Wicked Games: Six
“What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you
And I don’t wanna fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No I don’t wanna fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you”
- Wicked Game by Chris Isaak
You’re kissing him. Lips connected, tongues fighting for dominance. Kissing, kissing, kissing.
Suguru swiftly rolls you onto your back, kissing you hard. He’s missed this. Missed you. It’s been too long that he’s been able to hold you properly, taste you. His hands are roaming your body, trying to memorize every curve and dip you have. Your own hands have slid behind his neck as you let out a small whine.
He moans against your mouth. It’s not enough. It’s never enough with you. He wants more - he’s gone years without being buried in you and he aches. He hikes your right leg, hooking it around his waist as he ruts against you. He doesn’t care if he seems like a horny teenager right now because all he can think of is you. His lips leave yours, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck. He’s slowly trailing down your clothed body, one goal in mind right now and that goal was hiding behind a pair of panties and bottoms that needed to be ripped off.
Your breathing hard, your skin on fire underneath him and reality is starting to set in again as you remember where you are. Your blissful bubble popped. Suguru is the bad guy.
“S-suguru stop,” you manage to mumble out and even though he is the bad guy, he does. He resurfaces near your face, eyes darkened and lips puffy.
“We can’t do this,” you tell him, voice soft as you're unsure of how he’ll react. You hate yourself for telling him to stop, missing his touch.
He seems to see that truth hidden behind your eyes, too. “You want this, want me.”
The look he gives you almost makes you concede. It’s serious and dark and honest. It makes you want to tell him to just fuck you in the woods and be damned if someone finds you. But you don’t.
“This is a mistake,” your voice waivers, a whisper in the large space. A tear falls down your face. “We were a mistake.” You need to protect yourself, even if it means breaking his heart. You’ll always be on opposing sides.
He gives you a look as if you had just physically stabbed him. His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at your words, irritation bubbling to the surface. He knew you were lying, but the words still hurt.
You manage to push him off you and he’s sitting across from you, breathing a little heavier from the lust he still felt, cheeks burning red.
“Then kill me,” he says. “It should be easy if I was a mistake.” His words are biting, harsh. You're silent, not moving towards him and he scoffs. He moves towards you gripping your cheeks hard, squishing them together so that a pretty little pout falls across your features as you look at him with sad and scared eyes. The cruelty is back. He thinks you look adorable like this, sad doe eyes and he again, both loves and hates you for it. He lets out a mean laugh. He knows you too well.
“You can’t kill me. I’ve killed hundreds of people. I could murder every last living being on this planet - for you or for my cause - and you could hate me for it and you still couldn’t do it. Because you love me, just like I love you.”
He releases your jaw forcefully and you swallow because as horrible as it sounds, you’re afraid that he might be right. He’s quiet for another moment, watching you before he finally says:
“We weren’t a mistake.”
He sees that you're trying not to cry and it takes everything in him to not fold, to apologize and hold you. He needs to refocus, he has bigger plans than you and he’s been here far too long and if anything, at least your words, albeit lies, helped him realize it. He casts you one last look before finally he leaves.
***
It took Satoru less than five minutes to find you sitting in the woods by yourself as he levitated in the air, blindfold long removed. You looked unharmed and unfortunately he couldn’t see Suguru anywhere - again. He quickly warped to you, startling you from your spot on the hard forest floor.
“Are you fucking stupid?”
He is glaring at you, nostrils flared. He had thought you were in danger, so as he takes in your disheveled appearance - swollen lips and a small love bite on your exposed collarbone, he is fucking seething instead. He isn’t stupid - he’s familiar with this look, he’s given you this look.
“Satoru,” you mumble, not in the mood. You are ashamed. You fucking hate yourself right now and honestly, Satoru was the last person you wanted to see you like this.
“So what, Suguru is the bad guy until he wants to fuck you?”
He doesn’t mean to sound jealous, but he does and you, for once, don’t miss it. You bristle at his words.
“He’s dangerous.”
Your eyes snap to him, anger suddenly flushing through you. “You don’t think I know that?!” You look away from him, running a hand down your face as you hide the evidence of your tears. You're tired of crying over Suguru, you're tired of being scared. Your fucking exhausted from everything and it’s only been a little over a week. You think this must be what Hell feels like.
