, your expression shifted instantly. you offered him a shy, guilty little smile, looking for all the world like a kid caught with their hand in the candy jar, and satoru felt something in his chest pull tight. 

could this really be it? he thought, his chest tightening as he walked around the car to re-open your door, desperately trying to keep his hopes from climbing into the rafters where they’d inevitably be crushed. 

he wasn't an idiot; he knew you were fresh off the jagged edge of a major breakup, even if the ugly details of that sukuna guy remained a mystery to him. he understood perfectly why suguru had been hovering like a gargoyle, warning him to keep his distance while you were still so clearly in the middle of a private, quiet mourning.

yet, there was that little deviant, stubborn part of him—the part that had survived ten years of being overlooked—that wanted to take any chance he could get with you. he didn't care if it was a rebound, or if it was just because some loser had fucked up and left a void that satoru was more than willing to fill. 

even if it turned out to be nothing more than a temporary, sun-dazed vacation blur, he just wanted to be able to have you once. he wanted to know, just for a moment, that you saw him with even a fraction of the intensity he'd felt for you since that first afternoon on the playground. 

he wanted to be the man who made you bite your lip, not just the "good kid" who picked you up when you were crying.

…

the rest of the afternoon drifted by in an unremarkable, sun-drenched haze. satoru dropped you off at the venue, his hands lingering on the steering wheel as he watched you walk toward the entrance, his gaze following the sway of your dress just a beat too long before he finally forced himself to pull away and head back to the villa to help suguru prepare for shoko’s small bridal gathering, the interior of the car still smelling faintly of your coconut sunscreen.

when he pulled into the driveway, suguru was already there, hovering by the entrance like a gargoyle on watch. he didn’t even wait for satoru to kill the engine before he was at the trunk, practically snatching the grocery bags out of satoru’s hands.

“little long for a grocery trip, dontcha think?” suguru muttered, his eyes narrowed, searching satoru’s face for any sign of a secret smirk or a guilty flush.

satoru just huffed out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his white hair. he was amused, but the constant surveillance was starting to feel a bit like a lead weight. “all we did was get groceries, suguru. believe it or not, i actually followed the list.”

the minor headache from the wooden crate he’d dropped on his head earlier was still pulsing behind his eyes, a dull reminder of the labor suguru had assigned him, and satoru, always excited to provoke, couldn't help but lean into his irritation just a little. 

“and hey—relax, big guy,” satoru added, offering a sharp, effortless wink. “i can already see you starting to bald from the stress. shoko won't want a chrome dome at the altar.”

suguru rolled his eyes, a small, frustrated sound leaving his throat, but he didn't push it further, the rest of the evening settling into a quiet, rhythmic labor., the two of them spending the hour setting up the drinks around the outdoor bar in near silence, the only sound the clink of glass bottles and the rhythmic shuck of ice into the coolers. 

suguru was clearly deep in thought, likely spiraling over the weight of the upcoming ceremony, while satoru was, as always, lost in thoughts of you. he kept replaying the way you’d looked at him in the car, that observational, heavy stare that made his pulse jump. oh, if suguru could read minds, satoru would be buried under the patio by midnight.

the sun set quietly, painting the sky in a bruised, beautiful hue of purple and pink that reflected off the infinity pool, you and shoko’s decorating crew arriving back at the house just as the first stars began to prick through the dark, satoru barely able to get a glimpse of you. your parents were already calling for you from the driveway, their voices urgent with the reminder of the 8:00pm reservations at a secluded spot on the other side of the island.

it felt eerily like those summers in middle school—the familiar, frantic energy of your mom ushering you, suguru, and your dad out the door while satoru watched from the sidelines. he felt like a guest in the geto household again, privy to the inner workings of a family he wasn't quite part of. he stood by the bar, towel draped over his shoulder, watching the car pull away until the taillights disappeared into the palms. a sudden, hollow ache settled in his chest at the fleeting sight of your silhouette in the rear window.

he was officially off-duty, left to follow suguru’s parting instructions to "go mingle" with shoko’s friends by the outdoor bar. it had been less of a suggestion and more of a command—a way for suguru to ensure satoru was occupied while the family was away, and if suguru was lucky, a way to get satoru’s attention off of you and onto one of the bridesmaids. 

satoru sighed, picking up a lime and a paring knife, looking out at the gathering bridesmaids with a look of bored, beautiful indifference. he set the fruit back down with a quiet thud, turning to head back inside to change. if he was going to be mingling, he knew it was best to at least put his best foot forward, even if he himself wasn't feeling the best.

by the time he’d come back from his room, the villa was alive with the sound of ice clinking in glasses and soft, lounge music, satoru showered and changed into a fresh, navy linen shirt, his damp hair pushed back, looking every bit the high-roller he’d pretended to be at the market. 

he’d barely sat down with a gin and tonic when yuki, one of shoko’s bridesmaids with long, blonde hair and a gaze like a predator, slid into the stool beside him.

“shoko said the best man was a catch,” yuki purred, her hand trailing dangerously close to his forearm on the mahogany bar. “she didn't mention he was this distracting.”

satoru offered a polite, practiced smile—the kind he saved for clients he intended to decline. “she’s a habitual liar, yuki. don't believe a word of it.”

yuki didn't back down; if anything, her smile sharpened, her eyes tracking the movement of his throat as he took a sip of his drink. she raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow, her gaze dropping to the two undone buttons of his shirt before meeting his eyes again. 

"oh? a habitual liar? that’s a dangerous thing to say about the bride," she teased, her voice dropping a half-octave into a silky, confidential register. "though, looking at you, i'm starting to think she was actually being modest."

she shifted her weight, leaning further onto the bar so the fabric of her dress shifted, a subtle play for his attention that satoru acknowledged with nothing more than a faint, polite inclination of his head.

kento, one of suguru and satoru’s oldest friends, only just arriving earlier this afternoon, was behind the bar tonight, moving with a quiet, methodical precision. kento wasn't much of a drinker himself, but he was stellar with a shaker, and he caught satoru’s eye for a brief second, offering a look of stoic sympathy before sliding a fresh bowl of limes onto the counter.

"so, satoru," she continued, her fingers tracing a slow, idle circle on the wood near his glass. "what does a man like you do when he isn't busy being a 'catch' at destination weddings? i can’t imagine you’re just sitting around looking pretty."

satoru leaned back, his posture relaxed and open, yet there was a distinct, invisible barrier in the way he held himself. "i work in high-frequency trading," he answered, his voice smooth and steady. "mostly volatility arbitrage. it’s a lot of staring at screens and waiting for people to panic."

yuki let out a soft, genuine hum of interest, her eyes lighting up. "no way. i’m in corporate law—M&A. i spend my entire life in that same panic. honestly, i’ve found that no man can usually keep up with my schedule. it takes a certain kind of... stamina." she paused, her gaze lingering on his mouth, the implication heavy and deliberate. "but looking at the way you’ve been running around for suguru all day, i'd venture a guess that you’re the exception."

it was a perfect line, delivered with the kind of practiced ease that usually had men tripping over themselves to reciprocate. satoru simply offered a small, appreciative tilt of his glass. "it’s a living," he said, his tone pleasant but lacking the spark of heat she was fishing for.

"you haven't finished that drink," she noted, nodding toward the gin and tonic kento had balanced perfectly. "is the bartender not meeting your standards? or do i need to make you something a bit more... adventurous?"

"kento is great," satoru said, his smile never quite reaching his eyes. "i’ve just got a bit of a headache, honestly. i’m not really feeling the drinking tonight. i think the island sun finally won the first round."

yuki studied him for a moment, her head tilting to the side. she was beautiful—objectively, strikingly so—and her flirting was high-tier, the kind of intellectual and physical pull that satoru usually enjoyed. 

she was exactly the kind of woman who should have been a welcome distraction from the weight of the day. but as she spoke, as she laughed, satoru found himself subconsciously comparing the sharp, polished edge of her charm to the quiet, grounding ease of your smile.

every time she leaned in, he found himself leaning back, his eyes repeatedly drifting toward the darkened garden path as if expecting you to walk back through the gate at any moment. he answered her questions with a surgical, effortless grace, his tone light but firm enough to leave no room for misunderstanding.

yuki eventually took the hint, the predatory gleam in her eyes softening into a disappointed pout.

"well," she sighed, sliding off the stool and smoothing down her dress. "if you change your mind about that drink—or the company—you know where the bridesmaids are huddled."

she disappeared back into the crowd, and satoru finally let out the breath he’d been holding, his gaze immediately snapping back to the empty driveway.

a few minutes later, shoko herself drifted up to the bar, leaning her elbows against the surface as she caught kento’s eye. she didn't look at satoru, but her mouth tilted into a dry, knowing smirk as she tossed out a quiet comment.

“heard you turned down yuki,” she murmured, the glow of her cigarette catching in the reflection of the glass. “somebody else catch your eye, satoru?”

satoru took a slow sip of his drink, the ice rattling against his teeth. “just not my type, shoko.”

“right,” she drawled, finally looking at him with an expression that said she’d seen straight through his matte-black business cards and his rehearsed charm. “funny how your type always seems to be exactly one year older than you.”

satoru didn't miss a beat, his mouth twitching into a sharp, dry grin as he watched the smoke curl from shoko's cigarette. 

"yeah, very funny," he countered, leaning back on his elbows. "did the groom send you on this mission? or is he paying you in jello shots to do his dirty work?"

shoko let out a short, rasping laugh, tapping her ash into a nearby tray. she was always clever, her wit often cutting deeper and faster than suguru’s blunt-force protectiveness ever could. 

"please, suguru doesn't have the tactical mind for this," she said, finally turning her head to fix him with a look that was entirely too perceptive. "i’m the instigator here, satoru. why do you think i put you in that room with the connecting bathroom? i like a little chaos with my wedding bells."

she reached out, patting his shoulder with a heavy, mocking finality that made him feel like a soldier being sent to a front line he wasn't prepared for. "good luck, kid. you're gonna need it."

without waiting for a rebuttal, she snagged a drink kento had just finished balancing on the counter, offering the stoic man a wink before she started dancing her way toward the younger girl from the pool—the one with the dark ponytail who looked so much like her.

"oh, c'mon!" shoko's voice carried over the music, bright and reckless as she closed the distance to her cousin. "you’re in a foreign country, honey. let aunty get you your first shot! i won’t tell your mom, i promise—she’s too busy complaining about the humidity anyway."

satoru watched her go, shaking his head as shoko practically dragged the laughing teenager toward the bar, her reckless energy cutting through the humid night air. he let out a short, tired breath and turned back toward the counter, where kento was currently wiping down the mahogany surface with a precision that bordered on surgical.

kento’s blonde hair was tucked back with military neatness, the bar lights catching the thick, familiar frames of his glasses, the lenses reflecting the amber glow of the lanterns. he didn't look up immediately, his focus entirely on a stubborn water ring on the wood.

"can i get a water, kento?" satoru asked, his voice losing some of its performative edge.

kento finally looked up, his expression a mask of stoic, professional exhaustion. he reached for a clean glass, filled it with ice and filtered water, and slid it across the counter with a movement so efficient it made satoru feel sluggish by comparison.

"here," kento said, his tone flat and dry, carrying that unmistakable weight of someone who viewed leisure as a logistical hurdle. "anything else? i have three more bottles of champagne to chill before the bride decides to set something on fire."

satoru took a long, slow sip of the water, the coldness hitting the back of his throat and finally dulling the pulse of his headache. he leaned his elbows on the bar, looking at kento for a long beat before he spoke, his voice dropping into something uncharacteristically quiet.

"can i, uh... get some advice, too?"

