୨ৎannita

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[withloveanna]

with love, annita:

she/her, dedicated to fanfics. my ao3 here. ✍: jjk, dilfs, fictional crushes, +18, anime, etc...

Masterlist:

OneShots:

nanami has a crush on you (smut) 𝜗𝜚

Nanami Kento As...:

Tutor!Nanami (one shot) 𝜗𝜚 Bf!Nanami (14th february one shot) 𝜗𝜚

OnGoing:

...

[gojover]

A LESSON ON LOVE

with your love life in ruins, the last thing you want to do is think about romance. unfortunately, between passive-aggressive notes and an infuriating neighbour named 4B who won’t leave you alone, love might not be done with you just yet

pairing: frat!jo x reader

content: mdni idiots in love, satoru as a faceless voice for a while, larping abt frats again, one (1) frat party scene, voyeurism, p in v, slightly intoxicated but consensual sex, cunnilingus, slight public sex/hidden sex 30k+

note: there are some images in this fic for immersion but if there's any difficulty in reading them, please click the alt text option! alternatively, you can read this on ao3 !!

When you eventually gained the courage to break up with your shitty boyfriend, you knew it would be a public spectacle considering he’s the vice president of Tau Delta Phi. What you didn’t expect, however, was to find yourself spotlighted in the living room of some random houseparty, an empty red plastic cup in your hand and whatever had been inside now poured over your ex-boyfriend’s head.

It was almost funny watching humiliation and rage surge across Naoya’s face, marked by that red-hot blush you’ve seen far too many times, spit flying from his mouth when he yells that you’ll regret this, he’ll make sure you do. To no surprise he had you kicked out, leaving you stranded on the side of the road at 2am, alone, slightly intoxicated, and with a massive hole punctured through your concept of love.

Whatever Etsy witch he paid to ruin your life would have been hunted during the Salem witch trials because you never find peace following the breakup. You find out he’d been cheating on you with a plethora of girls, you find out the lady living in the apartment next to yours is moving out, and worst of all, you find out the free elective course you enrolled in specifically to take it easy gives you an assignment on love.

ARTS505: Screen Media Practice Assessment 1: Observational Short Film — “Love” Weighting: 30% Due: Friday, 11:59 p.m. Length: 3–5 minutes For this assessment, students are required to produce a short observational film responding to the theme of love.

Go fuck yourself.

The day your neighbour next door moves out, you tear up at the news and let her believe it’s because you’ll miss her and not because you’re terrified her replacement won’t be nearly as forgiving.

Because she smiles when you run into her at the bottom of the staircase and gives you small containers of food, nagging you in the way old women do about eating healthy and sleeping early. To her sweet, unassuming face, you tell her you will though you won’t, and she’ll nod like she believes you and tells you she’ll try to keep it down, kindly avoiding the fact that she can hear you wail at atrocious hours in the night when you’ve assumed everyone has already fallen asleep.

She understood the highs and lows of being a newly single woman in this current social environment. But whoever moves in next? You’re not so sure will.

Okay, so maybe you do miss her.

Because you find out someone new has moved in from the heavy thumping of feet crossing the floor, the thuds of boxes dropped onto the floorboards, the vibrations seeping into your own floors. It seems Naoya’s Etsy witch still has their grip on you because your new neighbour is horrible. They play loud music in the morning, the afternoon, late at night, usually right when you have convinced yourself that this night you will finally get eight uninterrupted hours of blissful sleep. Thuds, banging, thumping, any onomatopoeia, your neighbour has done it.

Sometimes, they leave a pair of sneakers outside their door for two whole days, directly in your path to the stairs, so you have to step around them every morning. Their moving boxes sit in the hallway for so long they might as well be furniture, and you’ve started dumping your tote on the tower of them whenever you dig around for your keys. Packages get delivered to your door instead of theirs. They seem to always be ordering DoorDash, too, the scent of something sugary-sweet seeping under your door until you start craving DoorDash yourself. 

It’s even worse today. You’d come home with groceries instead of takeout, washed your bedsheets for the first time in a long while, lit a candle called Midnight Sunset, and sat down at your desk with the firm intention of brainstorming your film assignment.  Then, from the other side of your bedroom wall, your neighbour starts assembling what can only be a large, flat-packed piece of furniture. For forty minutes, there is nothing but the intermittent scrape of wood, the clattering of metal parts, occasional low murmured curses, and one very loud crash that caused the floorboards to tremble, along with all the tiny screws that rattled in an echo. By the time the banging finally stops, your candle has burned unevenly, your tea has long gone cold, and the only thing written under love film ideas is: ‘kill him’.

shoko: utahime and i are heading to the library to lock in we’re inviting you so you can’t say shit like there’s always a duo in a trio but don’t actually come we’re probably gonna js make out

you: ?

utahime: she’s joking we’re going to study

shoko: booo u whore you’re a cockblock y/n

you: i literally didn’t do anything if anything utahime is cockblocking you but i’ll come if ygs are actually studying i need a fucking break

shoko: we aren’t

utahime: we are shut the fuck up shoko oh my god

shoko: whats with u y/n u sound grouchy

you: im going to kill my new neighbour hes playing shit music through the wall like i miss the old lady so bad

shoko: you really gotta complain to the landlord or smth

you: hell no im not a snitch

utahime: ure weirdly compassionate abt the wrong things hows the assignment going?

shoko: teacher teacher! im snitching!

you: ? do u want me to snitch or not and its not going good at all how can i think about love when theres someone playing phonk in my ear at 6pm on a random tuesday afternoon?

shoko: have u even seen this person?? go up and give them a piece of ur mind or smth also come lib

you: give me a sec i might ive never seen them though theyre usually out at weird times and doesnt really sleep in their own room ?? but what if its a 40 yo gymrat and i get bodied

utahime: yeah thats actually scary write a note or something

shoko: and then come library

you: give me fifteen minutes

Perhaps Shoko’s insistence on going to the library is contagious because you’re suddenly eager to rip out a piece of paper to spill just how much you appreciate phonk in your ears to your neighbour. Or maybe you really just want to tell your neighbour to die.

It starts off innocently enough, the last of your patience allowing kinder words and a light reminder that your neighbour isn’t the only one living in this creaky, ancient building. But then it gets to you, the music, the thudding, the inability to remove laundry from the laundry machine appropriately, and you find you’re pressing the lead of your pencil deep into the paper until it almost leaves a mark on the table beneath.

You heave out a breath of pure catharsis and read it over, giving it an approving nod. This will certainly do.

Then, with your heart much lighter and a perk in your step, you sling your tote over your shoulder and head for the door. Instead of walking to the elevator after you’ve locked up, you make a small detour to your neighbours door and bend down to slide the letter under their door.

There, problem fixed.

With a smile, you turn and walk to the library, oddly lighter for it.

Shoko and Utahime thankfully do not make out the entire time you’re at the library. Unfortunately, they’re still Shoko and Utahime and the three of you waste time gossiping about the high school dead horse that just broke up again instead of doing anything productive. Your document for planning your films remains as empty as ever, only now it’s been shared to two email addresses so they can witness your writer’s block unfold in real time.

By the time you drag yourself back from the library, night has already settled in and you have to use your phone’s flashlight to illuminate the path to your building. The hallway is hushed in that apartment building kind of way, distant television laughter, pipes clinking somewhere behind the walls, the hum of someone’s microwave. You’re fishing for your keys when you notice it, a torn corner of lined paper stuck to your door with blutack.

You blink, too tired to make the connection straight away, brain still slogging through the haze of a caffeine crash. But then you peel it free, turn it over, and squint at the scrawny handwriting on the back.

are you twelve? what’s with the note passing come talk to me if you have an issue also i told the landlord btw lol have fun with that —4b

You crumple the note in your hand.

That fucking asshole.

The landlord does, in fact, show up at your door the next morning wearing a stern expression and with even sterner words. You apologise with a tight smile, offering up the half-truth that you’ve been under a lot of stress lately and didn’t mean it. And then, because two can play at that game, you finally snitch on 4B too, feeling a sharp jolt of triumph when the landlord sighs and assures you that’ll be having a word with the resident next door.

You incorrectly assume that’s the last of it. Because when you come home at the end of another long day of classes, there’s a sticky note taped to your door.

snitch

A disbelieving huff slips out of you as you let yourself into your apartment, your tote sliding off your shoulder with a dull thump, hands too busy flattening the wrinkled paper to catch it. Five minutes ago, all you wanted was to collapse face-first into bed and sleep through the rest of the day. Now, irritation blazes through you so quickly it feels like caffeine, sharp and immediate, and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re fishing a pen from your bag and scrawling a reply across the back.

you literally snitched first asshole. maybe if you weren’t playing anime music at 7pm in the evening i wouldn’t have to snitch on u at all

You stick it to his door on your way back from taking out the trash, pressing your palm against the paper just to make sure it stays there. When you leave the next morning for your usual nine a.m., another note is waiting.

you literally told me to die im not a masochist i wasn’t gonna let that slide ps. ntm on the digimon opening theme that’s something special to me

You write a reply during class, sticking it to his door when you come home.

and u’ve been loud as fuck ever since u moved in here yk the apartment has thin walls right? also what the hell is digimon

It doesn’t take long this time. You’re still boiling water for a coffee when there’s a faint tap at your door. When you open it, there’s a new note stuck smack in the middle, scrawled in hurried letters. You glance up and down the hallway and see no one, and smile as you step back inside.

then just walk those five steps to my door and tell me next time? and ofc someone as unfun as u has never experienced the highs and lows of digimon in ur childhood it all makes sense now

You sip your coffee as you pen your reply.

i swear i’ve knocked in the morning and u didn’t open the door so r u gonna keep edging me or r u gonna tell me what digimon is

It’s only after you’ve already closed your door that you realise you didn’t respond to his second comment so you quickly take a pen and walk back to his door, pursing your lips in effort as you try to add another line against the door. Maybe you’re imagining it but you swear you hear footsteps pause on the other side of the door.

also i just searched it up and i can’t believe my next door neighbour is 12 years old watching cartoons

You quickly scurry back to your apartment just in time, hearing their door open after yours just as you closed yours. A couple seconds later, there’s a knock.

digimon is NOT just for kids

You stare at the note for a second, oddly thrown by the concession considering it had seemed too easy. You’d expected another argument, maybe some smug reply, maybe an insult in even messier handwriting. But instead, he had simply folded.

For some reason, it feels less like a victory and more like a sudden end to something you hadn’t realised you were enjoying. Your other neighbours probably didn’t feel the same considering they had to listen to you and 4B open and close your doors consecutively for the past few minutes.

Still, you tell yourself as you peel the note off the door, a win is a win.

The next morning, you check your door out of habit and is immediately rewarded by a piece of a4 paper stuck to the front.

hey 4a, first of all i want to say that i’ve been very good and very quiet recently which i hope pleases you. please acknowledge my growth — 4b

Because you’re lazy, you flip the paper over and write.

4b, sure ur growth has been noted (?) i feel like there’s more to this do u need something — 4a

You slide it under his door before you can overthink it. By the time you come home that afternoon, there is another note waiting.

4a, thank you for acknowledging my progress but i fear i have received your criticism and decided not to grow from it. maybe head out for the evening also important question do u own a screwdriver ?? thanks, 4b

You frown then write back:

why?

Five minutes later, his reply slides under your door and you watch as the paper slips through completely before standing and reaching for it.

i give u a yes or no question and u still manage to dodge do u own one or not? please. — 4b

The next time you tape a note to his door, you also leave a screwdriver on the ground beneath.

u better give this back

You’re halfway to backing your things for the library when his reply slides under your door. You pick it up while locking your apartment and read as you walk, catching the tail ends of some heavy thudding and hammering from the door beside yours.

people assume just because im a man i must have five screwdriver variants in my drawers or smth anyway im making furniture for my friend and its ikea :( wish me luck 

You snort despite yourself, tucking the note into your pocket as another dull bang sounds behind his door. 

“Good luck,” you think as you walk by, and then, less generously, “and good luck to all the other people living in this building.” 

The library turns out to be the right choice. You spend three hours pretending to work, two hours ranting to the group chat about Naoya’s latest monthly photo dump, and fifteen minutes with your fingers tapping away at your keyboard which is still fifteen minutes more of productivity that you wouldn’t have achieved at your apartment so you’d call that a success.

When you come home, you brace yourself before reaching your floor. 

Surprisingly, there’s a lack of any noise at all. No thudding, no  scrapping, no IKEA-related violence. Your screwdriver sits neatly outside your door, wrapped in a sticky note. 

returned in one piece like i promised! im hoping u took my advice and left the building otherwise can u write your complaint in five words or less? im sleepy zzz

You look at his door, a reluctant smile on your face. For the first time since he moved in, you wonder if maybe the problem was never that he was impossible to live beside. Maybe the walls were thin, and he was loud, and you were miserable, and neither of you had known how to be people around each other yet. 

Maybe, if you both communicated like normal neighbours, this could actually work. 

If you assumed life would look up following this revelation, then you’re sorely underestimating the evil forces (read: Naoya’s Etsy witch) conspiring against your happiness. 

Because the next morning, it isn’t some upbeat anime opening that wakes you up. Instead, it’s the mucus trapped in your airways and the pounding at your temples, dragging you from the dead only to make you feel worse for it. You throw your duvet over your head and pray that when you resurface, your cold will have miraculously disappeared. It doesn’t work, to no surprise, though that thought irritates you too. Then again, maybe that’s just the built up annoyance from having your nose blocked. Miserable and stuffy, you close your eyes and remind yourself to take in a deep breath through your nose when you’ve healed, just to not take it for granted. 

It’s times like this when you miss your good-for-nothing ex, times like this when you remember there used to be someone you could text without thinking, someone you could badger for some chicken noodle soup and maybe a hug and a kiss on your forehead. 

Your own weakness pisses you off.

With great effort, you drag yourself upright and shuffle into your kitchen, pawing through empty pantries. Any plans of heading to that early morning tutorial this morning immediately leaves your mind at your pathetic show of strength. 

You’re halfway through grabbing cereal, any other breakfast option simply too tedious, when a loud voice cuts through the haze. 

“Yeah, she just didn’t get it. And when you have to explain a joke, it’s already over. No dude, obviously it’s her fault for not being with it and not because I’m unfunny, don’t even kid.”

You frown slightly, munching on another chip, thumb scrolling past a video you’re not even sure you watched. Who the hell says ‘with it’?

“If you don’t fuck with with it, then you’re one of the people who aren’t with it. You’re without it.” He continues.

You make a small noise of consideration, vaguely thinking that you might get along with his friend as they seemingly voice your own thoughts.

Your neighbour continues, undeterred from his friend’s unenthusiastic responses. “There’s no chance I’m seeing her again. She did text me but I’m just going to leave her on delivered. Is it cruel or is it saving myself from someone who called my Agumon keychain the deformed twin Charmander consumed in the womb?”

You laugh, sound muffled when your neighbour’s voice peaks.

“He doesn’t, Charmander is from a completely different franchise! And I’ll have you know that keychain was from an artist at Anime Con so when you’re picking on my little guy, you’re making fun of a small business.”

A pause. You scrunch your nose.

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to call it my little guy. If it helps, I gave my dick she/her pronouns like how a truck guy calls his truck a real beauty so she’s not my little guy.”

You snort, crunching down on a chip. You wonder if that sweet salesman next door is as enthralled in 4B’s love life as you were.

“Don’t make such a disgusted sound, she’ll take offence.”

There’s shuffling from above as your neighbour supposedly shifts to a different position, now closer to you such that you could faintly make out the voice of his friend.

“Is liking Agumon such a big deal breaker for you?” his friend says, voice smoother than the whiny tilt in 4B’s.

