♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Just kissing and sexual tension in this chap, but gets more explicit in further chapters, mentions of past abuse.
♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 6,733
♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ You have been jilted at the altar by your groom, Mahito, who has led you on for years. Your best friends, Maki and Yuta, suggest to go on this Honeymoon alone, to get away and find yourself again. On the plane ride, you run into a gorgeous man on a business trip, who holds your hand when you say that you're terrified of planes, Suguru Geto. You all fall into easy conversation, and there's chemistry, he makes you feel better than you had in a long time. You think to ask his number, when he realizes that his room has fallen through.
Well, you have a big honeymoon suite, and you suggest he stays with you.
What can go wrong?
Not like you don't wanna straddle him or anything...
Masterlist - Playlist
Chapter 1
You stand and look at yourself in the mirror, black trails of mascara trailed down your face, your false lashes have half come off, your lipstick is half eaten off from biting them. You’re wearing that beautiful wedding dress still, the one you’d spent months finding, but it feels wrong, because he had not wanted you. He'd seen you, looking the most beautiful you ever had, and turned you down.
The dressing room feels cold now, the air heavy with the weight of your disappointment, with your disgust…. You wish you could just disappear, become invisible, so that no one has to look at you anymore, so that you never have to face them again. Friends, family on both sides, feeling sorry for you, the jilted fucking bride of of Mahito.
You two had been engaged for six months, together for six more, and you had always felt he was distant, cold perhaps… but you wanted him, wanted his love. He had played you since college on and off like a fiddle, and you’d let him, let him date this girl and that, only to come back to you, the goody goody. The innocent little studious girl, and you still were.
You’d busted your ass and now you ran a successful art gallery, and in that time since you met him, you’d not been with anyone else. Fleeting dates were perhaps it, for you always listened to him when he said he’d come back, you waited for him, like some fucking joke, some loser, as he got tired of everyone. As he came back to your open arms, but never fully was yours.
So pathetic in fact you were going to be twenty five soon, and you had never even been with anyone… Just waiting Mahito, waiting for this delusion of being able to make love when you were finally with who you loved, on your wedding night at that. And you’d thought he was fine with it, isn’t that why he’d fucked everyone, because it was so hard for him to wait?
When he’d finally proposed, you had never been so happy in your life, you thought to yourself that it’s all better now, it was all worth the ridiculous fucking wait, that you hadn’t missed out. That every guy you blew off, ignored, had all been worth it, because he loves you finally. Right? As he smirks at you, as he enjoys your crying, your heart shattered…
It was worth it right?
You walk slowly over to the open windows, the pretty white gossumer curtains billowing softly in the breeze. Outside, the sun is beginning to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange. You were right on the water, like in some fairy tale. A beach wedding you'd planned.
An empty beach.
It's a beautiful sight, the shimmering blue waves, the birds flying, soft white sand, but you can't bring yourself to enjoy it. All you can see is the image of him, with her, on their wedding day now. You wonder how she managed to make him happy when you couldn't.
Tears roll down your cheeks, and you reach up to wipe them away, looking down at the black mess your fingertips were now. The diamond on your ring finger glints in the sunlight, a cruel reminder of the promise he had made you, reminder of his lies, his cruelty. You feel hatred mingling with sorrow in equal amounts. You hate him for wasting your life.
But then, you wasted your life, didn’t you?
You did not have to constantly take him back, be the ‘friend’ he needed, be his financial support, care for him through all of his manic episodes, all of his ridiculous gambles that failed. All his heart aches with all of these women, that you soothed him through, for the hope of some of his attention, and he gave you just enough to string you along.
Was all of this just a game?
Your friends had warned you, fuck everyone had, but you were an idiot, an obsessed idiot, and it was all hitting you at once, what a fucking fool you’d been, when he showed up casually with another woman. When everyone in the aisles had gasped in shock, and pitied you. But they shouldn’t pity you, because you should have known this would happen.
The door to the room creaks open, and your mother steps inside now. She takes in your defeated posture, the tear-streaked face, and you see it all over her pretty face, her heart breaks for you. How many people would you disappoint, would you upset, why didn’t you just listen.
“You were right…” You manage to say, hoarse.
"Oh, sweetheart," She says softly, crossing the room to stand beside you. She hesitates for a moment, unsure of how best to comfort you, before finally wrapping her arms around you in a warm embrace. You lean into her, feeling the familiar strength and comfort of her presence. "I'm so sorry this happened," she whispers. "I wish I could take it away."
You close your eyes, allowing the warmth of her body and the softness of her touch to soothe you for just a moment. The scent of her favorite perfume fills your nose, bringing back memories of happier times, times before you let yourself get used in this way, when you were just a little girl and mom could make it feel better. It's a fleeting moment of peace.
"I just don't understand how he could do this. I don’t understand why I didn’t expect it either. You’ve all warned me.” You’re sniffling, hating that you’re getting your mom’s dress dirty with your makeup, but she doesn't care.
“You were manipulated by him, love, I tried to help but it’s all on you to see it, unfortunately. Better now than being married right?”
“I don’t know…”
“Much better. Imagine, having… kids with that fool. Ugh.” She shivered in disgust, and you giggled a bit in laughter. “There she is, my girl, the girl who’s been hidden for so long.”
“I let him do this, though, how can I even be mad at him? He’s always made it clear to me.”
“No, he gave you hope.” She cups your face, and then you hear the door open again, and it’s your best friend Maki, looking beautiful in her maid of honor gown, emerald green like her pretty long hair.
“Maki…” You begin sobbing again.
"Hey, you two... I'm so sorry." She whispers, coming to hug both of you. She was so close she was like your mother’s other daughter. "If there's anything I can do... anything at all… like beat his ass."
You all laugh, it’s hard to see through your tears. Your mother looks up at Maki, her eyes red and puffy from crying now too. "Thank you, Maki. It means a lot just to have you here for her.”
“I’ll always be here.” She kisses your sticky cheek, brushing her hands along your back softly.
“You all were right, he is a little fuck boy.” You mumble.
“He is the worst kind. He just enjoyed that power he had over you, imagine having someone beautiful, successful, pining over you, it’s a power play all day long. You’re too insecure.” Maki was always real with you. You nod.
“I know… but this isn’t going to help shit.” You think of the pretty girl draped on his arm as he grinned at you mockingly. “It’s because we didn’t… shit sorry mom… but we never…”
“Never?” She asked, confused, as Maki sighed.
“Thank god, it’s better this way, he can’t be your first.”
“First? You’re a-”
“Yeah. I know. I’m a whole 40 year old virgin.”
“You’re not even twenty five!”
“Bad enough.” Your head is in your hands. “I had this romantic idea, of waiting for the wedding night… well now I’ll have to fuck myself.
Your mom shouts your name, then you all burst out in laughter, you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. Another knock on the door, and it’s your best guy friend Yuta, he gives you a small smile, and you open your arms, he comes and hugs you tightly, kissing your head.
“You’re beautiful today, you know. Even if your eyelash is on your face.” He teases, pulling back and popping them off, handing them to Maki. You laugh through your tears, holding his face. Yuta was your good friend since high school, as close to you as Maki.
“I love you guys. Ugh.” He lets you cry all over his suit, and soon all three of them are hugging you. “I’m so lucky.”
“You are. Because I bet he sucks in bed.” Maki teases, your mom laughs along with you all.
“Fuck, you didn’t…”
“She’s a virgin, Yuta.”
“Maki!”
“What, you are!” Yuta looks down at you in confusion, and you want to fall into a hole.
“God, girl… never?”
“Nope… I kept thinking that I’d be romantic and wait. It’s why he had to… fuck everyone else.”
“That’s dumb as shit. But good, I agree, he probably sucks.”
“Well shit, we can get you laid?” Maki suggests with a grin.
Your mom backs away, shaking her hands at you all. “No, no, I have to leave for this part of the conversation.”
You smile at her, then frown, they all watch you curiously. “Shit… the honeymoon, I spent a fuck ton on it.”
“Then go!” Maki says, grabbing your arms. Yuta nods.
“Fucking go! It may be good.”
Your mom taps her chin, nodding. “Yes, I actually agree, you could have some time away to find yourself again. A week in paradise.”
“Huh…” You imagine it, alone on the beach, it seems a little disappointing, but then it also seems like it may be freeing in a way.
“Maybe you’ll meet a hot island boy.” Maki says with a wink, you flush, bright red where the makeup had streaked off you.
“Oh god, Maki, I doubt it. I don’t think I’ve even flirted.”
“Imagine, you fall in love, and come back and he’ll see what he’s missing, it will be fucking revenge.”
“Or just find yourself again.” Your mom interjects, you nod, smiling a bit and then looking in the mirror, brushing shaky hands down the intricately beaded dress. The beautiful one that hugged every curve you had. Your face looks a mess.
“Let’s go get you some hot outfits, I know damn well you probably have some stupid one piece from like the fifties.” Maki says, you snorted.
“You’re not far off.”
“Then it’s a done deal, we will take you to the airport tomorrow!, for now lets get this off and donate it or something. Get rid of this whole memory.”
“Almost wanna burn it.” You mutter, then you all plan for it, plan for your little mini escape, your own damn honeymoon.
***
You spent the rest of the night with your mom and Maki, laughing, crying, and eating your feelings away with gallons of ice cream. Yuta even brings over some of his favorite snacks and drinks, making it a full on pity party. It feels good, but it doesn’t fill the void, not yet at least, but you are thankful for them in your life.
As the night went on, you started to feel a bit better, the pain dulls to a throbbing ache. You realize that you're not just a victim in this story though, you played a part in letting him treat you this way, but you are going to learn from it, you’re going to put this in your past, along with many shots of tequila for help.
The next morning you walk out to see Yuta and Maki cuddled on the couch, your mom had slept in bed with you, like you had done when you were a little girl. You smile at them, they were best friends too but for a moment you think they’d be adorable together.
You go to start making coffee, a little hung over from the drinks you’d all shared, and set to making breakfast for them all. They eventually wake up, coming to hug you, to kiss your cheek, to encourage you, and you wonder if you ever needed Mahito at all, when you had love, actual love. But it wasn’t the same, was it? Had Mahito ever cared at all? You doubt it now.
You get dressed in a comfortable, but cute outfit, one Maki had picked out for you last night and had rush ordered here this morning. It wasn’t something you’d normally wear, a pretty little sundress that was lower cut than you were used to, cinched at the waist and flowy. It’s actually really flattering, as is the blush she’d put on your cheeks and the pop of pink lip gloss.
As you look in the mirror, you realize that maybe this is your new start.
The three of you make your way to the airport later that morning, your mom driving the car. The whole ride over, you can't help but feel like you're in some sort of weird dream. This feels so surreal, like none of it is actually happening to you, nothing is as you had pictured, your hand is being held by Maki, not by your fiance… Well, ex fiance? Yeah.
But then again, maybe that's what you need.
As you pull up to the airport, you see the crowds of people rushing around, the signs flashing with flight information, and the taxis honking their horns, people rushing and running this way and that, people hugging good bye or hugging and reuniting. You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you step out of the car.
Yuta, Maki and your mom walk with you to the check-in counter, providing the support you so desperately needed. You're feeling a mix of emotions overflowing through you, excitement for the adventure ahead, nervousness about being alone in a foreign place, and a hint of sadness, though in a way it was fading to just a numbness so quickly.
You want an adventure.
You want to find you again… maybe not a man, like Maki suggested, but then you weren’t opposed to it anymore either. It was almost freeing, after being trapped under Mahito’s thumb for so long, like his puppet, doing anything he had asked of you, turning down everyone for him. For him to feel in power, as Maki had said, and she was right.
Now you are taking back the power.
As you approach the counter, you see a handsome man, tall as fuck, with jet black hair that’s as long as yours almost, tied back in a little half knot. He's dressed in a sleek suit that looks like it was made just for him, tailored to his muscles, his broad chest. You blush as he looks over, and his face is even more handsome than you would think.
His chocolate eyes are slanted up, lazy and seductive, and they meet yours for a brief second before he smiles politely, full lips that draw your attention. You give a little smile back, then he turns and continues his conversation with the airline attendant, and you feel a flutter in your tummy, completely unfamiliar.
"He's stupidly hot." Maki whispers in your ear, you shush her, embarrassed. But you can't help but steal glances as you hand over your passport and get your boarding pass.
“He is.” You both giggle.
Once you've said your goodbyes to your friends and your mom, who are all giving you the 'we believe in you' look, you make your way to the boarding gate. The manager had upgraded you to business class as you turned in your two second classes after your mom told them, they obviously felt bad for your situation. You weren’t complaining though.
As you board the plane, you scan the rows, hoping to find an empty seat next to you, but fate has other plans, and you also weren’t complaining, when you realize the only person sitting next to you in the big seats is him. That handsome man that looked like maybe he should be in some magazine, some cologne commercial or something, but here he was, poking around on his tablet.
He looks up as you approach, his pretty chocolate eyes lighting up slightly in recognition. You manage a shy smile, and he returns it with his easy one, as try to stow your bag tip toeing and still failing. The man watches you for a moment, smirking, before he stands up, towering over you, he is well over a foot taller you realize.
It makes him hotter.
How could you be so attracted to someone so quickly? What did it say about you, was it some revenge, was it some repressed thing, making up for lost time? Had you been so absorbed, so manipulated, that you had not even noticed men around you before? Or was this man that hot…
Mahito looked like a little boy in comparison, this was a whole man.
“Allow me.” He says, and his voice is calm, soothing and deep, your lips part just a bit as you’re close to him, nearly against his chest, as he takes your bags and easily lifts them and puts them away.
“Thanks so much, I’m…” You clear your throat nervously, then you introduce yourself, telling him your name. He grins, holding out his hand, and it’s big just like him, it swallows your tiny one as you go to shake his hand.
“Suguru Geto. It’s a pleasure.” Instead of shaking your hand, he puts it to his lips, kissing the backs of your fingers softly. Your breath catches, and your eyes are wide, it’s as if he’s straight out of some Jane Austen novel.
“It’s a pleasure for me too…” You feel your cheeks heat up, and you just hold on to his hand for a moment, before pulling it back with a little laugh. “You’re like a whole gentleman, huh?”
“That’s up for debate.” He says enigmatically, and you’re fascinated by his little smirk, straight white teeth, but the grin is crooked, and it’s charming.
He’s charming.
“I have the window seat, but you can have it if you prefer.” You offer softly, he tilts his head a bit at you.
“You don’t want it?”
“I am a little afraid of heights. I should really be medicated for this.” You nervously fidget, he nods, understandingly, bending over to shut the curtain. You smile. “You don’t have to do all that.”
“I don’t mind, I fly all the time for work, nothing new to me. How scared of flying are you?”
“Well… I have never flown.”
“Oh shit.”
“Yeah…”
“Why-” He’s cut off then, as the attendants all start to come, asking everyone to get in their seats, you grow a little nervous, sitting back in the large comfy seat, and you try to snap the seatbelt, but your hands are shaking.
Suguru Geto, you now know his name, leans over you then, and his eyes meet yours for a moment.
“Can I help?”
“Yes, please. Sorry.” You are trembling as he reaches across your body, sending shockwaves through you, the mix of nerves from the plane and some crazy reaction to him messing with you. He snaps it shut and smiles.
“Why say sorry, you’re fine.” He goes to strap himself in, and they announce there might be turbulence. You struggle to breathe, hands clutching the arm rests with a death grip. “Hey, can we get her a drink? After we take off?”
“Of course. I’ll bring some shots.” The attendant says, and you’re just sitting there, eyes shut, and you inhale his cologne, it smells woodsy and fresh. You focus on that for a moment.
“It’ll be okay.” He murmurs, you peer at him, one eye open, surely looking foolish as you’re insane tense, but he is just… calm.
“Thank you, Geto… or Suguru? Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.” He sighs, and his hand hovers over yours, not touching but just an inch away, and you open both your eyes now, breath catching. “You can call me either name. My friends call me Suguru. Do you… want me to…”
“Could you? Is it weird?” He shakes his head, and then he’s holding your hand, entwining his fingers through yours, his hand is so big and warm, the touch makes you feel safe. You exhale, smiling up at him.
“Better?”
“Much. Thank you.” He just nods, and you awkwardly look away a bit, squeezing his hand as you feel the shaking, as you all begin to take off, you start to panic, but he is there.
“Hey, look at me.” You do as he asks, getting lost in his eyes for a moment, in his calm presence. “You’re doing great.”
“I’m a mess.” You tease, he shakes his head though, his thumb is brushing against the back of your hand in little circles now.
“Just focus on me. You got this. Almost up there.” You nod, and you just stare into his eyes, you get lost in them for a moment, and it’s electrifying, holding this man’s hands and just looking at each other.
“Fuck… it’s peaceful for once.” You whisper, he looks at you, curiosity in his eyes, his lips part just a bit.