…

satoru took kento’s advice—or at least the sobering weight of it—and turned in early for a change. he woke up to the soft, rhythmic trill of tropical birds and the steady wash of sunlight streaming through his window, a welcome departure from the usual ritual of suguru attempting to give him brain damage with household objects.

he spent the first half of the morning in a quiet, physical rhythm, helping shoko’s dad clear the remnants of last night’s festivities from the patio. they moved chairs and gathered stray glasses in a comfortable, low-energy silence, eventually settling down to eat cereal side-by-side on the outdoor steps joined by one of shoko’s uncles, who seemed particularly cozy with one of you and suguru’s aunts.

the air in the villa was thick, like a pot of water beginning to simmer with the quiet, frantic anticipation of the wedding tomorrow.

he saw very little of you as the hours ticked by. his only confirmation that you were even in the villa came in the form of muffled sounds through the shared wall—the rhythmic hum of the shower, the occasional, bright lilt of your voice as you stood on your balcony. he could hear you on the phone, emphatically describing the view to your friends back home, your laughter muffled but unmistakable.

listening to you, satoru found himself sinking into a headspace that felt dangerously like a comedown. he realized, with a sharp, localized ache in his chest, how little he actually knew about the woman you’d become while he was busy becoming the man you currently saw.

he wondered what your life looked like when you weren't tethered to the bubble of suguru’s protection. he wondered which friends had sat on your floor and held your hair back or brought you takeout when you finally left sukuna. 

did you like your coworkers? did you have a favorite coffee shop where the baristas knew your name? 

what did your apartment look like—was it filled with plants you struggled to keep alive, or was it as neat and curated as your brother’s?

it made him sad, in a quiet, hollow way, to realize that in forty-eight hours, he’d be back on a plane. the wedding would be over, the "honeymooners" joke would be a fading memory, and he’d be back in his own world, disconnected from yours. 

the day stretched out in a sluggish, sun-baked crawl, satoru finding himself back at the venue to handle the final, finicky logistics now that the back-breaking labor of the previous afternoon was behind him. 

most of the afternoon was spent on the quiet, meticulous details—stringing delicate fairy lights through the low-hanging branches of the palms and ensuring the hand-painted name cards were aligned with mathematical precision. by the time the shadows began to stretch across the sand, only satoru and suguru remained, the local event staff buzzing around them as they did the final prep for the floral preservation and the overnight chilling of the reception spirits.

suguru was currently a fraying wire of nerves, his focus narrowed on a vintage, hand-carved music box he’d been tracking for months. he’d intended to gift it to shoko as a private pre-wedding gesture, but the man was terrified of her intuition. 

shoko possessed a terrifying, almost psychic ability to dismantle his surprises; when he’d proposed to her on a quiet beach back in shizuoka, she’d checked her watch three minutes prior and asked him if he was going to get on with it already since the tide was coming in.

the music box required a specific, verified payment for high-end antiques that suguru’s personal bank had flagged as a security risk earlier that morning, leaving him to rely on satoru’s limitless black card to secure the piece before the boutique in the neighboring village closed its doors. they’d concocted a flimsy story about staying late to troubleshoot a glitch in the audio cables, but the plan hit a wall the second satoru patted his pockets.

"fuck me, suguru, i left it on the bathroom counter," satoru hissed, his eyes widening as he realized the weight of his fuck-up. "the wallet. it’s right next to my toothbrush."

suguru’s face drained of color, his jaw tightening as he looked toward the villa. "you have to be kidding me. if she sees us back there now, she’s going to know i’m up to something. she's already suspicious because i haven't looked her in the eye for four hours."

suguru drove the rental car back to the house like a man possessed, the tires throwing gravel against the wheel wells with a series of sharp, violent pings. he took the corners with a reckless, white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his eyes darting toward the villa’s balcony with every turn, terrified of catching a glimpse of shoko’s cigarette cherry in the twilight. he barely brought the car to a full stop before satoru was out of the passenger door, his long legs eating up the distance to the front entrance in a desperate, silent sprint.

satoru bypassed the kitchen, ignoring the distant sound of voices from the patio, as he vaulted into his room, throwing door open with enough force to make the hinges groan, his hand already out and grasping for the leather wallet he could see sitting innocently on the marble counter before he froze, one foot still half in his bedroom and the other in the bathroom.

you were standing just two feet away, a small towel twisted haphazardly into a turban around your wet hair, your arms still caught in the frantic, upward motion of trying to wrap a second towel around your body. 

the fabric hadn't even reached your chest yet, and despite the exposure lasting for only a heartbeat, it felt like satoru had been plunged into a deep, silent ocean where time didn't exist. he was truly frozen, his eyes involuntarily tracing the path of stray water droplets that ran from the curve of your chin to your neck, disappearing into the valley between your breasts and over the soft skin of your stomach.

you reacted quickly, snapping the towel upward to shield yourself, but the image was already seared into his retinas; it was bound to be the vision he saw every time he closed his eyes before bed, the source material for every wet dream surely soon to come. 

the bathroom was thick with the scent of jasmine and the lingering, heavy heat of steam, and the air vanished from satoru’s lungs in a sharp, audible hitch. his brain struggled to process the sheer, raw reality of what he’d just witnessed. holy fuck. i just saw her naked. he stood there, his hand still hovering uselessly near the counter, his pulse a deafening roar in his ears that drowned out the entire house.

"holy fuck—i did not mean to—oh man, the door wasnt locked, i didn't know, shit," he stammered, his voice cracking as a violent, burning heat rushed to his face. "oh my goodness, i swear i didnt—i didnt really see anything, i was just—suguru is waiting and—"

"relax, satoru," you interrupted, your voice coming out smooth, almost terrifyingly level as you adjusted the tuck of the towel over your chest with a slow, deliberate calmness that made his brain lag. "it’s just skin. you act like you've never seen a woman before."

satoru’s mouth hung open for a split second, his clever tongue suddenly feeling like lead. he expected a slap, or at the very least a shouted insult, but your lack of bother was infinitely more destabilizing. 

you quirked your lips into a small, knowing smile and raised an eyebrow, watching the way his eyes darted everywhere but your face. you leaned over slightly to retrieve his wallet from the marble counter, the casual movement as you turned back toward him offering him a fleeting, agonizing glimpse of the curve of your hip and the soft swell of your rear before you straightened up. 

you didn't seem to give a damn about the slip, appearing entirely unbothered by the precarious state of your cover as you held the leather out to him, your fingers brushing against his as he took it, the contact sending a fresh jolt of electricity straight to his gut. 

his gaze unintentionally dipped, and he realized with a surge of mortification that his linen trousers were doing absolutely nothing to hide the sudden, prominent evidence of his attraction.

you followed his line of sight, your expression shifting into something sharp and feline as your eyes lingered on the tell-tale ridge of his fly before meeting his gaze again with a bite in your tone.

under your watchful, assessing stare, satoru couldn’t help but feel exactly ten years younger, transported back to that summer geto family vacation he’d been invited on. 

the memory hit him with the force of a physical blow—the cramped beach house where the four of you had been forced to share a single, sweltering bedroom. he could still hear the voice of the friend you’d brought along, not even bothering to hush as she’d teased you about how satoru was probably going to sneak off to the bathroom just to think about you. you hadn’t even defended him; you’d just snickered, hitting her arm and telling her to shh through giggles while satoru’s ears had burned a humiliated, vivid red.

back then, it had been the first time he realized you saw right through his false bravado—that you knew exactly what he did in the dark while thinking of you, and standing here now, he felt like prey cornered by a predator, your eyes watchful and entirely too knowledgeable. 

it was as if you were amused by the fact that no matter what you did, no matter how small of a bone you threw him, satoru would always, willingly and gleefully, fall for you.

"you should probably handle that, satoru. it looks... uncomfortable," you murmured, your voice dropping into a low, honeyed rasp. you stepped a fraction closer, the scent of your jasmine soap clouding his senses. "maybe call yuki, hm? i'm sure she'd be thrilled to help you out with your little problem."

the mention of the bridesmaid’s name hit him like a bucket of ice water, satoru only managing a faint, questioning grunt in response to your words. he stood paralyzed, his brain firing off frantic theories as to whether yuki had put an unknown claim on him around the villa without his knowledge, or if the gossip of her flirting at the bar had already reached your ears through shoko’s sharp tongue.

beneath the crushing weight of his embarrassment, a slight, dangerous spark of hope began to flicker in his chest. he wondered if the bite in your voice was a symptom of genuine jealousy, or if you were simply patronizing him—urging him to go find elsewhere the satisfaction you had never given him. 

giving a limp, dazed nod, he retreated without another word, stumbling back into the sanctuary of his room and shutting the door with trembling hands. he leaned his weight against the wood, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs as the scent of jasmine followed him like a phantom. 

satoru was terribly lightheaded, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of the image of your damp skin and the sharp, territorial edge of your voice before he promptly remembered that suguru was still waiting for him outside in the car. suguru had surely bitten his fingernails clean off by now if satoru had taken as long as it felt like he’d been in that bathroom.

satoru forced his legs to move, snatching the wallet from where he’d dropped it on the bed and sprinting back out to the driveway. he practically threw himself into the passenger seat, his chest still heaving from a combination of the run and the sheer, heart-stopping shock of the last three minutes.

suguru was already primed to explode, his hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. "what the hell took you so lo—" he started, his voice sharp with irritation, before he stopped dead, turning to look at satoru. "um... are you okay?"

satoru's face was flushed a deep, undeniable crimson, the heat radiating off him in waves. he stared straight through the windshield, refusing to make eye contact as he fumbled with the seatbelt, his fingers feeling like thick, useless sausages.

"uh, yeah. can we just... can we roll the windows down?" satoru managed to choke out, his voice a pitch higher than usual. "it's a little hot in here, don’t you think? the humidity is just... it's a lot today."

suguru raised a skeptical brow, his gaze lingering on the sheer frantic energy rolling off his best friend, but he obliged, hitting the switches. he looked at satoru as if he were minutes away from passing out from a heat stroke, but he didn't press him—mostly because they were already ten minutes behind schedule for the boutique.

the car ride was a blessedly silent one, the wind whipping through the cabin and cooling the sweat on satoru's neck. he spent the entire drive attempting to count every palm tree he saw passing by, a desperate, mental exercise to keep from focusing on the images already playing in his mind. 

his attempts to distract himself were a losing battle; the steam of the shower, the way the water had traced the curve of your hip, the scent of jasmine, and the weight of your words all blurred into a singular, pulsing rhythm. you, you, you— his brain was a broken record, skipping over the same few seconds of film.

the car came to a smooth stop in front of the antique shop, the engine idling quietly as satoru continued to stare at the storefront, his eyes glazed over as he imagined what it would feel like to have those same damp arms wrapped around his neck instead of a towel.

"satoru?" suguru’s voice finally broke through the haze, sounding slightly concerned and mostly impatient. satoru blinked, realizing suguru had already unbuckled and was staring at him with a flat, expectant expression. "uh... are you getting out of the car, or do you need me to call someone?"

…

you were the worst, satoru had decided. 

fuck his stupid, never-ending, nineteen-year-long crush; fuck your perfect, carved-by-the-gods body; fuck your enigmatic disposition. he hated how you always knew exactly what to say when no one else would think to say it, and he especially hated how you knew how to rile him up—how you made him feel too much in his body and not enough in his brain, leaving him jittery and utterly not himself whenever you pleased.

satoru had decided, for the next two days, for his own sanity, for the sake of his and suguru’s friendship, and to keep at least a centimeter of his pride after you’d reduced him to a middle school boy yet again, that he’d avoid you. 

he would no longer feed into your ego; he would no longer sway between the lines of a bumbling fool and a big-shot businessman. he would instead just be satoru gojo—suguru, your younger brother’s best friend. he would get control of this problem, avoid you at all costs, he’d—

"hey, satoru, do you mind walking with y/n down the aisle tomorrow?" shoko asked, her voice cutting through his internal monologue like a blade.

she was perched on top of the counter in one of suguru’s oversized sleep shirts, her hair already set in curlers for the morning. she sat beside suguru, who was slumped on a barstool, her hands moving in slow, methodical strokes as she massaged her fiancé’s scalp.

satoru froze, the fork in his hand stalling mid-swirl. his plate of chinese food had gone cold minutes ago, but he’d spent the last ten minutes pretending to have a deep, faux interest in the remnants of his orange chicken rather than acknowledging you. 

you had been standing directly in front of him for the entire duration of the conversation, discussing the finer details of the aisle procession with suguru and shoko over your own plate of fried rice. you were practically perched right across from him, leaning against the counter top as you spoke, and satoru had been doing everything in his power to act as if you were invisible—as if the scent of your jasmine soap wasn't still clinging to the back of his throat.

the silence stretched as satoru’s brain lagged, the "centimeter of pride" he’d just promised himself evaporating instantly. he didn't look up, his gaze remaining fixed on a lone piece of broccoli, but he could feel the weight of your presence across the marble, likely waiting to see if he’d even find his voice to respond.