“Honestly, no. Agumon is my favourite character and I’m not really comfortable sharing him with others because he means a lot to me. But then when I started talking about Digimon she asked me why I didn’t just get a Pikachu keychain instead since everyone at least knew Pikachu and it’ll save me from the questions. Pikachu. The mainstream corporate mouse.”

“Okay,” his friend sighs, “but to be fair, most people know more about Pokemon than Digimon. At least she was trying?”

“That’s the problem!” your neighbour fires back and the image of him in your head changes around his enthusiasm about digital monsters. “No one gives Digimon the respect that it deserves. People act like it’s Pokemon’s weird cousin when really it’s more like Pokemon’s smarter, cooler, better-dressed older sibling who went overseas to continue pursuing their education.”

“And did you tell her that?”

“Yeah, right there in the restaurant."

“You’re never getting a second date.”

He snorts, apparently offended. “Please, like I wanted one.”

Despite yourself you laugh though the silence that follows is enough to rid you of all your amusement. Awkwardly, you trail off by clearing your throat, feeling somewhat like a creep for letting your eavesdropping be known. All this talk about knowing to stay quiet and yet you catch yourself slipping.

You listen as 4B says a quick goodbye to his friend. There’s a rustle, a soft thud, and then his voice comes again, closer this time, like he’s leaned right up against the wall between your apartments.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

For one fleeting second, you think that if this were a horror movie, he would absolutely be the first to die. Not that you’d fare much better, considering you answer him.

“Hi.”

There’s a small pause, then, “No way. 4A? What the hell, I thought you already left for class.”

Your heart skips, thudding against your ribs. For a second, you consider staying quiet and let the walls swallow the moment whole. Pretend it wasn’t you, pretend like the two of you haven’t been trading insults like you were passing notes in class.

There had been a fragile understanding between the two of you to never reach out. And yet, in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to remember why.

You clear your throat, thick with the tail end of your cold. “Well it looks like you guessed wrong. Do I need to send you another death threat for you to keep it down?”

You hear him wince, a quiet sound muffled by the walls. “Maybe we should go back to writing notes to each other. I didn’t know you’d sound like a 40 year old smoker.”

“I’m sick, jackass.”

He hums, unconvinced. There’s a beat of silence as he thinks of what to say. Then, “So, you’re a girl?”

Your eyes roll to your ceiling as you sigh, whatever you were expecting immediately thrown away. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

He huffs out a small chuckle like he can hear the exasperation in your voice and finds it amusing. “I’m just surprised. I mean, you’re so mean to me. Girls usually love me, you know, I’m kind of a ladies’ man.”

That pulls a laugh out of you, rough on your sore throat but impossible to stop. “You? With that personality? Consider me the one surprised.”

“I’m serious. I’m kind of a campus celebrity. Girls flock to me.”

You hoist yourself up onto the kitchen counter, angling your back against the wall where his voice comes through clearest. “You don’t have to lie to impress me.”

There’s a pause and you wonder if your playful insults had gone a little too far in your sick state.

“Oh, I might be into this.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” There’s the faint sound of movement on the other side before your mysterious neighbour talks again. “I meant, what type of person do you think I am then?”

“Considering you fumbled a first date because of a cartoon, I think you have your answer,” you coo with faux sympathy. “You should be nicer to her since I’m sure your cooldown for the next date might take a while.”

“First of all,” he says, apparently offended. “It’s not a cartoon. Second, she fumbled the date on her end. It was a necessary culling for me.”

You snort. “You got dumped over Digimon, let’s settle down.”

“You didn’t even know what Digimon was until I put you on a few days ago.”

You shrug, despite the fact that he can’t see the gesture. “And now that I know it’s even more pathetic. Agumon is the weird orange dinosaur thing, right?”

His whine comes through the wall, only cementing the fact that whoever is on the other side might be the biggest nerd you know. You wonder if he lied about not being a masochist considering he’s taking your insults pretty well. “Hey, come on. He’s just a cute little guy.”

“Right,” you draw out, unimpressed. “Don’t glaze him when he might be the reason you’re a social shut in.”

“That’s a new one. I am now, am I?”

“Please,” you start, warming up to the idea as she speak it into existence. “If women are all over you like you claim they are, why haven’t I heard anyone come over? You and I both know just how thin the walls in this place is.”

“Exactly,” he shoots back. “So why would I bring them back here? Unless you want to be kept awake all night.”

That makes you laugh, the idea of this voice you’re hearing now having any experience at all extremely humourous, much less with the ability to go all night long. You can almost imagine the state of his room, littered with anime posters and plushies making sex feel like a group activity. If you looked up past his figure over you, you’d probably see neon light up stars on his ceilings.

“If you can talk so much about my love life,” he trails off, voice deceptively casual and airy, “do you have a boyfriend?”

That makes you freeze. Something hard and spiky settles in your stomach and you shift on the countertop, searching for a spot that’s comfortable because for some reason, it feels like you’ve lost it. “No.”

The voice doesn’t say anything for a while. “My bad. Touchy subject?”

You shrug despite the fact that he can’t see the gesture and pull your legs to your chest. “It’s fine. It’s been, like, half a year. He was a douche anyway.”

“Okay, six months, not bad.”

Hearing the slight mumble from the other side of the wall but unable to understand it coherently, you frown and press your ear closer. “What was that?”

4B clears his throat. “I’m just saying maybe don’t talk shit when I haven’t heard you bring anyone over either.”

You roll your eyes, forcing your shoulders to relax and somewhat grateful at his deflection. “At least I don’t claim to be a microcelebrity. I keep my circle small and that works.”

“Is there room for one more?”

A laugh escapes you, genuine and surprised. “Why? Asking for a friend or yourself?”

You can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “You diagnosed me as a social shut in, remember? I’m clearing asking for myself.”

“We’ll see, 4B,” you say, though you’re matching his tone with a smile. It doesn’t, however, stop your voice from sounding croakier than intended and you have to painfully make an awkward gargling sound to clear your throat a number of times.

4B winces sympathetically, and he lets you get the worst of it out before speaking again. “Sounds like you might need some water and then a nap.”

“Trust me, that was the plan.”

You start to wiggle down from your counter and grab something to drink, wrongly assuming the conversation ends here.

“Are we going to talk again?” he asks in a rush, and you huff as your feet touch the ground.

“We live next to each other, genius. I don’t think I could avoid you even if I tried.”

“And would you try?”

You sip from your glass, ignoring him.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’ll win you over, just wait.” There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s grinning, you can hear it in the peaks of his voice. “I’ll try to keep it down for you. And then maybe you’ll be less grouchy when you wake up?”

“Go fuck yourself, 4B.”

You roll your eyes, glad that there’s a wall between you to prevent him from seeing your smile. “Goodnight, 4A.”

Gojo Satoru isn’t a man who lacks. 

He’s got the grades (barely, but they’re there), the genes (obviously), the height (something even Suguru finds unfair), the charm (obnoxious), and a reputation on campus that both precedes and betrays him. He walks into a room and people notice. Professors sigh, girls nudge each other, guys scowl though it’ll be his friends that’ll roll their eyes at his presence first. 

He is used to winning. More importantly, he is used to having almost everything in a way that requires very little effort on his part. 

So what the hell is he doing, lying on his bedroom floor where the voice of a stranger still lingers, staring at his wall like it might crack open and offer him answers? She hadn’t even said much, not enough to leave this big of an impression. 

Maybe it was the shock that the person leaving at ungodly hours in the morning beneath him was a girl. He doesn’t know why he’d assumed otherwise. Maybe because the notes had always read so dry, so flat, so quick to snap back at him that somewhere along the way he’d started hearing them in Suguru’s voice. 

Except the voice through the wall had been unmistakably feminine, and now Gojo was having the deeply inconvenient realisation that he might, in fact, be into that. 

It wasn’t even what she said more so how she said it, offhanded and easy as if talking to him was nothing, like he was nothing. and curse his enormous ego, he was Gojo Satoru, for god’s sake. He’s got at least three people in his dms right now asking what he’s up to tonight and it would be as easy as typing back “nothing” to have any one of them. 

But none of them had left a note that told him to get his shit together. None of them made him laugh when ten seconds prior he was so ready to implode, none of them had him craning to his floor like some desperate victorian man listening to the ghostly whispers through the thin plaster. 

Gojo drags a hand down his face, then turns his head again to look at it.

The wall. Plain, off-white, slightly cracked near the skirting board, absolutely identical to every other wall in this terrible building and yet suddenly the most compelling thing in his apartment because now, you’re behind it. Separated from him by a few layers of plaster and paint and bad insulation, close enough that he can hear your laugh if the room is quiet, close enough that he can picture you leaning back against the other side without ever having seen it happen.

Gojo runs a hand through his hair, frowning. 

“This is bad,” he mutters for the second time that day as he explores the foreign feeling in his chest. 

The urge to hear from her again beats like a second heart in his chest, and the distinction between hear and see is important because now it feels less about appearances and more about something else, something he doesn’t have a smug enough name for yet.

Gojo reaches for his laptop, then drops it back onto the floor a second later when even pretending to do work feels stupid when he’s one bad decision away from knocking on the wall just to see if you answer.

Because Gojo doesn’t lack. 

Yet tonight, as he sits on his cold carpet, phone face-down beside him and no urge to answer any of his unread messages, he realises he might be wanting. 

The next time you wake, your fever has left you in an uncomfortable puddle of your own sweat, damp sheets sticking to your skin. A reluctant glance at your alarm clock confirms the worst: it’s 7 a.m. the next day, and you have a 9 a.m. lecture to attend. Somehow, you’d managed to sleep through a near-complete twenty-four-hour cycle, vaguely only remembering how you had stumbled out of bed for the bathroom or small bites of whatever you could find. 

When you open your door to make a hasty exit, jammed toast between your teeth and the delirious hope that you’ll run into a handsome guy around the corner of your block, you almost trip over something that ends your hopes (and almost your life). Thankfully, you catch yourself on your hands and glare down at the perpetrator. 

A sports drink looks back up at you, adorned with a yellow sticky note stuck to its side. After looking left and right down the empty corridor, you pick up the bottle and read the note. 

im not a fan of sick neighbour asmr —4b

You snort despite yourself, heading for the stairs. On the way, you flip the note around and pen a short reply, sticking it to 4B’s door before heading out. 

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Somehow, despite being sick, Shoko shows up to your tutorial later than you. You wave as she dumps her tote under the table and flops unceremoniously into the seat beside you. 

“Are you still sick?” she asks in lieu of a greeting. “You shouldn’t come to class if you’re not feeling well.” 

“What makes you think I’m still sick?” you ask in a voice that can only be attributed to years of smoking or recovering from sickness. 

She gives you a look. “Right. So the eyebags are just your usual go to?”

“It would be fucked up if i always looked like this and you just called me ugly.” You cover your face with your hands. “But it’s not that bad, is it? I still have a reputation I care about.” 

“I’m genuinely afraid of telling you the truth because it might push you over the edge. So yes, girl you look gorgeous.” 

You roll your eyes, slumping to rest your cheek against your arms, looking at her from the side. Her phone vibrates and you hear it loud with your ear pressed against the desk, flinching slightly until she picks it up. 

“What is it?” 

Shoko lets out an unamused huff and shows you the screen. 

gojo (DO NOT ANSWER): wanna hit me up with the pre lab questions? 

It would be a mission to go through university without hearing the name ‘Gojo Satoru’ whether in secretive whispers or muffled in laughter. For one, he’s sport captain for some sport you’ve never paid enough attention to remember. He’s stupidly charming in a way that makes people sigh even when they’re rolling their eyes with an accompanying begrudged smile. Half the girls in your course claim he’s flirted with them whilst the other half say they’d punch him given the chance, before pausing and muttering something like, “but he’s kind of funny, I guess.” 

The only other piece of information you know about him is that he’s loud, annoyingly so which places you in that category of girls that would more likely punch him in the stomach than kiss him. 

You wonder how on earth Shoko could be friends with someone her complete opposite. 

You look up and raise an eyebrow at her. “Well? Are you going to?”

“Do you read with your eyes closed? I clearly saved his contact as ‘do not answer’. If Gojo wants pre-lab questions that badly, he can go flirt them out of one of his fifty fans.”

You snort.“Glad to know you’re a bad friend to everyone and not just me.”

She shrugs. “He thinks I owe him a huge favour for something he did for me a while ago when that is not true at all. I’m sure there’s other people he can hit up for answers. You know how he is, there’s always someone trailing after him like a lost puppy.” 

“Considering I don’t know the guy, no not really,” you say, nudging your cheek more firmly into your folded arms, locking in for a storytime. “Tell me about him.”

Shoko narrows her eyes at you. “You want to know about him?”

“Girl,” you huff, “like gossip. I promise I’m not a groupie. I don’t think I’ve ever actually had a conversation with him so don’t look at me like that.”

“That makes sense. He’s usually only on lower campus so there’s little chance of him showing up randomly, anyway.” 

“Sounds like you don’t like him,” you say, intelligently. 

“I’ve been stuck with him and Geto since high school,” she starts and you actually feel bad for her. “God forbid I don’t want to see him in my formative years, too.” 

You laugh because misfortune is always better on others than yourself. “Now you have to tell me. What did he do to you?”

Shoko doesn’t seem amused. She looks you up and down, eyes narrowing at the smile on your face. “You know, I’m actually an incredible friend and as a friend who cares about you deeply, let me tell you this. You do not want to hook up with him.”

You splutter, lifting your head. “What the fuck? I just wanted to know about the guy! Can we start with being friends first, damn?”

“Let’s just say I know him,” your best friend continues, unfazed. “He wouldn’t be able to stay as just friends with someone like you.”

“Okay, and what the fuck does that even mean?”

“Look,” she says, and you open your mouth to cut her off because the telltale signs that she’s about to change the topic are there. “He’s also in Sig Kap.” The words hit like cold water. Whatever fragile lightness had been carrying you through the morning dims all at once. Shoko notices immediately, of course she does, and some of the bite leaves her expression.

“I just thought you should know.”

You slump back into your chair, crossing your arms and looking down at your table, contemplating if you should start banging your head against the hard surface and end your suffering. “What a mood killer. Did you really have to bring that up?”

“I’m just saying, if you start seeing Gojo around, the chances of also seeing your ex is very high. Sure, they’re not in the same frat but they’re both still in that same group of guys. You know, inter-fraternity relations.” 

“There’s a lot of assuming going on right now, like the fact that I would even see Gojo in the first place, but I’ll let it slide because I suddenly feel the urge to shoot myself in the head.” 

“I thought you were over your ex?”

You don’t say anything for a while, trying to muse out the complex ball of feelings in your gut. 

You had been falling out of love with Naoya for months before the breakup. Maybe even longer, if you’re being honest. It wasn’t like it happened all at once, and there wasn’t one dramatic collapse, no one, big, awful fight, just a slow and steady erosion. A hundred small disappointments, a hundred moments of realising he was more interested in having a girlfriend than being a boyfriend. He forgets the things you tell him, interrupts you to tell your own stories better, talks all pretty to your girl friends and then simultaneously talks shit to you about them when you ask him to stop requesting them on Instagram. 

So if you do miss him, then you might have a masochist streak in you. 

What you miss, maybe, is who you were before all of that. The version of you that believed romance was something soft and mutual and worth fighting for, instead of something performative that slowly hollows itself out while you stand there insisting it’s still alive.

“Y/N?”

You blink and realise Shoko is watching you. “Oh, uh. I am over him. I just wish I could have the pre-Naoya me back, that’s all.”

Shoko makes a disgusted sound on your behalf. “Do not say his name. I gagged.”