“Peaceful?”
“In my mind. That’s new.” He opens his mouth to say something, but soon you all are up in the sky, your ears pop, it feels so weird. You put a hand to them, and he laughs a little.
“That part is annoying, isn’t it? But we’re up now.” The plane stabilizes, and you exhale, insanely grateful, you don’t let go of his hand, looking down at where they’re joined. He has strong hands, you notice, a little calloused, veins popping out the backs of them…
“Your drinks, miss.” The pretty attendant comes up to you, and you notice you’d gotten lost in thought. You clear your throat, smiling and letting go of his hand reluctantly.
“Thanks so much! Oh, that’s a lot.” You tease, she smiles over at Geto then, batting her lashes and leaning over, handing him some too. She then hands you both sparkling waters.
“I figure I’d bring you both some. Let me know if you need anything.” She puts a hand on your shoulder, winking down at you.
“Thanks, we appreciate it very much.” Suguru says, and you watch the attendant swoon just a bit, you can’t blame her.
“So, taking a shot together are we?” You ask, mischievously, he nods, and twists the little top off both of your airport bottles.
“Why don’t we? Cheers.” You two clink the little plastic mini bottles together, laughing a bit and then you shoot it down, it burns a bit, and your eyes water.
“Oh shit, strong.” You sip the water, nibbling on the little lemon, she’d left a few on a little plate for you two. Suguru reaches for it at the same time, and your hands brush again, your thighs brush together. The fabric of his slacks feels sinfully good against your bare thigh.
“I’ve drank stronger.” He winks at you, you giggle again. Fuck. “So… you said ‘peaceful’ for once. I’m flattered, but can I ask what you meant?”
You sigh, fidgeting with the hem of your dress. He unseat belts both of you, then, you smile gratefully. “You don’t wanna hear this story. It’s kinda pathetic.”
He frowns now, straight brows low over his eyes. “What do you mean, pathetic? We have a long flight and I don't mind talking.”
“Maybe tell me about you first, I’m sure it’s better.”
He turns a bit toward you, leaning the seat back, you struggle not to stare as the white dress shirt stretches over his broad chest. “I’m just doing a business trip, we are buying property out there, a hotel casino. So I’m closing the deal.”
“Business man, I kinda figured.” You touch his collar casually, then yank your hand back, flushing. “I’m sorry…”
“Ah-ah. Stop apologizing so much.” He brushes a bit of your hair back that had fallen out of your messy bun. Your heart races from just that. “But yes, I am a business man I guess. I run Kamo tower with my best friend, and we run a lot of things together, he’s been my best friend since… forever?”
“That’s so cute!”
“Cute?”
“Mmhmm! Another shot?” He nods, watching you with amusement plain on his handsome features, and you two take another shot together. “Whoo!”
“You’re cute.” He says softly, and you freeze then, brows raised. How could he call you cute when he was some… “Pretty actually. But also cute.”
“Well thank you… but you’re stupidly fucking hot.” His high cheekbones tinge with pink for a moment, and he laughs a little, you cover your mouth in shock. “Shit, that shot got me! I’m so sorry, that was…”
“No, it was cute. And no apologies.”
“Fuck I say sorry a lot.”
“You really do. And you’ve got a mouth on you.” He sucks on a lemon, and you wonder at how he makes it look so fucking seductive.
“I actually never cussed before…”
“Yeah, your story. Why on a plane, alone, for the first time ever?”
Your heart hammers in your chest, you were enjoying this beautiful little moment, having fun even, and it wasn’t even on your mind. Now it rushed back in waves, as the buzz from the couple shots over takes you, as this handsome man who’s actually super nice and funny studies you, waiting. You feel emotion prick your eyes.
“Welp… the short story is I got led on for five years, and then… Well, I got jilted at the wedding.”
Suguru’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and his brow creased in confusion. “What now?”
“Yeah… this is my honeymoon. Whoo!” You crack open another shot, and he joins you, shaking his head and exhaling.
“Well, shit. How?”
“I was stupid, he never even… fuck that’d be too much info… Basically I never dated anyone or did shit, just waiting for him… he’d spend a couple months getting me hooked, then get with another girl. I don’t know, I felt like I wasn’t good enough for him and I deserved it.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. So finally, he asks me to marry him, we plan this whole thing… This is the ring. Not sure what I’m doing with it.” You show him the ring on your chain wrapped around your neck, his eyes linger there. “So I think the wait is worth it, right? He’s finally gotten his fill of women, beautiful women, confident women.”
“I’ll stop you there.” He holds up his hand. Fuck you’re annoying him, you think to yourself, feeling instantly sad and looking down. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his serious gaze, and emotions are stuck in your throat. “You’re a beautiful girl, I really won’t deal with you talking down about yourself. Not around me.”
“Th-thank you, Geto.” You smile a little tremulously. “My confidence has been shit these years.”
“I see that. Continue on.” He pulls his hand off, and you miss the contact, for some reason your hand rests on his forearm, he doesn’t move it. You fidget with his sleeve for a few moments.
“Well, okay, so he ended up… coming to the wedding in his casual clothes, jeans and a tee shirt, and he has a girl in his arms.”
“Fuck.”
“Mmhmm. And he just lets me know, in front of everyone, that he cannot marry me, because he realizes what he’d be missing out on.”
“What a fucking dick.”
“Everyone has been saying that for years. I just stupidly thought that I deserved to be treated that way, because I was just lucky to have any of his attention.”
“So… gaslit like a motherfucker?”
You giggle, nodding. “Yeah, that sums it up. But I let him do it, I blew everyone else off, I have no experience because of myself. Not just him.”
“Taking some responsibility is fine, but I think you can just blame this little shit head to be honest. That’s just wrong.”
“It is. But in a way, I’m thankful, imagine if I was with him fully… I… oh shit, please ignore that.” Geto’s brows were raised, and you slammed a hand on your mouth, trying to shut up the loose tongue the liquor and the ease of talking to him gave you at that moment.
“You all didn’t even-” You shake your head. “How?”
“I had some dumb romantic idea that it’d be the wedding night or something, it was what he kept saying. That he fucked all these girls so we would wait, because I am just so special. I’m like the last virgin in Japan.”
“Well, now we’re flying so. Just the only virgin on the plane.” You burst out laughing at that, he’s grinning at you.
“Oh god… no one really even knows but my best friends and my mom, and even they just found out. Now you, random plane stranger.” You realize you’re still playing with his sleeve and ease your fingers off.
“You’re young, though, plenty of time for those things.”
“I’m almost twenty five. This week.”
“Young. I’m about to be thirty.”
“That’s like the same age, silly.” You poke at his shoulder, he smirks. “Everyone fucks but me, isn’t it tragic?”
“So tragic.” He taps your nose teasingly. “You’re a walking Shakespeare story, a whole Juliet.”
“I am! I’ll die a virgin. Woe is me.” He’s snorting now, and you two take one more shot together, the alcohol making you warm and fuzzy, your head is floating a little, but his company does much, much more.
“You will not die a virgin, I assure you. But, I suggest to make it special, if you’ve waited this long.” His voice grows a little serious.
“Nah, Maki said I just need to get railed by an island boy.” Suguru nearly spits out his drink at that, eyes widening.
“Jesus christ. I mean, who am I to judge?” His shoulders are shaking with laughter now.
“I have sexy bikinis now, so.”
“Do you…” His lips purse just a bit, his voice hitting a seductive octave, it sends shivers through you. You nod. “Ah, well… and what resort are you staying at? Maybe I’ll have to go to the pool there.”
“You’d be hounded if you’re topless anywhere I imagine.” You bite your lip, and your fingertips trail down his chest for just a moment, before you clear your throat, peering at him through your lashes. “A whole honeymoon suite, alone.”
“Nah, you can have several island boys.”
“An orgy for the first time!”
You’re both loud in the quiet plane, garnering looks, but neither of you care, you just continue laughing and talking. Not once do either of you check your phones, do either of you do much of anything but talk. And it’s easy? It’s not difficult, or troubling, you feel this weight off your chest, at this gorgeous man who for some reason is listening to your bullshit.
You all eat lunch together, and don’t bother watching the movie they put on, you’re just talking more as everyone has their headphones on, focusing. His hand goes to your thigh for a few moments, before he thinks better of it, you brush back his bangs that keep falling forward out of his top knot, trying to ignore how good and silky his hair feels.
Suguru Geto is a life saver.
You even forget you’re up high, forget you’re scared of heights, you literally damn near forget you’re on your honeymoon alone. But there’s a twinge of sadness, as you realize surely this man must have a woman, or must be into someone more glamorous, that you’d probably not see him again after this. Was he just being nice? Did he feel sorry for you?
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks quietly, it was the evening and people were settling to sleep before you landed.
“You’ve been so nice to me, you didn’t have to be. Just… thank you, Suguru Geto. For being so sweet.”
“You’re just easy and fun to talk to. It’s no effort here.” He says softly, and for a moment you think wild thoughts, like straddling him then and there, like feeling that hard body on yours, tasting his lips. You’re drawn to them, swallowing nervously. “I am glad if I’ve made you feel any better, you’re going through alot.”
“You have, really.” An attendant comes out, and hands you all a little champagne, you two clink your glasses together. “Cheers to this super hot passenger sitting next to me.”
He grins at you, winking. “Cheers to this super hot virgin.”
“Oh god!” You two cheers, then sip, and the bubbles hit your lips, the tart flavor delicious on your tongue. “I’ll miss you and I just met you!”
“I mean… I’ll be there for a week. I could squeeze in time to see you in this bikini you’re bragging about.”
“Oh would you?” You lean forward, he does too, and you’re too close, your lips are nearly touching. His hand brushes your hair back, now loose and flowing, you inhale sharply as desire hits you, hot and hard.
“Mmm, I could. I guess I needed to get away a bit too. My best friend is married now, my other best friend is engaged… I guess I felt a little out of place.”
“Hey, it could be worse, you could be me.”
“You’re mean to yourself.” He frowns a bit, and cups your face, thumb brushing along your jawline. Your free hand goes to his chest, feeling hard muscles against your little hand. “I don’t like it.”
“I know. I’m hoping this trip will give me some time to think about things, to find myself again. I feel… lost.”
“Lost?” You nod, he’s still got your face in his grip as you both whisper now to each other, the plane is oddly quiet. “I get that. You’ll find yourself. Promise.”
You smile at that, then on impulse, you lean in further, until your lips are in a ghost of a kiss, and you can taste the champagne on his breath, mixed with something sweet you couldn’t describe. His eyes are looking down at you, his hand pauses it’s caresses, now just sitting there.
The tension makes you ache.
After a moment, you ease back some, embarrassed then at yourself. “Shit, I’m so sorry, it’s been a long day and I’m a little-”
He pulls you to him, and you’re back against his chest, his lips just an inch away, tempting as fuck. Desire pools in your tummy. “Shush.”
“Shush?”
He nods, then his lips descend, and it feels as if every nerve ending you had is on fire, his lips hot and firm, pressing against yours, soft and pliant, molding to the shape of his. You let out an embarrassing little moan, then his hands are setting down your glasses, and they’re on your waist, he’s kissing you again, deeper, pulling back to meet your eyes.
Your hands go to cup his face, then he’s got your lips again, as you gasp he slides his tongue in, hot as it slides against your own. Your nipples tighten against your dress, an ache between your thighs building, as his strong hands are burning through the thin fabric, as you’re meeting his kisses. You’re intoxicated by him.
“Fuck…” He whispers, and it’s so hot you can’t even think, you’re getting wet from just a damn kiss, with a stranger, the day after your failed wedding.
And you fucking love it.
You both look into each other's eyes, shocked at what you both were feeling, when suddenly the plane starts shaking. You curse, holding on tight to him, eyes shut, he’s holding on, the pilot announces that you all are close, and the attendants start waking everyone up. You ease back, lips red from his kisses, your eyes are glittering, and he is staring at you.
You all disentangle, and it’s quiet. The banter is gone, it’s awkward… Did you ruin this? Fuck were you desperate?
“We’re landing, you want to hold my hand?” He asks in a few minutes, you nod gratefully, strapping in and doing so. Your chest is still heaving, the memory of that kiss flooding through you. You’d kissed before, obviously, and thought they were something special…
Nope, they were all shit.
That kiss?
That’s the one you had dreamt of.
Eventually you two disembark, and you both stay together, now a little awkward as you all talk, you both head over to the baggage claim area, waiting impatiently for your suitcase to appear on the carousel. You and Suguru are shoulder to shoulder, he’s peeking at his phone now.
“There they are.” You snatch up your bags, as does he, now you’re over where all the cars are, you set out to hail a cab.
“I have a car, if you want me to take you?” He offers, and you smile at him, nodding.
“You’re the freaking best!”
“I try.” You pause when you see the fancy black car, luxurious, he opens the door for you, bowing. You giggle, sliding in, and you two are alone, in the back of the car, and you try to rein it in, the desire, the feelings he brings in you in waves.
“Thanks so much. Really… would you be against exchanging-” His phone rings then, cutting you off.
“One moment, love.” His words make you melt. You watch as he answers the phone, then watch his face turn into a glare, eyes rolling. “Shit, what? Okay… so find me another? I don’t care what it costs. Okay… how is it all booked? Fuck…”
“What’s wrong?” You mouth, he mutes the call.
“My room is booked, and apparently there’s none for two days.”
“Well… stay with me.”
“What?” He looks at you in surprise, with raised brows, you fidget a little in your seat, tucking your hair behind your ear.
“I have a giant suite, look I’ll show you.” He hangs up the call, and you pull up the location of the suite on your phone, showing him the massive honeymoon suite, it was embarrassingly romantic. “It’s way too big for me. You wouldn’t even have to deal with me much either, you could just do your thing.”
“Are you sure about this? I can’t ask that of you.”
“A hundred percent. You really helped me so much on that plane, and you’re even letting me share this ride, let me return the favor.”
“You’re comfortable though? With me staying?” You nod, and wonder at yourself, he was a stranger essentially, a stranger you had kissed, a stranger you really want to kiss again.
“You make me feel very comfortable. I can just tell you’re a good guy? I don’t know… it wouldn’t bother me. Plus, there’s a pullout sofa in the living room so we don’t have to share the bed or something silly.”
You both are quiet, you’re both thinking about that, about one bed…
Fuck.
“Can I pay for some of it then?” He offers, you shake your head. “I’ll feel really bad if I don’t.”
“I’m good, I paid for it months ago.”
“Can I buy you dinner or something then?”
“You sure can.” You smile up at him, he sighs, nodding then.
“All right. I really appreciate this, love. I promise you can trust me.” He takes your hand then, and your mouth waters, that ache throbbing steadily as his seductive eyes look into yours.
“Perfect gentleman are you?” You tease, he kisses your hand, his look smoldering you.
“I will be. Promise.”
“Maybe don’t be a perfect one though?”
He blinks in shock. “Huh?”
“Huh?”
You giggle, and he snorts, rolling his eyes at you. “You’re still sauced from the plane ride. You definitely need food.”
“Maybe so. You wanna tell the driver the address?”
“Yes. And thank you. I’ll be a good roommate for the week.” His hand is on your thigh, and he’s leaning forward, showing the driver where to go.
Suguru Geto, this gorgeous man who you’d kissed, a stranger essentially, he’s going to be staying in your honeymoon suite.
Yeah.
Have you lost it?
Chapter 2
Ao3 link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56577688/chapters/143798470
you learn that early on. the way satoru gojo exists in the world—larger than life, a force of nature disguised as a man—means that you're always sharing him. with the jujutsu world, with his students, with the endless parade of missions and meetings and responsibilities that come with being the honored one.
you knew what you were signing up for when you fell for him. but knowing and living are two very different things.
so when suguru geto—his best friend, his other half, the one person who can match him wit for wit and stare for stare—starts looking at you a little longer than necessary, you tell yourself it's nothing. when his hand brushes yours passing the salt shaker at dinner, you ignore the shiver that runs down your spine.
when he finds you alone in the kitchen during one of satoru's rare nights home, leaning against the counter with that lazy, knowing smile, you pretend not to notice the way your heart races.
"he's late again," suguru says, voice smooth as honey. "surprised?"
"he's busy."
"he's always busy." suguru pushes off the counter and steps closer. close enough that you can smell his warm and woodsy cologne. "you deserve better than 'busy,' don't you think?"
you should step back. you should say something, anything, to shut this down. but your feet are rooted to the floor, and your mouth is dry, and when his hand comes up to cup your jaw, you lean into it like a flower turning toward the sun.
"tell me to stop," he murmurs, thumb tracing your lower lip.
you don't.
and that's how you end up here: bent over the kitchen counter, suguru's chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he fucks you slow and deep. your fingers grip the edge of the marble, knuckles white, biting your lip to keep from crying out.