"babe, i thought—" suguru started, his head snapping up as his hands stilled on the counter. the protective instinct satoru knew so well was already flaring in suguru’s eyes, his brows furrowed in immediate, blatant disapproval of the arrangement.

shoko didn't even let him finish, her fingers resuming their slow, hypnotic rhythm in his hair. 

“i think yuki and kento look good together, don’t you think?” she explained with a casual shrug, her expression the picture of innocence. "two blondes, and you know how kento is—all mature and wound up. i think yuki would help him not walk so stiffly, don’t you think? it’s good for the photos."

suguru opened his mouth to argue, a protest clearly sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself, looking at shoko with the helpless, soft-eyed devotion of a man who was utterly powerless against his fiancée. he swallowed his initial complaint, trying a different tactical angle instead. 

"but don't you think since satoru is the best man and your little cousin nobara is your bridesmaid... technically, it’d make more sense for the leads to be paired up?"

shoko let out a low, melodic chuckle as she patted suguru’s cheek, the sound easy and amused in a way that made it clear she’d already made up her mind. “suguru, honey,” she said, dragging the word out as she reached for his hair, fingers deft and practiced. “you know nothing about weddings.”

she began separating his hair with deliberate care, gathering it into sections as she talked, her tone calm and decisive. “it’d make no sense for those two to stand together. the heights don’t line up, the color coordination would be off, and it’d look terrible in the photos.” she hummed thoughtfully as she twisted one section into a neat pigtail, securing it with an elastic before moving on to the other. “and i refuse to spend the rest of my life looking at an album that makes me mad.”

only then did she turn her head toward satoru, one eyebrow lifting as her hands continued their work in suguru’s hair, fingers tugging just enough to make him hiss under his breath. “honestly, satoru,” she said, lips curving faintly, eyes sharp with quiet curiosity. “satoru, what do you think?”

shoko and suguru both fixed their gaze on him. suguru’s eyes were narrowed, practically daring him to agree and risk a brother's wrath, while shoko’s were bright with amusement, daring him to disagree and ruin her perfect "vision." 

satoru felt the sweat begin to prickle at his hairline. he was trapped, and by the tiny, triumphant tilt of shoko’s lips, he had a feeling she knew exactly what kind of exquisite torture she was signing him up for.

"i think... uh, yeah," satoru finally muttered, a hard swallow clicking in his throat as he forced himself to meet shoko's gaze, avoiding yours at all costs. "i think that’d be a good idea."

suguru shifted his glare to satoru, a silent, lethal promise of a conversation later tonight written all over his face. shoko just beamed, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"so it's all settled," shoko said, finally turning her focus to you. "you don't have any problems with satoru walking with you, do you?"

"nope. not at all," you replied, your voice light and effortless, carrying none of the frantic tension currently vibrating through satoru’s bones.

"well, that's that then," shoko chirped, sliding off the counter and pulling a grumbling suguru along with her toward the hallway. "it’s settled."

satoru remained at the counter, staring down at his orange chicken with a focus that was entirely too intense for a lukewarm piece of poultry. he was acutely aware that the house had suddenly fallen into a heavy, expectant silence, the only sound being the distant chirping of crickets outside and the soft, rhythmic scrape of your fork against your plate. he could feel you still standing exactly where you were before, a constant, magnetic presence that made the air in the kitchen feel thin.

you were the one to finally break the tension, shaking your head as a soft, breathy scoff escaped your lips. you chuckled quietly to yourself, the sound warm and slightly weary. 

"my brother’s being ridiculous," you murmured, sliding a piece of fried rice around your plate.

satoru’s head snapped up, his blue eyes wide as he processed the fact that you were actually speaking to him instead of retreating to your room. 

"oh," he started, his voice a bit more jagged than he intended. "uh, what exactly do you mean by that?"

"he’s always done this," you said, leaning your elbows back against the marble counter and looking at a point somewhere past his shoulder. "this whole protective thing. it doesn't matter that he’s a year younger than me; he acts like he’s my father most of the time. i know he just wants to look out for me, and i know i haven't..." you paused, letting out a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle. "i know i haven't exactly had the best taste in men over the years. i suppose i've given him plenty of reasons to be paranoid."

satoru felt a sharp, familiar prick of curiosity, the name he'd heard whispered in hushed tones finally surfacing. 

"yeah, uh... sukuna, right?" he asked, his voice dropping into a softer, more grounded register. "that was... that was pretty rough, i'm guessing?"

"rough isn't even the word to describe it," you replied, your gaze finally meeting his. there was a weight in your eyes that hadn't been there ten years ago. "did you know i was almost engaged once, satoru?"

he blinked, a genuine shock rippling through him. he’d spent so much time imagining your life, but this was a detail he’d never even considered. 

"really?" he breathed, his grip on his fork loosening. "i... i didn't. i guess we didn't really speak much after graduation."

"yeah. he brought the ring," you said, your voice distant as if you were watching the memory play out on the kitchen floor. "he took me to my favorite restaurant, made this big, elaborate scene of it all, and proposed. and i just... i said no."

satoru’s brow furrowed, his chest tightening with a strange, conflicting mix of sympathy and a dark, selfish relief. 

"why?" he asked, the word coming out barely louder than a whisper.

"he was an angry man, and i was... i was a very preoccupied woman.” you shrugged, a small, sad movement of your shoulders. “my mind was always somewhere else, and when it finally came down to it, seeing him there on one knee... i just couldn't do it. i knew he wasn't the man i wanted to marry. i knew it wasn't him."

"and then?" satoru prompted, leaning in instinctively, his orange chicken completely forgotten.

you chuckled softly to yourself, biting your lip in a way that made satoru’s heart do a violent, stuttering roll. 

“and then? well, as you can imagine, he was furious. anybody would be, i suppose, after going through all that just to be rejected in public.” your fingers worried at the edge of your glass as you spoke, thumb tracing the rim in slow, absent circles, shoulders drawing in on themselves like you were bracing for something that had already passed. “i felt terrible for saying no, but after that, the relationship just got…”

you trailed off, breath catching softly as your gaze drifted somewhere past satoru’s shoulder, unfocused, distant, your jaw tightening in a way that made his stomach sink. there was a heaviness in your eyes he didn’t like at all, the quiet, resigned look of someone who had learned how to anticipate anger before it arrived, who had learned how to soften themselves around it, and the realization settled cold and sharp in his chest as he watched you swallow and fall silent.

you shook yourself out of the memory, blinking rapidly as you straightened your posture and smoothed down your shirt. "anyway. i'm really happy for my brother and shoko," you said, your voice returning to its light, effortless tone. "i'm glad he's found someone who actually makes him feel... certain."

you looked up at the wall clock and let out a small sigh, stepping away from the counter. 

“well, um.” you shifted your weight, fingers curling lightly around the edge of the counter as you glanced toward the hallway. “goodnight, satoru.” there was a brief pause, your lips twitching with something playful, something softer underneath. “tomorrow’s the big day, try not to trip over your own feet while you’re walking me down that aisle.” you added, tone gentle, teasing.

you offered him a final, fleeting smile before turning and disappearing down the hallway, leaving satoru sitting alone at the counter. his brain was a chaotic, buzzing mess of implications. 

his mind was elsewhere. 

he stared at the empty space where you’d been standing, the faint trace of jasmine still suspended in the air like a lingering thought he couldn’t shake, and wondered if he was a complete idiot for letting himself believe that maybe, just maybe, the way you’d looked at him from across the countertop meant something more, meant that he hadn’t been entirely imaginary to you, that he might have occupied a small, disruptive corner of your mind even back when sukuna’s name still belonged there.

…

the morning of the wedding unfurled in a rush of heat and motion, the both the villa and the venue alive in a way that felt almost electric, every room occupied, every surface briefly cluttered before being cleared again. 

humidity clung to everything, skin and fabric alike, the air thick with the scent of coffee, citrus, and hairspray. doors opened and shut in quick succession, voices overlapping in excited fragments, laughter breaking out only to dissolve into nervous pacing. 

both the bride and groom were vibrating with anticipation, keyed up in that fragile way that came from wanting everything to be perfect and knowing it already was, made worse by the strict rule that they couldn’t see each other yet, a rule that only sharpened the edge of their nerves.

satoru spent most of the morning in motion, a reliable constant in the chaos, ferrying garment bags, handwritten notes, misplaced jewelry, and last-minute questions between the bridal suite and groom’s room, where suguru was being kept distracted. 

he moved quickly despite the heat, shirt already damp at the collar, sleeves rolled up as he leaned into the role without complaint. yuki trailed alongside him more often than not, the two of them forming an unspoken relay between the event staff and the soon-to-be newlyweds, intercepting concerns before they ever reached shoko or suguru, translating logistics into reassurance.

“they’re asking about the timing on the florals,” yuki said at one point, half-jogging to keep up as satoru took the stairs two at a time.

“tell them five minutes earlier than planned,” he replied easily, already reaching for his phone. “they’ll thank us later.”

the bridal suite buzzed with focused energy, shoko calm on the surface and quietly unraveling beneath it, cigarette breaks punctuating her stillness, eyes rimmed with fatigue and resolve. satoru ducked in and out, delivering updates, fielding questions, offering a thumbs-up and a grin whenever she caught his eye, his presence steady enough to anchor the room without drawing attention to himself.

on the other side of the venue, suguru was no better, satoru having spent the better part of two hours essentially acting as a human anchor for his best friend, who was currently the most panicked he had ever seen him. 

suguru’s hands were shaking so violently he couldn't even thread his own cufflinks, his face a pale, ghostly mask of anxiety. satoru had to physically steady him, gripping his shoulders and forcing him to breathe in rhythmic, grounding counts until the frantic light in suguru’s eyes finally began to settle.

"she’s going to say yes, you idiot," satoru had whispered, adjusting suguru's lapel with a firm, steady hand. "she’s been waiting to say yes since you were fucking nineteen."

when they finally arrived at the venue, the sheer beauty of the setup felt like a physical weight. the color palette was a soft, sun-drenched dream; the bridesmaids draped in floor-length gowns of a delicate, pale yellow that seemed to catch the golden morning light. 

the groomsmen followed suit with subtle yellow accents—a silk pocket square here, a small, vibrant boutonniere there—that tied the whole party into the tropical landscape.

satoru was standing by the entrance of the floral-heavy archway when he finally saw you, utterly stunning in the simple, yellow silk of your bridesmaid dress, a single matching flower tucked behind your ear, and for a fleeting, humiliating moment, satoru lost the ability to speak entirely, his throat constricting as he took in the way the fabric clung to your curves.

"you look great," he finally managed to choke out, the words feeling far too small for the reality of the sight.

you offered him a soft, knowing smile that made his knees feel weak. "you don't look so bad yourself," you countered, stepping closer into his personal space than you ever had before, your fingers nimble and warm as they adjusted the knot of his tie. 

when you finished, your palms lingered for a second too long on his chest—right over his heart, which was currently hammering against his ribs with a deafening, frantic rhythm. the scent of jasmine and salt air rolled off you in waves, and the feel of your bare arm brushing against the sleeve of his suit was a sensation so electric he felt it in the marrow of his bones.

as the ceremony began, satoru led you down the aisle, the sand shifting softly beneath his polished shoes. the seating was arranged in a semi-circle of bleached wood chairs, draped in gauzy white linens that billowed in the coastal breeze. 

shoko and suguru stood beneath a massive oak arch woven with thousands of white orchids and pale yellow roses, the turquoise ocean serving as a limitless, shimmering backdrop.

listening to them exchange their vows, satoru felt a sudden, sharp prick of moisture in his eyes as he watched suguru’s voice crack as he promised his life to shoko, the raw, unshielded love between them feeling almost too intimate to witness. 

satoru’s gaze drifted past the couple to the bridal party on the other side, finding you instantly. 

you were biting your lip, tears dancing on your waterline before they finally spilled over, trailing down your cheeks as you watched your little brother finally find his certainty. you looked so vulnerable, so beautiful in your quiet grief and joy, that satoru had to look away to keep from completely losing his composure.