“Right?” You shake your head and dismiss whatever useless thoughts still linger, forcing yourself to relax back into something a little more light-hearted. “But it’s whatever. I’ve learnt my lesson now, frat boys are not to be trusted and dating one is like draining all the whimsy out of your body. I honestly don’t care about him anymore and I wouldn’t even think about him at all if I didn’t have that film to make.”

That makes your best friend giggle. “The one about love.”

“Is this funny to you?” you ask with a huff, but you’re grateful that she doesn't force you to say any more than you’re ready for.

“Extremely.” She nods, then dodges when you reach over to try and playfully hit her. “Look, I’m sure inspiration will hit you soon. Love always arrives when you least expect it, and all that.”

You give her a long look, face unmoving. “I don’t want the girl with the girlfriend of three years to say that. Get out of my face.”

Shoko laughs loudly, and you both trail off as the lecture starts. 

The rest of class passes in the usual blur of half-listening and half-heartedly playing minesweeper on the google chrome extension open on your laptop. By the time you make it back to the sketchy, wilted building you unfortunately call home, winter evening has settled in for real, the kind that turns everything blue-grey and has you squinting down the street every few minutes just to make sure the shape in the distance is a person and not a fire hydrant. You had to use your phone’s flashlight for this, and in the last few steps up to your apartment, it betrays you by dying. 

Thankfully, you still manage to make it to your place in one piece. 

You peel the note off your door on your way in, flick on the lights, and let your tote bag drop to the floor with a tired thud.

feeling better?

A soft smile tugs at your mouth before it fades just as quickly, replaced by a small furrow in your brow. Weird.

You’re halfway to the kitchen to find the stack of sticky notes you left on the island in a rush this morning when the world abruptly cuts out.

“The fuck—”

“Ow!” In the sudden darkness, you misjudge the turn around the counter and slam straight into the corner of it.

From the other side of the wall, 4B’s voice comes a little louder. “4A? You okay?”

You suck in a sharp breath, one hand nursing your hip as you try to steady yourself. “Yeah. Just walked straight into my counter corner. What the fuck happened?”

There’s the sound of faint footsteps, then the creak of something shifting as he leans against the wall in his kitchen. “I think this is what they call a power outage. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“I know that, smartass,” you mutter, though not so quietly where he can’t hear. “But how did that happen? It’s not even storming or anything.”

“What’s wrong? Scared of the dark?”

You scoff, already dreading the upcoming conversation. Despite this, you fumble to where that familiar countertop sits against the connecting wall between your apartments and hoist yourself up easily, leaning back so his voice is clearer when he speaks. “No. We pay rent for this place, of course I want to know what’s happening when the lights all suddenly cut.”

“I can text the landlord. If it happened to both of us then it’s probably a building wide thing so it’ll be their responsibility. But all we can do is wait.”

You sigh, long and full of suffering. “This sucks. Couldn’t the power go off at midnight or something?”

“I’ll let the landlord know your availability.” 

You roll your eyes and make yourself comfortable, relenting to stay for however long it’ll take for there to be light again. You mourn the death of your phone then, holding the power button for some kind of miracle and get reminded that, once again, your life sucks and is only full of betrayal and tragedy. 

For a short moment, silence settles between you, and suddenly you’re struck by the irritating realisation that beyond his notes, his terrible taste in alarms, and his frankly irresponsible attachment to Digimon, you know almost nothing about the stranger on the other side of the wall.

“So,” you start.

“Yeah?”

“What were you up to? You know, before the power went out and everything.”

“Curious, hm?” your neighbour replies, that irritating teasing tilt in his tone. “I was just about to lock in for an assignment so I can focus on the midterms coming up in a week.” 

You hum. “What course are you doing?” 

“Physics. And I know what you’re going to say—”

You snort. “Nerd.” 

“You know, some people find intelligence attractive.”

“Do those people also happen to be the same imaginary campus-wide fanbase you keep bringing up?” 

He laughs and you immediately lock onto the pleasant sound, not because you particularly care, but when your vision is knocked out, everything you hear seems amplified. Including the pretty tilt in his tone, the richness in his laugh, and the fact that his voice sits somewhere deeper than you expected from his petulant notes.

“Well, what about you, then? If I’m the resident physics nerd, what are you?” 

You glance out into your dark apartment, the outline of your living room barely there in what little evening light still makes it through the windows. Your camera sits somewhere on the table, your laptop buried inside your tote, your assignment still waiting to be done. 

“Film,” you say at last. “Well, not film-film. I’m just doing one elective this semester to boost my grades but if I could go back in time I would have picked that social media class everyone else does as a GPA booster.”

Your neighbour makes a sound of recognition. “Oh, that! Yeah, I took that in my first year. Our midterm was to write a report on the significance of ‘get ready with me’s’. I’m so serious.” 

You groan, dropping your head onto your knees. “I know, my friend was telling me how she did that class too.”

“Who’s your friend? Wouldn’t it be so funny if your friend was actually in my class that year?”

You roll your eyes. Shoko would have definitely told you about someone like him. “I doubt it. We do the same course and none of our classes are ever near the physics buildings.” 

He hums. “You never know. I get around.” 

That makes you laugh. “Sure, 4B. Let’s stick to hypothetical equations instead of your hypothetical maladaptive daydreams, okay?” 

“You pick on me too much,” he whines. “Give me something to work with, I’m starting to really feel this power imbalance. What’s your film assignment about?”

You let out a long breath through your nose, already hearing his voice in your head and every possible jab he can make. “It’s a film on love.”

He snorts. “Right, because when I talk to you I’m just overwhelmed by the love seeping out of you.”

You sigh. “Kill yourself.”

“See, this is what I mean.”

“All you know about me is my voice,” you shoot back, not necessarily offended so much as annoyed. “I’ve been told that I’m a very benevolent and kind person.”

He hums. “Maybe not when you’re so grouchy then.”

“I’m not being grouchy.”

“At least try and make your point come across.”

“My point is that I’m a delight,” you say flatly. “A warm presence, a gentle soul. Campus-wide rumours actually say I’m beloved by all who meet me.”

“Now who has the imaginary campus-wide fanbase?” he laughs, and even though you roll your eyes, it’s harder to hold onto your irritation when he sounds that pleased with himself.

The dark presses in around your apartment, turning everything into vague shapes and corners, but his voice keeps coming through the wall like a little light you cannot see.

“Okay, then,” he says after his laughing fit. “Prove it.”

You frown, even though he can’t see you. “Prove what?”

“That you’re not grouchy. That you’re a person full of fun and whimsy. If your film is about love, then tell me one thing you love.”

You make a face. “That sounds like world’s worst icebreaker.”

“Someone’s getting defensive,” he sings, sounding far too amused. “Come on, 4A. one thing. It doesn’t have to be deep. Actually, please don’t make it deep, I’m not emotionally prepared for that. Just something stupid that makes you happy. That’s still love, you know?”

You open your mouth with another complaint ready, but nothing comes out. Which is annoying, because it should be easy. Before Naoya, before the breakup, before the awful assignment and the worse timing, you had liked plenty of things without needing to justify them. You liked when orange and pink bleeds across the sky on the walk back from a long day of classes, you liked smiling at dogs when they crossed your paths on the streets, you liked the warmth of a delicious heated drink in your hands on a cold, winter morning. You liked watching people reunite at train stations, you liked filming light moving across your bedroom wall because, at the time, it had seemed like something worth keeping.

Now, asked to name that something out loud, your mind offers you nothing but static.

“Jesus, okay,” he says after a beat. “The silence is very telling.”

There is a soft scrape on his side of the wall, like he is sliding down to sit more comfortably. “Okay, I’ll go first since clearly you need a role model. I love when vending machines actually drop the thing you paid for instead of holding it hostage behind the glass. I love when you think a package is coming next week and then it arrives today like a tiny miracle.”

Despite yourself, you huff. “Sounds like you just love consumerism.”

“I also love when a dog on the street looks like it has somewhere important to be. Like, where are you going? Do you have a meeting? Are you late? Should I call ahead?”

Fuck, that was on your list too. 

“Fine,” you say, shifting on the counter until your socked foot bumps against one of the cabinet handles. “I love when you’re walking past a bakery and they’re making bread, but you’re not hungry, so you just get to enjoy the smell without spending money.” 

“How very financially responsible of you. You’re like the opposite of me. Anti-consumerism.” You can hear the grin in his voice. “Okay, next. We’re making a list now. That’s how brainstorming works, right?” 

You sigh like this is a burden, like you are not already turning the question over in your hands. “I love when the train comes right as you get to the platform.” 

“Really? That sounds stressful.” 

“I love when someone in front of you in line is ordering something complicated and you get annoyed, but then they’re actually really nice to the worker, so you forgive them.” 

“Because is it ever that serious?” 

You roll your eyes, but your mouth betrays you by pulling into a smile. It feels strange on your face, like trying on an old jacket you had forgotten in the back of your closet, something that had once been yours. It’s not a terrible feeling, you decide, perhaps just a little unfamiliar. 

“Okay, my turn again,” 4B says. “I love when you see someone running for the bus and the bus driver waits for them.” 

“That’s rare, some people have that sadistic bone in their body that wants to only see others suffer.” 

“Which is why it makes those off chance moments better. Rarity increases market value.” 

“There’s that consumerism bleeding through again.” 

A thought arrives quietly, not quite the decision you were hoping for in the library, but it’s a small, familiar itch of wanting to keep something before it passes.

“I love when someone laughs so hard they make the other person start laughing even if they don’t know what’s funny,” he continues.

Your eyes have gone to the table again. There isn’t a clean, decisive moment to it, certainly no sudden burst of artistic purpose that you might call inspiration. You simply slide off the counter while he keeps talking, careful not to knock your hip into the corner again and feel your way through the dim apartment toward your camera.

“Also,” he continues, completely unaware. “I love finishing a book or movie and getting so into it that you look it up on Twitter for everyone else’s take.”

“Sounds like you just struggle to form an original thought on your own.”

“I’m superseding my opinion.”

“Oh, what a big word! Good job, 4B.”

You finally find your dust camera hidden by more important things, and take it back to the kitchen.

The room is too dark for the lens to catch anything properly. For a second, you nearly give up, but then your gaze lands on the candle sitting untouched on your dining table, the one you bought months ago because it smelled like vanilla and cedarwood and you had convinced yourself buying one candle would somehow turn your apartment into a Pinterest board’s dream. You’ve never lit it.

But for some reason, the desire to make a mark in the wax comes to front and you set it on the windowsill without any more thinking.

The lighter takes three tries to catch.

“What’s that clicking sound?”

“What clicking sound?” you mumble, brows burrowed as the fire dies again.

“Am I going crazy? Just warning you but I have crazy keen hearing. And now with my sight gone, I’m even more locked in. Sounds like… are you lighting a birthday cake? Is it your birthday?”

“That’s what you think of first when you hear a light?” You don’t know whether to laugh or coo at his innocence in your dorky neighbour. “I’m just lighting a candle because it’s dark.”

The candle flame shivers to life, small and uneven. Throwing a weak gold light over the window ledge and the lower half of the glass. It’s frankly a terrible light source, dim but somehow managing to catch the smudge of your fingerprints on the window and turns the kitchen sink into a dark, warped shape in the reflection. When you prop the camera up against your water jug, lifted by two stacked coasters, the frame tilts slightly to the left.

You hit record.

“Okay, your turn,” he says.

You blink at the red dot on the camera screen. “What?”

“It’s your turn again. Don’t think I didn’t notice you going quiet there. Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean you can get away with not contributing your part to this list.”

“As if you’re keeping track of everything.” You settle back against the counter, close enough to the camera that your voice will catch. “Okay, here’s one. I love it when people apologise to furniture after walking into it. Oh, and, when someone saves you a seat.”

He hums, turning the thought over in his head. “That’s a good one. Could even be your thesis statement for your film, honestly. Something pretentious. Like how love is making room.”

You giggle. “Love is setting aside a space for someone.” 

“Love as chair politics,” he says smartly. 

“Love is an empty seat: an interdisciplinary exploration into effort-based decision-making.” 

“Okay, you made this not fun by actually sounding smart. What the hell is effort-based decision-making?” 

“Google is free.”

You hear the grin in his voice as he bounces off your words. “So is a tree, hang from it.” 

The laugh leaves you before you can stop it. It is sharp and ugly, startled out of you in a way that makes you clap a hand over your mouth too late. The sound echoes faintly in your dark kitchen, caught by the camera, your shadow probably distorted by the terrible angle and the water jug propping it upright. 

There is a beat of silence on the other side of the wall. Then, quietly, delightedly, “Oh, you thought that was funny. You think I’m funny?” 

“Please, it was a fluke.” 

“That was the healthiest you’ve sounded all day.”

You make an offended noise and reach blindly toward the counter until your hand lands on a tea towel. You throw it at the wall and it hits with a soft, deeply unsatisfying slap before flopping onto the floor. 

He gasps. “Did you just throw something at me?” 

“Consider it a formal complaint.” 

“I’m snitching to the landlord.” 

“Tell them to fix the power while you’re there.” 

“Fine. But I’m adding attempted murder on top of that previous violent note.” 

You shake your head to yourself, still smiling. If you were sane, you might take the time to wonder what the fuck you were doing, sitting on your kitchen counter, arguing with a man you’ve yet to seen, smiling like an idiot at your own wall. And yet, you hesitate to move. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything and a silence that isn’t quite awkward settles over you both. 

Then, with a sudden electric hum, the fridge kicks back on and the ceiling light blinks once, twice, and then floods the kitchen in a harsh yellow that makes you squint, and makes your neighbour curse in surprise. 

“Oh!” 

From the other side of the wall, he lets out a sigh. “Boo.” 

You laugh again, leaning over to check your camera. “Boo?”

“I was having fun,” he says, almost accusingly. “The dark was doing wonders for our dynamic. You were less mean when you couldn’t see.”

“You mean when I was visually impaired and vulnerable?”

“Exactly. It was bringing out your softer side. Or maybe it was all me.”

Looking at the camera, you see that the little red dot is glowing steadily on the screen, and only then remember what you were meant to be doing in the first place. Most of the clip is probably just your kitchen window, your voice too close to the mic and his voice muffled through the plaster, the two of you listing stupid things that barely count as anything. 

Still, your fingers hesitates over the stop button. 

On the other side of the wall, he shifts and the wall groans. “You alive over there? The light didn’t evaporate you when they turned back on, did they?” 

You press stop. “Now how does that make any sense?” 

You pick up the camera, thumb hovering over the saved clip. The thumbnail is dark and grainy, almost useless at first glance, but when you play the first second back, your own laugh cracks through the tiny speaker before you panic and mute it. 

Your face warms. 

Stupid. 

So, so stupid. But you don’t delete it. Instead, you set the camera carefully on the counter and blow out your candle still burning against the window. 

“Anyway, since the lights are back, I’m going to pretend to do my assignment now. Keyword pretend because I like to keep my goals realistic,” 4B says and the strange mood lifts and dissipates with the candle’s smoke. 

“Good luck with that.”

“Good luck with your love thing.”

You look down at the camera again.

“Yeah,” you say, picking it up before you can change your mind. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

You pause. Then you tuck the camera against your chest and head out of the kitchen. “Nothing.”

Behind the wall, 4B laughs like he does not believe you at all, and you leave before he can ask.

You don’t remember when but sometime along the semester, you begin to enjoy waking up. You hadn’t grown a newfound appreciation for your alarm, no that was still a work in progress, but something about opening your eyes to start a new day no longer evoked a groan. Your next door neighbour did that for you instead.

One morning you were waking up to a quiet early morning and the next, you hear an alarm ring parallel to yours.

You hear it again this morning as you rub the sleep from your eyes as some anime opening plays, muffled by the distance. When you step into your kitchen, it’s louder, and you hear the soft padding of feet against floorboards as 4B wakes.

“Morning,” he’ll mumble, voice rough from sleep, just as he did now.