Satoru eyes you as you collect yourself, not looking at him, simply ruminating in your own thoughts. He really has no right playing the jealousy card right now, he’s not your boyfriend. But he fucking loves you and he can’t help it, so instead of giving in and trying to comfort you, he’s letting his sour mood win. Nevermind he wants to wipe away your tears for you, wants to make you smile, wants to kiss you. Because right now he is fucking angry - at you, at himself, at Suguru.
“You're staying at my place,” his voice cuts through the air like glass and you look up at him incredulously, shuffling to stand in front of him.
“What? No, I’m not,” you instantly argue.
“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Satoru gives you the most stern look you’ve seen from him, the one you’ve only ever seen reserved for people who piss him off.
He knows Suguru, knows the reason he risked coming on campus today was because he was gone. It irritates him. But that also means that if you're staying at his place, you’ll be safest there. Hell, he contemplates moving Yuji in at this rate, but decides against it. He doesn’t completely know Suguru’s plan yet, but he can understand where Yuji fits in. What worries him is you. He gets that Suguru has tried and failed multiple times to recruit you (and Satoru too), so he still hasn’t determined where you fit in. Satoru knows you - knows that despite whatever love you have left for Suguru, that you aren’t going to join his side. So what is your role?
“I’m not your prisoner,” you snap in disbelief.
“No, you're not. But it’s the only thing I can think of that will keep you safe for now,” he snaps back, annoyed. And it’s the only way he can think of keeping you from fucking Suguru. His second thought is selfish, but he also knows you're probably thinking it too, albeit for different reasons.
“You're unbelievable,” you huff out. You're so over today that you honestly don’t care anymore. The emotional whiplash that you’ve dealt with is leaving you raw and honestly, you just want to crawl under your covers and stay there until all of this is over.
Satoru wraps his arm around you and the next thing you know your back at school, in your room. You feel dizzy and Satoru has an iron grip on you, the playful expression he usually wears is gone and you look up at him from under your lashes, still very much annoyed at him, but also feeling somewhat guilty as you think about the jealousy you witnessed earlier. You begin to wonder if maybe he has feelings for you and then how complicated that would be given your history. He notices you looking at him and finally releases you.
“Get you stuff,” he says, looking around the space before he throws your empty duffel bags onto your bed. He moves to where the small desk is and leans against it, waiting. You stare at him again, dumbfounded like a fish out of water.
He didn’t have to be so mean.
“I should tell the others-” It’s the only thing you can think to say.
“I’ve already texted Megumi.”
Oh.
You move around the room, gathering your things quietly as Satoru simply watches.
“I should really go see Shoko or talk to Yaga,” you say as you're stuffing your clothes in one of the bags. “They need to know.”
“Yaga’s already scheduled a meeting for tomorrow,” Satoru replies, arms crossed.
Oh.
“Still, Shok-”
Satoru lets out an irritated sigh. “She can come over tonight.”
You fall silent after that until finally all of your belongings are packed and Satoru is beside you again, warping you both back to his place. His new apartment. The stuff of memories - in particular, the only memory you had of this place because you had only been here that one time. Any other time you saw Satoru it was him coming to your place or at school or away for work. Your eyes momentarily flicker over to the sofa you remember so clearly.
On the other hand, you think you were getting used to his teleporting.
You step away from him, looking around the space as Satoru finally says: “Follow me.”
You wordlessly follow him down the hallway, passing his bedroom where his door is open and you see his neatly made bed and silk sheets. More memories. He stops in front of a door that is a few doors down from his own, opening it and allowing you inside. It’s a nice space - a guest room with a large king sized bed, large windows overlooking the city, and adjoining bathroom.
“This used to be Tsumiki’s room,” he says suddenly and you look at him in momentary shock. Megumi’s sister?
“Oh.” You honestly don’t know what else to say because you know where Tsumiki is, the poor girl’s fate.
You step further into the room, setting the bags down on the bed as Satoru stands in the entryway watching you. He’s still annoyed and pissed, but not to the severity he was only moments ago. You turn to him, meeting his gaze. You hate whatever this is between you two right now, making you both feel on edge.
So you decide to ignore it.
“I’m going to take a shower. Towels?” you ask.
He points to the door leading to the bathroom. “There should be some fresh ones’ in there.”