…

the reception was a sharp, kinetic shift from the reverent silence of the ceremony, exploding into a kaleidoscope of clinking crystal, loud laughter, and a rhythmic bass that thrummed through the wooden floorboards of the deck. everyone seemed to collectively exhale the held breath of the last three days, surrendering to the open bar with a reckless, joyous abandon.

satoru, a profound drinker in his college years, soon realized with startling clarity that suguru hadn't been exaggerating about shoko’s capacity for alcohol; she was a force of nature, moving through the crowd with a champagne flute that never seemed empty, her and yuki clearly operating on a level of professional indulgence that left the men in the dust. they were experienced, polished drinkers, their movements only becoming more fluid and dangerous as the night progressed.

you were a whirlwind. satoru couldn't keep his eyes off you as you navigated the room, the pale yellow silk of your dress catching the light of the paper lanterns as you spun between tables. 

you were the lifeblood of the party, offering shots to anyone within arm’s reach with a mischievous glint in your eyes, and whenever a guest declined—already reaching their limit—you simply shrugged and knocked the shot back yourself before laughing and dancing off in another direction. 

you were vibrant and unguarded, moving through the reception with an ease that made satoru’s head spin faster than the gin steadily blurring the hours together. he danced with nearly everyone in the room, carried along by a buoyant, pleasant warmth that settled deep into his bones, the kind that made his limbs loose and his smile effortless. he shared a slow, swaying dance with your mother, then his own, endured shoko’s assorted aunts pulling him into tight hugs and looser rhythms, laughed himself hoarse doing a shot with the officiant, who seemed so taken with the night’s momentum that he looked reluctant to let it end at all.

somewhere along the way, satoru’s suit jacket disappeared over the back of a chair, his tie following shortly after, and eventually even his dress shoes were abandoned in favor of the cool, sandy floorboards beneath his feet. his sleeves were rolled up, his hair no longer neatly styled, his vision softening at the edges as the world took on a golden, honeyed haze. 

this was familiar territory, a rhythm he’d learned years ago, back when college parties blurred into mornings and he knew exactly how to work a room, how to drift from group to group, laughter to laughter, always welcome, always wanted. 

at one point, through the shifting bodies and music, he caught suguru’s eye across the dance floor. his best friend looked just as flushed, hair mussed, shirt collar darkened with sweat, joy written plainly across his face. they held each other’s gaze for a long beat, a quiet understanding passing between them, an acknowledgment of the beautiful, overwhelming chaos they were standing in the middle of. satoru lifted his glass in a small salute, suguru mirrored it with a crooked smile, and the moment slipped easily back into the music.

satoru was everywhere at once, clapping someone on the back here, spinning a laughing aunt into a clumsy waltz there, his movements loose and fueled by a steady stream of the venue’s masterfully disguised cocktails. he eventually found himself pulled into the orbit of yuki, who dragged him into a playful, high-energy dance that left them both breathless. as the song faded into a slower, more melodic rhythm, she leaned in, her blonde hair brushing against his damp neck as she whispered into his ear with a sharp, knowing mirth.

"you're a very good dancer, satoru," she murmured, her eyes flicking toward the far side of the deck where you were leaning against a railing. "but i think you’re wasting your best moves on me. you might want to look over your shoulder; i'm fairly certain someone else has been watching us with a look that says she’s expecting her turn, or perhaps she’s just waiting for me to stop touching you."

satoru’s grin faltered just enough for yuki to notice, his gaze involuntarily snapping toward you. you were standing silhouetted against the dark ocean, your yellow dress fluttering in the wind, a glass held loosely in your hand as you watched him with an unreadable, watchful intensity. 

he turned back to thank yuki for the dance, but she was already gone, weaving through the crowd to attempt to drag kento out of his seat, who looked like he’d been nursing the same cocktail for over an hour, clearly ready for the night to end. but alas, yuki was relentless.

when satoru turned back toward the railing, you were gone from your spot, his eyes scanning the deck, with a sharp, cold prick of panic piercing through his drunken haze until he spotted you near the buffet. 

you were locked in conversation with one of shoko’s cousins—choso, he thought the name was? he was a man defined by deep eye bags and dark hair, a seemingly permanent staple of the ieiri family gene pool. choso was looking at you with the same eyes that every man in the room, satoru included, had used all night.

he could see you laughing at something choso was saying, the movement of your throat as you tilted your head back making satoru’s pulse spike. 

choso was the polar opposite of satoru: soft-spoken, reserved, and certainly not as striking in satoru’s humble, intoxicated opinion. yet, satoru could recognize the predator in the body language. he could see the gears churning in choso’s mind; the man was going for the kill, waiting for the perfect lull in conversation to suggest getting you alone, to see what might be hidden beneath the folds of that pale yellow silk.

absolutely fucking not.

the thought roared through satoru’s mind, the liquor loud and demanding, drowning out the logical part of his brain that had vowed less than twenty-four hours ago to avoid you at all costs. his resolve was self-destructing in real-time at the mere sight of another man occupying your attention. he reached out, snagging a stray shot of tequila from a passing tray and knocking it back with a grimace, the burn of the alcohol fueling the fire in his chest.

he began to move, his long legs cutting through the crowd with a singular, stubborn purpose. he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say, or how he was going to justify the interruption, but he knew with a terrifying certainty that he had to say something.

he came to a halt just beside you, his presence looming and impossible to ignore. he didn't even look at choso, his focus entirely on the way your eyes widened slightly as he entered your orbit.

"sorry to interrupt," satoru said, his voice dropping into a low, smooth baritone that vibrated with a possessive edge he couldn't quite mask. he turned a fraction toward choso, offering a smile that was all teeth and zero warmth. "choso, right? shoko was looking for you. said something about the floral arrangements by the fountain?"

it was a blatant, clumsy lie, but satoru didn't care. he turned back to you before the other man could even respond, his hand moving instinctively to rest on the small of your back—a bold, hot pressure against the silk of your dress.

"and you," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second too long. "i believe you promised me a walk on the beach before the bar runs dry. unless you've changed your mind?"

"and you," satoru murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second too long. "i believe you promised me a walk on the beach before the bar runs dry. unless you’ve changed your mind?"

you blinked, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing your features at the sheer, unadulterated boldness of his tone. you let out a soft hum, your head tilting as you looked him over.

"hm? i don’t quite remember making that promise, satoru," you said, your voice trailing off as you slowly raked your eyes down his chest, taking in the way his shirt clung to his frame and the flush of his skin. "but i guess i’ll allow it."

satoru felt a surge of triumph, but it was immediately tempered by a sharp, instinctive shot of anxiety. he did a brief, frantic scan of the room, his eyes darting through the crowd of dancing relatives and drunken bridesmaids. 

he’d assumed shoko and suguru had long since disappeared—likely retreating to the villa to begin their own wedding night to the fullest extent—but he had to be sure. the last thing he needed was to make accidental eye contact with his best friend while he was currently guiding his older sister out of the reception with a hand resting far too low on her back.

finding no sign of suguru’s dark topknot, satoru let out a long, shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders finally bleeding away.

"looking for someone?" you asked, your voice laced with a teasing, knowing lilt as you noticed his darting eyes.

satoru turned back to you, the alcohol-fueled faux bravado surging through him just enough to mask the fact that his hands were still trembling. with your cheeks flushed a deep, sunset pink and your eyes glossy with the night’s indulgence, you looked so devastatingly beautiful he thought that if he had one more shot, he might actually cry just from the sheer weight of looking at you.

"just making sure the coast is clear," he replied, his voice dropping into a confidential, honeyed register as he leaned a fraction closer. "it’s a lot easier to steal the most beautiful woman in the room when her brother isn't hovering nearby with a list of my character flaws. wouldn't you agree?"

you let out a soft, genuine laugh that sent a shiver straight down his spine. you didn't pull away; instead, you stepped toward the stairs leading down to the sand, the pale yellow silk of your dress catching the moonlight.

"charming, satoru," you mused, your voice carrying a playful, sharp edge. "are we back in high school with those lines? i thought you’d graduated to something a bit more sophisticated by now."

satoru followed you, his heart performing a slow, heavy thud against his ribs. the alcohol made him feel buoyant, yet grounded by the sheer gravity of your presence. he adjusted his pace to match yours, a lopsided, effortless grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as the music of the reception began to fade into the background.

"well, they say the soul doesn't have a calendar, y/n," he countered, his voice smooth and resonant in the quiet night air. "we might get better at the delivery, but the intent stays exactly the same. some things don't really age, no matter how many years we put between us and graduation."

you let out a surprised, breathy chuckle, tilting your head to look at him with a gaze that was suddenly a little softer, a little more curious. "a philosopher too? that’s new. let's see if you can keep that same energy once we’re away from the music."

you stepped off the wooden stairs and onto the sand, immediately reaching down to unbuckle the straps of your heels. you dangled them from two fingers, your bare feet sinking into the cool, damp grit of the shoreline. 

satoru watched the way the moonlight played across the slope of your shoulders, his mind racing with the nineteen years of things he’d never had the courage to say.

the beach was a vast, silver expanse, the waves lapping at the shore in a rhythmic, shushing sound that seemed to demand honesty. the further you walked from the glow of the lanterns, the more the world narrowed down to just the two of you, the scent of the ocean, and the heavy, electric pull of the things left unsaid since you were teenagers.

"so," you said after a long moment of comfortable silence, the water occasionally rushing up to lick at your toes. "nineteen years, satoru. that's a long time to keep the same intent."

satoru let out a short, airy laugh, his eyes fixed on the horizon where the dark sky bled into the obsidian sea. 

"well," he murmured, his voice dipping into a low, rumbly register that seemed to vibrate in the space between you. "who's counting? i’ve always been told that consistency is a virtue."

you let out a quiet, melodic laugh, the sound disappearing into the vastness of the beach, silence settling over you both again.

the moon was a brilliant, silver sickle hanging over the water, casting a shimmering, fractured path across the waves that looked like scattered diamonds. the air was cooler here, the salt spray misting against your skin and dampening satoru’s white shirt until it began to cling to the broad lines of his shoulders.

the only sound was the rhythmic, guttural sigh of the tide and the distant, muffled thud of the reception’s bass, feeling like a heartbeat coming from a world away. satoru watched as you stopped, looking up at the sky, the moonlight catching in the gloss of your eyes and the pale yellow flower tucked in your hair.

"the moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?" you whispered, the words barely a breath.

satoru didn't look up. he kept his gaze fixed on the side of your face, his pulse thudding a slow, heavy rhythm in his throat. the alcohol had stripped away the last of his carefully constructed barriers, leaving only the raw, aching truth he’d carried since he was six.

"it's alright," he said softly, his voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming sincerity. "but i’ve always found it hard to admire the celestial when the most luminous thing in the world is standing right next to me."

you froze for a second, your breath hitching. a faint, dusty rose color crept up your neck, and you let out a surprised, shaky chuckle, waving a hand as if to brush the words out of the air. 

"oh, please, satoru," you teased, though your voice lacked its usual bite. "is that what you tell everyone? i’m sure yuki got a version of that before she dragged you onto the dance floor. you're such a sweet-talker when you’ve had a few shots."

satoru stopped walking, his hand reaching out instinctively to catch your elbow, turning you to face him. he looked down at you, his eyes intensely blue and clouded with a mixture of drunken bravado and a decade's worth of longing.