“Good morning,” you’ll say back and hope he doesn’t hear the smile in your voice.

He’ll grunt in acknowledgement, heading for his bathroom which you’ve come to realise shares a wall with your bedroom. You’ll get started on packing a lunch to take to campus while he takes his sweet time getting ready. You wake far too early for him, after all.

You’ll pause on your way out, just as you did now, tilting your head slightly to listen. If he hears your door open, he’ll call out, “Good luck with your classes!” and if he doesn’t, water too loud or too immersed in something else, you’ll say, “See you later!”

It’s a routine you’ve come to love.

Sometimes when he hears you sigh coming back from campus, you’ll hear him close his fridge and fall into his couch. “Grey's Anatomy?” he’ll ask loudly and you’ll laugh softly, hand already reaching to grab your remote despite your drowsiness.

You tell yourself it isn’t a big deal. Plenty of people have neighbours and plenty of people talk to said neighbours. Plenty of people probably know the exact sound of their neighbour’s footsteps in the morning, the difference between their sleepy voice and their smug voice, the exact pause before they say something annoying just to get you to react. 

Probably. 

Still, the thought follows you out of your apartment and all the way to campus, sitting somewhere uncomfortable behind your ribs. It’s there when you catch yourself slowing down near the front steps because someone ahead of you laughs a little too loud and, for one stupid second, you think it might be him. It is there when you buy coffee and almost order an extra pastry because 4B once mentioned he loves sugary things first thing in the morning and frankly any other time of the day. 

It is there when you realise, with a kind of quiet horror, that you might actually like him. 

Recognising the telltale signs that you’re about to spiral, you decide to at least try and prevent it by taking a walk and touching grass. Unfortunately, you forget that there are evil forces against you because when you step into the main courtyard on campus on your way out, you immediately find yourself in hell. 

Like, actual hell. Like there’s a frat car wash happening in the middle of the campus kind of hell.

A row of cars lines the curb beside the courtyard, soapy water running down the pavement in bright, bubbly streams. Someone has set up a folding table with a cardboard sign that reads SIG KAP CHARITY CAR WASH in marker thick enough to be seen from across the street. A group of people have already crowded around the main attraction snapping away and laughing, the men scattered around yelling over each other as they try and organise the mess. There’s a JBL speaker playing Cbat and other such EDM trap that has you wondering if you’ve walked yourself into a rave. 

And standing in the middle of it all, shirtless and holding a sponge as flexes for his groupies, is Gojo Satoru. 

He’s hot. There’s really no polite way around it. His hair is damp from the spray of the hose, white strands pushed messily off his forehead and curling slightly at the ends. Water runs in thin lines down his throat, over the sharp cut of his collarbones, then lower and lower, disappearing along the hard planes of his stomach and tapering down into droplets that catch the sun on his abs. 

Your eyes follow a line of water that continues further down which is definitely a mistake. 

A deeply human mistake, but still a mistake nonetheless because it means you get an unwillingly thorough look at the narrow dip of his waist, the low-slung band of his shorts, the way his abdomen tightens when he twists the sponge out over the hood of a car. 

You shake your head, rattling any more indecent thoughts from your head. Sure, fine, he’s hot as fuck. But who is genuinely stupid enough to get seduced into donating money because some guy with abs and wet hair smiles at them whilst simultaneously wiping bird shit off a windscreen?

A group passes by the table and drops a note into the donation jar. 

You stare. Okay, nevermind. Apparently some people really will. Still, it has absolutely nothing to do with you. You don’t have a car, you don’t carry cash on you, and you don’t want to entertain a bunch of frat guys especially after all you’ve learnt this year. So, you adjust the strap of your tote higher on your shoulder and keep walking. 

“Hey, you in the band shirt!” 

Your foot catches slightly on the uneven pavement, and you make an embarrassing gesture getting back on two feet. Blind panic and something warmer, something more traitorous, jolts through you like a beam of lightning. 

No. 

No, because that voice—

You’ve barely rationalised anything before your head is whipping so fast over your shoulder you think you’ve given yourself a cramp. It’s instinctive more than anything, a kind of desperate hope for something indescribable, heart leaping up to your throat at the thought that a voice behind a wall has suddenly become attached to a body. 

And what a body. 

Gojo jogs toward you, shirtless and damp and unfairly attractive under the sun, towel bouncing against his neck with each step. There is soap clinging to his hands, water sliding down the firm line of his chest, one hand running through his hair as he shakes it of loose droplets. 

He comes to a stop in front of you, grin already loaded. You don’t even flinch when he flicks water onto your face accidentally. 

“Band shirt! Running away already?” he asks. “I didn’t even pitch you yet.” 

Gojo Satoru just spoke with 4B’s voice.

Your 4B. Except he’s no longer a faceless voice in the dark. He is Gojo Satoru. He is shirtless in front of you. He is looking at you like he’s waiting for an answer. 

“You cryin’? he asks, head tilting slightly as he glances at the droplets on your cheek. “Is the sun getting to you? We have buckets of water back there if you want to dunk yourself. Or maybe you want to dunk me and live vicariously through that? I noticed you staring.”

You force your mouth to move. “I don’t have a car.” 

Unfortunately, the voice that comes out is wrong. It’s too high like you’ve swallowed your own throat and replaced it with someone doing customer service over the phone. 

Gojo blinks. 

You clear your throat. “I mean, I don’t have a car,” you repeat, lower this time. 

Great, now you sound like you’re about to rob him. 

His smile twitches, one eyebrow raising slowly as he regards you. 

“Right,” he says, slowly. “No car. I think I got it the first time. What about a bike? We can wipe down the seat or something.”

You shake your head. 

“Scooter? Skateboard?” 

“No.”

“How do you get around?” 

“Feet.”

He looks down and you suddenly feel self-conscious of your shoe choice. 

“We don’t typically offer pedicures but I could make an exception for you,” Gojo says with a wide grin. “Or we could give your shoes a good scrub.”

“I don’t have anything for you to wash.” 

“What? Don’t tell me you’re attached to that layer of grime you have on them.” 

You’re so offended you temporarily blink of your stupor to splutter. “They’re not that dirty! They’re just well-loved!” 

“They’re clearly crying out for some divine intervention. Lucky for you, I might as well be the second coming of Jesus.” 

You scoff. “No way. Maybe I like them ugly, okay?” 

Gojo’s grin widens. “So you admit they’re ugly.”

You hate that he catches it so quickly. You hate even more that your heart picks up like a trapped hummingbird beneath your skin. 

Behind him, someone whistles. “Satoru, stop flirting and actually help!” 

“I’m not flirting,” he calls back without looking away from you. “I’m recruiting customers!”

He lowers his voice so it’s just for you. “You are planning on being a customer, aren’t you?”

You scoff. “Is this what the whole pitch is? Bullying people’s shoes until they donate?”

“No, that was just tailored marketing.” He leans slightly closer, lowering his voice like he’s about to reveal a conspiracy. “The real pitch is much more moving.”

“Okay,” you say, because apparently you’ve lost the will to survive. “Go on then.”

Gojo flashes you another smile, or maybe he hasn’t stopped smiling not even once throughout this entire encounter, and steps back, pressing one wet hand dramatically to his bare chest. He adopts a pitiful expression as he gazes at you. “Every year, hundreds of cars on this campus are forced to suffer through bird shit, pollen, and the mysterious sticky stuff that appears under trees for reasons science refuses to explain.”

You grimace.

He continues, undeterred. “For just five dollars, you can help one of these poor vehicles experience dignity again.”

“I don’t have five dollars.”

“For just three dollars—”

“No cash.”

“For one encouraging word—”

“Not happening.”

“—you can support a hardworking student athlete in his fight against grime,” he finishes calmly. 

“I think you just want to be shirtless,” you say what’s been on your mind the entire time, letting yourself steal another glimpse of his chest. Is it just your imagination but did he just flex his pecs at you?

He looks down at himself like he has only just remembered the state he is in. “This? It’s a uniform. Works wonders for pulling in interest.” He gestures vaguely over his shoulder where another person has just dropped money into the donation jar without taking her eyes off his back. “See? The system works.” 

“How are you so blatantly shameless?”

He shrugs. “Shame only slows you down.” 

Gojo steps slightly to the side when someone passes behind him with a bucket, and the movement brings him just close enough for you to catch the clean, cozy smell of soap and sunscreen underneath the damp heat of him. The towel around his neck drips onto his chest and a bead of water slips from his collarbone, trailing lower. 

Your eyes follow it again. Good lord. When you force your gaze back up, he’s watching you smugly. 

“So,” he says, voice dropping a little, “should I put you down as morally opposed to charity, or just immune to my charm?” 

“Those are the only options?” 

“Hey, I’m open to feedback. If you have a complaint, I’m all ears.” 

“Add a financially unavailable option.” 

“Okay.” He nods gravely. “Morally opposed, charm-resistant, and broke.” 

“I didn’t say broke.” You cut yourself off when you realise you’ve spent too long arguing with him when you had been so determined to walk away moments before. “Forget it, I’m walking away.” 

Gojo laughs and steps directly into your path, head tilting as he studies you like he’s trying to place a song from the first few seconds.

“You have quite the mouth on you,” he says, and something foreboding settles in your gut. “What’s your name, band shirt?”

Something about his voice tricks you into almost answering, perhaps because 4B has spent weeks training a response out of you. He says something stupid, you respond with something worse, and you fall into conversation that way. But while they sound the same you force yourself to remember this isn’t 4B through the wall. 

You have only one goal here: get out before he starts connecting ‘band shirt’ to ‘familiar voice’ that becomes ‘girl through the wall’ because then you’ll have to move apartments and potentially countries. So, you straighten your shoulders, lift your chin, and speak in the blandest tone you can manage. 

“No,” you say. “Short for none of your business.”

“That’s a terrible name,” Gojo says, nose scrunching up. “What did you do to your parents to deserve that? It’s going to look quite hurtful on the donation receipt.” 

“I’m not donating,” you say, already looking for the cleanest route around him. “So thankfully, your admin concerns are none of my concern. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

“You won’t donate, you won’t volunteer, and you won’t give me your name,” he says, still watching you too closely. “But you’ll stand here and argue with me.”

“That’s because you seem like the type who needs things explained slowly,” you quip back. “And besides, you’re in my way.”

His gaze flicks briefly to the open space beside him. You both look at it.

Then he looks back at you, smile unbearably smug. “Am I?”

You hate him because he is right, and because the longer you stand here, the more his voice settles into place with his face, and the more impossible it becomes to separate Gojo Satoru from 4B. You can feel it happening in real time, the two versions of him overlapping until the faceless boy through the wall starts becoming this shirtless jerk with wet hair and water dripping down his chest. 

“You’re very intense about names,” you say, forcing your voice into that same bland, too-flat register. “Maybe work on that before the next person you corner.” 

“Relax,” he says, voice dipping into something smoother. “I’m just saying, if a girl insults me this much, I feel like I should at least know what to call her.” 

“Band shirt is working fine for you. And if it’s not going on a donation receipt then I don’t see why you really need it.”

“Can I guess?” he asks instead, already leaning forward like the idea has thrilled him. 

“Absolutely not.” You take a step to the side, causing him to promptly mirror you. “Dude, quit it.” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, immediately stepping back with both hands raised to showcase his harmlessness though it’s ruined by his smile. “Got excited. You’re so nonchalant and mysterious it just draws me in, you know? Come on, I’ll leave you alone if you just give me a name, your real name.”

“No.” 

“Okay, not a real one,” he concedes far too quickly. “Just so I have something to call you in my head when you’re already running through it so much.” 

“I’m not giving you a fake name either.” 

“That’s so much worse,” he says, sounding wounded. “Now you’re not even trusting me with a lie? I’m shirtless for charity, band shirt, I’m vulnerable.”

“Vulnerably harassing a stranger for her name in the middle of campus?” 

“Stranger feels harsh.” His smile shifts a little, still playful yes, but the focus underneath it becomes visible. “You don’t exactly feel like a stranger.” 

You need to get out here right now. 

You tighten your hold on your tote bag and start walking, not caring where your dirty shoes led you, not caring if it even led you back to that God forsaken carwash. Gojo doesn’t give up, trailing after you and eating up the distance you try to place with his long legs, body facing yours even as you speed walk. 

“Do I know you?” 

“No,” you say. “We don’t know each other.”

“But it feels like we know each other.”

“We? There’s no we. Maybe you’ve seen me in passing but it’s not something to obsess over. Okay, bye.” 

“Possible,” he says, nodding solemnly. “I do have a wide reach. I’m trying to expand it, actually, which is why I need your name.”

You pass the front of the carwash table once more and someone at the front turns, practically jumping on the spot upon seeing Gojo. He ignores them, still drilling holes into the side of your face. 

“First initial?”

“N. For No.”

“Last initial?” 

“O.”

“Does it have an A in it?” 

“Do you know when to quit?” 

“Is that a yes?”

“No.”

“No, it doesn’t or no, you won’t tell me? Or secret third option, No as in No your name.” He clicks his tongue like you’re the one being difficult. “See, this is getting really confusing. You could solve this entire problem by telling me your real name.”

You keep walking for a few more steps but it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t have a golden retriever trailing after your every step, and word, especially when he’s shirtless and a microcelebrity on campus. 

“Look,” you say, stopping and turning to give him a piece of your mind. “I don’t know you, you don’t know me, so this has been deeply unnecessary. Let’s just leave it at that okay?”

His smile softens as he also stops, looking at you. “Then tell me your name and we can fix that.”

For one stupid, horrifying second, you almost do. His voice dips around his words, warm and familiar, and your brain gives you 4B through the wall saying morning, 4A, soft with sleep, and suddenly your name feels like something dangerously close to being handed over.

His hand lifts, reaching for your wrist at your hesitation but hovers short of actually touching, eyes holding yours for permission. 

Then someone calls, “Satoru!”

His face twists, mouth opening like he is ready to spit out another excuse, when a towel hits him square in the back of his head.

He jolts, hand leaving the space between you to grab at the towel before it falls. “What the fuck?” 

You both look over in the direction of the carwash. 

Sukuna stands by the donation table with another towel hanging from one hand, looking like he would rather be dragged behind one of the cars than be there voluntarily. He is also shirtless, because can you even see a guy with his shirt on in a fifty metre radius around you? Water drips from the ends of his pink hair, sliding down the hard line of his neck and over his chest, his skin still shining from whatever girl had convinced him to stand under the hose for a photo. 

“Oi,” Sukuna calls, lifting the towel like he might throw it again. “Are you done begging, or should we put a bowl out for you too?” 

Gojo’s expression immediately collapses into offence. “I’m not begging. I told you I was networking! You’re really cramping my style.” 

“Whatever you want to call it.” Sukuna jerks his chin toward the cars. “Get back here. Some girl paid ten dollars because you promised to write her name in soap on the windshield.” 

Gojo ruffles a hand through his hair and you catch a glimpse of his undercut before he groans, ducking his head. “Shit! I forgot I said that. Can’t you take one for the team, Sukuna?”

“She asked for you.”

The imaginary campus-wide fanbase turns out to be true, you think mournfully. 

A few people around the table laugh, and Gojo turns just enough to argue back, towel clutched in one hand, wet hair sticking messily to the back of his neck. You take the sight of his back muscles as a sign to leave. So before he can turn back around, you step away. 

Then another step. Then several more, fast enough that your tote bumps against your hip and your grimy shoes slap loudly against the wet pavement. It’s not running, because running would imply guilt, and you are innocent of everything except being cursed. 

“Band shirt,” Gojo calls behind you and because it’s not your name, you don’t turn around. 

You especially don’t turn around when Gojo’s half-groan, half-laugh follows you across the courtyard, short yet familiar enough to make your stomach twist. 