"shh," he purrs, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other gripping your hip. "gotta be quiet, pretty girl. wouldn't want satoru to hear, would we?"
the words send a thrill through you, shame and pleasure tangled so tight you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. you shake your head, a broken motion.
"good girl."
he picks up the pace, just slightly, and you bury your face in your arm, muffling the moan that threatens to escape. the rhythm of his hips is relentless, driving into you with a precision that speaks to experience, to knowing exactly what he's doing. his teeth graze your shoulder.
"f-fuck—suguru—"
"that's it. say my name. tell me who's making you feel this good."
you do. over and over, a desperate litany, until the world narrows to the heat of his body and the slide of him inside you and the terrible, thrilling knowledge of what you're doing.
but neither of you hear the front door open.
neither of you hear the footsteps, light and cautious, approaching the kitchen.
neither of you notice until a voice cuts through the haze, casual and bright, with an edge sharp enough to draw blood.
"since when do you like fucking from the back?"
you freeze. every muscle in your body locks up. suguru stills behind you, but he doesn't pull out. instead, he lets out a slow, controlled breath, almost like he's been expecting this.
"satoru," he says, and there's no guilt in his voice. no shame. just a lazy amusement that makes your blood run cold.
you turn your head, heart hammering, and there he is. satoru gojo, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted. his sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, revealing those impossibly blue eyes. he's smiling. that's the worst part. he's smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"oh, please. don't stop on my account," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "i was just coming to grab a snack, but i can see you're already... occupied."
"satoru—" your voice cracks. tears prick at your eyes. "i-i'm sorry—i didn't mean—"
"didn't mean to?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "didn't mean to what, exactly? fall onto suguru's dick? because from where i'm standing, it looks pretty intentional."
suguru chuckles, low and dark, and you feel the sound vibrate through his chest, still pressed against your back. "language, satoru. you're scaring her."
"oh, i'm scaring her? that's rich, coming from the guy currently balls-deep in my girlfriend."
you flinch at the word. girlfriend. the reality of what you've done crashes over you like a wave, cold and suffocating. you try to pull away, but suguru's hand on your hip tightens, holding you in place.
"let me go," you whisper, voice shaking.
"not yet," suguru murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "we're not done."
you look at satoru, expecting rage. expecting hurt. expecting him to storm out, to curse you out, to break things. but instead, he's watching you both with an expression you can't quite read. his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. his breathing has changed—shallow, quick.
"toru—"
"no, no, keep going." he takes a step closer, then another, until he's standing right beside you. he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. "i want to watch."
your breath catches. "what?"
"you heard me." his gaze flicks to suguru over your shoulder, and something passes between them—a silent conversation, years of friendship distilled into a single look. "you've been wanting this for a while, haven't you, suguru?"
suguru's smile widens. "can you blame me?"
"no." satoru's hand trails down your cheek, your neck, coming to rest on your collarbone. "she is pretty when she's being fucked, isn't she?"
you're trembling, caught between them, unsure if this is real or some kind of cruel dream. "i don't understand—"
"you don't have to understand," satoru says, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead, soft and tender. "just let us take care of you."
suguru begins to move again, slow at first, testing. satoru's eyes never leave yours, watching every flicker of expression, every bitten-back moan. his hand slides down, wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just resting there. a reminder of his presence.
"look at you," satoru breathes, wonder in his voice. "taking us both so well. such a dirty girl, aren't you?"
"i'm sorry," you gasp, tears spilling over. "i'm so sorry—"
"stop apologizing." his thumb brushes away a tear. "i'm not mad. i could never be mad at you." he glances at suguru, a smirk tugging at his lips. "him, maybe. but not you."
suguru huffs a laugh, increasing his pace. "flattering."
"shut up and fuck her properly."
and suguru does. he drives into you with renewed vigor, each stroke hitting deeper, harder, while satoru holds your gaze, his hand warm and steady on your throat. the dual sensation—suguru's relentless rhythm, satoru's possessive touch—sends you spiraling, your orgasm building fast and fierce.
"that's it," satoru murmurs, watching your face contort. "let go. we've got you."
you shatter with a cry, your body convulsing around suguru, who follows moments later with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside you. he stays there, breath ragged, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
for a long moment, no one moves. then suguru pulls out, and you slump forward, barely catching yourself on the counter. satoru catches you, pulling you into his arms, cradling you against his chest.
❝suguru geto thought he was all alone in the world – until he found you. his muse, his lover, and eventually, his biggest mistake❞
WC 11.2k
CONTENT mdni, heavy angst, smut, some fluff too, vampire au, A LOT of blood, murder, blood drinking, depression, suicidal ideation (implied), trauma, yearning, heavy pining, suguru is obsessed with you, extremely avoidant reader, falling in love, first kiss, making out, oral (f+m receiving), piv sex, timeskips, arguments, love confessions, doomed love kinda, happy ending
A/N this is inspired by "interview with the vampire". art by @/chosoenjoy3r + dividers by @droideplane & @uzmacchiato
What does it mean to be lonely?
Not just in the physical sense. Being alone is a fact of life, an empirical truth that cannot be escaped – but being lonely? That's different.
Lonely is when you lose all hope of not being alone.
When your environment has consistently been empty, devoid of familiar faces and friendly touch for far too long. Then that feeling starts to slowly make its way inside, weave itself in through the very fabric of your being, starting to take hold and germinate like weeds in a garden.
Until the emptiness is fully settled inside.
Empty.
Devoid of hope.
Numb.
A black void of nothing.
The worst thing a vampire could be was lonely.
That's what Suguru Geto used to think.
Back when he roamed the earth alone, destined to walk moonlit streets only, seeking his prey in the dark. It was a life he had grown accustomed to, but every single time he hunted, he was hoping he could find someone else. Just one person.
One person to exchange a kind word with. A soft caress maybe, to breathe life back into this dead body of his.
Just someone like him. Who understood.
The worst thing a vampire could be was lonely, Suguru thought before he met you. Now he knows the pain of heartbreak was far greater.
Because how cruel does this cursed existence have to be, to give one a sliver of hope – and then brutally take it all away again?
You made Suguru realised he wasn't a dark void after all, because if his heart hurt this much, it was surely still there.
Dead, unmoving, but there.
It changed everything.
You changed everything.
You.
In all his years, no – centuries alone, you finally came to him like an angel in the night. Dripping in blood, the red crimson mixing with your skin and glowing under the full moon.
You hadn't noticed him straight away, which he thought amusing. Considering the amount of work Suguru had put into his stealth abilities, he was glad to see it could work even on those of his kind. It also gave him just a few seconds longer to just…watch.
You were pinning down someone under you, teeth deep into their neck as you gorged yourself. Nothing more than an animal at that point, reminding Suguru of the worst part of his condition. But such a primitive, hideous sight was made mesmerizing by you.
You were like a painter.
Blood was your ink. The street was your canvas.
Did you know he was watching? Was that why you took your time in that way?
Suguru always drank with nothing but disgust for himself, swallowing the other person's essence as fast as he could as if a quick death was somehow an apology.
Such a disgusting act shouldn't be made so beautiful.
Where had you even come from?
Suguru had roamed this continent for years and had never met anyone else.
Here you were – the answer to all his prayers. Maybe they weren't going on deaf years after all. Maybe he still deserved a little respite, despite being what he was.
Suguru wanted to cry, but he held it in so to not disturb you. The worst thing that could happen was startle you and have you ran away.
At that moment though, he had decided he'd follow you to the ends of the earth if he had to.
An odd promise made to someone not even aware of his existence yet, but Suguru was desperate – he needed you. Hadn't even met you, but he fucking needed you.
You finally tilted your head upwards, fangs fully on show, red on white.
And then you saw him.
He noticed how your eyes immediately met his, like an invisible thread had pulled you to him. The eyes of a beast, deformed like his were, an unnatural colour that matched the blood you were wiping from your chin.
Suguru saw you get ready to run away, with the way your legs tensed and your posture rearranged. But he was quick to put his hands up, taking a quiet step in your direction.
You cocked your head sideways, assessing. Understanding.
And then your beautiful lips parted.
"How long have you been watching?" you finally asked, the small hint of a prideful smirk tugging at the edges of your lips.
What a beautiful sound it was. Suguru couldn't breathe – your voice was nearly as gorgeous as your beautiful face, now fully visible to him.
You were his salvation. He was sure of it.
An angel sent from above. Or… below, in this case.
"I didn't know there were others" he heard himself say, voice shaking just like the hands he hid in his pockets; too worried of anything that might make you look down on him.
You stared at him for a moment. Taking him in, your head tilted in curiosity.
And then your posture dropped a little, less guarded and more sad. Pitiful, even.
"How long have you been alone?"
That's when the first tears started pouring out of Suguru's red eyes, his body reacting to your question before his mind could.
He felt himself sink to his knees, falling to your feet, tears spilling and spilling like they hadn't in years. Probably not since before he had lost his mortality.
You could have run away. Could have laughed at him, thought him weak like his maker had, and left to find your next victim.
To expect compassion from a vampire was far beyond reason.
But you didn't do that.
Instead, you walked towards him. Slowly, carefully, maybe even wondering if this had been a trap. It didn't hurt to be cautious, not in this world. Not for who you were.
You lowered yourself on your knees – so close, much closer than he had been to anyone he didn't intend on drinking blood from in the past centuries. And then you extended a tentative hand, and cupped his cheek.
"I know what it's like" you murmured.
Suguru didn't mean to throw himself at you like he had, but all reason had left him the second you spoke to him so kindly. His arms crossed your back, pulling you into him and crashing onto you at the same time, crying onto your chest so loud it might alert other people to the crime scene you currently found yourselves on.
But nothing else mattered at that moment.
He had found you.
His angel.
The feeling of arms around his back was foreign to him at this point – how long had it been since someone pulled him in instead of away? Since someone held him?
Your skin was as cold as his, but he could swear his heart felt warm.
And as Suguru cried tears of grief and of relief, you slowly caressed his long strands, shushing him with gentleness a creature like him did not deserve.
Suguru wasn't even sure how long you held him like that. So patient.
You were perfect.
He took you to his apartment that night – you were surprised he even had one. But in all his years alive, or, dead, really, he felt a bit of comfort was necessary. After too long roaming aimlessly, Suguru just wanted a home.
He just never expected he'd actually get to invite someone in, and expose a little more of himself than he had intended. But Suguru wanted to try.
You told him your name. An old sound, not native to this land and maybe, to any of the modern day. But you refused to say more; to tell him who was your maker or how long you had been like this, so Suguru didn't pry.
You wanted to move forward, you explained. Look ahead instead of behind. That sounded great to him – Suguru was never able to look at anywhere but the past. His regrets. The wrong turns he had made. Maybe you could help change that.
Another curious thing about you was that you didn't speak of your vampire condition with hatred at all. To you, living forever was exciting, not a curse. You spoke of lands you wished to see and things you still wanted to do.
The world changed every day and you were changing with it. It was a beautiful perspective, something he had never even considered.
But when he asked of the things you missed, you stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
"What's the point of reminiscing" you scoffed, and Suguru could tell there was a splinter there somewhere.
"I am sorry, I didn't mean to–"
"Don't be" you interrupted, looking him in the eyes once more. If he had a living heart, it would have beat faster, he was sure of it. "Are you hungry?" you squinted, so good at reading him already.
"I try not to over indulge" he explained. He worried you might call him weak for admitting he hated to kill, but you seemed more confused than anything.
"It's almost dawn" you muttered. "Will you be ok until nightfall?"
Were you worried about him?
"I am used to it" he tried to smile.
You were still not convinced.
"You don't like the taste?" you asked, one brow raising as if trying to conceal your judgment.
"It's not that, it's–" he struggled with his words, letting out a long sigh. "I don't like inflicting pain"
Your lips turned into an almost smile, amused. "But you're a vampire" you said, as if he didn't already know.
"Am I?" he teased, letting out a self deprecating chuckle.
You laughed with him. Head falling forwards just slightly, your pointy teeth in full display as you let out the sweetest laugh he had heard in centuries.
"I'd assume so" you teased back. "Fangs, check. Red eyes, check" you paused, humming with a finger to your chin. "Perhaps you are just a deformed human?"
Suguru laughed with you. "I haven't seen my face in years, but I'd hope it wasn't deformed"
"No" you smiled. "It's a very handsome face"
That gave him pause, his mouth hanging open before he could blurt out the next taunt in your back and forth.
You thought he was handsome?
He had heard it often, back when he was alive. But being unable to see his reflection was one of the curses of a vampire.
Truth was, he didn't even remember his human face anymore.
"It is?" he asked, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
"It is" you smiled. And then you brought your hand to his face, a single finger ghosting over his cold skin. You took your time in tracing every curve and ridge of his skin, your eyes tracking your finger like you were making a mental map for later.
"I like the shape of your eyes" you murmured. "And of your cheeks"
Suguru almost pulled you into a kiss right then, but he was left completely frozen under your touch. It had been years, no – centuries, since someone touched him with such kindness. Looked at him like something to admire instead of fear.
"How is mine?" you asked suddenly, dropping your hand despite how much he wanted you to keep going.
"What?" he murmured, like snapping back from a trance.
"How is my face?" you repeated.
Oh, he smiled, unsure of where even to start. Suguru had many words for it. Beautiful, mesmerising, gorgeous.
But instead, he said–
"I could show you"
Your eyebrows immediately drew closer, head tilting to the side in confusion.
"What do you mean?" you asked.
"I can draw" he nodded to the small notebook lying on the table, some white pages scattered around it. "Would you like me to draw you?"
It was your turn to be completely frozen in place now. He could have sworn your lower lip wobbled a little, tears starting to form in your beautiful eyes, though you swallowed them as best as you could.
"Could you?" you asked. "I don't even remember what I look like"
"I know what that's like" he echoed the words you had said earlier in the evening.
Something happened between the two of you then.
One of those things only poets could really do justice. It felt like that invisible thread had tugged the two of you just a little closer.
And in your face, a myriad of emotions – gratitude. Acknowledgment. Kinship between monsters, who didn't feel very monstrous at all in this moment in time.
Suguru pulled out his materials – parchment paper and ink, while his model watched patiently.
"How do you want me?" you asked, sounding a little nervous, if he had heard it right.
There were a million ways Suguru could answer that question.
"You're perfect just like that" he replied.
Your eyes blinked, whole face tensing before it relaxed finally, and you sat back a little more on the sofa you shared.
"It's mean to tease" you complained with an adorable frown.
"It's just the truth" he hummed, starting to prepare.
The first step was looking at his subject. Suguru took his time to take in every little detail of your expression, unable to ignore how you struggled to hold his gaze or how you tried to force your lips to not smile.
How did he get this lucky?
Eventually the pen did touch the paper, tracing dark lines carefully, hoping his hands would be skilled enough to capture even a fraction of your charm.
You waited calmly, the most patient subject he had ever had. It had been a long while since anyone allowed him to paint them like this – not since this cursed had removed him from society and life.
He had long felt unable to walk among the living.
But now with you, he'd happily walk among the dead.
"Let me see" you said as soon as his hands put the pen down. Not that patient, it seemed.
Suguru turned the paper around, and your hands wrapped around it to bring them closer. Your eyes darted from one corner of the page to the other, taking in everything, every single thing.
"It's beautiful" you whispered.
"You are" Suguru agreed.
You turned to him, and he noticed you were crying.
"Is this what I look like?" you asked, holding the drawing close.
It was Suguru's turn to cup your cheek, thumb brushing under your eyes. "I was only able to capture a fraction of your beauty"
You swallowed thickly, lip trembling, and then you turned to the picture again. "They used to say I had my mother's eyes" you whispered, brushing a finger over the drawing. "I haven't seen her eyes in years"
Suguru didn't know what to say to that. He didn't remember his family's faces either.
You looked back at him, clutching the drawing to your chest.
"Thank you" you whispered among the tears.
Suguru couldn't take it any longer.
He leaned forwards, slamming his lips across yours as your hands gladly found his long strands, pulling him desperately closer to you.
How long had it been since he had been kissed?
He couldn't even remember.
Your mouth eagerly parted for him, accepting him, inviting him, your own tongue searching for his as neither of you cared about how messy you were. Lips, tongues, teeth – all slamming together in a dance of pure need.
He only noticed you were bleeding when he felt the metallic taste on his tongue, reawakening his empty stomach. "I'm sorry–" he said, kissing your lips over and over where he had impulsively bitten them.
But you laughed. "Are you that hungry?" you teased.
"I couldn't help it, I–" he tried to explain.
I just wanted you whole, is what he would have said, maybe. I just need you too much.
But your laugh once again interrupted all thoughts going through his head.
He watched you bring your forearm to your mouth, biting right in the middle of it, and extending the dripping red to him.
"You can feast on me" you said. "I'm already dead"
Suguru didn't know if you were taunting him for his comment earlier, but he gratefully accepted. Vampire blood wouldn't fill him up like human, but it would definitely help quench his hunger.