"i've said a lot of things to a lot of people, y/n," he said, his tone turning quiet and dangerously serious. "but i've never had to rehearse the truth with you. i don't think i've ever had a shot strong enough to make me lie about how you look under this light."

your breath hitched, a sharp, fragile sound that seemed to hang suspended in the salt air. it was a crack in your armor, a rare glimpse of genuine uncertainty that satoru had never been allowed to see. for the first time in nineteen years, you couldn't maintain the eye contact that usually kept him at arm's length; your gaze drifted to the dark, churning foam at your feet, your teeth gnawing at your lower lip as you shifted your weight in the sand.

the nervousness in you was intoxicating, a silent green light that finally shattered satoru’s last remaining tether to his pride. he stepped closer, the heat radiating off his body cutting through the cool coastal breeze until he was close enough to see the way the moonlight fractured in the dampness of your eyes.

“i remember the first time i saw you,” he began, the words leaving him slowly, deliberately, his posture angling closer as his voice dropped into a low, velvet hum that felt meant only for you; something sacred being confessed under cover of night. his gaze didn’t waver as he spoke, eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that made the world around you feel distant, blurred at the edges. “i was six years old, standing by the swings, and you were across the playground waving to suguru. you had this bright, messy energy even then, and i remember thinking you were the most important person in the world without even knowing your name.” his lips curved faintly at the memory, breath warm against your cheek. 

“i spent the next decade just... looking for you in every room i walked into.” he let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, more breath than sound, as if embarrassed by the truth of it now that it had been spoken aloud. 

his hand, which had been hovering uncertainly at your elbow, finally committed, sliding upward to cup the side of your neck, thumb grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ear in a gesture that felt instinctive, reverent.

“i know i’m drunk, y/n, and i know the liquor makes it easier to say the words,” he continued, his forehead dipping briefly toward yours as if grounding himself, as if afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t hold it steady. “but the alcohol isn't the reason i think you're beautiful.” his thumb traced a slow, unconscious arc. 

“i thought you were beautiful at seven in the morning when you were sixteen and grumbling about your coffee. i think you're brilliant when you’re being an amazing older sister to my best friend, and i think you’re beautiful now, even when you’re fixing a tie before a wedding that you didn't even have to touch.” his voice softened further, warmth bleeding into every syllable. “i think every sharp, difficult, preoccupied corner of your personality is exactly where i want to spend my time.”

he took a breath then, deep and measured, fingers sliding gently into your hair as he tilted your face upward, careful and unhurried, until your eyes met his and there was nowhere else for either of you to look. 

the blue of his eyes had darkened beneath the midnight sky, turning a deep, bruised indigo that seemed to drink in the moonlight rather than reflect it. 

satoru was terrifyingly handsome like this—his silver hair tossed into a reckless, salt-damp mess by the wind, his white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the frantic pulse at the base of his throat. 

standing there, he looked like a god carved from marble and moonlight, but it was the raw, human sincerity in his expression that made your chest ache. the little twinkle in his eyes, that mischievous spark you’d resisted for nearly two decades, was gone, replaced by a vulnerability so profound it made him look younger and older all at once. 

he was laying it all on the table, stripping away the million-dollar business cards and the rehearsed charm, forcing you to see every bit of the man you had spent years pretending he wasn’t.

your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the silence between you growing heavy with the weight of nineteen years of suppressed history. you looked up at him, your gaze tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the way his long lashes cast soft shadows against his flushed cheekbones. the air around him felt electric, charged with the scent of gin, salt, and that clean, masculine warmth that was quintessentially satoru.

“when we stopped talking after graduation, i didn't just move on,” he said quietly, the words weighted, his jaw tightening for half a second before he forced himself to keep going. “i stayed. i was the ghost on your social media, watching you build a life that didn't include me, checking your updates just to make sure you were still laughing, still thriving.” his thumb stilled, resting at your jaw. 

“i never stopped thinking about you. not for a day. not for a single second.” his voice dipped lower, steadier. “even when i was with someone else, or a thousand miles away, the back of my mind was always occupied by you.” his gaze searched yours, unflinching. “it’s always been you, y/n. it’s always been you.”

the waves crashed against the shore, a violent, rhythmic punctuation to his words. satoru felt the world narrowing down to the heat of your skin against his palms and the absolute, terrifying silence that followed his confession. he was wide open, his heart laid bare on the sand, waiting for you to either reach for him or finish the job sukuna had started.

"satoru—" you started, your voice a fragile, breathless thread that snapped before you could even finish his name.

the words died in your throat because you didn't have any left; instead, you reached up, your fingers tangling in the soft, silver hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him down. the moment your lips met, the nineteen years of agonizing patience, the hidden glances, and the stifled heartaches finally collapsed into a singular, beautiful reality.

it was a soft kiss at first, an exploration of something both entirely new and ancient. his lips were plush and warm, tasting of the sharp tang of gin and the lingering sweetness of the island fruit, while you tasted of sea salt and the jasmine that seemed to bloom wherever you went. 

there was a profound tenderness in the way he moved against you, as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your mouth, his breath hitching in his chest as he realized he wasn't dreaming.

satoru’s hands moved to cradle your face, his palms broad and slightly calloused, holding you as if you were the most precious thing he had ever touched. the feeling of his lips—the gentle pressure, the way they fitted perfectly against yours—sent a localized explosion of butterflies through your stomach, a physical warmth that radiated down to your toes. 

all the false bravado, the teasing barbs, and the protective walls you’d both built were incinerated in the heat of that contact.

when the need for air finally forced you to pull away, it was only for a fleeting, agonizing second, you staying within the orbit of his breath, your foreheads resting together, your eyes fluttering open just enough to see the indigo depth of his gaze, dark with a devotion that made your knees weak. 

you didn't let go; your arms tightened around his neck, pulling him back in almost immediately.

this second kiss was deeper, more certain. it was the reward for every time he’d watched you walk away, for every night he’d spent wondering if he’d ever get to know the taste of you. 

satoru let out a low, shaky groan into your mouth, his hands sliding down from your face to wrap firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him until the silk of your yellow dress was crushed between your bodies. 

the world around you—the wedding, the guests, the ocean—simply ceased to exist. there was only the rhythmic thrum of his heart against yours and the overwhelming, heady sweetness of a long-overdue beginning.

the world around you—the wedding, the guests, the ocean—simply ceased to exist. there was only the rhythmic thrum of his heart against yours and the overwhelming, heady sweetness of a long-overdue beginning.

when you finally pulled away again, your foreheads remained joined, your breaths hitching in a shared, ragged unison. the air between you felt thick, charged with the gravity of what had just happened. satoru’s eyes were still closed, his long lashes damp, as if he were afraid that opening them would cause the moonlight to dissolve and leave him alone on the sand again.

"it's always been you, too," you whispered, the confession so quiet it was nearly lost to the sound of the tide.

satoru’s eyes snapped open, his brow knitting together as confusion crossed his face in a sharp, unguarded flash, his grip tightening instinctively at your waist as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“what?” he breathed, the word barely more than air, disbelief coloring his tone. his thumbs pressed in slightly as if he needed the contact. “y/n, you spent nineteen years acting like i was a flickering lightbulb you were waiting for someone to replace.” his jaw tightened, the memory clearly sour on his tongue. 

“you dodged me for two decades. you practically sprinted in the other direction every time i tried to get close.”

you let out a shaky, self-deprecating laugh, the sound cracking as you stepped back just enough to really look at him, your arms folding loosely around yourself as if bracing. 

“it’s because of how you carry yourself, satoru.” your gaze swept over him in a way that felt observational and intimate all at once. “look at you. you walk into a room and the oxygen leaves it.” your voice dipped, quieter now. 

“i watched the way women looked at you—the way they still look at you.” you swallowed, fingers curling at your sides. “and you were my little brother’s best friend. i thought... i thought if i let myself have you, and it didn't work, i’d lose everything.” your eyes flicked down for a moment before lifting back to his. “it was easier to pretend you were just the annoying kid on the swings than to admit you were the only person i actually wanted.”

satoru stared at you, the tension in his shoulders easing as a slow, pained smile tugged at his mouth, his head shaking once in quiet disbelief. 

“you think i cared about those other women?” he asked softly, incredulity bleeding into the question. “y/n, do you have any idea how many girls in high school hated you?”

he stepped back into your space, urgency returning as his hands rose to cradle your jaw, thumbs warm and steady against your skin, grounding both of you. 

“every time i was with someone, if you called—even if it was just to ask where suguru was, or if i’d seen your keys—i’d answer.” his voice roughened, eyes never leaving yours. “i’d drop everything. i didn't care who i was with or what i was doing; i just wanted to hear your voice.” his fingers flexed slightly, betraying him. 

“i spent years being the ‘available’ friend because i was terrified that if i missed one call, you’d stop reaching out entirely.” a breathy exhale escaped him. “those girls weren't you. they were just ways to pass the time until i could be near you again.”

he let out a quiet, frustrated laugh, something fragile hiding beneath it, his eyes searching yours as if he needed confirmation that you were still here. “i would have run to your beck and call across a goddamn ocean if you’d asked.” his mouth quirked, incredulous again. “and you spent nineteen years thinking i was just a flirt?”

you reached up slowly, your fingers tracing the line of his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch, your thumb brushing along his jaw with tentative certainty. 

“i was scared, satoru,” you said softly. “you're a lot to handle.” your voice steadied as you met his eyes. “but seeing you at this wedding, watching you with suguru... i’m tired of being scared.”

satoru didn’t speak right away. he leaned down instead, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there as if sealing a promise, the tension of decades easing from his frame all at once.

“well,” he murmured against your skin, his voice slipping into that familiar, dangerous playfulness again. “i think we’ve done enough talking for one night.” his hands slid back to your waist, sure and warm. “and i’m fairly certain there’s a bottle of something very expensive with our names on it back at the villa.”

"i think nineteen years of playing safe is more than enough," you whispered, your voice catching as you squeezed his hand. satoru didn't respond with words; he simply tucked your arm closer to his side, his thumb tracing restless, rhythmic circles over your knuckles.

the walk back to the villa was a beautiful, disjointed blur. the sand was deep and difficult to navigate in your shared state of intoxication, leading to several moments where you stumbled, your hip bumping into his. each time, satoru was there, his arm snaking around your waist with lightning-fast reflexes, steadying you against the solid heat of his chest. 

you kept your gaze forward, seemingly in awe of the way the moonlight turned the palm fronds into silver blades, but satoru was helpless. he couldn't stop glancing at you—at the elegant slope of your nose, the way your damp hair clung to your neck, and the sight of your small hand swallowed by his own. he felt like he was walking through a dream he’d been scripting since he was a boy.

when the architectural silhouette of the villa finally loomed ahead—all sleek lines, dark wood, and expansive glass—the two of you shared a quiet, knowing look. up in the master wing, the lights behind the heavy curtains were dimmed to a soft, amber glow. suguru and shoko were certainly busy tonight.

"shh," you hissed, a giggle bubbling up despite your best efforts to be stealthy.

"i'm being a ninja," satoru whispered back, tripping over a discarded flip-flop on the deck.

the two of you snuck into the kitchen hand-in-hand, moving with the exaggerated, uncoordinated grace of the very drunk. you pulled open the massive stainless steel fridge, the light spilling out and making you wince. you let out a soft pout, rummaging through the shelves only to find a lonely, half-empty case of domestic beer.

"is this it?" you whispered, crestfallen. "a wedding on a private island and we're down to lukewarm cans?"

satoru’s eyes lit up with a sudden memory. "wait. i was cleaning on the patio yesterday after the little bridesmaid get-together... give me a second."

he led you back out toward the outdoor patio, the space a masterpiece of modern tropical luxury. the villa opened up entirely to the night air, with a sunken outdoor lounge area and a outdoor kitchen tucked under a dark timber overhang. he stepped behind the sleek, stone-topped bar that overlooked the infinity pool, his hands searching the lower cabinets until he let out a triumphant "aha!"

satoru emerged with a chilled bottle of top-shelf vodka and a hidden carafe of fresh passionfruit juice. he began to move behind the bar with a surprising, practiced fluidity, tossing ice into highball glasses and measuring out spirits with a precision that didn't match his flushed face.