4B is Gojo Satoru.

Gojo Satoru is 4B.

Someone needs to take down the Etsy website.

You never do wear that band shirt again. 

Not that it mattered much because you also don’t really go outside for a week, not if you could help it. You want to call it locking in because the midterms are coming up but in the brief moments when you allow yourself the truth, you admit it’s because you’re preventing any chance of running into Gojo again. 

It’s difficult to do that when he’s your neighbour. Or, well, when 4B is your neighbour. 

That distinction becomes very important to you. Gojo Satoru is someone you saw shirtless in the middle of campus using charity as an excuse to flex obscenely at the general public moving through their day. Gojo Satoru has wet hair, a stupid grin, and is highly dangerous because he has a face and a body and a set of eyes that pins you down, 

4B is a voice through the wall. 4B is his alarm going off too loudly in the morning, all groans and curses as he heaves himself from the warmth of his bed. 4B is ranting about the latest anime he’s watched, whispering through plaster when it gets late, knocking twice against the wall when he wants your attention but isn’t sure if you’re in.

So you let yourself have it. You avoid Gojo, and you keep talking to 4B.

After a while, there aren’t many problems with having Gojo as your next door neighbour. Sure, he can get loud during phone calls with his friends but you quickly forgive him when he gives sheepish apologies and dials down his volume. And sure, his alarm is loud but after that initial morning when you grilled him on the cheerful tune, he had changed it to something more appropriate.

The way he laughs is loud, the way he sings as he cooks is loud, the way he says your unit number is loud, all bright like he’s been waiting to catch you the moment you step into your apartment.

It seems Gojo can’t help but be loud. In every aspect.

You wonder if you should bring it up.

It really was unfortunate that your bedroom and his bathroom shared a wall. Whoever constructed this building many, many years ago must not have planned it out too well and simply settled for fitting rooms of different apartments together like tetris. And because of this, his bathroom ends up right next to your head when you sleep. 

You also gather that his shower is pressed against the said wall that you share with him, if his groans are any indication. 

You should probably bring it up. 

But how does one even bring up such a conversation? Hey neighbour! Not that I’ve been listening but I can hear you jerk off in the shower. Could you stop? 

In his defence, you relent, rolling over and pressing your pillow against your ears, he was trying to be subtle about it. You appreciate that he wasn’t doing it in his room since that would certainly turn you off from whatever you’re eating in your kitchen next to him. But if he believes the rush of water is enough to muffle his moans, he’s sorely mistaken. 

You roll onto your other side, shuffling when even this position isn’t comfortable. Your thin sheets are tangled around your legs and you’re desperately trying to focus on the book you’re reading on your phone. But who are you kidding, your thumb has been frozen on the same paragraph for the past five minutes, mind a million miles away. 

There’s a thud of something being placed down on the tiled floor, a slight rustle. And then, a low, breathy groan—so faint you could almost convince yourself you imagined it. 

But you definitely did not. 

You breath catches as you place your phone down and stare at the ceiling as if that will make the sounds stop. It never works. You tell yourself to just roll over again, put in your airpods and drown it out. You’ve done it before, you can do it again. 

But your hand is already drifting down, sliding over your stomach, fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts. 

The first stroke is unintentional, a simple slow press through cotton just to feel something. But then you hear him again, a sharper exhale, a whispered word you can’t quite make out, and your hips shift, pressing your palm harder against your cunt. 

Fuck. 

You close your eyes and instead of the dark of your room, you see steam. A shower, his shower, the one right on the other side of this wall. 

You don’t want to think about Gojo like this so you settle instead on your 4B. All you know is the sound of his footsteps in the hallway, the messy scrawl of his handwriting, the sound of his door opening and closing, the low rumble of his laugh when he teases you. It’s deep and a little rough around the edges. You’ve built a version of him from the sound alone, and right now, that’s more than enough. 

Fingers tracing the outline of your clit through the fabric, circles so light they’re barely there, you let your mind wander. 

You imagine stepping into that shower. The air is thick and wet, fogging up the glass. He’s already under the spray, back to you, water streaming down his shoulders. You don;t want to see his face, but you can see the way his muscles shift as he turns his head ever so slightly, giving you the slightest glimpse of his side profile before the steam whisks it away. 

It would be foolish to hesitate. You slide your hands around his waist from behind, palms flat against his stomach, and he laughs, the vibrations meeting your chest. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice deeper, lower with him so close to you. “Look at you, giving me a helping hand, hm?”

“Shut up,” you’d probably mumble against his shoulder blade, fingers already trailing lower, through the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. “You’re always so loud.”

He’d be hard already, and you can feel the heat of him, the slight twitch as your fingertips brush the underside of his shaft. 

“No, I don’t think that’s right,” he says. “Because you’ve been listening, haven’t you? All those nights wrapped up all pretty in your blankets, thinking you can get away with using me to feel good, thinking you’re an angel for trying not to listen. But you know exactly what I sound like when I’m close, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches as you wrap your hand around him, and he groans, deep and guttural, exactly the sound that’s coming through the wall right now. Your hand moves in time with the fantasy, slow strokes, thumb pressing into the slick tip, and he leans back into you, letting his head fall against your shoulder. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Such a good girl. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to touch me. Wanted to feel your hand on my cock for so fucking long, angel.” 

“Since when?” 

You stroke him faster, twisting your wrist the way you imagine he does, and his breathing turns ragged. 

“Since the moment you opened that pretty mouth and told me off. Fuck—faster, angel. Just like that, don’t stop. Your hand feels so perfect.”

Your own fingers press harder against your clit through your shorts, and you let out a tiny whimper you hope he can’t hear through the wall. Maybe he can, maybe he really does know exactly what you’ve been doing. That thought makes you even wetter, a choked gasp escaping. 

In the fantasy, his body tenses. His hand comes up to cover yours, pressing your grip tighter around him. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he says, voice strained. “I’m gonna paint the tiles with it, and you’re gonna watch. You’re gonna listen to me fall apart because of you. And then—fuck—then I’m gonna fuck you.” 

His hips jerk forward, and you feel the hot pulse of his release against your hand, the way he shudders and moans your name (which he doesn’t know, but you give it to him anyway, a whispered invention). His cum slicks the inside of your fingers, and you keep stroking until he pushes your hand away with an overstimulated whimper that might be your own. 

He turns around. 

You still don’t see his face, just the broad outline of his chest you saw during the carwash incident, the water catching in the hollow of his collarbone. He pushes you back against the cool tile with one hand braced beside your head, the other sliding down your stomach, between your legs.

“My turn,” he purrs. “I’m gonna fuck you right here, in my shower, where you can hear every sound I make. And you’re gonna take it, aren’t you? Gonna be an angel for me and let me use this pussy like I’ve been dreaming about.”

You nod, mouth open, and he sinks two fingers into you without warning.

The gasp that escapes your lips is real. “Gojo—!”

“Nuh uh, pretty,” he coos in your ear. “Call me Satoru. C’mon, say my name, angel.” 

You shake your head against your pillow, back arching. “That’s—that would be weird.” 

He slows down, taking his time with you, dragging his fingers against your gummy walls before sliding over that spot that makes you see stars, chuckling when you gasp. “I’m making you feel this good and you’re still talking back? Gonna need to fuck that attitude out of you.” 

You bite your lip hard. “Satoru…”

He stills, before he presses down hard. “Hm? What was that?”

“Satoru!”

His voice is a rough, airy thing in your ear. “That’s it, pretty, you’re doing so good for me.”

Your own fingers mimic the motion, pushing inside yourself while your thumb circles your clit. You can hear him through the wall—a wet, rhythmic sound, faster now, and a string of words you catch in fragments. “Yeah… that’s it… take it…”

You imagine his cock,thick, already half-hard again from the feel of you, sliding between your thighs. He lifts your leg, hooks it over his arm, and presses the head against your entrance.

“Look at me,” he says, and you try, but his face is a blur of heat and water, just shadows and the gleam of wet skin. “Look at me while I fuck you. I want you to remember this.”

He pushes in slow, and you feel the stretch in your fantasy and in your own body as your fingers sink deeper. You bite your lip to keep from moaning out loud.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he groans, his forehead pressing against yours. “You feel that? That’s my cock filling you up. That’s what you get for listening in, for touching yourself to the sound of me cumming.”

He sets a hard rhythm, the slapping of wet skin echoing off the shower walls. Your fantasy-self clings to him, nails digging into his back, and he keeps talking, his voice ragged and dirty, exactly what you need.

“That’s it, it feels so fucking good, huh? Bet you love this, love that you didn’t know what I looked like but you know the sound of my balls slapping against your ass. You’re such a fucking slut for it. Is it hotter now that you know who I am? Open your mouth and tell me, Y/N.”

You whimper, hand curling into the sheets. “I—I can’t. You’ll hear.”

“I know, I know, you’re trying so hard to be quiet for me,” he mumbles, so soft and understanding even as he drives into you. “But I’m going to need to hear you, okay? Need to hear how much you want this.” 

Your fingers move faster, matching the pace in your head. Your breathing is ragged now, little moans falling from your lips that you can’t hold back. You don’t care if he hears, and maybe if you’re slightly truthful, you hope he does. “Oh god, Satoru, it feels so good!”

In the fantasy, he’s close again. You can feel it in the way his thrusts lose rhythm, in the way his grip tightens on your hip.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he growls, and it’s a question and a statement all at once. “You want that? Want to feel my cum dripping down your thigh?”

“Yes,” you whisper out loud, into your empty room.

He buries himself deep, and the fantasy explodes in a rush of heat and words: “Fuckfuckfuck—take it—take my cum, you dirty little thing—gonna fill you up so full—”

You climax with a gasp, your back arching off the mattress, your fingers pressing hard against your clit as waves of pleasure roll through you. You hear yourself moan, a high, broken sound, and you don’t care.

The sounds from his side of the wall change.

There’s a final, shuddering groan and the squeak of a hand against tile. And then silence, broken only by the rush of water from a showerhead.

You lie there, panting, hand still between your legs, your skin flushed and damp. You can almost smell the steam, almost feel the ghost of his fantasy-body pressed against yours.

The shower turns off and you climb out of bed, running away to the living room. 

You’re not a freak. You can’t be. 

You’re a kind, virtuous person who knows no sin, who is gracious and angelic and trustworthy and not someone who listens in on her neighbour jerking it in his shower. That’s simply not who you are and not something you’d ever do. 

Despite this obvious fact, your brain tells you otherwise. And when you are at war with yourself, what else is there to do but consult your friends?

You find Shoko outside the campus cafe, sitting at one of the metal tables with an iced coffee and her laptop open, clacking away with a frown. The chair opposite her is empty though not welcomingly. It’s buried under her tote bag, a packet of cigarettes jutting out that would have her girlfriend at her throat if she saw. 

You walk over, tuck the box further into her bag and under her jumper, before putting her bag on the ground. “You’re smoking again?” 

“Hi,” Shoko says, looking up briefly before slumping down over her laptop. “Just to get the edge off. Midterms are coming around and I’m already feeling the effects.”

You nod, stealing her drink and taking a long sip. She looks at you again, squinting. 

“You don’t look as bad as I thought you would.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Isn’t that film of yours due next Friday? Where’s the panic and stress? Also, that’s my coffee you whore.” 

You take one last long sip and slide it back over. “I have bigger fish to fry. But shit, Shoko, you look completely under it already. We can call off girls’ talk for another day, I promise it’s not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” Shoko scoffs, hitting enter before closing her laptop. “You triple-texted last night at 3 a.m. not making any sense at all. What happened? Did Naoya text you again? You didn’t unblock him, did you?” 

“What? No! It’s…” you groan, covering your face. “It’s worse. It’s so much worse. I think I’m at the edge of the abyss staring down. Like whatever I do here on out will either make or break me.”

“Okay,” she replies slowly, clearly not expecting your response. “And who is this about exactly?” 

You wonder if you can tell her the truth. Hey Shoko, you might decide to start with, I’ve been crushing on the voice of my neighbour for the last month who I just found out is Satoru, you know your friend? Also, I’ve been listening to him jerk it for a while now and I have an inkling that he knows.

Instead of any of this, you whisper, “Satoru.” 

She flinches as if you’ve slapped her. “What?”

Your finger comes up to point before you stop yourself, realising it was impolite to point, but your gaze is far too telling. She hesitates, taking in your horrified expression before looking over her shoulder to find Gojo stepping into sight, head turning about as if searching for something. 

You almost delude yourself into thinking that when his gaze stops at your table, his eyes light up because he’s looking at you. You almost delude yourself into thinking that he’s making his way to your table. You almost delude yourself into thinking the smile he wears is for you. 

Only one of these things is true because the moment you see him, you’ve pulled your hoodie up until it’s almost flopping back over your eyes, leaning back and tucking your chin in.

Gojo saunters up to your table and stops just beside Shoko. Your friend groans, dropping her head into her hands. 

“He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” 

Not wanting to speak, you only shrug uselessly. Gojo doesn’t even spare you a glance, whining as he tugs on her sleeve to grab her attention. 

“Come on, Shoko, I’ve been trying to text you for hours now. Ignoring me isn’t going to make me disappear, you know.” 

“I know now,” she mumbles before yanking her arm away from his touch. “Okay, out with it, Gojo. I refuse to be seen in public with you so let’s get this over with.” 

“I need your help with something.” When Shoko only stares, unimpressed and not surprised, he presses on. “It’ll be quick, I swear! And it isn’t about the pre lab questions this time, I promise. I’m cashing in that one favour you owe me from last year.” 

“What favour?”

“Me hosting a party that got you and Utahime together.”

Shoko shoots him a withering look. “That wasn’t a favour, we just happened to meet at your party. You didn’t even know her back then.”

Gojo grins, and for a moment, you get lost in it. It would be so easy to tell him now and have that smile directed at you with recognition instead of casual politeness. You don’t think he’s doing it on purpose, but you feel yourself getting smaller as he keeps talking to Shoko and only Shoko, sitting there silently as if being quiet and sipping at Shoko’s coffee might excuse your lack of presence. 

Shoko rolls her eyes, turning to look at you. “Sorry, Y/N. We’ll talk after I’m done dealing with this kid.”

You wave her off stiffly and she narrows her eyes at you, sensing something off when you don’t say anything. Gojo seems to notice you then, looking over at you briefly. He tilts his head at you before Shoko’s voice pulls him back. 

“So? What do you want?”

“I need help finding someone.” 

You choke on your drink, hastily wiping at your chin when they both turn to look at you, a range of concern across both their faces. You wave them off dismissively, making small sounds to clear your throat as they continue. 

“For revenge or…?”

He hums, seriously considering her quip. “Maybe the opposite?” 

She narrows her eyes at that. “I don’t know everyone on campus. How are you so confident you can come to me for this?” 

“Because you’re doing the same degree as her and you’re a girl and so is the person I’m trying to find.”

There's still liquid in your throat and it’s getting harder for Gojo to pretend like his friend’s friend isn’t slowly dying from across the table. He lifts his eyes to study you, taking in the way you’re clearing your throat, struggling to keep quiet, and he sighs. 

“Hey, breathe through your nose.” 

You finally look up at him, the hood obscuring most of your vision though you still try to shoot him a look as if to say, oh no, really? and he smirks at that.

“I'm serious, just breathe for a second. Through your nose, come on. It’ll get rid of that coughing fit.” 

You close your mouth with effort and take a deep, shaky breath in. It goes in smoothly though the urge to cough still persists and you have to concentrate to not relapse. 

Gojo pushes your iced coffee closer to you, wiping his wet hand on Shoko’s sleeve after despite her protest. You take it gratefully, taking in a few sips before clearing your throat. 

Realising you couldn’t get out of this without speaking at least once, you lower your voice as much as you can and mumble, “Thanks.”