His lips closed where you had bitten your skin, swallowing your essence as his eyes closed and his throat hummed.
No one had ever tasted this sweet.
He was lost in it. Addicted from a single taste.
His hands held each side of your arm, pulling you closer to him as he gorged on you.
And then you made a sound – small, unintentional, and beautiful. Suguru snapped his fox eyes open to look at you, your mouth open in pleasure as the sweetest whimpers escaped your lips.
Suguru's lips immediately left your forearm to find yours again, needing to swallow your symphony. "Did you like that?" he asked, hands traveling to your waist and lower, settling on your hips where you rolled them with abandon, grinding against his.
"Yeah" you moaned, nodding your head and desperately holding his face.
Suguru didn't need any more encouragement.
His mouth traveled to your neck this time, fangs sinking into your flesh in a blink, your whole body convulsing at the contact.
"Fuck–" you whimpered, as Suguru kept drinking from you, stealing your blood like you had stolen his unbeating heart.
His whole body was caging you in, his hands encouraging your hips to keep moving as you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him further into you.
"Suguru" you moaned his name, and he was gone.
His hands moved from your hips to your middle, easily tearing the fabric of the clothes you wore, and you looked at him wide eyed with an amused smile, the red still dripping from your neck along the curve of your collarbone.
Suguru repositioned himself, bringing his body lower and forcing your legs to your chest, desperate to taste all of you.
In a quick movement, he was bunching his long hair into a bun, eyes hypnotized by the sight of you, naked, legs open in invitation.
"You're beautiful" he whispered, finally sinking his head between your thighs. He inhaled your scent, so sweet it was intoxicating, and licked a long stripe along your underwear that made your whole body jolt up.
He was sure your strength could match his, but you didn't complain when he pinned you down fully and gave your underwear the same treatment the rest of your clothes had gotten, the tearing sound of the fabric echoing in the room until you were fully exposed.
How long had it been?
Suguru felt something close to anxiety in his stomach, worried he wouldn't know how to satisfy you properly. It had been decades of no practice, after all.
But your hand closed around his, urging him with a single blink of your long eyelashes, bottom lip caught between your fangs like you needed him to.
Suddenly all worry was gone, and the only thing left in the world was you.
Suguru lowered himself, tongue licking a flat strip along your slit, and your other hand searched for his hair, pulling strands off the loose bun he had hastily put together.
He took his time exploring, learning what you liked, paying attention to each little reaction. He was so grateful you let him be here. So grateful you had stumbled into his life.
"Right here?" he asked, smiling against your folds when you let out a particularly loud moan.
"Mmh" you shook your head yes desperately, rocking your hips on his face, and Suguru thought himself the happiest man unalive. "Right there, please, Sugu–"
"You're so pretty when you beg" he smiled, dragging his tongue along the same spot that had you seeing stars.
Your moans kept building and building, echoing through the walls of his small apartment.
"Close already?" he asked, feeling just a little bit smug at how quickly he was making you unravel. Perhaps this wasn't a talent easily lost.
"It's been–ngh–a long time" you explained, hands gripping his shoulders, body folding inwards.
Suguru watched you fall apart on his tongue and it was the most beautiful thing he'd witnessed in all his years.
But not only that – it felt almost a little special, that it also had been a long time for you.He wasn't sure why he had assumed the contrary, but he hated to think life had been as lonely for you as it had for him.
Your nails dug so deep into his shoulders they drew blood now, but you didn't seem to notice in your daze. Gods, Suguru wished he could see you like this every day to the rest of eternity.
He finally stood up, removing each article of clothing slowly, as his smug grin followed each tremble of the aftershocks of your orgasm.
Beautiful.
Your eyes followed each new uncovered inch of him. His defined shoulders, his veiny forearms. How his bun came loose and fell along his broad back, dark strands brushing over the skin of his defined chest.
He was handsome. Perfectly chiselled and perfectly defined like he had been created to bring you to your knees.
And to your knees it brought you. You swiftly pushed yourself off the sofa to kneel in front of this magnificent, beautifully unnatural man, as your fingers hooked to the edge of his trousers, the last bit of clothing that hid him from you.
"You want to take me in your mouth?" he asked, thumb brushing your cheek as you nodded an eager yes. "You're so good to me" he hummed in amusement. Each word from him was a mixture of tender and lewd, his soft tone dripping with desire himself.
You finally freed him of his clothes, a little startled at the sheer size of him. You wanted him so bad, wanted to feel every inch of him–
"Open"
All thoughts disappeared in a puff of smoke, hearing him sound like that.
So you did.
"Good" he groaned, sinking into your mouth. He took his time, slowing down when you gagged around him, holding your head in complete control. A control you relented, considering you could easily bite his member off if you so wished.
But it felt… nice, to not be in control anymore.
A vampire life was calculated, precise, constantly on the look out.
It felt nice to give him all of you.
And the boy who was crying in your arms hours ago, was now rocking his hips against your face with abandon, whispering little praises that motivated you to take him deeper, and deeper, and deeper.
Suguru was close to losing his mind, each thread of reality snapping away at the way your throat constricted around him. He was so close to releasing himself in your mouth, but he didn't want that.
Not before he had felt your orgasm on his cock.
He pulled you away, panting, but didn't give you much time to question it. Suguru was on top of you in an instant, hands on either side of your head, his mouth back on yours.
His body pinned you down on the floor, your legs closed around his waist again – as if neither of you wanted to waste any more time, your hips slammed together in a unnatural pace, all of him sinking into you while your face scrunched at the stretch.
"Too much?" he asked, but you were smiling at him again.
"Not enough" you replied, pushing yourself up to bite his bottom lip, urging him back down towards you.
He was probably the one bleeding this time, but he didn't care, the taste mixed perfectly with your tongue. The urgency with which you kissed him urged his hips to start moving, slamming into yours harder and harder.
His hands came to lift your hips to give him better leverage, while yours held on to his shoulders so you could let him. You had met only hours earlier and now Suguru had you practically folded in half, with scratches all around his back to prove how much you loved it.
"You ngh feel so good" you panted, drawing blood from him again, some of the red dripping against your cheek to contrast your beautiful skin.
Maybe it was because his senses were so much sharper, but he didn't remember sex ever feeling like that. So intimate, so… surrendered. Two deadly monsters rejoicing in pleasure together.
It was the beginning of something he hoped would never fade.
An eternity he finally felt happy about.
"Why do you close your eyes?"
"What?" Suguru's head snapped back to you. There was still a faint trace of red where you had wiped it on your cheek; and he suspected on the tips of your fingers too, where they were interlaced with his. Suguru thought it better to not check, deciding to focus on your red eyes instead, and how they sparkled under the moonlight.
It was a night like any other. Hunting unaware passerby's, walking hand in hand back to your lair as if it was romantic.
You hated when he called it murder. So he didn't.
"When you feed" you answered, the breath coming out of your mouth and forming a haze all around. It was a cold winter, this one. The coldest one yet.
"Do I?" he mused, noticing he had never quite thought about it.
"You do" you replied. "And you avert your gaze when I feed too"
"Hm" his grip tightened around your hand, pulling you in closer ever so slightly. "I suppose it's because I don't enjoy it"
He didn't need to look to see the way your jaw had tightened. "You'd rather go hungry?" you scoffed.
"No, of course not" he replied. His thumb traced lazily over the top of your hand, soothing you – or himself. "Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it"
You stopped moving then, bringing him to a stop before you. You squinted your eyes, assessing him with a slight pout. Suguru's long fingers traveled to your jaw, gently wiping the red still there, letting the touch linger over your cold skin.
Suguru had seen you in every possible state in the months since you had been together – when you were naked and beautiful as an angel on top of him, crying from how good he made you feel; to dripping in blood and looking no more than a beast.
But he always found you beautiful.
Maybe that was a problem.
He didn't care.
"Do you enjoy it?" he asked, fighting against the lump in his throat that didn't want him to ask the question. He was sure nothing you said could make him see you different, but this was walking dangerously close.
To his surprise, you paused, tilting your head so your cheek would rest on his palm. Your eyes met his, but they weren't fully with him, something else clearly on your mind.
"I don't know" you answered, truthfully. "I never really thought about it"
That answer seemed to confuse him even more.
"You never thought about it?" he echoed, brushing his thumb over your skin.
You shook your head sideways in confirmation. "I suppose… it's just what I do" you murmured, and for a moment, you weren't there again.
Too lost in whatever memory your mind had locked you in.
Suguru didn't want to pry, but he also couldn't help wanting to know everything about you. "You never told me about your past" he said, more a suggestion than anything.
It was clearly the wrong move.
Your eyes suddenly snapped back to reality, not tender like they had just been – they locked on his with a hiss, and you stepped back from him like his touch burned.
"I'm sorry, I–"
"I don't want to talk about it" you interrupted, tone final and cold like a dagger right in his unbeating heart. Suguru put his hands up, not wanting to startle you further. If there was anyone who understood regrets, it would be him.
"I'm sorry" he said again, and you finally softened, letting your guard down little by little.
Your lips pursed sideways, annoyed with yourself at how easily Suguru got through your defenses. He half expected you to turn around and brave the night alone, maybe find another victim to take out the frustrations he brought out of you on.
But to his surprise, you moved closer.
A tiny step in his direction, too shy for your eyes to meet. But your forehead leaned in, resting on his shoulder, letting the weight of whatever was on your mind sink into him too.
Suguru tentatively brought his arms around your back, slowly, careful not to startle you. But you let him. Leaned further into him, accepted the embrace and even brought your own arms around him.
Your face was squished against his chest the tighter he held you, but you didn't dare move. Your breath had changed, he noticed as well, but he didn't dare move.
"I'm sorry" you said this time, voice small. Too small.
If Suguru didn't know you better, he'd think you were crying.
His hands slowly brushed your hair back, shushing you softly. Your hands gripped his shirt so tight they threatened to tear at the fabric, and with your strength, he knew you could easily do it.
Here, on this cold moonlit street, you finally let him in a little. Allowed him to see some of the pain you carried, despite not being able to voice it.
To Suguru, it was enough.
He would have held you like this forever, were it not for the police sirens bringing in the reminder of your brutal reality.
"We should go" you murmured, and your voice was cold as ice again.
"Maybe we should go somewhere else" you suggested one night.
You were sprawled over the long sofa, completely naked, your arms stretched over your head where they began to hurt. Holding still wasn't exactly your forte.
Suguru lowered his pencil with a long exhale, looking at you with tired eyes. "You're distracting me, sweetheart" he chided.
You pouted, snapping back into position as he started drawing again with a grateful sigh. Over the years, Suguru had drawn you a million times, in every position imaginable – clothed, naked, happy, sad. All of those now hung proudly on the walls, every inch covered with images of you and times you had spent together.
You thought it was a lovely thing when it first started.
Now you were starting to get bored of it.
The years had passed but you didn't exactly change, did you?
Still, seeing how he focused to get every detail of your complexion right, every little line and crevice and perceived imperfection – it made it worth it again.
Sometimes you wished you could see yourself through Suguru's eyes.
What would it be like to love yourself in that way?
"Suguru" you called. His eyes left the page again, squinting at you, but he seemed to notice something was wrong from the way you called his name alone.
He placed his pencil down fully this time. "What is it?" he asked.
"Do you ever wish things were different?"
The words left your lips before you could really think about them. You saw his desire to come to you straight away, but Suguru wasn't one for unnecessary bursts of passion. No, he always though about what he said. Especially because any wrong move might risk losing you.
"I used to" he admitted, answering your question as truthfully as he could. He also didn't care for going into the long years he had spent alone and miserable, something you surely could understand.
"What changed?" you asked, pushing yourself to a more comfortable position.
"Well" he huffed out, a little shy. "I met you"
You blinked at him, feeling your cheeks warm. "Was that a good thing?" you huffed out self-deprecatingly, but his resolve continued.
"It was the best thing" he confessed.
There hadn't been many love confessions between you two through out the years.
Suguru would have told you a million times over, but he realised soon enough he shouldn't. It's not that it wasn't there, on the contrary – it's that acknowledging it was there would make it too real. Too breakable. Too easy to lose.
Love wasn't meant for creatures like the two of you.
"You mean that?" you asked, and Suguru calmly put his paper down, motioning you for come towards him.
You did, waltzing in his direction with no shame at the lack of clothes – he had seen you like that enough times already. When you finally approached, he opened his thick thighs for you to sit on, a hand already to your waist.
You fit so perfectly on his lap, felt so safe next to him like this. Your leaned your weight on him, resting your head on his as his thumb traced absentminded circles on your lower back.
"Look" he said, picking up the paper again. "Look at how beautiful you are"
Your eyes traveled to the picture, eyeing the person you had seen on paper multiple times but could not relate to in any form anymore.
"It's still the same" you murmured, the words cutting your insides like daggers. This curse had robbed you of ever seeing your face again, robbed you of the natural wonders of old age, of maturity, a body that reflected your soul.
You should have been old now. Hell, you should have been dead.
"It is" Suguru agreed, but he was smiling. His eyes darted all over the page, taking in the perceived beauty of the woman you didn't recognise. Your hands. Your curves. Your mother's eyes. All made beautiful under his pencil, but foreign. Distant. "Isn't that a good thing?"
You tensed immediately on top of him. "How is it a good thing?" you spat. "It's unnatural"
He turned to you immediately, his hand dropping the page and cupping your cheek instead. "Where is this coming from?" he asked, gentle, sweet like honey.
"I don't relate to it at all" you protested. "She's beautiful, yes, but I'm… it's not me"
"What do you mean?" he asked, brows furrowing close. One of his hands tightened around your waist, hoping to keep you close, while the other brushed gently just under your temple.
"I'm not beautiful. I'm a predator, I'm cursed" you kept repeating, your words getting more and more sharp despite how kindly he held you.
"You're not cursed" he argued, bringing your head to the crook of his neck. Despite all the fight in you, you let him.
"I am" you cried.
Suguru felt the cold little drops that escaped your eyes fall on his skin, just under where the bite marks that originally made him this way were. He held you tight, hoping it would be enough.
"You're not cursed" he repeated, kindly. "You're everything"
Suguru couldn't bear seeing the person who had made his existence bearable speak so low of herself. You were the one who made him see this as more – as a gift, even.
But you didn't see it that way.
And the way your breathing suddenly stopped and you pulled away made that very clear.
"Don't pretend you don't think I'm a monster" you growled, before pushing yourself off him completely. "I see the way you look at me"
"The way I looked at you?" he echoed, confused. Surely he looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, because you were.
You were fully standing now, towering over him in your nakedness. Suguru could never not find you beautiful, but right now you reminded him of the power you truly held.
"Righteous Suguru, always feeling bad for his prey" you mocked, starting to wander around the room just to do something. "And horrible me, enjoying having my stomach filled"
"I never said that–"
"You don't have to" you scoffed. "You can't even bear to look at me"
How could you think that of him?
Hearing those words come out of your lips was unbearable. It was wrong.
"I don't like killing, it's true" he tried to reason. "But–"
"You call it killing" you interrupted. "We're feeding"
"It doesn't change the fact these people were–"
"We would be dead too if we didn't" your voice was rising louder and louder, a debate of morals Suguru never wanted to have with you. "Would you prefer that?"
"No, of course not" Suguru said too quick, coming closer to you. But you just kept going, voice rising higher and higher.
"Should we just walk into the sun to protect your conscience?" you mocked again, but the words got stuck in your throat, scratchy. They were meant to hurt, meant to challenge – but there was something far too real about the words you were saying. Like this was the only way you managed to actually utter them out loud.
Suguru understood that too.
"Don't say that" he pleaded with you. Not angry, not confrontational. Just… scared.
His sudden change made you stop pacing.
"You don't even look at me" you rasped out to the floor, like he wasn't even meant to hear it.
"I'm looking at you now" he tried.
But you just shook your head.
"If you can't accept all of me, what good does it do?" you murmured.
"But it's not you" he tried to reason. "If we weren't like this, you wouldn't choose to kill anyone, I'm sure, and–"
"You don't know what my life was like" you spat.
And it's true. He didn't.
"Because you never told me" he exhaled, unable to hide how much that fact hurt him.
How much longer would he have to wait for you to let him in? Were decades not enough?
"You have no right to know" you repeated what you had said many times already.
"I don't understand" it was his turn to lose his composure a little, that wound growing larger and larger now that the two of you were acknowledging it. "I would never think less of you"
"You already think less of me" you hissed, squaring up to him again.
Beautiful, and naked, but not vulnerable. You were strong like this, the way you made the energy shift in a room showing him how much power you had, no doubt accumulated by the amount of years you had spent as a vampire already.
But that was also speculation. Suguru didn't even know that.
"I don't" he said too quick, putting his hands up. "And I'm sorry, just don't…"
He was the one who trailed off this time, struggling with the words.