"where did you learn to do that?" you asked, leaning your elbows on the bar and watching him with a raised brow.

"i saw a bartender for a month back in college," he muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration as he shook the tin. the memory was hazy—he barely remembered the girl’s name, only the sharp, rhythmic sound of the shaker and the few recipes she’d drilled into him between late-night hookups. "she was a better teacher than she was a girlfriend," he said, leaving out the part where she’d eventually left him because he was always too preoccupied with someone else—someone who lived hundreds of miles away but occupied every inch of his headspace.

he slid the vibrant, icy drink toward you. the pool was just a few feet away, the water a deep, glowing turquoise against the dark wood of the deck, reflecting the stars like a second sky.

"to nineteen years," satoru murmured, lifting his glass to yours, his eyes dark with a promise that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

you took a sip, the cool liquid a sharp contrast to the humid heat of the night. "wow, satoru. i can’t even taste the alcohol."

"well, there’s quite a lot in there, so maybe you should slow down," he said with a low, rumbling chuckle, watching the way your throat moved as you swallowed.

you laughed, the sound bright against the quiet lap of the pool water. the turquoise glow of the infinity pool reflected in your glossy eyes as you looked from the water back to him. "it's too hot for slowing down. in fact..." you paused, a mischievous glint taking over your expression as you set the glass down on the stone counter. "what do you think about the pool?"

satoru's heart did a slow, heavy thud against his ribs. "now?"

why not?" you countered, already reaching back to find the hidden zipper of your yellow dress. "everyone who’s staying here is asleep, satoru. it's just us."

satoru’s mind flickered briefly to the image of your parents bidding him a slurred, affectionate goodnight at the reception, and shoko’s parents being practically carried out by the valets, equally shitfaced and long since tucked into their respective wings of the villa. the house was a fortress of silence, the only life left in it pulsing right here between the two of you.

the sight of your fingers fumbling with the silk was the final blow to his composure. he bypassed the bar, his movements predatory and focused as he came to stand directly in front of you. the air vanished from his lungs as the yellow fabric finally gave way, pooling at your feet in a soft, discarded heap, leaving you in nothing but your matching lace set, glowing under the moonlight and the turquoise reflection of the water.

you instinctively brought your hands up, a half-hearted attempt to cover the swell of your breasts despite the lace already doing the work, but satoru’s eyes were already wide, his gaze traveling over the curve of your waist and the soft, exposed line of your hips with a reverence that bordered on worship. 

he felt a violent, heavy surge of heat settle between his legs; he was growing hard with a terrifying speed, his linen trousers suddenly feeling three sizes too small. it was one thing to imagine this for nearly two decades, but the reality of your skin—framed by the delicate fabric and the shadows of the palms—was enough to make his knees buckle.

"what if suguru hears?" he whispered, his voice thick and raspy as he stepped into your space, his hands finding the bare, warm skin of your waist. the contact felt like a live wire, a jolt of pure electricity that made his fingers twitch against your hips.

you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear, sending a violent shiver down his spine. "it's his wedding night, for god's sake. we should be worried if we can hear him."

satoru let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-groan, his eyes fixed on you with a focus so singular it felt like the rest of the world had simply dissolved into the shadows of the palm trees. 

his hands, which had been resting tentatively on your waist, tightened with a new, sudden certainty. he stepped back just an inch, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his white dress shirt, popping them with a frantic, uncoordinated speed. he shrugged the fabric off his shoulders, letting it fall forgotten onto the stone deck, exposing the hard, lean planes of his chest and the way his muscles rippled under the silver moonlight.

satoru didn’t say a word as he reached for you, his large hands hooking under your arms to pull you flush against the soaring heat of his bare skin. the contact was electric, a jarring, delicious shock that made your breath hitch, but before you could even gasp, his mouth was on yours again. 

he didn't stop kissing you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips with a desperate, familiar hunger as he began to lead you backward toward the pool, his bare feet silent on the light-colored stone of the patio.

the pool was a masterpiece of curved concrete, a glowing turquoise crescent that seemed to hang over the edge of the lush, tropical valley below. satoru guided you toward the shallow end, never once breaking the seal of the kiss, even as he carefully navigated the descent. 

he stepped into the water first, the warmth swirling around his ankles, then his knees, his hands never leaving your waist as he pulled you deeper into the silk-warm water with him.

the transition from the humid air to the water was intoxicating, but satoru’s mouth was the only thing you could truly feel—the taste of him, the heat of him, the way he groaned into the kiss as the water rose to chest height. once he reached the submerged steps, satoru reached out and hoisted you up, his gym-honed strength making you feel weightless.

with a low, guttural sound that vibrated through your chest, he sat you down on the submerged concrete ledge, the water reaching just above your waist. he moved between your legs immediately, his hands sliding up your damp thighs to pull you even closer to the edge, his thumbs brushing against the lace of your panties. 

the submerged concrete was cool beneath you, but satoru was a furnace, his bare chest pressing into your lace bra as he leaned in, his kisses becoming more frantic, more territorial.

he ground himself against you, the friction of his soaked trousers against your sensitive skin sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated need through your system. satoru’s hands moved from your thighs to cup your face, his fingers tangling in your wet hair to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat to his hungry gaze.

"fuck," he rasped, breaking the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and frantic. his grip on your thighs tightened, his knuckles white as he ground himself against you, desperate for even a sliver of relief. "nineteen years. i'm not letting you go tonight."

he didn't wait for an answer, his mouth immediately attacking the sensitive skin of your shoulder. he was feral now, his tongue licking a hot path up to your ear before he sank his teeth into the junction where your neck met your shoulder—not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark you’d definitely be hiding with concealer at the airport. 

satoru was a man possessed, his hips moving in a relentless, rhythmic grind against you, the heavy weight of his arousal pressing through his soaked trousers and into the soft lace of your panties. every roll of his pelvis was a slow, agonizing promise of the friction he was starving for.

his hands slid up from your thighs, his palms burning hot even through the water as they found the edge of your lace bra. his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he watched his own fingers hook into the fabric, tugging it down to expose the rounded swell of your breast to the moonlight. 

he let out a low, shaky sound—somewhere between a moan and a growl—before his head dropped.

satoru started at the top, his mouth sucking on the soft skin just above the lace, his tongue swirling in wet, dizzying circles that made your toes curl in the water. when he finally pulled the lace entirely clear and took your nipple into his mouth, the world tilted. he sucked a long, deep breath, his tongue flicking against the peak with a practiced, agonizing precision.

you threw your head back, your hands tangling deep into his silver hair to pull him closer, your legs locking even tighter around his hips. a soft, broken "ah—satoru..." escaped your lips, the sound of his name vibrating through the humid night air.

the sound of his name on your tongue sent a violent jolt through him. satoru froze for a split second, his entire body tensing as if he’d been struck by lightning, before he redoubled his efforts, his grinds becoming more frantic, his breath hitching as he buried his face back into your cleavage, his hands sliding down to cup your ass and hoist you even further onto him. he was shaking, his muscles jumping under your touch as he fought to keep some semblance of control.

"say it again," he commanded against your skin, his voice a wrecked, honeyed rasp. "say my name again, y/n. i've waited a lifetime to hear you say it like that."

"satoru," you breathed, the name leaves your lips like a prayer, soft and shattered. you reached up, your fingers tracing the frantic pulse in his neck, feeling the way he vibrated under your touch. "s’toru, please."

the sound of his name, stripped of its usual teasing lilt and replaced with that raw, needy edge, was the final spark to the powder keg. satoru finally pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared at you with eyes that looked like a stormy sea, dark and turbulent. his hands were still white-knuckled against your thighs, and he looked entirely undone—the polished, untouchable best man replaced by a man who was drowning in a twenty-year-old fever.

he stood up abruptly, the water cascading off his broad shoulders and back as he pulled you with him. he didn't even give you a chance to find your footing; he just hooked his arms under your knees and hoisted you up into his chest, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, damp skin sticking to his, the friction of your lace panties against his soaked trousers a torturous reminder of how close he was to the edge.

he marched out of the pool and across the stone deck, ignoring the way the water dripped from both of you, leaving a dark, heavy trail behind. he bypassed the outdoor kitchen and the lounge, heading straight for the sliding glass doors of his suite. his movements were focused, almost frantic, as he kicked the door open and stepped into the air-conditioned cool of the bedroom.

the contrast of the cold air against your heated skin made you shiver, but satoru was already dropping you onto the plush, white duvet, following you down immediately, his heavy frame hovering over yours as he braced his weight on his forearms, boxing you in.

the room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains, but satoru’s eyes were luminous. he looked down at you, his silver hair damp and messy, his breath still coming in short, jagged hitches.

"fuck," he rasped, his voice sounding wrecked, like he’d been screaming underwater. "you're so fucking beautiful, y/n."

he didn't wait for a response before crashing his mouth back onto yours. he tasted like salt and the remnants of the passionfruit, his tongue sweeping against yours with a desperate, rhythmic demand. 

as he kissed you, he hiked one of his knees up, wedging it firmly between your thighs. the pressure of his knee against your center—feeling the damp, scorching heat of you even through the lace of your panties—sent a visible shudder through his entire frame.

in satoru’s head, the world was white noise. he was losing his fucking mind. the reality of having you finally pinned beneath him, of feeling your heartbeat hammering against his own ribs, was more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol. his mind was a storm of finally, finally, finally.

he broke the kiss, his lips dragging down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing your collarbone in a way that made you arch off the bed. his hands moved with a feverish purpose, finally reaching the clasp of your lace bra, and with a deft, practiced flick of his fingers, the lace gave way. he tossed the garment somewhere into the shadows, his eyes darkening as he finally got to see you properly.

he leaned down, his mouth finally finding the soft, rounded swell of your breasts. he kissed his way to the center, his tongue swirling around the peak of your nipple before he took you into his mouth, sucking deeply, his hand coming up to knead the other breast, his thumb mirroring the motions of his tongue. 

the sensation was so intense you cried out his name, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back, pulling him closer until there was no air left between you.

"you’re so warm," he groaned against your skin, his voice muffled by the curve of your breast. "god, y/n, you have no idea what you’re doing to me."

his hand drifted lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your lace panties with a slow, agonizingly deliberate intent. he didn't look away from your face for even a second; he wanted to see every flicker of pleasure, every ounce of the same want that was currently tearing him apart. 

he’d been starving for this since he was in fucking middle school, and as he began to slide the lace down your hips, his gaze locked onto yours with a raw, terrifying promise that tonight was only the beginning.

satoru worked his way down your torso, his tongue tracing a wet, scorching path over the sensitive skin, dipping into your navel while his hands stayed firmly anchored on your hips. he moved with a slow, agonizing deliberation that made your breath catch, eventually reaching the tops of your thighs. he showered the soft skin there with nipping bites and open-mouthed kisses, his stubble grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.

finally, he moved between your legs, pulling them wide until he was settled firmly in the notch of your thighs. he looked up at you once more, his eyes dark with a worshipful, heavy heat, before he dipped his head.

the first contact was a long, flat stroke of his tongue—a broad stripe of wet heat that made your entire body bolt upright. he didn't just lick; he feasted. satoru used the flat of his tongue to sweep from bottom to top, over and over, his rhythm steady and demanding. 

to him, you tasted heavenly, like salt and honey and the heady scent of the tropical night, and the realization that he was finally, finally allowed to do this made him lose what little restraint he had left.

you arched your back so sharply your shoulder blades dug into the mattress, your hands flying to his head, fingers tangling deep into his damp, silver hair. the pleasure was a concentrated, white-hot point that radiated outward, coiling tight in your stomach until every muscle in your legs felt like a live wire. your thighs clamped instinctively around his head, holding him there, but satoru didn't mind the pressure; he only leaned into it, his nose buried against you as he picked up the pace.

the room was silent enough that every wet, sticky sound satoru made seemed to echo off the high concrete walls of the room. he was being completely shameless about it now, his tongue working with a relentless, slapping rhythm that was as audible as it was felt. he moved from flat, broad strokes to sharp, flicking laps, each one making a suctioning sound that told you exactly how much he was devouring you.