Gojo hums, accepting it easily, but his eyes linger on you for half a second too long before he turns back to Shoko. “She's someone in your course doing cardiovascular physiology. She has a lab on Tuesday and morning tutorials on Friday." 

You don’t miss the way Shoko has been staring bullets into you though her eyes flicker over to Gojo every once in a while. “A lab on Tuesday, you say.” And there’s something in her tone that has you looking up frantically. 

Gojo doesn’t seem to notice, nodding instead. “She usually comes back late, at around 5:20? Which means her classes end around 5 p.m.”

“5 p.m,” she repeats, her eyes never straying. 

You try to shake your head as subtly as possible. 

“She has the prettiest voice you’ve ever heard and the softest laugh when she finds something amusing. But then when she finds something funny, like really funny, her laugh is super loud and bright and it’s honestly cool the way she doesn’t seem to care.”

You kick Shoko’s foot under the table and she barely winces, realisation or something similar dawning on her. 

“I don’t need to know any of that, that won’t help.” Her lips quirk upwards slightly. “And why are we looking for this girl, Gojo?” 

He pouts at her words. “I’m looking for my neighbour.”

Shoko makes a gesture as if to ask if he’s serious. “Just go knock on her door? You literally know where she lives. That’s probably more than I could ever tell you.” 

“You don’t get it,” he says, tutting, wagging his fingers even. “We have this thing going on and I don’t want to ruin her trust by camping outside her door, for example. So instead, I’ll just conveniently come across her on campus because somehow our timetables seem to line up.”

 Shoko stares at him blankly. “So stalking.”

“Don’t be so crude, Shoko. It’s not stalking if I’m being emotionally considerate about it.” He leans forward slightly, hands on the table, and for a moment his voice loses some of its usual shine. “I don’t want to scare her off, okay? I know where she lives, but that feels like cheating. If you know her, ask her first. Ask if she’s okay with me knowing, or if she wants me to stay clueless and suffer with dignity.” 

Shoko’s expression barely changes. “You don’t do anything with dignity.” 

“I could start for her,” he says, then seems to realise what he’s admitted because he looks away with a small, helpless laugh. “Look, I know it sounds stupid, but I like talking to her. I like not knowing too much. I like that she can hang up on me by walking away from the wall whenever she wants. If I just knock on her door, then I’ve taken that choice from her.” 

For once, Shoko doesn’t interrupt. 

Gojo rubs at the back of his neck, grin returning but weaker this time, more embarrassed than smug. “But also, I’m going a little crazy. Call me pathetic, but sometimes she says something and I forget what my own point was. She’s mean in this really specific way, and funny, and then every now and then she’ll be nice like she didn’t mean to, and it fully ruins me. So yeah, I want to know who she is. I just don’t want to find out in a way that makes her regret talking to me.” 

You kick her foot again. 

“And what happens if you do find her?” she asks, rubbing the toe of her shoe against the floor like you have injured her beyond repair. “You’re going to walk up and say, hi, I’ve been listening to you through the wall for weeks and I reverse-engineered your timetable?”

Gojo makes a face. “No, obviously not. I have charm. I’ll make her fall for me first.”

You stand with a start, slamming your hands on the table, knocking your empty cup over. You hastily pick it up, shooting Shoko as many SOS signals as it’ll take for her to follow your lead. She lets out a slight laugh, especially after seeing Gojo’s bewildered face, and stands, albeit slowly. 

“I think I have an idea of who you’re looking for.”

“You do?” Gojo says, eyes wide and smile hopeful. 

“I have a feeling.” Her eyes leave yours after a pause, moving to shove her laptop into her bag. “But I’m going to need to confirm it before I tell you. Wouldn’t want to drag an innocent into your life.” 

He nods quickly and you mournfully think that he looks like a puppy. You didn’t need that imagery, especially not right now. You tune out the rest of their conversation though it mainly consisted of Gojo demanding more details and Shoko shooting him down firmly. When you have your tote over your shoulder, Shoko tilts her head towards the door. 

You all but run out. Vaguely, you hear Gojo ask, “What’s up with her?”

“Boy problems,” Shoko says before she catches up to you and the two of you walk out. 

“Where are we going?” 

You look over your shoulder, heart only settling when you don’t catch any glimpse of white hair. “Away.”

“Oh, so now you feel like talking.”

“Please, Shoko. Please.”

She laughs, loose and unrestrained. “Want to tell me what that was all about? Gojo looking for some Cinderella and you looking like you’re about to choke to death?”

You spin around, hands coming up to hold her still by the shoulders. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s exactly that. Shoko, stop looking at me like that, I’m going to freak out.” 

“Okay, okay.” Her hands come up to wrap loosely around your wrists, not pushing you off, just holding you there. “Take a breath. He doesn’t know.” 

“He almost knows.”

“I’m pretty sure he only suspects something,” she corrects. “Those are two very different things. And if you really don’t want him to know then I’ll tell him that. He might seem a little clueless in areas such as personal space, but he’s not a complete jerk. He’ll respect that.”

You let go of her shoulders slowly, though your hands stay half-raised between you like you might need to grab her again if she starts looking too entertained. “He was describing me.”

“He was describing his neighbour,” Shoko says, softer now. “You are only panicking because you know that’s you.”

“That does not make me feel better.”

“It should a little.” She tilts her head, cigarette-less and serious in a way you rarely get from her before noon. “Look, if he wanted to corner you, he could’ve knocked on your door. He literally knows where you live. But he didn’t. He came to me because, in his own stupid Gojo way, he’s trying not to scare you.”

“That’s the complete issue,” you sigh, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “The issue is that he’s Gojo, the exact kind of guy I said I was done with. I know what these kinds of guys are like, hell, I dated the textbook example of one.”

Shoko’s expression softens and in the silence, something bubbles up. 

“4B wasn’t that,” you say, voice smaller than you mean for it to be. “4B was just mine.” 

The second it leaves your mouth, your face warms. Mercifully, Shoko doesn’t pounce on it and instead nods slowly, looking away from you. 

“I get that,” she says and when you glance at her, she repeats herself. “I do, you’re not crazy. But Gojo being in a frat doesn’t automatically make him Naoya variant 2.0.”

“I know that,” you grumble. 

“Do you?” Shoko bumps her shoulder against yours. “You don’t have to trust him just because he’s 4B. You also don’t have to punish him just because he looks like the kind of guy who would have ruined your life last semester.” 

“So what am I supposed to do?” you ask. 

“For now? Nothing. You don’t have to suddenly jump out and introduce yourself, but you also don’t have to shut up and ghost him forever. See for yourself what kind of guy Gojo really is now that you know both sides to him.”

Sometimes, Shoko’s rationality surprises you and you find yourself nodding along to her words, a small, dawning hope struggling out of its shell inside your heart. Just as you’re about to thank her profusely for her wise words, she opens her mouth and says, “You should come to Utahime’s this weekend.” 

“Uh.” You blink. “What?”

“It’s a small party, like actually small,” she says before you can look horrified. “Not a frat thing. It’ll just be a few of Utahime’s close friends, some drinks and food, you know. I haven’t seen you come out of your apartment for an entire week, Y/N, it’s setting off alarm bells. You’re hot. Funny. Maybe you’ll meet someone there that doesn’t remind you of Gojo or Naoya.” 

“Oh my God,” you say slowly, disgusted. “Why are those two people my only options right now? You’re right, I need to go out.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it,” Shoko says with sympathy before groaning. “Can I say ‘I told you so’ yet or are you still spiralling? Because I told you so, I told you to stay away from Gojo but lookie here, who’s scouring the campus for even a whiff of you?” 

You glare at her. “Not helping, Shoko.” 

Shoko bumps her shoulder against yours. “You can tell him when you’re ready. Or let him figure it out slowly if you want to be annoying about it.”

You shove her shoulder back in return, and she laughs, and for a few steps, it almost feels like a normal afternoon. Like you are just two girls walking across campus, talking about weekend plans, not one girl trying to outrun the consequences of accidentally falling for her neighbour through a wall. 

Then Shoko tilts her head toward the bus stop. “So. Do you want to go back to your apartment or not?” 

You think of the wall, of 4B’s—Gojo’s—voice slipping through it, probably asking why you were so quiet this morning, probably making some stupid comment about your sleep schedule, probably having no idea that your whole life has just rearranged itself around his face. 

You sigh. 

“Unfortuntely,” you say. “I live there.”

Gojo wonders if he has an addictive personality. 

Or maybe it’s just you. 

But when it’s just him alone in his mind, hands running through his hair to try and catch every last runaway thought about you, he allows himself the truth. It’s probably just you. 

And the kicker is that he was only 90% certain you even existed. Suguru was the one who planted the idea in his head, that the physics had finally fucked him over and he was hallucinating the voice of a sweet, snarky girl, If he hadn’t collected your sticky notes over the last few months, that statistic might have even fallen to a good 38% and even then he wouldn’t be too sure if it was the twisted humour of his friends or if he genuinely had his own Wattpad neighbours-to-lovers arc. 

He sighs and leans back into his chair, feeling it give way under the motion with a creak. He wonders, as he so often does these days, if you heard it. His body stills and he waits for an indication that you might be home, a soft chuckle, an exasperated sigh, or his favourite, that soft way you say his name (read: unit number). 

When it doesn’t come, he slumps. 

Fuck, he was so far gone. 

It’s not like this is new to him, the wanting. Gojo wants things all the time. He wants the last pudding cup from the convenience store, wants Suguru to stop pretending he’s above gossip when he’s the nosiest person alive, wants Shoko to stop stealing his lighters despite the fact that he doesn’t smoke because he needs them to light up his birthday candles. He wants good grades with minimal effort and attention when he enters a room and for his hair to sit right without having to do anything about it. 

He also wants you. 

Gojo’s phone buzzes against his desk and he only looks at it because he’s desperate from his own thoughts. Though he immediately regrets this when Utahime’s name lights up on his screen. 

utahime: party this weekend

show up or dont 

idc

He snorts. 

gojo: woww dont get too excited inviting me im basically suffocating in ur enthusiasm 

its chill though if u dont want me there

i wont go ive got plans anyway 

Another notification drops down after he hits send. 

shoko: do NOT come to utahime’s this weekend 

that was a mistake 

DO NOT COME 

Gojo freezes, eyes blinking at the message. He taps it, opening up his chat history with her that consists of many, many time stamps and read receipts, and very slowly, something that critical thinking sparks behind his blue eyes. 

Do not come, said so blunt and immediate and so suspiciously timed right after Utahime’s invitation as if Shoko had decided his presence would cause a problem. 

A problem for who? 

Gojo’s mouth parts. Then, slowly, his grin spreads. His thumb quickly swipes out to re enter the chat with Utahime and glides across the keyboard. 

gojo: actually ykw 

wouldn’t miss it for the world <3

utahime: wait im uninviting u 

gojo? 

i said u cant come

dont leave me on read you dick 

Gojo laughs, turning off his phone. 

He turns his head toward the wall, still grinning like an idiot, thriving off the single crumb he’s been graciously fed after days of searching for you. 

“You going to Utahime’s this weekend, 4A?” he asks softly, knowing you are not there to answer.

The wall says nothing but Gojo’s grin doesn’t fade.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs, phone warm in his hand. “I’ll find out.”

There are two possible explanations for your current situation. Either Shoko is a liar (completely and utterly plausible) or her girlfriend has around 50 close friends. You don’t put it past Utahime either but at least Utahime did you a favour and made sure not to invite anyone from TDP so you settle for shooting Shoko a withering glare.

Music thrums through the floorboards, bass rattling the soles of your shoes as you tap your feet subconsciously against the beat. It’s loud, too loud for talking unless you enjoy shouting directly into someone’s ear, though no one seems to mind. Certainly not Shoko as she leans close to Utahime, mouth brushing against her ear, eyes half lidded as she practically has her on her lap.

You roll your eyes, feeling slightly sour.

Shoko notices your bitter look and acknowledges it with a slight chuckle, taking your cup of orange juice and switching it with hers. “Loosen up!” She yells over the music.

Without many other options, you take the drink and cup your hand around your ear as if you can’t hear her, just to piss her off.

Utahime snickers when your friend swats you away, her hand comfortably wrapped around Shoko’s. The sight of a happy couple sickens you and when Shoko yells for you to “go find someone to make out with!” you do decide to stand up and leave, though not because of her words, obviously. 

You’re just getting air, maybe a refill. And maybe putting at least one wall between yourself and Shoko’s terrible, smug, in-love face. 

The rest of the apartment is no better. Utahime’s place is bigger than yours, of course, because some people get exposed brick and large windows while others get mysterious ceiling stains and a neighbour loud enough to seep into your own personal life. 

Bodies crowd every available inch of space. Someone is sitting on the arm of the couch with a drink in one hand and someone else sprawled across their lap, fingers pushed into their hair. A group by the kitchen is screaming the lyrics to the song currently playing and there’s two girls taking photos in the hallway mirror, swaying together, cheek to cheek. 

You’re halfway through to the kitchen when you see him. For a second, your brain doesn’t even attach a name to the sight. It only registers white hair, too tall, black shirt, one hand loose around a red cup as he leans against the wall near the hallway. 

Then your stomach drops. 

Gojo. 

The thought arrives with immediate, unreasonable betrayal. 

What the fuck? Didn’t Utahime promise you she wouldn’t invite any frat guys? 

Not that you care. You absolutely do not. Gojo Satoru could attend every party in the city and you would remain unaffected, obviously. It is just the principle of the thing. You had been promised a Gojo-free environment, and there he is, laughing at something one of the girls around him says, head tilted down so he can hear her better over the music.

There are three that you see, maybe four. It’s hard to count when they keep shifting, hair shining under the cheap coloured lights, shoulders angled toward him like flowers reaching for the sun. 

It would be easier to be angry, to roll your eyes and hate him in the clean, uncomplicated way you usually do. Instead, something dull and familiar settles under your ribs. 

You turn away before he can look your way. 

The drink in your hand is half-empty and you make it fully empty in one long swallow, grimacing only after it burns the way down and cursing Shoko’s name in your head. Someone near the kitchen cheers for no reason and you suddenly decide that if the universe wants to be annoying, if that stupid Etsy witch wants to fuck with you that bad, you might as well ruin yourself first. 

By the time Shoko finds you again, you have acquired another drink. And then another, and then even more. She squints at you with the vague concern of someone who knows your limits better than you do but you’re already being dragged toward the cleared space in the living room by one of Utahime’s pretty friends, and the music there is cathartic. 

So you stop thinking. For the first time all night, you let yourself move without checking who is watching. Your drink is gone, your cheeks are warm, and the room is soft and bright, all coloured light and laughing mouths and hands in the air. There is no assignment, no terrible apartment, no faceless neighbour slipping into your life through the poor insulation, no Gojo leaning against a wall with half the party orbiting him. The houseparty is bumping, the ladies look good, the alcohol is flowing. There is much pain in the world, but not in this room. 

Then an arm slides around your waist. It’s muscled, warm, steady in the way it wraps around you, the scent of something masculine and fresh entering your peripherals. 

For one stupid, glittering second, you let yourself hope. It’s only the alcohol, probably. The music, even, the heat of the room or the betrayal of coloured lights making everyone look better than they are. 

But the arm is firm around you, and the body behind you is tall, and when he leans in, his breath skims close to your ear. 

Maybe. 

The thought is so sweet it makes you dizzy and you almost lean into the hope. 

“Having fun?” 

Your stomach drops so fast the whole room seems to go with it. You turn, and Naoya’s ugly face is looking down at you. What the fuck is he doing here? Oh, you are so having a word with Utahime about this. 