“Right…” your voice trails off and Satoru takes this as his cue to leave you alone. He disappears from the doorway, walking down the corridor to his own bedroom - where he slams his door shut loudly.
He may not be as fuming like before, but he’s still upset and he is petty.
You shut your own bedroom door, not as loud but still enough to let him realize he isn’t the only one irritated - you’re just better at having some semblance of control. You move into the bathroom, under the hot water coming from the rain shower head as you let yourself sink to the ground, cradling your legs to your chest, finally letting a sob escape your lips.
***
By the time you had left the shower your skin was hot and pruned. You don’t know how long you sat under the shower head, but it had to be awhile as you let yourself just cry over everything that has happened. You had spent a minute just looking at yourself in the mirror - at the face that stared back at you. It felt like a stranger: bloodshot eyes, dark circles forming under them and a cut on your cheek from where you had scratched your face while chasing Suguru in the woods.
You had found a large fluffy robe hanging in the bathroom and decided to slip into that, letting its warmth and softness cradle you as you left the bathroom, a shocked expression crossing your features as you took in the sunset outside. It was gorgeous from up here.
You thought for a moment that maybe you could hide out for the rest of the evening - maybe even days, weeks - if this meant the type of comfort and view you would have.
There’s a sudden knock on your door and you shuffle towards it, opening it so only a small part of your robed frame is on display. On the other side is Satoru, wearing only sweats, his hair also wet from his own shower. You try to keep you eyes focused north and not on his athletic chest, abs, or the deep v leading to his -
“You hungry?” he asks, breaking your train of thought.
“Are you still mad at me?” you respond instead, because right now you’d rather he didn’t hate you. You were already hating yourself enough.
He looks tired, his usual mischievous expression absent as he sighs. “No.”
You aren’t sure you believe him, but you really don’t feel like arguing, so instead you nod. “I could eat.”
“I’m ordering pizza. Anything you don’t want?”
You give him your usual dislikes and he takes note before leaving you to change.. You later join him in the living room where he’s now watching television - some reality television show about yachts and their crew. You sit on the other side of his sectional sofa, momentarily watching him. His sharp jaw, his perfectly sloped nose, his messy wet hair, and finally his ocean-blue eyes. You always knew he was handsome, but the way the setting sun is hitting his features makes you realize he resembles more of that of a sculpted Greek God - as if he was made out of marble or clay. Then you notice his hand, bruised and skin broken. You aren’t sure if you should say anything.
You blink, looking away in fear he’ll catch you staring. You sit in silence together, watching the show until finally the doorbell rings and Satoru is getting up, grabbing yours’ and his dinner, and joining you back in the living room with napkins and two glasses, a bottle of your favorite wine tucked under his arm.
You figure this may be Satoru’s way of trying to say he is also sorry about how he reacted earlier, but you aren’t sure. He may be one of your best friends but he was still hard to read and you know Satoru rarely apologizes - even when he’s in the wrong. The silence continues as you both eat your dinner, you also enjoying a glass of wine. Satoru has poured himself a glass, but he’s barely touching it. Instead, he’s shoveling down a fourth slice of pizza, his stomach an empty pit that never seems to gain fat.
It was unfair, really.
By the time you are both done you’ve drank two glasses of wine and your head is a bit fuzzy, but it’s honestly helping in easing how you’ve felt all day. You decide to take care of the dishes, moving quietly around his kitchen as the television plays softly from the living room. Satoru suddenly joins you in the space, making himself a bowl of ice cream. He stands beside you as you continue to do the dishes, pouring an obscene amount of chocolate sauce on his chocolate mint ice-cream.
“How are you not diabetic?” you can’t help but ask, eyeing the bowl full of sugar.
He shrugs, enjoying a spoonful of his dessert as he finally looks down at you with his familiar boyish grin.
“How does your liver still work?” he smirks back and you lightly hit his chest, because in truth, you honestly don’t drink that much. One or two glasses a month really, if that.
You turn and look at him and he’s watching you. Somehow between the course of events from earlier to now, the awkwardness and anger has seemed to dissipate and God are you grateful. You missed this.
He tucks a strand of your hair behind your hair, an intimate action that leaves you somewhat surprised given how he was acting earlier. He’s looking at you now with the tenderness and openness you realize you’ve only ever really seen reserved for those closest to him, namely yourself and Suguru.