"Don't what?" you asked, the words biting into the space.
"Don't leave" he finally said.
You seemed… surprised.
Surely after all this time, it wouldn't be surprising.
But what were years for a vampire, after all? For all he knew, you saw him as no more than a chapter in the long novel of your life. Worst than that, he almost expected that to be the case. And Suguru was terrified of it.
"Why?" you asked.
Suguru noticed it was him who was crying this time, but his lips still formed a shy smile. "Because I love you"
Saying it felt easy than he had anticipated, the words he was so scared to utter just rolling off his tongue, sounding just right. But your red eyes grew wider than they ever had, your feet stumbling back like the words cut instead of soothe.
"You–" you almost tried to repeat them, but you couldn't.
Suguru stood there, unmoving, now that he had finally said it. He wouldn't walk back on them, not when it was the truth.
"I love you" he repeated.
Again, you flinched like you had been hurt. But you stopped moving back, just standing across from him in the middle of the room, chest heaving up and down, up and down.
"No one has ever said that to me"
Your voice was too small for how angry you were just a moment ago.
Suguru's hands balled into fists as he tried to control the urge to run to you. Pull you into his arms, hold you close with a gentleness you should have known centuries ago.
You looked like a cornered animal in the middle of the room, completely frozen. Your eyes were crying again, though you made no mention to dry them. The corner of your lips threatened to move, but to a frown or a smile, he didn't know. You didn't seem to know either.
But your eyes stayed lock on his unwavering, decided ones.
Suguru would stand here, unmoving, for another decade if it meant you trusted him because of it.
"How do you know?" you finally said, bringing a hand to wipe under your eyes.
He tried a step towards you then. "Because just looking at you makes me forget all the bad things that ever happened to me" he said. When you didn't flinch, he stepped forwards again. "Because your laugh is my favourite sound in the world"
You almost moved closer, a barely there shift of your weight forwards. He continued.
"Because laying in our small coffin together doesn't feel claustrophobic, it feels…safe" he almost laughed at himself, the ridiculousness of this vampiric love confession.
Maybe love wasn't meant for creatures like you, but he had found it anyway. And that was a miracle in and of itself.
"You make me feel like this life isn't just worth living, but worth sharing" he completed, standing right in front of you now. Your bottom lip bobbed a little where you struggled to contain your tears, but when his hand reached forwards to cup your cheek, you didn't stop him.
"And I don't see you as a monster" he whispered, thumb dragging along your skin to catch the tears. "Seeing you enjoy killing, it just… makes me wonder why"
Your breathing hitched at that, but you still did not move.
The two of you stood so close, your bodies bathing in the moonlight. It was getting late, and it would be dawn soon – but neither of you seemed to be thinking about that right now.
"I think…" you started, struggling with the words. "I think I might love you too"
Suguru didn't think he even remembered what it was like to feel this happy.
His fox like eyes went wide, his mouth hung open – his turn at surprise. For so long he was so worried you'd get bored of him, that maybe you were too wild a creature to choose this domestic eternity.
Even in his wildest dreams, he never dared to imagine you felt it too.
"Can you say that again?"
You smiled, bringing your hands to cup his face too. "I love you"
Suguru slammed his lips on yours, pulling you in for a desperate kiss that you both completely melted into.
This was what pure bliss felt like.
You loved him.
You loved each other.
Even following all your sins and your ungodly existence, he had found it. He had actually fucking found it. The two of you had just gone against all odds and conquered fate.
"I love you" he kept saying, while his pointed teeth grazed your bottom lip, while your hands held tight to his face, and your mouth's refused to part.
"I love you too" you echoed back, crying, and crying, and crying.
Suguru couldn't stop smiling – and you couldn't stop your tears.
Hadn't he been so absorbed in this miracle then, he might have guessed what happened next.
You weren't there when he woke the next nightfall.
Suguru had grown used to your weight on top of his in the tight space, but he felt none of that when he started to blink his eyes awake. He called your name immediately, lifting the lid of the coffin with a loud creak, asking the void if you were there.
There was no response.
How could he have slept if you were not there? He would have surely woken up if you decided to leave before he did. Was he this lost in his own fantasy coming true? Had he slept too well?
The night was still young, you surely couldn't had gone far if you had just left when the sun went down.
Or… did you leave before that entirely?
Suguru's blood immediately ran cold. You wouldn't leave in the sunlight.
You wouldn't.
You knew what that could mean.
He paced the apartment with so much force his feet made the floor boards sink, but he was desperate. He had to find at least some hint, some clue of where you had gone, why you had gone.
Finally, he noticed something that wasn't meant to be there.
A different portrait sitting on the table, matching the walls full of you that decorated the space. But this one was of him – his long dark hair tied into a knot at the back of his head, his eyes looking far ahead, staring at something off the page.
He didn't remember posing for this, so it must have been made from memory.
Despite the years Suguru had spent teaching you to draw, you never seemed quite able to take it. You lacked the patience, you said. But this was a skillful drawing, no doubt something that would take long to master. Had you been working on it in secret for all this time?
What else did he not notice about you?
Suguru flipped the page around, finding the three words he had been so happy to hear the night before hastily scribbled on the back.
I love you
His response was immediate; Suguru's fist bunched up the drawing, and slammed it back on the table before he could damage it completely. It was a gift from you, he should love it. But where the hell were you?
If you loved him – why would you leave?
Because… you had, hadn't you? And all he had left of you was a portrait of himself and hundreds of images on the walls that now seemed to mock him.
He called your name once more, more pained this time. Maybe this was all a mistake, maybe he was just scared… but how did he feel it so deep in his soul, this truth he had spent years trying to deny?
Suguru's red eyes scanned the empty space, hoping for a sign of you, desperately praying to whoever was out there to listen.
But there was only the void again.
All those fears and assumptions he always had proving themselves true.
The worst thing for a vampire was to be alone. But there was also safety in that, wasn't there?
To love and loose was so much worse.
So, so much worse.
His knees gave out before his brain could keep him standing, loudly crashing onto the floor as every memory of you started storming his brain. He had kissed you on this floor many times, had made love to you right there on the first night you met.
Now it wasn't the sweat of your bodies and the blood you shared staining the wood, but his own desperate tears, falling in a cascade of grief he didn't think himself capable of feeling.
In feeling so much pain, Suguru wished desperately for that void again. To just feel nothing. Nothing was so much better than this.
But nothing wasn't an option anymore – you had made his life full only to tip it over the edge, letting it all spill into a wet mess similar to the one he was making on the floor.
Your name escaped his lips when he lowered his forehead down to the ground, his hands balling into fists next to his dark hair, coming loose all around his handsome features. How dare you give him life back, only to take it away again.
He slammed his fist against the floorboards, so loud the pictures of you rattled on the wall. There were so many – portraits that span years but the subject remained the same, remained beautiful, perfect.
How could you hate that? Suguru loved having you immortalised not just on paper, but in life itself.
It was a gift.
You were the one that made him see it that way.
Why had you changed your mind?
Why couldn't things just stay the same?
Forever.
You had made forever sound so nice.
Another fist hit the wood, his knuckles beginning to split. His skin would heal, but the depth of his mistake never would.
What a fool he was for confessing his love to you. Suguru knew what that would mean, how much it would frighten you – he knew, and still did it anyway.
Idiot.
Suguru couldn't bring himself to throw the next punch, choosing to curl inwards instead, into himself, away from everything else.
He shouldn't have said anything.
What a stupid fucking mistake.
Maybe all of this.
All of it was a mistake.
He couldn't outrun fate, after all.
But pretending sure felt nice.
Suguru finally pushed himself up, making a point to look at every image that decorated the walls. He remembered each one, what the conversation had been about, what you had been doing earlier in the night before he decided the moment was too precious not to capture.
Suguru found himself looking for a specific one, though – that first one. The one that had gained him your trust, your love.
He could have sworn it was still inside his sketchbook.
He turned page after page after page, growing increasingly annoyed that he couldn't find it. Despair turning into anger, looking for any form of release it could find. Until he finally noticed a tear at the corner of the page, right where it should have been.
Had you taken it with you?
His breathing stopped, swollen eyes focusing on the careful way the page had been torn from his book, his finger grazing along it with the devotion he would caress your skin.
In the many years you spent together, you had never once mentioned the image – not after that first night.
Did it mean as much to you as it meant for him?
Suguru's hands closed around the notebook, shutting it tight and bringing it to his chest. It was at least one more proof that you didn't lie when expressing your love for him. That maybe leaving was as hard for you as it was for him.
And among the pain in his chest where his heart should have been beating, Suguru understood.
Being alone was far less scary than love.
What he saw as an act of cowardice, maybe you saw as an act of kindness. Choosing you'd rather be alone than to face the end of this love you didn't think you deserved, his hatred you saw as inevitable.
So you left. Your version of compassion, learnt from a world who had never showed you that in the first place.
You wanted him to hate you, didn't you?
He couldn't do that.
This would be his last act of rebellion against this evil world that had made you this way.
This cursed fate he didn't seem able to escape.
Suguru would love you still.
And he would find you.
Time was a blessing as well as a curse. Suguru had an infinite amount – but each strike of the clock dragged longer than it had before, every coming dawn seemed to linger, every passing season reminding him of what he had lost.
The winter you left eventually turned into summer, longer days meaning shorter nights – less opportunities to look for you.
But Suguru didn't give up hope.
He wandered the streets for as long as he could, every single night, just hoping for your scent. He visited places you had gone to together, wishing he'd find you on the park bench near the churchyard, or the cemetery behind it, among the bones of people who had found peace in death, unlike the two of you.
Suguru even visited your known hunting spots, the seedy alleyways just out of town that tended to harbor criminals and people who wouldn't be missed by society. It was a suggestion Suguru had made, and that you had agreed to. It made what you had to do more bearable, but he still hated every second.
When he finally reached the location, you weren't there. Suguru had hoped to at least hear rumours and whispers about recent kills around this spot, some urban legend beginning to grow that he could tie back to you; but still… nothing.
Had you gone back to preying on whoever you could put your hands on? Was his odd moral compass another thing you resented him for?
"You seem lost, boy" a voice came from right behind him, distinctively not yours. The sharp metal sound of a blade came along with it, as Suguru heard the footsteps approaching – slowly, deliberately.
This man clearly had the wrong idea of who prey and predator were.
Suguru took a sharp inhale in, hating this man for interrupting his search. He turned around, slowly, the reds of his eyes making the man come to a halt a mere feet away.
"You sick or something?" the man scoffed, clearly intrigued by his appearance.
Suguru just stood there. His hands had balled into fists as he inhaled he man's scent. He was hungry, so hungry, and hated the way he looked down at him. Had you been here, you would undoubtedly already have a twisted smile on your face, excited to gorge on the stranger's blood.
"That's a nice coat you've got there" the man mocked, making the knife visible now. It glistened where it caught the light, making sure Suguru could see it too.
A pathetic threat, Suguru rolled his eyes internally.
This man sure had chosen the wrong time for this, because Suguru's blood was already running cold with anger. And he caught himself thinking, just for a moment… that he would enjoy this kill.
No.
This was a line he didn't want to cross.
"You deaf or just stupid?" the man laughed this time, closing the distance.
Another breath in, slowly while the man approached. It didn't matter how hungry, angry, lost Suguru was – he couldn't bring himself to enjoy feeding, would never forgive himself if he lost this last shred of humanity he still was proud of. He couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't–
But when the man brought the knife to his throat, it was too easy.
Suguru turned around in the blink of an eye, taking his fangs to the tall man's neck as his body effortlessly pinned him down, bringing the two down to the wet pavement in the process.
Blood, tears and sweat spilled everywhere, while Suguru enjoyed the way the much bigger man thrashed beneath him, helpless.
Is this what you wanted all along? For him to be just like you?
It wasn't merciful, and it wasn't clean. This was rage personified, but in the moment he swallowed the sweet taste, Suguru didn't care.
It wouldn't be the last of his kills like this.
In fact, there would be many, many more throughout the years.
He hated himself for it every single time after, sometimes crying next to the limp body he had just ravished, sometimes throwing it all up again. Suguru felt shame at his lack of control, at this blinding rage that made him the monster he tried so hard not to be.
It took him years before he finally decided he couldn't do it anymore.
You had spoken about wanting to leave this pathetic town before, and maybe it was time for him to accept you probably had.
That after a decade of this, you wouldn't be showing up at your shared home anymore.
The place had been cold since you left, but in every sense it still remained the same. The furniture hadn't been moved, the curtains were still the same though faded and full of spider webs now. And, most importantly – your face still adorned the walls.
Suguru knew you probably had left town entirely, but he just couldn't bring himself to leave this.
The home you two had made, in spite of everything.
Did you still remember? Or did you try not to?
Did you hold on to that first drawing and cry, like he did? Reminisce about the good times and the worst times, miss his touch and the way you held each other in that tight coffin?
In the years that passed, Suguru even tried to hate you. Tried to give you what you wanted.
But he just couldn't.
What he hated was how much he regretted confessing his love, the single greatest mistake of his existence. Was hearing those three words leave your lips worth the years of solitude that would come after?
Maybe.
His long fingers ghosted over your face in one of the drawings – one in which you had a rare, easy smile. Had you found someone else who would paint you like he did?
Suguru knew he was only tormenting himself at this point; it was no use lingering on the thought. If he knew you as well as he thought he did, then he was sure you hadn't just found another person to give your heart to.
He believed what you said that night.
You didn't leave because you didn't love him, you left because you loved him too much. Suguru would have to find some comfort in that.
Seeing the world change was a miracle, one thing that did console him. The streets changed just as often as the seasons did now, every day bringing new inventions and curious new ideas Suguru enjoyed learning about.
He found himself sitting by the park more and more often now, drawing the outline of new buildings that began construction far ahead. The future seemed to look brighter than anyone could have hoped for.
But despite the obvious changes to the outside, his inside world remained the same. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to leave.
He had found some peace in the fact that you could find him there, if you wanted. And it didn't matter if it took another decade, or half a century or more – Suguru would stay right here, waiting.
His fingers dragged the chalk over the page, marking the coming of a new age.
When you returned, he'd show it to you. He documented every little thing about this town just so he could share it, and he was hopeful the time would come.
Can you believe they were building shops in the alleys you used to hunt? And how the church had been rebuilt, much larger, after the fire five years prior?
Life changed all around – beautifully so, tragically so too.
But the seasons always came. Winter, then summer again, and just like he could trust in that, he trusted what would come after too. It was a better position to be in than the desperate animal he had become for a few years.
But he would have never wanted you to see him like that, and so, he changed. He–
Suguru's hands dropped the drawing suddenly, his spine going rigid in the blink of an eye.
That smell. He knew that smell.
He inhaled deeply again, shutting his eyes tight, focusing on it.
It couldn't be.
The scent he had almost feared he had forgotten.
Your name escaped his lips in a sound much smaller than he expected, which turned into a desperate cry as Suguru began to turn around, searching for any glimpse of you.
The scent was present, but it was still far away – he had to follow it. Fast.
The picture he was working so precisely on got scrunched up when he rushed to pick up his belongings, shoving it all in his pockets as he began to ran.
Probably wasn't the best to bring attention to himself like this, but Suguru couldn't stop.
He kept moving, letting his senses guide him as he rushed past the night owls and confused strangers. Turning a corner here, going through someone's garden there – he feared he lost it completely when the smell almost faded at the edge of the city, but he turned around again.
Where could you possibly be going? Were you looking for your regular hunting grounds of almost a century past?
Things were different now, didn't you know?
But no, it wasn't that – the smell faded again, and so he followed it back to the main road, finding it again.
It grew stronger and stronger with each step, until it led to the last place he expected.
Home.
It was undeniably strong, so much so his nerve endings were staring to prickle, like they only did when another one of him was around. Suguru rushed up the steps, jumping two at a time, throwing the door open, and–
There you were.
Was it a dream? Or had death finally come for him?
You looked exactly the same. Standing there, staring at the wall of your face with a much smaller paper held tight to your chest.
Suguru remained completely frozen, struggling to catch his breath. When you turned to him, he noticed you had tears in your eyes.
"You kept them?" you whispered, your beautiful bottom lip trembling slightly. The first words he had heard from you in years, and they were a question you obviously should have expected the answer to.
Suguru finally took a step inside, closing the door behind him. He couldn't bring himself to meet you there, even though everything in him wanted to pick you up and wipe your tears and kiss you everywhere.
"Of course I did" was all he managed to reply, but it only made you cry harder.
You brought a hand to dry your face, and Suguru desperately wished you'd just let him. But he was so terrified of making the wrong move again.
"I'm sorry–"
That he couldn't bear to hear.
Against better judgment, Suguru rushed forwards, towards you, needing to touch you to confirm you were real. His body found yours with too much strength, but you completely gave in to it, closing your arms around his shoulders when he closed his over your waist.
You were here again.