And okay, Naoya isn’t actually ugly, not in a way that has anything to do with his features. What’s really ugly is his expression, the entitlement in his smile and the slow drag of his eyes over you like he’s appraising something he believes is his. 

His mouth curls and all at once, the music goes thin and static-y. 

You shove him away and stumble a few steps at your own strength. “Don’t touch me.” 

Naoya lets his hand fall, but not before making a show of it, palms lifting like you are the unreasonable one. “Relax. I was just saying hi.” 

“Okay, well you’ve said your hi. Now leave.” 

He laughs, eyes dropping to your mouth, then back up again. “You’re still so dramatic. I forgot how much effort it takes to talk to you when you’re like this.” 

You step back, but the floor tilts slightly beneath you. Fuck, too much alcohol, too much heat. There’s too many bodies pressing around the living room, none of them paying enough attention as you try to place distance between you and your ex. Your shoulder knocks against someone behind you and you mumble a sorry without taking your eyes off Naoya. 

He notices the stumble and his grin sharpens. “You’re drunk. Haven’t learnt how to control yourself in this kind of places yet, have you? It’s cute.” 

He leans closer, voice lowering as if the two of you are sharing something intimate. “Did you dress up for someone tonight?” 

Your face twists. “As if it’s any of your fucking business anymore, Zenin.” 

“No, I’m serious.” HIs eyes flick over you again, slower this time, and your skin crawls. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about being blacklisted. Sometimes things happen to teach you a lesson, you know? Looks like you’ve learnt to finally put more effort into what you’re wearing again. You should be thanking me.”

“I am not doing this with you.” You try to sound confident but you both hear the pathetic slur to your words. 

“You’re not doing much of anything,” he says. “You’re just dancing around hoping some desperate fucker takes pity on you and notices.” 

“Fuck off, Naoya.”

His expression hardens, that little thread of irritation pulling tight because you did not blush, did not smile, did not give him even a crumb of the reaction he came looking for. “You know, this is exactly why people get so tired of you. You make everything so fucking difficult. I’m trying to be nice, and you’re acting like I cornered you in a damn alleyway.” 

“You put your hands on me!” 

“An arm, Y/N. I put my arm around you,” he corrects, like you’re the one being embarrassing. “Don’t make it sound so ugly.” 

“Well, it felt ugly.” 

For a moment, you think he might finally drop the act. But then his mouth curves again, albeit thinner and meaner at the edges. 

“Come on,” he says, taking a step closer and the crowd seems to bunch in to prevent you from leaving. “Don’t be like that. We know each other, don’t we? You don’t have to do the whole untouchable thing with me.” 

The alcohol is making everything lag a second behind. The music, the lights, the heat under your skin now sickening, the disgust rising sharp and sour in your throat. You know what he’s doing, you know it so clearly it almost sobers you. That glint in his eyes as he shamelessly trails his gaze down your face and between your tits, the way his hand is already lifting to grope you, how his voice has softened to be more convincing. 

You take another step back. 

“I said leave.” 

Naoya laughs. “You’re seriously going to act like you weren’t leaning back into me a second ago?”

“I thought you were someone else.” The words are out before you can catch them and shove them back down. 

His expression drops in a way that’s almost satisfying, if not for the fact that it twists into something worryingly familiar seconds later. You hate that your stomach sinks. You hate that, even now, some stupid trained part of you expects the punishment that comes after disappointing him. 

Naoya leans in again, close enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath under whatever expensive cologne he sprayed on himself. “So what was the plan? Get drunk enough that you could pretend it was an accident when you went home with someone?” 

Your fingers curl into a fist by your sides. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

“Like what?” he asks, eyes wide with fake innocence. “I’m just saying, you’re the one dancing around like you want attention looking like that. You can’t get mad when someone gives it to you.”

“Move,” you hiss. 

He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “You always do shit like this. You act so above everything it’s a surprise you haven’t been humbled yet. Is that going to have to be my job now too?” 

“You don’t know anything about me anymore.” 

“Don’t get such a big head,” he sneers. “You’re still so easy to read. Still so fucking pathetic. Still need to feel someone’s attention on you, need to feel wanted, just so damn needy all the time.”

Your hand comes up so fast that you know the weight in which it’ll strike across Naoya’s face will give you the nicest, most satisfying crack. 

But before you can bring it down against his stupid fucking face, someone grabs your wrist and gently redirects it.  It takes you a moment to register what just happened. Someone had cut cleanly into the space Naoya had taken from you, still holding your wrist behind his back, and you blink at the grey shirt until you look up and see white hair. 

“Is there a problem?” Gojo’s voice is light enough that, for a strange second, it almost sounds like he’s walked into the wrong conversation. 

Something imperceptible flashes across Naoya’s face, something easily missed if you didn’t know his every tell. 

“Not your business, Gojo.” 

“Oh,” Gojo says, “don’t be like that. It looked fun over here. What were you guys talking about?” 

You don’t care for this passive aggressive approach of his. You yank at your arm. “I was about to slap him.”

Gojo glances back at you. 

You’re too drunk and too angry and too humiliated to care that his face is suddenly closer than expected, all pale hair and blue eyes and a mouth pressed into a thin line. You tug again, uselessly. 

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Let me slap him.” 

Naoya scoffs and takes a step back like he has other things on his agenda than to be publicly embarrassed. “This is insane. You’re both insane. Whatever, I’m done here anyway, what a fucking turn off.”

He turns to walk away, one hand running through his piss-coloured hair. 

Gojo’s other hand snaps out so fast you barely catch the motion. One second, Naoya is tilted to walk forward and the next, Gojo has his wrist caught in one hand, fingers locked around him with an ease that makes Naoya’s whole body jerk to a stop. 

Naoya suddenly hisses. There’s a thin red line where one of Gojo’s rings has bitten too hard into the skin. Despite this, Gojo does not give him the time of day. Instead, he looks at you. 

“Hm,” he says, tone casual, as if you have asked him whether he wants another drink. “I hear you, band shirt, but there’s an issue. If you slap him, you might get into trouble.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“He’s the president of—”

You squeeze his arm holding yours. “I don’t care. He’s never been slapped before in his life and it’s obvious. He needs to be slapped, Satoru, he deserves this.” 

Gojo pauses. Then, very seriously, he starts to nod slowly,  “I suppose that does make a lot of sense.”

Naoya jerks against his grip. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Gojo’s hand only tightens, short nails digging into the skin, though he still doesn’t look away from you, not even when you whip your gaze over to your ex, wishing that looks could indeed kill. 

How did you ever date a guy like him? You stare at Naoya, at his ugly, furious, blotchy-red face, at the way he keeps looking around like there should be someone here to save him from the consequences of his own mouth. He keeps tugging and pulling but Gojo effortlessly keeps him there. 

“But it looks like you just got your nails done,” Gojo ponders. “And you could hurt yourself.” 

“It has to be me, Satoru.”

Gojo’s eyes soften at that and he finally smiles, voice going lower. “I know.” 

Then he shifts, letting go of your wrist. For a second, you think he’s going to tell you not to do it after all, that he is going to be sensible in ways that severely go against his reputation. Instead, he lifts his free hand between you, palm up. 

“Okay,” he says. “Then don’t hurt yourself doing it.” 

You blink. “What?” 

“If you’re going to do it, then do it properly,” he says, still speaking to you like Naoya is not standing there trying to pull free. “No weird wrist thing, And don’t throw your whole body into it just to put more force behind it. It’ll just make you fall over because you’re a little drunk and unsteady. You’ve gotta plant your feet.” 

Naoya laughs, no humour behind it. “Gojo, are you serious?” 

Gojo ignores him. “Also,” he adds, glancing at his own hand, “now that I think about it, rings might help.”

He holds your gaze for a little longer before offering you a kind smile and lowering his hand to you, fingers pointing towards you. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, gaze flickering up to his face then to his rings. “They might get bloody.”

“It’s okay, just take your pick. I can always clean them. This chance might not come again for you,” he tells you in a similarly soft tone. 

You reach out and take the one from his pinky finger because any other ring might be a size too big, and slide it onto your middle finger. 

Naoya’s face pales. 

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he snaps, trying again to wrench his wrist free. “You’re going to let her hit me?” 

Gojo finally looks at him. The smile he gives Naoya is bright enough to be mistaken for friendly. “Hey, man, it’s none of my business.” 

The ring is still a little too loose, the metal heavy and cold against your skin, and your hand trembles once before you curl it into a fist and open it again. 

Gojo notices and his attention is back on you. His voice drops just enough for only you to catch it again. “You sure?” 

You look at him, then past him, at Naoya’s pale, furious face. “Yes.” 

Gojo studies you for half a second longer, something soft passing through his expression before it disappears beneath a bright, almost cheerful smile. 

“Okay!” he says. “Then first, plant those feet and let your shoulders relax a little. If you hit him like that, it’ll go through your wrist, and then you’ll be mad tomorrow because he got your hand and your mood.” 

You nod and adjust. 

Naoya jerks in grip. “No, wait—”

Gojo doesn’t look at him. “You don’t need a big wind-up. It’ll be painful even if you don’t hit hard so no pressure.” 

“Hey,” Naoya snaps, voice pitching higher. “Someone get him off me.” 

“But I want to hurt him,” you say to Gojo. 

“You will,” Gojo says, very simply. “But you don’t have to hurt yourself to do it. You’re doing this for you, remember? To get it off your chest.” 

Naoya tries to laugh. It comes out wrong. “Come on, man. I said I’m sorry. Tell her to stop being dramatic.” 

Gojo tilts his head at you, as if listening to a distant appliance hum. “Do you hear something?”

You stare at him, cocking your head in a mirror of his own gesture. “The music?”

“No.” He waves his question away. “Something annoying. Anyway. Hand open, shoulders down and feet on the ground. You’ve got this.” 

You do as he says and then turn to look at Naoya. 

For months, he had made you feel like every reaction you had was too much, too loud or too needy, too embarrassing, too difficult to love. He had taught you how to swallow anger until it sat heavy in your stomach and called that maturity. He had always walked away with his shoulders up because you were always the one trying not to make a scene. 

And now, you’re finally going to leave a mark on him. 

You slap him. 

The sound cracks across the room, sharp enough to split cleanly through the music. Naoya’s head snaps to the side at the force of it, mouth open, but finally, finally, nothing leaves it. 

Your palm burns immediately, a bright sting rushing up your arm and the ring presses back into your finger, cold against the heat of your skin. It hurts a little. But it hurts so good. 

Gojo lets go of Naoya at once. Your ex stumbles back, one hand flying to his cheek, eyes wide with shock. “You fucking—”

“Holy shit!” Gojo says loudly. “Is that Naoya from TDP? Dude, what are you doing here, do you even know Utahime?”

Naoya’s face drops slightly in confusion. “What?” 

Gojo’s voice carries easily over the music now. “No, seriously. Aren’t you the guy that one post was made about in the group chat? I wouldn’t have come to a party when you haven’t even said anything about the allegations.” 

The crowd surrounding you instantly starts murmuring amongst themselves, shooting Naoya dirty looks. 

Naoya grits his teeth, anger flooding his face all over again. “I didn’t—”

“It’s weird, I really don’t think Utahime would have invited you.”

“I was invited.”

“By who?”

Naoya opens his mouth but nothing comes out fast enough.

A girl by the couch scoffs. “Utahime would never invite him.”

“Yeah, didn’t she literally say not to let him in?”

“How did he get inside?”

Someone near you nods along to his words, and a girl wraps her arms around you, running her hand up and down your side. It could have so easily gone wrong, Naoya yelling something about being hurt and suddenly you became the problem. The drunk girl, the angry ex seeking vengeance. The one who slapped someone in the middle of the party. 

But now everyone is looking at him. And Naoya seems to realise this too because his eyes dart around the room, searching for sympathy and finding none. 

“Creep,” someone mutters.

“Get him out,” another voice says.

Naoya points toward Gojo, furious and scared in a way you have never seen before. “He’s lying. She’s drunk and she’s always been—” 

“Ugh, spare me, I know you were creeping around me too!” 

Gojo doesn’t stick around for the aftermath and you don’t either, his hand closing around your other hand to gently tug you through the growing crowd, his broad back guiding the way. 

It’s nice, you realise, which is a stupid thing to immediately think of next after slapping your ex-boyfriend in the middle of a party. Still, it is. 

The way he moves through the room without dragging you behind him, the way people part for him easily, but he keeps glancing back anyway, like he’s making sure you’re still there  and not swallowed by the music and body and the roaring awareness of what you’ve just done. His hand is warm around yours, loose enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, firm enough that you don’t have to think too hard about where you’re going. 

You let yourself follow. Past the kitchen, past the hallway mirror, past two girls whispering near the wall,  both of them looking over your shoulder toward where Naoya had disappeared, their expression twisted with disgust. 

The noise dulls a little near the back of the house. The music still reaches here, bass-heavy and insistent, but the air feels cooler, less packed with breath and perfume. Just before the back door, Gojo stops. 

You nearly bump into him and he chuckles, turning around.

“Careful.” He looks you up and down not unpleasantly. “How’s the hand?” 

“It’s fine,” you say automatically. Then you pause, looking down. 

His ring is still sitting crooked on your middle finger, too loose and faintly warm now from your skin. Your palm is red and your fingers tingle but the slap keeps replaying in your head in satisfying flashes: the crack of it, Naoya’s face turning, and any regret you might have felt dissipates. 

“Okay, it might sting a little.” 

Gojo’s expression softens. “Let me see it.” 

You lift your other hand not in his, and he reaches out to take it, a sharp thrill running up your arm when he makes contact. He turns your hand over carefully, fingers light and ticklish against your palm as he inspects it. For a moment, you wonder about this gentleness that he shows you, how sharply it contrasts with the way he had held Naoya hard enough to draw blood. His fingers move over your palm with careful attention, thumb brushing beneath the base of your fingers, moving down to the sensitive skin of your wrist and making you shiver. The hallway is too warm and too cold at once, music pulsing behind you in dull waves, but all you can really feel is the shape of his hand around yours and the ridiculous, traitorous flutter under your ribs. 

“You’ll live,” he says eventually, fingers splaying over your wrist and forearm before dropping. “And you’re staring.” 

You blink when you process that he’s looking right into your eyes, his lips quirked into a small smile as he watches you.  “Thanks for helping me slap my ex.”  He shrugs. “It’s no problem, band shirt. I think my ring did the bulk of everything.”  You look down at your hand and notice that he’s right. The silver sits crooked on your finger, too loose and too pretty, catching the hallway light like it has any right to look innocent after drawing blood across Naoya’s cheek. Thank you, pretty silver ring, for your service. May your efforts haunt him for at least a few business days. Gojo lowers his hand under yours again and for a second, you think that he’s going to ask for it back. Instead, he lifts your hand slowly such that you have the chance to pull away. His eyes stay on yours until the last moment, before he lowers his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the ring.  Technically, it’s his ring and not your hand he kissed. Still, the warmth of his breath brushes your skin, and something bright and winged breaks loose in your stomach. Your fingers twitch once in his hold as your breath catches. His lashes lower into the kiss, before he opens his eyes again and looks up at you through them.  He smiles at you cheekily.   “Can’t run away from me now, can you?” he asks, lowering your hand just enough to comfortably interlace his own fingers with yours. “I never did give you my name that one time before but it’s Gojo Satoru, though it looks like you already know. Come sit with me.” 

‘Me’ ends up being him, and also his friends. Which is not as awkward as you thought it would be, mostly because the second Gojo opens the back door, Utahime and Shoko both sit up from where they’ve been lounging together on an outdoor chair like two cats disturbed mid-nap. Their fingers point at you at the exact same time.  “You!” “With him?”  “Hi guys.” You drop your hand from his under the piercing gaze of your friends. “How’s the party?” Gojo doesn’t say anything, only stepping around you with that easy, unbothered smile of his, and joining a conversation with some guys standing around the bonfire. 