"fuck, you’re so wet," he grunted against your skin, his voice muffled and distorted by your heat. "listen to that. you're making so much noise for me."

he used his thumbs to spread you even wider, exposing every sensitive inch to the cool air-conditioned draft before he buried his face back in, his tongue swirling in deep, messy circles. the sound of it—the squelch of his tongue meeting your slickness and the rhythmic thwip of him hitting your small, swollen peak—was enough to make your head spin.

slowly working two fingers into you, the sound changed to a heavy, squelching friction. he began to pump them in a fast, shallow rhythm that mimicked the snap of his hips, the liquid sound of him filling you mixing with the ragged, hitching breaths he was taking through his nose. he was tasting every bit of your arousal, his tongue darting out to catch the droplets of your release before they could even hit the sheets.

you were a complete wreck, your heels digging into the mattress as you tried to find some kind of leverage. your moans were becoming harder to stifle, turning into wet, broken gasps that hitched in the back of your throat. every time his tongue flicked upward, a fresh jolt of electricity snapped through your spine, coiling your stomach into a tight, screaming knot of tension.

satoru could feel the way you were starting to come apart. your inner walls were spasming around his fingers, milking them with a desperate, clenching rhythm. he redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving with a frantic, messy speed, his fingers curling upward to hit that spot inside you over and over again. the sounds in the room were feral—the heavy slap of his tongue, the wet slide of his fingers, and your own shattered, rhythmic "oh god, satoru" that you couldn't keep in any longer.

he wanted you to break. he wanted to hear you scream his name until your throat was raw, his head buried so deep between your thighs that he was breathing in nothing but you. the pleasure was a dark, heavy weight, pulling you down until the only thing left in the world was the feeling of satoru gojo, your little brother’s best friend’s mouth ruining you.

satoru was completely gone, his pupils blown so wide they swallowed the blue of his eyes, leaving only a dark, predatory hunger. he was humping the mattress as he worked, his hips twitching in a mindless, rhythmic jerk that betrayed just how badly he was aching to be inside you. he was drunk on the taste of you, his movements becoming more aggressive and uncoordinated in the best possible way.

he paused for a fraction of a second, his face glistening and wet, to look up at you. from his position between your legs, he saw exactly what he’d been dreaming of for nineteen years: you were a beautiful, wrecked mess. your eyes were wide and glazed with a hazy, liquid heat, your lips bitten a raw, swollen red that made him want to bruise them further. your toes were curled so tight they cramped, and your back was arched high off the white duvet as satoru’s large hands clamped down on your thighs, anchoring you to the bed.

he was eating like a man who had been starved for a lifetime and had finally found a feast. 

"fuck, s’toru—" you babbled, the words tripping over each other in a shattered, incoherent string as your thighs twitched, trying to squeeze together in an instinctive attempt to blunt the overwhelming sensation, but he wouldn't allow it. he held you open, his fingers digging into your soft skin, forcing you to take every wet, suctioning lap of his tongue.

your climax hit like a physical blow, a violent coil in your lower belly that snapped, sending a white-hot wave of electricity through your entire frame, your hips bucking upward as you ground your center against his mouth, desperate for more friction, more heat, more him. 

your back arched so sharply your chest thrust toward the ceiling, your fingers clutching his hair with a bruising grip as you screamed his name into the quiet villa, your family mere feet away and afterthought while underneath him.

satoru’s mouth slowly eased up, though he couldn't resist one last, possessive nip at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh before he began the long, scorching trek back up your body. he trailed wet, heavy kisses over your stomach and ribs, his stubble a delicious friction against your sensitized skin. he didn't stop until he reached your neck, his breath hot and frantic against your ear as he felt the erratic, heavy thrum of your pulse.

you were still gasping, your chest heaving as you tried to find enough oxygen to tether yourself back to reality, but satoru had no intention of letting you go. while his lips worked along your jawline and cheek, his hand reached back down between your thighs. his fingers, still slick and glistening from his earlier feast, found your clit and began to rub in a slow, agonizingly steady circle.

your body let out a sharp, violent jolt of surprise at the contact. the nerve endings were so raw, so overstimulated from the climax that had barely finished rippling through you, that the touch felt like a physical shock. you let out a broken, high-pitched noise, your hips involuntarily twitching away only for satoru to growl and pin you down with the weight of his torso.

"shhh," he muttered against your skin, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "we're just getting started."

he leaned up, capturing your lips in an open-mouthed, filthy kiss. you could taste yourself on his tongue—the salt, the heat, the intoxicating proof of what he’d just done to you—and the sheer intimacy of it sent a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. his tongue moved with yours in a deep, rhythmic dance, mirroring the way he began to slip one finger, then a second, back inside you.

he was coaxing you open again, his fingers stretching you with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your inner walls clench around him in a desperate, milking rhythm. your soft, shattered moans vibrated directly into his mouth, muffled by the heat of his kiss, and the sound of your vulnerability was the final straw for his restraint.

satoru pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes a dark, turbulent blue that looked almost indigo in the dim light of the villa. he was shaking, his muscles jumping under your hands, and you could see his own arousal straining painfully, almost violently, against the damp linen of his trousers. the friction of him pressing into your thigh was a heavy, throbbing demand that made your own breath hitch all over again.

"y/n," he rasped, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he pumped his fingers into you one last time, his knuckles dragging against the damp sheets. "fuck... can i?" 

the question was wrecked, hanging in the air between your shared breaths. you felt a surge of playful power even in your dazed state, reaching up to wrap your arms firmly around his neck, pulling him down just a fraction more. 

"you're a big boy, satoru," you purred, your voice a low, gravelly silk that made his entire body lock up. "use your words."

well, if there was any way for him to get harder, he sure as fuck just did. he thought to himself, his jaw tightening so hard he was sure you heard the bone click, his eyes flashing with a dark, appreciative challenge. 

"i wanna be inside you," he growled, the raw honesty of it vibrating against your chest. "i want to feel you around me."

you nodded, your breath hitching, and that was all the permission he needed. satoru pulled back just enough to fumble with the button of his soaked trousers, kicking them away with a frantic impatience. 

when he finally knelt between your legs again, he was flushed, his skin a deep, heat-saturated pink. he was scarily large, the tip already glistening and leaking with his own desperate need.

you swallowed hard, your eyes widening as they traveled down his length, and satoru’s ego swelled visibly at the look of genuine surprise on your face. a smirk, dark and possessive, tugged at his lips—the thought that sukuna couldn't have possibly been as big as him crossed his mind with a smug, sharp satisfaction as he leaned forward, pressing the head of his length against your folds.

he began to rub himself against you, sliding through your own slickness just to feel the friction, your hips bucking up to meet him as you you let out a frustrated growl. "fuck, 'toru... just get on with it."

"impatient," he murmured, his voice thick with a honeyed cruelty. "after nineteen years, what's a few more seconds?"

but, ever impatient himself, he couldn't wait either. 

satoru braced his weight on his palms and began to sink into you, the sheer, staggering warmth of your walls encasing him as he slowly, inch by inch, claimed the space he’d been denied for a lifetime. his eyes damn near rolled back into his head at the sensation; you were so tight, so impossibly warm and perfect, that it felt like he was being swallowed whole by the very idea of you.

he went slowly, his gaze locked onto your face. he watched the furrow of your brow, the way you bit your lip until it was white, and the way your fingers dug into the muscles of his arms. he waited for you to adjust, for your body to welcome him, until he finally gave one last, heavy push and bottomed out, letting out a long, shuddering exhale as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his heart hammering a frantic, triumphant rhythm against your own. 

satoru stayed still for a moment, simply breathing you in, before he tentatively started with a slow, agonizingly shallow rhythm, his hips rolling in a way that ground his weight against your center with every steady slide. he had to bite his own lip, his eyes squeezing shut as he let out a series of low, involuntary grunts that he couldn't quite stifle. 

in his head, he was fighting for his life; he was thinking to himself that there was no way he could possibly last like this, trying to visualize anything else—the floor plan of the villa, the flight home, the salt content of the ocean—anything besides the way your walls were squeezing around him with every movement.

he finally forced his eyes open, looking down to see you biting onto the back of your hand, your knuckles white as you muffled your own sounds. 

satoru paused, his movement stuttering to a halt as he searched your face, his voice thick with concern. "hey... are you okay? do I need to stop?"

you looked up at him, your eyes glossy and a little dazed, and let out a shy, embarrassingly honest admission. "it's just... you're a lot bigger than i’m used to, satoru."

the effect was instantaneous, his ego filling the room, surging through the roof and settling into a dark, smug satisfaction that smoothed out the tension in his jaw. he let out a low, breathy chuckle, his eyes darkening with a fresh wave of heat. 

"is that so?" he murmured, his tone dripping with a cocky, possessive pride. "well, i guess i’ll just have to be extra careful with you then. i'll take my time, y/n. i'm not going anywhere."

he kept his promise, resuming a slow, deep thrusting that felt like it was reaching into your very soul, satoru watching with a rapt, almost clinical fascination as a slight, rhythmic bulge appeared in the soft skin of your lower belly every time he bottomed out. he watched the furrow in your brow and the slight tension of pain slowly melt away, replaced by the heavy-lidded gaze of pure, liquid pleasure.

the rhythm began to shift, the slow, deliberate slides of his hips sharpening into a more urgent, demanding tempo. satoru’s control was visibly slipping; his movements were becoming less about careful navigation and more about a primal, frantic need to be as close to you as possible. the sounds in the room amplified, the wet, rhythmic slap of skin and the rhythmic creak of the heavy wooden bed frame filling the air as he picked up the pace.

"fuck, y/n," he murmured, his voice a broken, gravelly rasp against your ear. his words were a constant stream of praise, a whispered litany of his nineteen-year-old obsession finally coming to life. "you look so beautiful like this... look at you. you’re taking all of me so well. god, you feel like heaven."

as he accelerated, satoru reached down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and beginning to rub with a fast, expert friction that matched the snap of his hips. the dual sensation—the heavy, internal stretch of him and the sharp, external spark of his thumb— overwhelming. your head thrashed against the pillows, your fingers digging into the muscles of his forearms as you babbled his name, your voice breaking with every thrust.

he was losing it, his eyes blown wide and staring down at the way his body was disappearing into yours. he watched the slight, rhythmic stretch of your belly with a possessive, dark pride, his movements becoming more animalistic. the air-conditioned cool of the room was long gone, replaced by a sweltering, humid heat that made your skin slide against his.

"i'm close," he choked out, his muscles corded and jumping as he pushed you even further into the mattress. "i'm so close, y/n."

he felt the tell-tale clench of your internal muscles, the way you were beginning to pulse around him in a desperate, final rhythm. satoru let out a low, guttural roar, his pace reaching a fever pitch until he was nothing but a blur of heat and friction. just as you began to peak, your back arching and your voice catching in a high, shattered cry, satoru gripped your hips with bruising force.

he waited until the very last second, the pressure behind his teeth becoming unbearable as he attempted to stifle his climax so you could reach yours, before he abruptly pulled out, his hand flying to his length, stroking himself once, twice—a fast, desperate friction—before he finally broke. he let out a long, ragged exhale, his eyes rolling back as he came across your torso, the heat of him a stark contrast to the cooling sweat on your skin.

he collapsed forward, his weight heavy and comforting as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. his heart hammered against yours like a trapped bird finally set free, and he didn't even care about the mess—about his own cum that was surely smeared on his stomach and yours as well. he stayed there for a long moment, just breathing you in, before he tilted his head to find your lips.

the kiss was slow and deep, his tongue meeting yours in a lazy, rhythmic dance that felt like a necessary cooldown. he slowly maneuvered himself fully onto the bed, pulling you with him until you were both lying on your sides, facing each other. 

the kisses shifted from soft and chaste—grateful pecks on your nose and forehead—to something more hungry and lingering. you hiked your leg over his hip, the damp skin of your thigh dragging against his, and as the kiss deepened, you began to rhythmically grind your center against his leg.

satoru let out a low, shaky groan into your mouth, gripping your waist as he rolled onto his back, bringing you up with him until you were perched directly on top of him. you sat back, your knees framing his ribs, your heat slotted perfectly over his length.

even as you continued to make out, your lips never leaving his, satoru began to grow hard again. the friction of you grinding against him, the weight of your body, and the sheer proximity of your bare skin were more than enough to reignite the fire, his hands coming up to squeeze your hips, guiding your movements as you rubbed against him, the slickness of the earlier mess making the friction even more intense.