Your feet left the floor when he raised you to his level, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as you did the same, both letting the tears flow unabashedly. Your legs came to lock around his waist, pulling him into you completely, the one thing Suguru wanted most in the whole world.
"You came back" he cried into your hair.
"I needed to see it again" you replied, his clothes bunching up in your fists.
"See what?" Suguru asked, pulling back just a little. His nose brushed against yours, so close he could just kiss you, but he wanted to hear your voice even more than that.
"Home" you replied, looking him right in his red eyes. "I didn't think you'd be here"
His eyes held you tighter, his forehead pressing against your. "Where else would I go?"
"Anywhere that didn't remind you of me" you tried a small self deprecating laugh, but Suguru shook his head, forehead rolling against yours.
"I've been waiting for you this whole time"
You cried, cupping his face with both hands. "Don't lie to me, Suguru Geto" you pouted.
"I have never lied to you" he replied.
It was the truth.
It was you that closed the distance this time, urging his face forwards as you leaned in for a kiss. It wasn't desperate like he had imagined, no, it was gentle. Feather light, almost. Far too small for something that was so huge, but also exactly what you needed.
It lasted for the blink of an eye and for an eternity – just a moment in time where everything was just right again.
"I'm sorry I left" you whispered, breaking the kiss and placing your forehead back on his. "I'm sorry I got scared"
"I know" he kissed your cheek, smoothing your hair back. "It's ok"
"It's not" you lowered yourself down, sinking into his chest this time.
"Shh" he kept smoothing down your hair, holding you tight against him, right where his heart should be beating. Getting used to your scent again was salvation for him, but there was also something different about you, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Are you hungry?" he asked, tilting your chin towards him. You nodded your head up and down, some sort of shame deep within your eyes. "We still have some time before dawn, if you want to–"
"I don't hunt anymore" you replied, looking down. "Not people"
Suguru's eyebrows knit together, pulling you up to look at him again. "What do you mean?"
To his surprise, you cried. And just kept crying. Harder than he had ever seen.
"I guess I realised–" you tried to say between hiccups. "Maybe someone loves them too"
Suguru's mouth hung open, in complete surprise. You coming back was something he had hoped for and convinced himself to believe in, but this? This he could have never fathomed.
"You–" he didn't even know what to say, choosing to crouch down in front of you instead and pull you down with him, giving your legs some rest so maybe they'd stop shaking.
"I'm sorry, Suguru" you cried, throwing yourself at him. "I'll tell you why, I'll tell you what happened, I'll tell you everything, just please– please, forgive me"
Suguru stood sentinel while you sobbed, holding you tight. Didn't you know? He had never blamed you for it.
He understood your pain far too well for it.
"I would be glad to listen" he said into your hair, arms closed around your back. "If you want to tell me"
You nodded your head, clawing at his back like he was your salvation.
For a very long time, Suguru could only speculate on what had happened to make you the way you were. But right now, he found his curiosity was the last thing on his mind.
"Here" he said, pulling an arm from you to bring it to his fangs. The blood started dripping from it, as you watched from below while he did for you what you had done for him that first night you met. "You should eat first"
You smiled at his generosity, but brought yourself up again to better match his height. You cupped his cheeks again, leaning in for another kiss, realising there was still something much more important you wanted to say and hear.
"I love you, Suguru"
"I love you too" he kissed you back.
In time, Suguru would show you his sketches depicting how this town had changed, his little documentations of every day life he had hoped to share with you. He would listen to every single thing you wanted to tell him, he'd hold you close when it was too hard to say, and he'd shush you kindly whenever you tried to force words you weren't ready for just yet.
There was so much still to be said, and time was, of course, a luxury you both had.
But right now… in this moonlit night in the apartment you had made a home of so many years ago, the silence was just enough.
A/N oof this one really took a long time to write. I started writing this when I was in a very bad place, and found it very therapeutic to just blurt it out on the page – it unfortunately also meant it was extremely hard to go back to it when I started feeling better (which I am!). there's so much of me in both these characters so it makes me a little nervous to post but maybe you relate as well, and if that's the case I'd like you to know you're not alone! hope you all have the most wonderful day or night and thank you for reading my story <3
synopsis: there is no doubt that mr. geto is an exceptional dancer, and a kind instructor. you have no doubt, either, that the perverse, voracious need you have for him is unrequited. of course, he calls you little dove and watches you dance low-lidded and teases you with innuendo, but surely he doesn't mean it...right?
pairing: ballet instructor!geto x ballerina!reader
a/n: it's been so long since i've posted a full length fic! i'm sorry and i love you all and please open your holes to me so i may place this fic there
18+! mdni <3
masterlist
~~~~~~~
mr. geto is nothing like the instructors you despised as a teen.
you can remember walking to your car after your first lesson with him and pressing your forefinger to the tender crest of your ear, marvelling at the lack of ringing there. you were used to shrill yelling, to the echo of it against the mirror and back again, to higher and stretch and reach bellowed into your bones.
but mr. geto, it seems, is exceptionally thoughtful about how his sound carries, speaking only as loud as necessary to be heard by the furthest dancer from him. the register of his voice makes the floor thrum and your knees twitch and he seems to notice these things, take stock of them, adjust.
he does not use his hands, either.
all other ballet instructors at your company use their fingers to adjust the body, to create the proper lines. you are completely familiar with fingertips in the crease of your knee, along the slope of your navicular, down your spine: it is not uncomfortable, not anymore, and it is in service of this art you have devoted your life to. you don’t mind. and in the dead of night when your duvet feels heavy over your waist and thighs you think that you wouldn’t mind, in particular, if he used his fingers to adjust your body.
but he simply…doesn’t. he uses the shapes of himself, his own arms and torso, the extension of his own legs, to compose his requests of his dancers. higher, stretch, reach, he murmurs to the group of you, extending himself into position and showing you.
and a part of you likes that a great deal; there is no sense of injustice with him, no upset that he is asking something of you that he cannot himself achieve. you and the rest of the dancers watch as his twists and bows, displaying himself to guide through the moves, and it’s such a striking thing to behold that you can’t bring yourself to mind.
still, his beauty is the hardest part of being his student. the cording of his muscles, the sleek ink of his hair, the lithe curvature of his movements, it’s torturous. all at once you want to dance as he does, want to make your audience feel as he makes you feel, want him to shed himself of all professionalism and touch you somewhere irrevocable. you feel terrible and silly wanting it, wanting him, but there’s no helping it, you think.
and anyway, you insist that this wanting you indulge in in the dark isn’t dangerous. there is no oxygen for it in the studio, nothing to nurture your fantasies, and so you have to believe that they will wither and die with time.
of course, while you tie the ribbons of your pointe shoes around your ankles in the empty studio, you pray this fantasy death will happen sooner rather than later. it’s completely exhausting to be so constantly wondering what his cock feels like, and mr. geto likes to remind you that exhausted is no state to dance in.
you love arriving to the studio early like this. before the room is overtaken with the smell of sweat and resin, you can breathe in the marley flooring and stretch your legs wide, grateful. you seek out lonely moments to appreciate how rare it is that you’ve succeeded in ballet enough to make a living from it; you close your eyes and get overdramatically philosophical, and it’s a privilege. you love it.
and yes, fine, it secures mr. geto’s first five minutes in the studio for yourself. this cannot be helping your attempt to suffocate your wanting, you know, but then he’s walking through the door draped in fine linen and hair pulled messy to the crown of his head, and you go boneless.
“good morning, dove,” he calls over his shoulder, turned away from you as he sets his things down.
you don’t remember when he started calling you that, and you don’t know if he uses it with other dancers, but god how can you blame yourself for getting sticky for him when he addresses you that way?
“good morning, mr. geto,” you call back, trying to sound lazy with the dawn as you continue stretching. you watch your fingers splayed on the floor, the borders of each vinyl panel, anything other than his strides towards his seat at the front of the room.
he plops rather unceremoniously down, legs spread slightly and head tipped back as he groans something truly criminal. you can feel something hot and biting between your legs but you try to ignore it, looking up at him.
“exhausted is no state to dance in,” you say with a smile.
he does not lift his head—you wonder if he wants to cause you pain by forcing you to watch the curved tilt of his throat and jaw—but you can see from the movement of his cheeks that he is smiling a little.
“i’m not dancing, dove, you are.”
you roll onto your back and starfish out, sufficiently limber. “what sort of terror will rain down on us today?”
he does look down at you then, lip still curved enough to look like a smirk, and when his head tilts just slightly you die a little death. “terror? i’m never terrible, i know i’m not.” his fingers make a soft sound against his thigh as he taps on it mindlessly. “you’ll like the combos today.”
you can’t help but bark a little laugh. “you don’t mean that. that’s something you only say when they’re hard.”
a chuckle pushes out through his nose. “yes, i know.” and then, matter-of-factly, he adds, “you like it hard.”
and god you try not to draw attention to the innuendo in that comment. just as he says it the doors are pushed open with a low thunk and the rest of the dancers come filtering in, and so you have every possible opportunity to be normal and professional and not silly and terrible, but you are a silly and terrible woman, so your chest stutters on your next breath. and he watches.
you choose to believe, for your health and happiness, that he still couldn’t quite discern what your reaction was, or why it would have happened. but you cannot deny the fleeting scent of smugness on him, or the way his jaw twitches when his eyes flit to you between greeting your colleagues.
he must be, you decide as you come to take your place at the barre, a cruel and unusual man who has recognized your unrequited lust and wants to punish you for it.
yes, that must be it, you assure yourself.
the rest of class is excruciating. all the typical torment of watching the man whose bones you are so desperate to jump contort himself into beautiful shapes is mounted further by the way he watched you this morning, the way his head dropped to the side just so to see you fluster for a moment.
you try to channel it into the combos. as you travel across the room, you work to carve the feeling from your chest and toss it outwards, anywhere else. your legs burn with your leaping and turning but you push harder, hoping you’ll reach some critical point at which the physical soreness of your muscles eclipses the fluttering behind your navel, but you can’t quite catch it. and every time you hope you might be close, you feel your fingertips just grazing a moment of forgetting, you catch his eye again, and something hungry pulses in your stomach.
you probably need to get fucked. you definitely need to get fucked, actually, because you’ll ruin all your leotards if this continues.
sweat shines down your body by the time class is finally, mercifully over, and the plan has already solidified then. you’ll go out tonight, you’ll get well and sufficiently railed, and at long last you will be able to address your fucking ballet instructor properly.
even collecting your bag from the floor makes your muscles scream. your steps drag as you shuffle about, removing your pointe shoes and slinging your purse over your shoulder in the waning light of the day.
“was that your attempt at proving me wrong?”
you straighten, inhaling sharply. when you look over your shoulder, it’s only you and mr. geto in the studio again. he’s standing in the threshold now, body leaned against the door as he watches you finish packing.
fuck.
normally you might relish this sort of attention from him, but at this point you feel overfilled with the smoke of your desperation and you need to breathe. you need to go to the club and release some of this pent up sexual energy. you need to get out before you spread your legs for him in front of the fucking mirror.
you try to laugh lightly, but it sounds tired and reedy. “yeah, i guess not.” shrugging a little, you add, “couldn’t help it.” and you tried to use that tone of voice one uses when a conversation is over, for the first time since meeting him hoping he simply turns and leaves, but he stays static there, watching you.
you flounder, looking for anything else to say. you want to lighten the tension that’s pulling your hips towards him, so you put on a wry smile. “i’ll try less tomorrow.”
that makes him chuckle as he brings a hand up to massage one shoulder. inevitably you think of how it might feel under your fingers, how it might tense if you were riding him and he was using that arm to lift and drop you on his—
“i do have one note for you, actually,” he murmurs, and you try to mask the horror on your face as he begins walking towards you. “show me your grand adage from the last combo.”
you hesitate a moment, clutching your purse tightly with one arm and opening your diaphragm so he doesn’t see your lungs constrict. this is normal, you remind yourself, he is being a normal instructor.
and it’s true, this is normal, but he has abnormal sex appeal and you are abnormally tightly wound and and he has never adjusted you with his hands before. this is a terrible, horrible, grotesque idea, but what are you supposed to say? no?
you drop your things slowly at your feet, tracking the sweeping of his eyes along your movements. with your hands empty again you stand still a moment, surely looking as bewildered as you feel, but he nods slightly: go ahead.
you steady the soft tremble of your fingers as you extend your arms outwards, aligning your spine as your leg extends behind you. your core engages to keep your hips from tilting upwards, chin high to create a sloping line from your neck and down your torso. even though you do not—cannot—look mr. geto in the eyes you can feel him watching, your muscles twitch when he assesses them, fluttering like little birds under your skin.
“yes, that’s it,” he says, low, behind his teeth. he begins to walk around you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was trying to make you feel predated.
two things happen at once. you realize—and the weight of it nearly buckles your knees and takes you through the floor of the studio—that he is not going to show you want he wants by doing it at precisely the moment one long finger brushes the under side of your thigh. there isn’t even anything promiscuous about where he grazes the fingerpad, but nevertheless you feel like an open wound, a nerve, only barely restraining a full body shudder at the feeling. what the fuck is he doing?
“you can lift this higher.”
you’re almost thankful that you scoff on instinct; it makes you sound less affected by this than you are. “i’m—i’m trying, but–”
and then you really do shudder, hot and tacky from the nexus of your legs as his hand grips your thigh in full, pulling it a centimeter higher and watching your body absorb the movement to balance. your breaths puff sharp and you can’t even attempt to stop them now.
his voice is no louder than a whisper but there’s no breath in it, all timbre and sound. “there, dove. hold that.” his hand pulls away torturously slow, and at such an angle that you feel the point of each fingertip as his palm falls away. you hope he’s spontaneously blinded so he can’t see the goosebumps erupting down your arms, but instead he leans an inch closer to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, watching you strain to keep the position from just behind your shoulder.
“it makes it harder if you hold your breath.” you can hear the twitch of his lips in that and it makes it no easier for you to take in air, but you pull a trembling gulp of air in anyways. to please him, you suppose, because apparently that’s all you’re capable of doing.
he hums in approval, “that’s good enough, dove, thank you.”
and no sooner do the words leave his lips are you dropping your leg and fleeing out the door, only barely remembering your bag.
~~~~~~~
you’re learning that your desperation for your ballet instructor is an exceptionally powerful tool.
earlier today, you pushed your body beyond its limit in the name of exorcising yourself of the curse of him. you were an outward force then, expanding and swelling and trying to expel the dark sweetness between your thighs.
now, haunting the neon shadows of this club in your highest, most painful heels, you think your desperation has a scent. you can’t remember ever being looked at in this way; from across the dance floor and behind the bar and in a far away corner, you catch men’s glances, all of them wolfish and interested. they can tell you need to be fucked, immediately.
you select the largest specimen you can find; a hulking mountain of a creature with a scar down one side of his mouth. he’s not quite handsome in the way suguru is handsome, it’s a louder, more insistent sort of attractiveness, but nonetheless you eye fuck him until he approaches you, knowing his weight will feel nice enough from behind.
he grabs at your side when he arrives in front of you, sliding a paw down your lower back. “come dance with me,” he rasps into your ear, and while normally you’d ask for the decency of exchanging names, tonight you’re sold.
you laugh as he tugs you into the fray, a throng of bodies pressed close and tacky with sweat. there’s a strange relief as he settles behind you, strobes flaring in your vision and his thick fingers around your waist. you can already feel how this ends, something sloppy and vaguely grotesque but you don’t even mind, you’re so coiled and greedy for this man you cannot have.
the music pulls you together and he grinds with you in time with it, pulling your ass against his jeans and twisting your hips back and forth.
he runs his nose down the slope of your neck, feeling how pliant your limbs move for him. “you’re flexible, huh?”
with your head tilted back against his shoulder he brings one hand slowly up the front of your body, grasping loosely at your neck. you grin and nod into it, letting your eyes go hazy as you look up at the rigged lights and the rising fog.
you’re fucking soaked. you really would just like it if he’d bully his cock into you here in the middle of the dance floor so you can finally think straight, and you’re considering pulling him into the bathroom to do something truly indefensible against the dirty basin of a sink, but you feel his tendons tense around your throat and it makes you tilt your chin back down on instinct.
into your ear he asks, almost amused by what he’s seeing, “d’you know him?”
your heart sinks.
whatever buoy you had wrestled between your arms was dissolving back into salt water, you’re slipping, you’re frantic, you’re looking across the dance floor and fucking suguru geto is there.
his hair is down and silky over his shoulders, which pull a white t shirt taut across the planes of his chest. you can see, even from here, the shadows of lean muscle, his body’s capacity for dance. the sleeves of his shirt are short enough that you can see, for the first time, the head of a snake tattoo peeking just below the hem.
fuck.
and no wonder your enormous dance partner figured you knew each other; the way he’s looking at you is lethal, a sharp slice of a stare from across the room, a pointed watching. his lips twitch when he sees you notice him, something conspiratorial and entirely his own there. it looks as though he’s holding a live animal in his mouth, sly and coy and biting down on a moving thing behind his tongue. a single, sinewy hand lifts from his side and he waves.
fuck fuck fuck.
in a fleeting out-of-body event, you can appreciate the hilarity of this moment. it pulls a sound from your throat, almost a laugh, almost a scoff, too, and you stumble slightly out of the hold of the man behind you. “i—well, yeah, actually.” you have no idea what look you’re wearing, but when you turn to face your dance partner, it makes him chuckle under his breath.