You decide to change the subject, because the intimacy is making you think about a lot of things that are really only confusing you further when you are a bit tipsy. Like how Satoru’s lips look nice. Or how when the thought of Suguru still makes your heart race. You need to get over Suguru and you need to stop thinking about Satoru like that, because really, your friends. Only friends. And you’ve really never had this issue before.
“How was your mission?” you ask.
Satoru eats a spoonful of his ice cream as he recalls to himself about defeating the curse-user in a matter of minutes and then how he found Miss. No-Name later and essentially fucked her face when he couldn’t stop thinking about you, as much as he tried to forget.
“Great,” he replies simply.
You're surprised when he doesn’t drag on about it to you - dragging out gory details or telling you about what happened afterwards. It was usually his M.O. Instead, you stand there eyeing one another. Things feel like before, you realize, but they also don’t. Suddenly your phone rings beside you and you see the familiar name of Shoko cross the scene as you break eye contact.
“I should get this,” you say.
“Tell Shoko I say hi,” he replies as you leave the room.
He watches your figure leave, retreating into your temporary bedroom. Setting his bowl down his jaw flexes as he thinks back to earlier - to catching you hot and bothered, to his jealousy, and then to when he went into his own bedroom.
He had slammed the door and not long after that he heard your own. Fine, you're both annoyed. He thinks he can live with you hating him, he decides. Maybe it’ll make getting over this jealousy easier because he hates this feeling. You're his friend and yes he loves you, but Satoru Gojo also knows that love is a weakness and threat.
He can’t get the image out of his head though - of you on the ground covered in marks and flushed. He was a lot better at handling his emotions when you and Suguru were dating. For some reason it was just easier then and finding himself a girl to get over you seemed to work. But then you left Suguru and not long after that you two had fucked. And he knows you said it was only a one time thing, but Satoru also knows you. You don’t do one-night stands, your emotions tangled in with the physical. Which means even if you aren’t fessing up to him or yourself, there had to be more to it that night.
And so he’s jealous, and pissed, and petty right now. And the jealousy is making him want to barge into your room and kiss you so hard until you forget Suguru’s face and name. He wants to throw you on the bed, rip your clothes off, and fuck you until your babbling mess that only knows his name. And unfortunately, he can feel himself getting hard from the thought.
He moves towards the dresser that has the photo of you, him, Suguru, and Shoko and he can’t help it. He punches the wall above it, leaving a cracked indent of his fist, his knuckles bloody. He’d rather feel this pain than anything else right now, so he does it one more time for good measure. He can heal his hand later.
He hears the shower going in your room and he eventually decides to do the same. A shower will hopefully cool him down. It doesn’t, not really. He’s letting the water hit his frame, drip down his head as he runs his undamaged hand down his face. Your face crosses his mind again, pretty pouty lips, wide eyes, and flushed cheeks. His dick twitches and he really is trying to resist the painful ache between his thighs, but he can’t help it. So instead he wraps his hand around his length, remembering the time he fucked you and imagining the things he would do to you now. He would fuck you stupid, he thinks. He’d leave marks all down your body claiming you as his and you’d whimper underneath him until he buried his face between your legs, overstimulating you for hours. And then after that he’d bury himself in you and the prettiest pleas and moans would leave your lips as your cumming around his dick again and again while fucks his own cum into you. And that’s what sets him off with a few more tugs from his hand. He cleans himself off and finally leaves the shower. His hand still hurts, he’s still irritable. He decides misery loves company and throws on some sweats. When he knocks on your door you answer after a few minutes, standing in a robe that allows him to see the dip towards your cleavage, your skin still slightly damp. One of your legs is slightly peaking out. His intention was to come piss you off more, but then he sees your eyes. They're sad, and tired, and he can tell you were crying. Fuck.
So instead he says: “You hungry?”
Leading him back to the present. He had lied when he said he wasn’t upset anymore, but he couldn’t handle seeing you like that. Because finally he realized you were probably hating yourself enough for the two of you.
He looks down at his damaged hand and uses his technique on it, watching as the skin decides to mend. He’d noticed you staring earlier. In the hallway, in the living room. It’s a small enough victory that even in his irritability, makes him realize you staying here was going to be a lot more fun than he realized.