"you're trying to kill me, aren't you?" he rasped against your lips, his hips giving a small, instinctive upward twitch to meet your grind. "all these years and you want to finish me off in one night." 

you didn't give him a proper answer, just a low, broken mumble against his mouth as you continued to rock your hips, the friction maddening, your slickness acting as a lubricant as you tried to line yourself up, desperate to feel that fullness again. 

satoru’s hands suddenly clamped onto your waist, his large fingers digging into your skin to bring your movements to a grinding halt. he was panting, his chest heaving under you, his blue eyes searching yours with a mix of exhaustion and unyielding hunger.

"wait, wait," he breathed, his voice a gravelly wreck. "you want to go another round?"

you didn't even hesitate, biting your lip until it was white and giving him a sharp, desperate nod.

satoru’s expression shifted instantly. the tenderness from moments ago was replaced by a coy, petty glimmer in his eyes—the classic, teasing satoru returning even in the heat of the moment. 

he held you still, refusing to let you drop, as he used your own words against you with a smug, dark tilt of his head. 

"you're a big girl, y/n, speak up.” he began to tease you again, pressing the head of his length against your opening and rubbing it slowly between your folds. “tell me what you want."

you let out a frustrated growl, rolling your eyes at his typical antics even as your body betrayed you with a fresh wave of need.

"satoru, please," you finally forced out, your voice cracking. "i want you inside me again. put it in."

"there she is," he whispered, a triumphant smirk crossing his face.

he gripped your hips firmly, his knuckles white as he slowly began to lift you up before guiding you down onto him. satoru watched from below with a rapt, possessive focus as you took him inch by inch, his eyes following the line of your throat as you threw your head back, your eyes rolling to the ceiling. he watched the skin of your stomach stretch and ripple, showing every inch of him that you were currently claiming, the sight of you being completely filled by him, silhouetted against the dim light of the room, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

"god, you're so perfect," he groaned, his hips giving a heavy, upwards thrust to bottom out, his hands sliding from your waist to cup your breasts as he prepared for the long, second half of the night.

the rhythm of the second round was a slow, agonizing crawl—a deliberate torture that satoru seemed to enjoy just as much as you did. now that the initial, frantic edge of having you at all had been blunted, he was focused on the sheer depth of it. 

you were perched over him, your hands braced against his chest for leverage, as you began to slide down his length, his hips rising to meet every one of your descents, his thrusts powerful and steady, ensuring he bottomed out against you every single time.

every time you dropped onto him, the air left your lungs in a sharp, quiet hitch, your mouth falling open as you felt him stretching you to your absolute limit. satoru was watching the way your body reacted with a dark, glazed-over focus, his hands sliding up from your waist to grip your shoulders, pulling you down so he could reach your neck.

he was being filthy with his mouth, sucking at the sensitive skin of your throat until he was sure he’d left a dark, blooming mark, then moving to nip at your jawline with his teeth. his tongue flicking against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. 

"you're taking all of it," he rasped, the words vibrating against your skin. "look how deep you’re letting me go. you were made for this, y/n."

the sounds in the room were a wet, heavy friction—the squelch of your shared slickness and the rhythmic, deep thud of his hips hitting yours. satoru would pull you down into a deep, messy kiss, his tongue moving in the same slow, demanding rhythm as his lower half. he wanted to taste the way you were falling apart, his thumb reaching out to find your clit again, rubbing it with a steady, agonizing pressure that made the pleasure coil into a tight, vibrating knot in your stomach.

you were grinding down on him, your hips moving in desperate, circular motions that sought out every nerve ending, while satoru continued those deep, upwards hitches that made your eyes roll back. he was watching the way his own length disappeared inside you, his ego still soaring as he saw how much of him you were holding.

"stay with me, fuck" he groaned, his voice breaking as he felt the first few ripples of your second climax beginning to take hold. "don't you dare close your eyes. i want to see you when you break again."

he picked up the pace just a fraction, the slow thrusts turning into a more rhythmic, slapping heat that left you both breathless and drenched in sweat, the villa’s air conditioning doing nothing to cool the fire he was stoking inside you, hands anchored firmly on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he guided your descent, ensuring every slow, agonizing thrust reached the absolute limit of your capacity. 

your bodies were slick with a heavy sheen of sweat, sliding against each other with a rhythmic, wet sound that filled the quiet room. you were breathing heavily into each other's mouths, sharing the same humid, frantic air as you moved together.

"satoru... fuck, i'm gonna... i'm gonna—" you babbled, the words breaking off into a high, shattered moan. you couldn't even finish the sentence, your voice rising in pitch as you ground yourself down onto him with a desperate, animalistic rhythm.

satoru didn't let you falter. he kept his thumb working against your clit, a fast, buzzing friction that kept you balanced right on the razor's edge of a second peak. his eyes were dark, tracking the way your head thrashed back, his own breath coming in ragged, guttural hitches. 

"do it," he rasped, his voice a wrecked, honeyed command. "come for me again, y/n. right here."

you leaned down, your hair damp and sticking to your forehead, and whispered into the heat of his neck, "fuck, i'm... i'm on the pill, 'toru."

the admission was the final blow to his restraint. satoru letting out a low, predatory growl, his grip on your waist tightening until his knuckles were white. 

"then i'm not stopping," he groaned, his hips beginning to snap upward with a violent, rhythmic urgency that made the heavy bed frame groan beneath you.

the climax hit you like a physical wave, your internal muscles clenching around him in a frantic, milking rhythm that sent him over the edge instantly. satoru let out a long, shattered roar, his eyes rolling back as he finally, completely bottomed out inside you, coming in heavy, hot pulses that you felt deep in your core, his hands sliding up to cup your face as he pulled you down into an open-mouthed kiss.

he was everywhere at once—his mouth on your lips, then your jaw, then sucking a fresh mark into your shoulder as his body continued to twitch and thrum inside yours. you collapsed onto his chest, your skin sticking to his, the both of you a tangled, sweating mess of limbs and heavy gasps.

the villa was silent again, save for the frantic beating of two hearts that had been waiting nineteen years to finally sync up like this.

…

it was barely 5:00 am when the quiet, rhythmic rap of knuckles sounded against the heavy timber door of the suite. you were completely dead to the world, curled into the crook of satoru’s arm with your mouth slightly ajar, letting out tiny, soft snores against his collarbone.

satoru, however, had been a live wire for the last three hours. after you’d finally collapsed on top of him, spent and shivering, he’d managed to maneuver you both under the sheets, but sleep hadn't come. he’d been staring at the ceiling, convinced that at any minute suguru was going to manifest through the wall and attempt to kill him with his bare hands for finally crossing the line with his sister, and if he’d heard any part of last night—it was sure to be a slow and painful death.

his eyes flew wide at the knock, his heart leaping into his throat as the door creaked open just an inch at first, then swinging wide enough to reveal shoko. 

she had her eyes squeezed shut, her head turned pointedly toward the hallway as if she were prepared to see something that would require a lifetime of therapy to erase.

"i'm not looking," she announced, her voice a dry, morning rasp. she reached into the room, blindly tossing your yellow dress and satoru’s discarded white shirt—both still slightly damp from the pool—onto the foot of the bed. "you’re lucky i wake up early to clear my head. wouldn't want the ‘rents to see this trail of evidence on the patio, now would you, satoru gojo?"

satoru felt the heat climb rapidly from his neck to the very tips of his ears, turning them a vivid, tell-tale red. he pulled the duvet higher over your sleeping form, his arm tightening protectively around you.

"shoko, i can explain," he hissed, his voice cracking slightly in the quiet room.

"save it," she snorted, finally opening one eye just enough to navigate back toward the door, still avoiding a direct look at the bed. "you’ve been pining so damn loud it’s a wonder you didn't wake the whole island up last night."

she paused at the threshold, a hand on the handle, a slow, mischievous smirk spreading across her face. 

"oh, and by the way... next time you decide to use the infinity pool as a personal playground, remember that the acoustics in this valley are incredible. suguru thinks it was just 'nocturnal birds,' but i’m a doctor, satoru. i know exactly what a 'nocturnal bird' sounds like when it’s screaming your name."

satoru turned a shade of red that shouldn't have been biologically possible, his jaw dropping as he struggled to find a comeback as you remained utterly unaware of the interrogation, shifting slightly in your sleep and nuzzling closer to the heat of his chest, leaving satoru to suffer in silent, burning embarrassment.

it was only later, when the tropical sun was beginning to bake the villa’s exterior, that you finally stirred, the realization of the night before hitting you in waves. first, the bone-deep soreness in your thighs that made every shift under the duvet a chore, and second, the sight of your own reflection in the vanity mirror as you hobbled to the bathroom to brush your teeth, your neck a map of various shades of red and purple; a visual diary of satoru’s lack of restraint accompanied by the matching marks you’d left on his jaw, as well as the stinging heat of the three large scratches that now adorned his back. 

it was twenty-four hours later when the reality of the situation finally careened into suguru, him and satoru on their way to the airport, the tropical paradise of the wedding retreat already fading into the rearview mirror with your leaving in the morning. 

satoru, still riding the high of the night before, had managed to spill a cup of scalding black coffee down his front, and without thinking—his brain still entirely occupied by the memory of you—he’d peeled off his ruined shirt to swap it for a spare tee from his duffel bag.

the car went dead silent.

suguru’s eyes darted from the road to satoru’s bare skin, taking in the three unmistakable, angry red scratches scoring down his best friend's back and the deep, plum-colored hickey sitting high on his chest. it took approximately three seconds for suguru to connect those marks to the way you had been gingerly limping through the terminal, favoring your hips with every step.

the steering wheel groaned under suguru’s white-knuckled grip, and if shoko hadn't been on speakerphone at that exact moment, satoru was convinced suguru would have veered them directly into oncoming traffic just to kill him out of spite.

"suguru, breathe," shoko’s voice crackled through the car, sounding entirely too amused. "i told you they were 'nocturnal birds.' just let it go."

suguru didn't let it go. the rest of the ride was a flurry of interrogation—a thousand different variations of "is this a thing?" and various creative descriptions of what would happen to satoru’s internal organs if he ever made you cry. satoru didn't even fight back; he just sat there with a dazed, stupidly happy look on his face, accepting the threats as a fair price for finally having you.

five years later, the story had become a staple of geto family lore, suguru standing at the altar as satoru’s best man, tears brimming in his eyes as he looked at his best friend and his sister, and even though he had spent nineteen years straight attempting to thwart satoru’s crush on you—acting as the ultimate overprotective barrier—even he had to admit you’d never been happier than you were in this moment.

"i almost killed us both in a rental suv," suguru told the crowd, his voice softening as he looked at the two of you, finally conjoined. "but looking at you both today... i suppose i can forgive satoru for being a 'nocturnal bird' just this once."

satoru didn't care about the ribbing. he just leaned over, his hand finding yours under the table—fingers interlacing just as they had on that beach nineteen years in the making—and whispered, "told you i'd get that title."

you smiled, leaning your head on his shoulder, knowing that nineteen years of playing it safe had been more than worth the risk of finally coming home.

tags: @momoloverr @cursedkisss

[infernal666inquisition]

"Forbidden Fruit"

[stardustcartoonist]

Fruit of Knowledge

[tarnished-remains]

Taste The Forbidden

Top picture from Cipher Grove Youtube channel, bottom picture by Santiago Caruso

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Byam Shaw (1872-1919) "The Woman, the Man and the Serpent" (1911) Oil on canvas

[s4w44k]

« And the snake said,

Death will not certainly come to you »