“you uh,” he scratches at his scar with his thumb, “you wanna go over there?”
he’s teasing you—this much is obvious to you—and so much of you is desperate to tell him no, i’d like to stay right here, and grip to the veins of his forearms and let him take you home. but then you think of mr. geto’s hands along your thigh as he adjusted it and it’s almost like he has you between his fingers again, towing you towards him.
“i–i’m sorry, i just think i should go and–” you gesticulate behind you, vaguely, reaching for something dignified to say, “and say hi.” a failure of the highest order.
the man in front of you laughs again, deep and from his stomach this time. he’s already tilting his body away from you, already letting you go, already sensing that the smell of your pussy was meant for the long-haired figure a few feet away. “you go right ahead, ma,” you think if he wasn’t so huge a person, his laughing would sound like giggling, “i’ll be fine.”
the sight of him slipping away from you makes you nauseous. you’re watching your own failure, all six feet and four inches of him, dissipating again into the sea of people, already under the manicured fingers of other women who aren’t waiting to arch for someone who essentially equates to their boss.
but there’s something secret and sweet to watching him go, too. standing resigned on the dance floor, accepting whatever honeyed trap fate has set for you, you can unburden yourself from this taxing process of trying so hard not to embarrass yourself. yes, you think, i will simply embarrass myself, and maybe whatever follows won’t feel so excruciatingly painful.
geto watches you carefully as you slink to his table. he keeps the muscles in his face slack, neutral enough to obscure the meaning from his expression, but the faint pull of his jaw reminds you of this morning, of after class. despite yourself, you align your body properly as you take the six odd steps to stand at his feet, extending your legs the way you know he’d want in the light of day.
he smells like musk and something botanical when you get close enough. you hope you don’t smell like your own slick.
“it was sort of deja vu, watching that,” he begins. even under the beating of the music he refuses to shout, voice unfurling from behind his lips and just barely reaching your ears.
you wrinkle your nose a little. “how do you mean?”
the ice in his drink chimes with a flick of his wrist. “watching you dance.”
you tilt your head back and forth, feigning some sort of consideration. “no, i think this might be different.”
he’s smiling enough now that you can almost see his teeth. the part of you that is desperate to be cautious screeches that he’s playing with you, he doesn’t want you, but with each tip of your skull you can feel that voice liquifying. you hope it slips out your ear.
“how so?” he asks.
you do your best to keep a straight face. “well, for one, i don’t want your notes.”
he looks almost joyful to spit this back at you: “oh i have a few, actually.”
your laugh is too breathy and real to truly hear it against the ambient noise of the room, but he tracks it anyway, swishes his ice again. “you’re unqualified, unfortunately. this type of dancing isn’t your expertise, mr. geto—”
“suguru,” he interjects. “suguru here.”
your thighs twitch, almost stinging with need now, but you steady yourself with a breath, humming, “okay, suguru, this type of dancing isn’t your expertise. i only accept edits from experts.”
“i might surprise you, dove.”
you run your tongue along the front of your teeth. he’s asking you to play, you think, and so you raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin the way he does when he wants you to begin.
“well,” he takes a fraction of a step towards you and you match it backwards, pushed by the heat of him and the smell of his cologne, “i think you moved a little too quickly.”
you’re moving entirely in tandem now, him forward and you back, all the way until your head bumps a wall. cornered like this, he eclipses almost your entire line of sight, a vignette of dark hair.
“the part when you tilt your head back here,” and he gestures to his shoulder, “that’s the best part. you fell straight into it.”
something shudders up your legs and you squeeze them together, desperate for a moment of anything against the swelling button between them.
“they need to wait longer for it. makes it better.”
his smirk is slowly fading, something more intimate making space for itself across his mouth. if he recognizes the irony of this, he doesn’t show it, demanding simply: “show me.”
you have half a mind to gape at him, at what he’s offering, but instead you turn—stupid, whorish thing—as he asked, pressing yourself slowly to him. when your ass bumps against his pelvis he groans low. he’s rock hard against you, and a gasp moves up your windpipe but he has his free hand on your chin first, forcing your head back to his shoulder.
contorted like this, his nose grazes your cheek, his breath filtered into your ear. you whine, feline and soft, and he hums in return.
“yeah, it’s good, huh?” and he ruts his hips slightly into yours to emphasize his point, nosing your cheekbone. “so you have to start somewhere else.”
the hand on your chin falls away, moving to the small of your back where it bends back for him. he pushes his thumb to your spine, and then the rest of his palm, bending you forward at the waist. your hands come up to brace on the wall and you let your forehead fall there, too, letting the cool concrete tether you to whatever sanity you have left.
he exhales like veneered restraint watching you tilt, feeling the extra push of your thighs against his cock twitching in his pants. “yes, dove, like that.” he grinds against you in earnest then, dragging the clothed shaft of him over the globes of your ass. “he should work for it a little.”
he pushes again and you moan fully. it leaps from the wall to his ears and it earns you another drag, his fingers bruising against your waist.
“and then,” his composure is dwindling, you can hear it, and he ruts again, “once he’s worked up,” he drags the hand at your hip up your side, around your front, between your breasts to arch you back to him again. your back bows taut and impossible to meet him, head falling immediately to his shoulder this time, eyes squeezed shut. you wonder if your slick is running down your legs now, or if it’s still pooled in your panties. he finishes into your ear, “then you come up here.”
you wiggle your hips against him, needy, and he grunts. “what did he say to you?” he grits out.
your capacity to think is low, practically panting like he’s already inside you. “huh?”
“when he had you here, he said something that made you laugh, i wanna know what it was.” with his hand fanned across your stomach he can pull you tight against his thrusts.
“h-he, he said i—fuck suguru, i-”
“come on, little dove,” he coos.
your eyes flutter open to find him watching you, purple eyes skidding across your skin. “he said i was flexible,” you huff.
he smiles like he’s going to eat you. “oh yeah? and did you tell him it’s because your mr. geto stretches you?”
your fists bunch and pull against the wall. you’re certain he can feel you clenching through your dress. your mr. geto, jesus. “n-no,” you breathe.
“oh, that cuts deep, dove,” he tuts, but he fucks against your ass again anyway, “i work so hard to stretch you open and you’re not giving me credit?”
you find yourself with the fleeting and miraculous wherewithal to laugh, light and towards the ceiling. “i’ll tell him next time, then.”
that makes suguru laugh, too, the both of you almost manic with the truly absurd suggestion that you would ever be touched by anyone else.
you feel very suddenly like a stray dog at his doorstep, scrap-fed by his hand, bony and waiting for something warm to be tossed out again. the fear that he doesn’t mean this the way you’re taking it, that he wants you only briefly, chokes you still.
“are you drunk?” you ask him.
he lets you feel the frenetic pattern of his breathing against your neck. “no.”
and then even smaller, you can’t help it: “are you messing with me?”
slowly, he brings the hand with his drink up, extending his forefinger out around your front. it’s cold from the glass as it taps on your chin once, twice, and then drags down the line of your throat. “no.”
and you aren’t quite sure how you would describe what you feel move through him then, a trembling sort of shake, maybe, but as it buzzes through his hips he thrusts the momentum up into you. later, you would come to realize this was the sensation of him, at last, deciding something he could not take back.
“i think you left something with me at the studio today,” he murmurs. the electricity of knowing you did not leave something at the studio takes hold of your ribs and tugs. “you left in such a rush.”
“i think you know that’s you’re fault, suguru.”
he smiles small into the side of your face. “yes, i know.” a finger brushes under the swell of your breast. “i can drive you there to come get it.”
you’re beginning to squirm in his hold now, the beastly thing between your thighs drooling in full, usurping control of your limbs. “haven’t you been drinking?”
and suguru is all too pleased to bring his glass to your lips, tipping it slowly onto your tongue.
he’s drinking fucking sparkling water.
he isn’t even tipsy.
you’re nodding before you can even gulp enough air to say yes.
~~~~~~~
you barely make it out of his car before he’s on you. pressed against the passenger door, he kisses you like he wants to reach inside and pull out a rib. it’s teeth and tongue and your mewls in his mouth, and it makes him pull one leg up around his hip to grind slow against your clothed pussy.
he strokes his tongue along yours as he guides you to the front door, bucking into you when you bite down soft on his bottom lip.
“fuck,” he pants. “get inside.”
seeing the studio at night is strange. the moonlight glints off the mirror, bathing the room in silver streaks. stranger still is hearing geto come in behind you, locking the door with a low snick.
he passes behind you like a memory, stepping just to graze your back and shoulder before pulling away and towards his usual seat at the mirror. “stand center floor for me, dove,” he instructs.
your body moves without much thought. it’s so easy to do as he says here, to pervert the habit of following his directions as you stand at the center of the vinyl.
suguru runs a hand across his jaw, over his lips, watching you stand static as asked. you know how lust blown your eyes are already because you can see the black depth of them in the mirror behind his head. “stretch for me,” he sighs.
a strange confidence feeds and swells in your belly, something alight and excited as you bend at the waist. your movements are no more salacious than they normally are, simple contortions to warm your hips and thighs, but you slow them enough to match the moment. your dress, too, heightens it; the hem teases the curve of your ass, your swollen mound, tight against you in ways your dance clothes aren’t. geto has sharpened the air to a fine point, and you teeter on it.
your head flips over, legs softly bent and then straight again, swishing open and closed. between each movement you glance up at him, swallowing thick at the shadow behind the tent in his jeans, the clench of his fist as it approaches his length. when you open your legs past second position and bend to stretch between them, he moans, unashamed, and you can tell from the lilt of pain in it that he’s stroking himself over his pants now. your pussy nearly opens in this position, faced away from him, and you feel the fever say his name.
“your middle split now, dove,” he grips himself like he means to strangle, tipping his head back against the mirror to watch you over the bridge of his nose, adding, “please.”
with your hands splayed on the floor, you drop simply into it. when your clit bumps the cool flooring you whine in your throat, settling your weight. suguru is stroking himself in earnest over the denim when you peer up at him. “uh huh,” he pants, “and bend the knees now, just a little.”
your knees cant up and you tuck your tailbone, forcing your dress to ruck up around your hips and display, fully, the wet mess of your panties. the suffocated whine suguru sounds punches the air from your lungs, and you lean back onto your elbows behind you, looking to breathe, looking to survive for another moment.
you wish you could have a picture of the two of you this way; you entirely on display for him—and for yourself, too, as you cannot avoid your own reflection beside him—and your unflappably composed instructor, squeezing down the veins of his cock through the rough pull of his jeans, watching. and because you spend hours every day being directed by him, you know what he will ask you next before he even voices it, but you wait to hear it anyway.
“touch yourself for me.”
your fingers fly to your clit, drawing slow circles around, crossing over to feel yourself jolt. your hole pulses and spits, and suguru growls like he can see it from halfway across the room. the utter relief of friction, fucking finally, makes you tip your head back, moaning wild into the still air.
but then you hear his lips part to say something and you’re pulling your head back straight, still circling over your clit and then your entrance, meaningless patterns over your thong that make your toes curl in your heels.
“you know i never once—ngh, fuck—had the urge to adjust a student with my hands? i always hated that when i was in class,” he grits. with trembling hands, he begins to unbutton himself, pulling his cock out and tugging on it immediately.
god, he’s pretty. long and soft and leaning the way the rest of him leans, gliding between his fingers with the pearls of pre beading at his tip.
“but i thought that if i,” he pauses to groan with you, “if i touched you once i could fucking forget about it.”
you speed your fingers with each word he says, each stroke of his hand over all eight inches of his cock. a far away voice registers that you’re whining, too, but your mind filters it away, tuned completely to suguru’s confession in the dark.
your smile is wry, and reveals as much as anything. “did it work?”
he laughs then, almost at you. “no, you know what dove, it didn’t really—hah—didn’t really work for me.”
your hips buck into your fingers, a buzzing coil now. “suguru,” you begin, but he doesn’t need to hear any more.
“i know,” he moans.
you have transcended his direction, you think, merged into him enough to comply without listening. he’s tearing his shirt and pants off as frantically as you tug your dress up and over your shoulders, and you’ve only barely shimmied your panties down your legs when he arrives in front of you, completely bare. you think suguru geto, tacky with sweat and need and cock nearly swollen purple, has achieved his own pinnacle, descending to his knees to meet you.
and there’s an ephemeral, fleeting moment, when you both simply watch each other in all the places you’ve kept obscured for so long. his eyes circle over your tits, the pert peaks of your nipples, the gleaming of your slit. you track the snake tattoo from the bulge of his shoulder and around his back, pupils flitting between him and his reflection.
suguru takes hold of both your ankles on each side of his narrows hips, squeezing once, and then gliding them up, up, around your knee, along the inside of your thighs. it dawns on you that he knows exactly where to press, where each muscle begins and ends, because of how much he watches you flex and extend. your breathing comes labored and round, small yips and whines when goosebumps push into his fingers.
he can’t help but tug your hips towards his bobbing cock when his hands arrive there. you squirm and twist to try and sink him inside but he holds you to the floor, jaw tight.
“not yet, dove, i need to stretch you,” he grunts.
and you’re giggling before you can stop it. “you use a lot of double entendre, is that on purpose?”
he’s smiling now, too, but more than anything you think its a wicked joy with how your mouth drops open as he circles two fingers around your entrance. your arousal is so hot and so everywhere that you think you can hear it dripping onto the marley.
“keep your legs open.” he uses the tone of voice he employs during class and it only makes you gush more, but you do as he asks, tightening your outer thighs to hold yourself spread as he pushes two fingers inside.
“oh fuck,” you pant.
it seems to affect him in equal measure, cock twitching with each pull of his digits, lips parted ever so slightly. he scissors his fingers apart and back again, feeling along the inside of your walls, looking.
“ah—yeah, yes, there,” you mewl, and he moans something sincere in turn. the pads of his fingers brush and swish along that spot and something behind your ribs is turning over, growing teeth. you whine out a small fuck and that’s it: suguru is gone.
in a single motion, he pulls his fingers from you, breathes in your protest of a whine, and lowers his hips to run the ruddy tip of his cock over your clit, down, down. you run your nose along his forearm as he braces them on each side of your head, feeling the brush of his hair along your shoulder.
his mouth parts directly over your ear like this, and you feel his hand squeeze your left thigh. “lift this for me.”
and as you extend it up to hook over his shoulder, legs spread in almost a full split below his hold, he notches his head inside, a lewd pop that echos up your spine and between your ears.
suguru’s head drops to your shoulder as he bares his teeth. “fuuuuuuck jesus christ.”
you’re no better, winding your right leg around his left and bucking your hips to slide him home. he indulges you this time—perhaps for the first time since meeting him—and cants his hips again. you’re so fucking wet and ready and open for him that he slides to the hilt that way, and both of you are reduced to animals then. the sounds between you are completely inhuman, and you can’t tell where yours end and his begin.
and suguru fucks you like he teaches: not slow, but intentional, precise, every movement with an insurmountable sense of purpose.
and fucking bossy.
“ngh yeah, squeeze me like that again, dove.”
“oh f-fuck, baby, align your hips.”
“c-can you—haah—arch into me a little more? yeah, that’s right.”
with each driving thrust of his hips you rub your clit along his pelvis, warmth spreading behind your belly button and down each leg. suguru never quite recovered from that first thrust, forehead damp and still at your shoulder as he groans directions into the soft skin there. and your hands grab anywhere they can reach: into the roots of his hair, down the planes of his back, along the slope of his ass to feel the muscles grind.
the friction his happy trail makes with your clit is driving you wild, you’re fucking close, and he can feel it in the way you pulse around him.
with the sudden capacity to mock you he coos gently, “oh, little dove, are you close?”
and you can only nod and pant and whine like a bitch in heat, the crest of your pleasure tapping leisurely on the wing of your shoulder, ready to round the corner.
“hah—yeah, i can fucking feel it.” he adjusts his weight to one arm so he can band the other around your back, pulling your tits flush to his chest. the leverage only grinds him harder into you and you’re nearly screeching with the pressure. he wants to kiss you and you want to return it, but your lips meet open, exchanging air to be puffed back and forth.
“make a mess for me,” he encourages, each thrust more erratic than the last—he’s close, too—and every moan pitched higher. “c’mon, i—shit, unh—i wanna feel your pussy choke me.”
you come so hard you feel like you’re spinning, like you’re on stage, like there’s some great applause awaiting you. it detaches from deep in your groin and pulses outwards, gushing arousal and cream over suguru’s cock and entirely fragmenting you, boneless as he fucks you through it.
“fuckfuckfuck,” he bites the juncture of your shoulder with your neck, “i made this body, dove. you’re mine, huh?”
and hearing it, even from his own lips, takes him over, too, hips stuttering to a stop as he growls wild, seed spurting inside you, warm. your name, your real name, unspools from his mouth, and it sounds like thank you.
part of you expects, sweaty and still and plugged with suguru’s softening cock, that a great shame will dawn upon you now. you think maybe you should feel ashamed for letting him fuck you here, raw, his student.
but as you’re whining into each other’s mouths when he pulls out, as he smooths his hands over your stomach and thighs, as he kisses you again without the sort of demands he had before, the guilt doesn’t arrive.
suguru watches you closely—he’s good at that, you’ve determined—as he sits back on his haunches. you realize he’s waiting for that guilt to come, too.
“okay?” he asks softly.
you could laugh at him for that question, but you grin instead. “mhm.”
his chest unburdens a weight seeing that look on your face. you can see something gathering on his palate, too, something he likes the taste of.
and then he spits it: “there’s a shower in my office bathroom.”
you really do laugh this time, full-bodied and sore and wet again.
~~~~~~~
you don’t think you’ve ever seen mr. geto with eye bags before. you don’t think anyone has. though, you suppose he seems the type to prioritize his beauty sleep.
or, most of the time, anyway. you couldn’t help that he wanted you again in the shower, and then at his desk chair, and then from behind with your knee propped against the barre, and then—
nobara bows into a pigeon stretch next to you, snickering as she assesses him in his seat. she heckles him: “exhausted is no state to dance in.”
your body seizes with embarrassment and delight all at once, and even though your chin drops to your chest as you stretch your hips, you can feel him watching you all the same.
nobara is watching you now, too, but you notice it too late. she stifles a giggle next to you. “is that a fucking hickey?”
~~~~~~~
thank you for reading !!! comments and reblogs always appreciated >:)
It was supposed to be an ordinary night.
Just you, Gojo, and a bag of takeout shared on your couch like always.
He brought his own chopsticks, claiming yours were “not aesthetically aligned with his soul,” whatever that meant. You kicked him for it. He pretended to die. Normal.
But somewhere between arguing over the last dumpling and him stealing your blanket for the third time, something shifted.
“Come here, you’re freezing,” he said, tugging you closer without even thinking about it.
You didn’t protest. You just leaned into him, tucked under his arm like you’d done it a thousand times because you had. Except tonight… it felt different.
The TV flickered dim light across the room, and suddenly you were very aware of the way his thumb absentmindedly traced circles on your arm.
It wasn’t friendly.
It wasn’t nothing.
Gojo noticed the stillness at the same time you did. His hand paused.
You both looked at each other.
Too close. Too warm. Too… coupley.
“Uh,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, “this feels kinda…”
“Suspiciously romantic?” he finished for you, tilting his head with a soft smile that wasn’t his usual teasing one. It was quieter. Real.
Your heart did something annoying.
“Yeah,” you murmured. “That.”
A beat.
Another.
Then he asked, softer than you’d ever heard him:
“Is this still… casual?” His blue eyes searched yours, like he wanted the answer but was terrified to assume. “Because I’m starting to think I don’t want it to be.”
Your pulse jumped.
You took a slow breath. “I don’t know if we’ve been casual for a while, Satoru.”
He let out a small laugh, not cocky relieved. His forehead bumped lightly against yours.
“So,” he whispered, “if I said I want… more, you wouldn’t run?”
You shook your head. “Not unless you start monologuing again.”
He grinned, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess I’ll save the monologues for later.”
And then he pulled you closer again this time fully aware, fully intentional and neither of you pretended it was casual anymore.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ Suguru Geto
It was late when Geto showed up at your door, hair damp from the shower, hoodie sleeves pushed up, holding two cups of convenience store hot chocolate.
“I passed by your place,” he said, though passing by was a lie. Your street was nowhere near his route home. “Thought you might want something warm.”
“Yeah,” you said, stepping aside to let him in. “Sure. Come in.”
It was normal.
Geto dropping by late.
You letting him.
Two friends who spent more time together than apart.
He placed the cups on your coffee table and settled beside you on the couch, close enough that your knees brushed. Neither of you moved away.
“You okay?” you asked, watching him exhale slowly. He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, eyes half-lidded.
“Just tired,” he murmured. “But being here helps.”
You felt that. Deeply.
You handed him one of the hot chocolates, and when he wrapped his fingers around the cup, his hand brushed yours. Instead of pulling back, his fingers lingered light, intentional.
Your breath hitched.
He noticed.
“Sorry,” he said quietly… but he didn’t move his hand.
The room felt impossibly small.
Soft.
Weighted.
You sat together in a silence that wasn’t uncomfortable just full.
Then, without really thinking, Geto reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. A slow, gentle motion that had no business being casual.
Your chest tightened.
“Geto,” you whispered.
He blinked, like waking from a spell. His hand dropped to his lap, and he looked away for the first time all night.
“That wasn’t…” He swallowed. “That wasn’t very friendly of me, was it?”
“No,” you said softly. “It wasn’t.”
His jaw tightened. He stared down at his hands, voice faintly shaky in a way almost no one ever heard from him.
“Is this still… casual?”
A vulnerable pause.
“I need to know. Because it doesn’t feel like it anymore. Not to me.”
Your heart thudded, loud enough you were sure he could hear.
“It hasn’t felt casual for a long time,” you admitted.
Geto let out a slow breath relief threaded through with something deeper, something warm. He finally met your eyes again, and for once he didn’t look composed or guarded.
He just looked… hopeful.
“So,” he said slowly, “if I asked for something real really real you wouldn’t push me away?”
You shook your head. “I’d probably pull you closer.”
A small, genuine smile broke across his face. The kind he didn’t show many people. He shifted closer only an inch, but it felt like everything.
“Then,” he whispered, “let’s stop pretending.”
You leaned into his shoulder, and this time, he wrapped an arm around you without hesitation.
Not casual.
Not anymore.
And neither of you minded.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ Kento Nanami
It started like any other night: you sitting across from Nanami at his dining table, both of you working late.
Your papers, his laptop, a shared plate of sliced fruit he pretended was “for efficiency,” even though he only ever made it when you were around.
Nanami rubbed at his temple, loosened his tie, and let out a quiet exhale.
“You’re overworking,” you said, nudging the fruit plate closer to him.
He gave you a tired half-smile. “Says the person who refuses to take a break unless I remind them.”
You rolled your eyes. “You like reminding me.”
“Perhaps I do,” he admitted softly.
And that was where things shifted.
Because the way he said it wasn’t teasing.
It was gentle. Warm.
More than friendly.
A silence settled between you comfortable, but charged.
After a moment, Nanami stood and moved behind you. Before you could ask why, his hands came to rest on your shoulders, thumbs working slow, steady circles into the muscles along your neck.
Your breath stilled.
“Kento…” you whispered.
“You’re too tense,” he said quietly, voice low near your ear. “You’ll end up hurting yourself.”
His touch was careful, precise, and far too intimate for two people who supposedly had no expectations. You felt yourself melt under his hands, leaning back into him without thinking.
He froze for half a second.
Not because he disliked it.
Because he liked it too much.
His fingers hesitated, then resumed gentler this time, almost hesitant.
“This isn’t friendly,” you said before you could stop yourself. Your voice came out soft.
Nanami’s hands stilled.
He exhaled once, slowly, then stepped back just enough to give you space, not enough to fully leave.
“No,” he said, voice low and honest. “It isn’t.”
You turned to look at him. His glasses had slipped down his nose, and in the warm light of his apartment, he looked almost vulnerable.
“Nanami,” you murmured. “Is this still casual?”
He held your gaze for a long moment long enough for you to see everything he wasn’t saying.
“I don’t believe it is,” he said finally. “Not anymore. And… I don’t want it to be.”
Your heart thumped.
He continued, quieter:
“I enjoy your company far too much. I think of you far too often. And when I… touch you like that, it doesn’t feel like something I should dismiss.”
You swallowed. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” he said, steady as always, “that I want something real. If you do.”
Your answer was simple—you reached out, sliding your hand into his. Nanami’s fingers tightened around yours instantly, relief washing over his features.
“I do,” you whispered.
For the first time that night, Nanami smiled fully soft, warm, unguarded.
“Then,” he said, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, “let’s stop pretending.”
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ Sukuna
Nights with Sukuna were never supposed to be quiet.
He was chaos, arrogance, teeth and threat wrapped in a grin.
You were… well, the idiot who kept him company anyway.
Tonight, though, it was strangely calm.
The moonlight stretched across the floor as you sat beside him in the half-ruined room he claimed as “his space.”
You tossed him a snack from the small bag you brought. He caught it one-handed without even looking.
“You’re spoiling me,” he said with a smirk, tearing it open.
“You’ll live,” you shot back.
“Hm. Will I?”
He leaned back, one knee bent, the other stretched out completely comfortable in your presence, which was not normal for the King of Curses.
But then again… nothing between you two ever stayed normal.
At some point you shifted closer to get a better look at the cut on his cheek, left over from a fight he pretended wasn’t worth mentioning.
“Hold still,” you said.
“I don’t need”
“Just shut up and let me look.”
He did. Surprisingly.
You reached out, brushing your thumb over the dried blood. His skin heated beneath your touch not irritated… something else. Something that made your pulse jump.
Sukuna didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t smirk.
He just looked at you.
Too intently.
Your heart hammered. You pulled your hand back quickly, but his fingers closed around your wrist, firm but not cruel.
“What,” he said slowly, voice dropping, “exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“I was just checking”
“Not that.” His eyes sharpened. “All of this.”
He gestured faintly between you.
The closeness.
The quiet.
The way his hand was still holding yours.
“Isn’t this… a little beyond ‘casual’ for you?” he asked, almost mocking almost. But there was something underneath it. Something he didn’t often show.
Something almost like caution.
You swallowed. “Maybe. You’re the one who lets me.”
Sukuna’s grip tightened just a fraction. Enough to mean something.
“You think I’d allow this,” he murmured, “from just anyone?”
You weren’t stupid. You felt the weight of his words, even if he would never label them.
“Sukuna…” you whispered. “Is this still casual?”
A long, dangerous silence stretched between you.
Finally, he leaned in slowly, deliberately, until your faces were inches apart.
“No,” he said low, voice a dark rumble. “Not for me.”
Your breath hitched.
“And for you?” he asked, gaze burning into yours.
You hesitated not because you doubted your answer, but because admitting it out loud felt like stepping off a cliff.
“…Not for me either,” you said softly.
Sukuna’s expression shifted subtle, but real. Not softer, but certain.
“Good,” he murmured, releasing your wrist only to let his fingers trail down your hand instead slow, claiming. “Then stop pretending I’m something you treat lightly.”
You shivered.
“And you?” you asked. “Are you done pretending too?”
A sharp grin spread across his face hungry, victorious, but undeniably meant for you.
“I don’t pretend,” he said, leaning in just enough to brush your forehead with his. “When I want something… I take it.”
And from the way he was looking at you, there was no doubt what he wanted now.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ Toji Fushiguro
It started like every other night you let him into your apartment.
A knock two sharp, one lazy. His signature.
You opened the door to find Toji leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets, shirt half-unbuttoned like he didn’t care about anything except being comfortable.
“Brought food,” he said, holding up a bag of takeout with that crooked smirk. “Don’t say I never treat you.”
“You only brought it because you were hungry.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, brushing past you. “But you like when I come over.”
He said it like a fact, not a question. And worse you didn’t deny it.
You sat on the couch, eating out of the same container because Toji didn’t bother to grab an extra fork. He just scooted closer, thigh brushing yours, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.
It had been normal.
Too normal.
Somewhere along the line, “hanging out” turned into sharing a bed when he stayed too late.
“Casual” turned into his hand automatically finding your waist.
And tonight… it felt dangerously close to more.
When you reached for a napkin, he grabbed your wrist not rough, not teasing. Just… held it for a second. His thumb brushed your skin before he realized what he was doing.
He froze.
You felt it.
He felt it.
The air went still.
“Toji,” you said softly.
His jaw ticked. He let go of your wrist slowly, like he’d only just realized the intimacy of it.
“Tch. Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, grabbing another bite of food he clearly wasn’t tasting. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It felt like a big deal.”
He paused. A muscle in his cheek jumped.
“It’s not,” he said too quickly, too defensive.
You leaned back, studying him. “Is this still casual? What we’re doing?”
Toji’s eyes flicked to yours, sharp and unreadable.
He didn’t wear vulnerability well it didn’t fit him. But you saw the hesitation. The uncertainty. The flicker of something he didn’t want to call fear.
“Hell,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face. “You really wanna do this now?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled, something tired and resigned and real slipping through the cracks of his usual attitude.
“Look,” he said, voice lower. “I don’t do… labels. Or romance. Or whatever the hell normal people call this.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His eyes snapped to yours. He held your gaze like it physically pained him to look away.
Finally, he said it rough, grudging, honest:
“It stopped bein’ casual for me a while ago.”
Your heart stuttered.
His voice softened not much, just enough that the words didn’t sound like they were grinding out of stone.
“I don’t” he stopped, searching for the right phrase, “I don’t stick around like this unless it means something.”
You swallowed hard. “Toji…”
“And you?” he asked, leaning closer, eyes dark and steady. “You tellin’ me this is still nothin’ to you?”
“It’s not nothing,” you whispered. “Not at all.”
A slow, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Not cocky something warmer. Rarer.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Thought so.”
He reached out again, this time letting his hand settle on your jaw gentle in a way you didn’t expect from someone like him.
“No more pretending,” he murmured.
You shook your head. “No. No more pretending.”
Toji leaned in, forehead brushing yours as he breathed out a low laugh.
“Good,” he said. “’Cause I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ Megumi Fushiguro
Training ended late.
The sun had already dipped behind the rooftops, leaving the schoolyard washed in that soft blue light that made everything feel quieter, almost unreal.
Megumi walked beside you, hoodie sleeves pushed up, scratches on his cheek from a cursed spirit he swore “wasn’t worth worrying about.”
You held out a bandage packet.
“Sit,” you said.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s barely”
“Megumi.”
He sighed in defeat and sat on the low stone wall. You stepped between his knees, leaning in to check the cut. He tensed not from pain, but from you being close. Really close.
Your fingers brushed his jaw as you cleaned the wound. His breath hitched so quietly you almost didn’t notice.
Almost.
“You should be more careful,” you murmured.
“You worry too much,” he muttered back, eyes pointed anywhere except your face.
“Someone has to.”
Your thumb lingered a little too long against his skin.
He didn’t move away.
He didn’t even blink.
A warm, heavy silence settled between you the kind that felt like holding your breath.
You stepped back a little, but Megumi caught your wrist gently.
“Wait.”
You froze.
He looked down, thumb brushing lightly over the inside of your wrist like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
“This is…” he started, then stopped. His shoulders stiffened. “We’re not really acting like just friends, are we?”
Your heart thudded.
“What do you mean?” you asked softly, though you already knew.
Megumi finally looked up at you really looked at you. His ears were faintly pink.
“You take care of me,” he said quietly. “I… let you. More than I let anyone.”
A pause.
“And I don’t think either of us call this casual anymore.”
You swallowed. “No. I don’t think so either.”
Megumi’s eyes softened a rare, almost shy honesty in them.
“So what… what are we then?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
You sat beside him on the wall, your knee brushing his. This time, he didn’t flinch. He leaned in, just a little, like it was instinct.
“We can figure it out,” you said. “Together.”
He exhaled not a laugh, not a sigh. Something relieved.
“Okay,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”
Megumi didn’t grab your hand.
He didn’t need to.
His shoulder bumped yours, staying close as you walked back and for him, that was louder than anything else.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ Yuji Itadori
Training with Yuji always turned into hanging out afterward.
You told yourselves it was for “cooldown time,” but really it was just an excuse to be together.
Tonight you were sitting on the floor of his dorm, backs against his bed, sharing a giant bowl of popcorn you both swore you weren’t going to eat all of… and did anyway.
Yuji laughed at something stupid on his phone and leaned his head on your shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You didn’t tell him to move.
You never did.
When the video ended, he didn’t sit back up. He stayed there, warm and relaxed against you, his hair brushing your cheek.
“You’re comfy,” he mumbled.
“You’re heavy,” you shot back.
“You’re mean,” he said, but he grinned as he said it.
You rolled your eyes, brushing a crumb out of his hair, and that’s when the shift happened.
He looked up at you really looked and his smile softened.
You froze because Yuji doesn’t usually do soft.
Not unless he means it.
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