Utahime’s backyard has been transformed into something of a cozy hangout spot. Cheap fairylights hang crooked from the overhead roof, blinking out of sink, and a few mismatched outdoor chairs and beanbags sit in a loose circle around a low table cluttered with cups, jackets, and a neat stack of cards. There’s a small lit fire further out, but you drag your eyes away from its company to focus on the people you do know.  Shoko shuffles closer to her girlfriend, patting the space next to her which you gratefully take. “Hold on, so did you find someone to make out with after all? And was it…?”  You quickly look back at Gojo who is now talking quietly with someone you don’t know, the long-haired boy nodding in serious thought at whatever is leaving his mouth. His eyes slide to you and when they meet yours, you flinch, looking away. “No! That’s not—God, my head is killing me. I didn’t make out with anyone, okay? I’m not here to find someone to hook up with.”  “Why are you here then?”  “You threatened me to come.” You point out.  “Well, you weren’t going to not come, that’s not in the cards.” Shoko presses you another cup into your hands and, because you have yet to learn your lesson from earlier, you take a trusting sip.  You almost choke out the battery acid when it hits your tongue, covering your mouth with your arm as you glare at your friends. “Oh, ew, Shoko. Seriously? Can’t you make something good for once? Your jungle juice is always so ass.”  “That’s how you know it works. Tongue loosened up yet? Why did you just walk out with Gojo? What’s going on between you two? Does he know now?”  You lean back into the seat at Shoko’s interrogation, and take another deep chug of Shoko’s disgusting drink. “Before you grill me, I have to grill you. Want to tell me what Naoya is doing at your party, Utahime?”  Utahime blinks. “Naoya is at my party?” 

“Was,” you correct yourself. “I think he got the message after I slapped him that he shouldn’t be here.”  “You slapped him?” Utahime sits up with a bright smile. “Oh my God, tell me you got that on video! To clear my name though, I definitely did not invite him. He must have snuck in or something.”  “Well, basically everyone saw so I’m sure there’s a video on someone’s story by now.” You look back at Gojo now standing with just one other guy. “Satoru just happened to be there at the right place and time to help. That’s it.”  When your friends don’t immediately press for more questions, you turn back and find them whispering and giggling to each other. When they feel your suspicious gaze, Shoko looks up. “Sorry, yes, right. Gojo saved you.”

Utahime clears her throat suddenly. “Wait, shut up. Three o’clock.”  You stiffen when a weight presses against you, someone’s body dropping into the narrow gap between you and the armrest. 

You instinctively shuffle closer to Shoko to make room, though there is not enough room to make. Your thigh presses ages his, shoulder brushing against yours, and his arm slides along the back of the chair, not quite touching your neck, but close enough that your skin tingles.  Shoko mutters, “This chair is clearly only meant for three.”  “I’d hate to think you don’t want me here,” Gojo says cheerfully. “What are we talking about? Me?”  “Your head is so far up your ass you only ever think of yourself,” Utahime grumbles.  You freeze, unsure where your limbs should go when you’re pressed up to the person behind the faceless voice in your walls. Admittedly, this realisation comes a little late. You should have armed your walled defenses the moment Gojo had grabbed your wrist and pulled you behind him, should have simply walked away after slapping Naoya (that was a non-negotiable, canon event) instead of letting him drag you back where you’re now trapped. Because he doesn’t know you’re her. And right now when you’re drunk and unsteady on your feet and thoughts? This might be the worst possible time for him to find out.  “That over there is Suguru,” Gojo suddenly leans in to say, breath ghosting the shell of your ear. His voice sends shivers down your neck and along your spine, every sensation suddenly all too much. The fabric that isn’t your own grazing high on your thigh, his hair tickling your cheek, his feet nudging yours slightly so you can move over just a little bit more for him.  “That’s Kento, with the frown and beside him is Yuu, without the frown. And those, on the table, are my Digimon cards. Who the fuck brought them out here?”  Haibara laughs. “Geto did! We were playing truth or dare with them!”

“You’re lucky that’s my dupe deck or I’d end this friendship right here and now,” Gojo says, an easy grin on his face as if he wasn’t pressing up against you, his chest warm and hard against your side, your elbow awkwardly jutting into him.  Your hand flexes around the cup, and the ring shifts slightly on your finger. Gojo’s gaze drops to it for half a second, a private little smile cutting across his mouth before he looks back at the table.  “We heard about what happened inside,” Geto says. “Are you okay?”  Would it be too late to suddenly go mute? If you’re able to recognise Gojo by his voice, then the chances of him putting name to face with the girl next door and you is also very high. Though, considering the way he isn’t immediately pulling you aside to ask if you are indeed the voice in his walls, you want to believe that he has yet to figure out your identity.  So no, it isn’t too late to go mute.  You nod in response to Geto’s question and flash him a smile, hoping none of it comes off as rude.  Gojo hums beside you, the vibration travelling through your bodies. He leans down to speak into your ear, a conversation just for you. “Not much for words? What happened to all the snark earlier?” You stall for time by taking a long sip of Shoko’s concoction, the sting temporarily skyrocketing to the top of your concerns. This may or may not be a bad idea because now that you’re seated, all the previous drinks sloshing around in your stomach and this adding sip burning down your throat, you feel the world tip a little. You probably can’t deflect this question, not when he asks like this, so you settle for something else.  Clearing your throat, you try for a lower octave than usual. “I only talk to the people that deserve it,” you say, then let out a small huff at how ridiculous you sound.  The grin he shoots you is all confidence and self-assurance, leaning in a fraction closer. “How would you know if you’ve never given me a chance?”  “It’s pointless, I already know what you’re like.” Maybe it’s the bonfire or the drink in your hand but you are getting really warm. You take another long sip. 

“We talked for ten minutes max the other day, I highly doubt that,” he cocks his head at you. “Do I know you from somewhere else?”  You hum. “Maybe.” 

“I think I would remember someone like you.”  That causes you to raise an eyebrow, letting his casual flirt roll off you.  “Flattery,” you start, poking his chest. You let him catch your hand in his, holding it there against his heart, “won’t get you anywhere especially when it’s empty.” “Who said it was empty? Besides, I know I wouldn’t forget such a pretty girl.” “Oh, you would. You are.” You laugh again, finding the inside joke hilarious. “Try a little harder to remember, hm Satoru?”  The challenge makes his eyes glow just like you knew they would, always have known from the moment when a wall still separated the two of you and he had laughed at your provoking, all dark and not humourous at all.  “Maybe if you gave me a name.” You’re not quite ready to hear his name from your lips just yet so you only shake your head, wagging your finger at him playfully. “Where’s the fun in that?” “I’m usually a patient man and I’m all for the chase,” he starts, fingers inching closer, brushing hair from the back of your neck as he leans in, “but you’ve left me high and dry for so long.” His words go in one ear and out the other, your breath hitching at the slightest touch. Despite yourself, you gulp and taste the bitter alcohol in your mouth. You feel it too, warmth pooling in your gut and making your head spin.  “I’m not an easy person,” you whisper, eyes flickering down to his lips and you bite your own, the rush of all your fantasies suddenly overwhelming you. In all other them, you’ve never once imagined his lips on yours, not until now. And you don’t doubt that after this, you'll be thinking of them often.  “Trust me,” he chuckles. “You’re not easy, you’re stubborn as hell and you always give me a hard time.” As if sensing your temptation, Gojo’s eyes trace the way your teeth dig into your lip, watching the pull before you release it, red and slightly jutted out. It makes him want to sink his teeth into your bottom lip and lick the marks it leaves behind. 

Your breath hitches. He leans in slightly, looking up to search your face and wait to see if you’ll pull back. When you don’t, when he accepts whatever look is in eyes, he leans forward more. The anticipation builds and morphs into budding frustration when he continues to play this game of chicken, giving you countless moments to pull away if needed even when you’ve shown no sign of stopping.  Shoko clears her throat and you jump, accidentally crushing your solo cup. The liquid bursts up and flows down your wrist and into your lap.  “Shit!” you curse, immediately jumping up and pulling the fabric away from your skin.  Gojo quickly follows, one hand hovering on your lower back in case you tip back.  “Oh, fuck,” Shoko says. “You okay?”  “Yeah, it’s just super sticky.” You wince, accepting the tissues Nanami hands you though they do little good. “Ew, it’s, like, sticking to my skin.”  Utahime speaks up, watching you from over the rim of her cup. “There’s a bathroom down the corridor. Gojo knows where it is, he can show you.” “And maybe the two of you can make out there instead of right in front of us,” Geto says offhandedly, though his cup can’t completely hide his grin. The people around the table giggle at his words, Shoko probably the loudest.  You blush, immediately going to deny his accusations but Gojo beats you to it. “Shoko and Utahime are one second away from eating each other’s faces off but no one says anything about that!”

“That’s because this is my party, Gojo.”  “Yeah, well it was my party that got you two together,” Gojo shoots back childishly.  Everyone laughs again, chattering as they descend into the topic of other inside jokes, playing word association as they leap from memory to memory. There’s a sense of belonging that oozes from everyone as they lean into one another and talk and gossip. You might have appreciated this moment more, enjoyed the fact that they’re allowing you into this intimate moment, if not for the sudden blossoming warmth inside you. Before you can really think about it, you tug on Gojo’s shirt.  He immediately leans down, angling his ear to you. “Hm?” 

“Take me to the bathroom?”  Gojo stiffens, eyes flickering to your face then down your body. He bites his lip hard to focus, ignoring the temptation to let his mind wander at your innocent words. They had to be innocent, right? You, who was now looking up at him through your lashes with a pout playing on your lips, one hand tugging on the hem of his shirt, thumb rolling over the fabric slowly. You who was fidgeting ever so slightly, thighs rubbing together due to the cold. “Yeah,” he says suddenly, all humour gone. “Let’s go.”  Someone cheers behind you as Gojo helps you up and opens the back door for you, though neither of you seem to care. He doesn’t bother with answering greetings, only smiling shortly as you pass familiar people, something more impatient when he guides you than before.  He leads you down a corridor and into a dark room, closing the door behind you. Your heart leaps to your throat until he turns on the light, and you wince at the brightness.  “Sorry, pretty. Should’ve warned you,” Gojo says, only looking vaguely apologetic as he leans against the closed door, one hand still on the knob like he’s giving you a chance to back out.  He watches you carefully, tracing the line of your jaw, the slightest twitch of your brow and then, his favourite part, the flush climbing your cheeks. “The bathroom should be safer than a spare room. Who knows who is in there doing what.” You hesitate. “You didn’t have to follow me in.” 

“No?” He tilts his head, eyes roaming over you before settling smugly on your face. “You’re still holding onto my shirt. Maybe let go if you want to sound convincing.”  You shiver, letting go immediately and stepping back closer to the sink. You open your mouth to say something, a stupid excuse perhaps, but he beats you to it.  “You cold?”  “What?” “Earlier.” His eyes fall to your legs. “You were fidgeting. Thought maybe you were cold. Call me a desperate guy if you want, but don’t ask a guy to take you somewhere private while looking at me like that.”  “Like what?”  Gojo pushes off the door and you take a step back instinctively. “Like you wanted me to misunderstand you.”  You hesitate, looking around the bathroom. He seems to notice, and stops immediately, eyes softening. “Hey, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want. Just shove me away and I’ll go, I promise.”  “It’s not that,” you bite your lip.  “Then what is it, pretty?”  “You talk too much. You’re too loud,” you manage to say, warm despite the chill of the drink on you. “Always have been.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Yeah?”  “Yes.”  “Good.” He takes one step closer. “Then make me shut up.”  Your back meets the sink before you realise you have moved, the contrast of cold porcelain against your overheated skin making you gasp. He’s on you in an instant, hands roaming down your side until they’re gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.  “You’re so tense,” he murmurs against your neck. “You have no idea I’ve been watching you all night, do you? That little skirt? This tiny little top?”  He slaps your tits and you jolt, looking up at him in surprise to which he only grins down at you. You can’t seem to form a coherent thought, not when there’s alcohol swimming in your veins and turning your limbs to jelly, mind to fog. Still, you manage to say, “Did you just slap my boob?” “Don’t act like you didn’t like it. If I shove my hand down your skirt, am I going to find you wet, pretty?”  His knee nudges between your thighs, spreading them open as he steps closer.  “You are so gross—” you start, but he cuts you off with his mouth on yours.  The kiss is brutal and demanding all at once. His tongue slides against yours, tasting of expensive liquor and something sweet, or maybe that’s just your taste and he’s shoving it back against your mouth. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, tilting your head back. 

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your throat, sucking hard at the pulse point. “Don’t lie to me. I know you’ve wanted this since the first time I heard you. You have quite the perverted streak to you, don’t you?” Your breath hitches. His hand slides down, palm flat against your stomach, then lower. He doesn't bother with the fabric of your panties, just pushes them aside and drags his fingers through your slick folds. “Fuck,” he hisses. “You’re soaked. And you're gonna tell me you weren't dreaming about this? Getting yourself off to the thought of me touching you like this?”  His middle finger sinks into you without warning. You cry out, a sound that would be embarrassing if you had any sense left. But all you can feel is the stretch, the fullness, the way your body clenches around him desperately. “That's it,” he coos, tone shifting to something truly mocking. “You’re really feeling it now, aren’t you?”  He adds a second finger, fucking them into you with a rhythm that has your knees buckling. His thumb circles your clit in lazy, torturous circles. You're already so close, the buildup of tension from hours of dancing, of drinking, of watching him across the room, it all crashes toward a peak. “Please,” you whimper. “Please what? Use your words, pretty.” “Please fuck me,” you manage to gasp, fantasy and reality crashing together in a dizzying mess.  He pulls his fingers out abruptly, and you groan at the loss. But then you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling, the zipper of his pants, and your mouth waters. He takes himself in hand, strokes once, twice, and then the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance. “Look at me,” he commands.

You force your eyes open. His are dark, pupils blown wide, a little furrow between his brows. 

“Are you with me?” he asks, brushing your hair out of your eyes.  You nod, rutting forward pathetically.  “Come on, pretty, I need to hear you say it.” “I’m here!” you choke out, gasping. “Please, I want this, I promise I—I want you. Satoru, please.” He groans, the tip of his cock pressing forward beyond that little ring of resistance, swearing at the involuntary thrust. “Okay, okay, I’ve got you.”  He noses into your temple, inhaling deeply, one thumb holding you open as he presses in and groans, filthy and depraved.  “Fuck—you’re so tight,” he gasps, cock stuttering through until he’s buried deep.  The sensation of being stretched wide open on his cock makes you tense, before a ragged, grateful cry escapes your swollen lips. You can barely breathe through your nose, head spinning with pleasure.  “Oh god, oh my god!” you cry out, head thrown back. 

“Shh,” he hisses against your ear, his breath hot and sweet. His cock rams into you—a thick, punishing rhythm he picks up easily—and every thrust pushes your back against the sink. “You gotta stay quiet, angel. We don't want anyone hearin’ how much of a slut you are, do we?” But of course, all good things have to come to an end because through the hazy pleasure, you hear a grating voice.  “Hey! Y/N! I know you're in there!” You can recognise Naoya’s voice anywhere even, it seems, when you’re being fucked for every inch of your life.  Gojo’s hand closes around your mouth as he looks at you, grunting softly with every thrust. He pulls out briefly and you whine until he turns you around and presses you up against the cold tiles, driving up into you like he never left. His rhythm doesn’t falter, if anything, he pounds harder.  “Mm-mm,” you try to say, shaking your head, panic rising. He doesn't stop. He slams into you and your body jolts, your forehead knocking against the tile. “I said I know you're in there!” Naoya's voice is slurred, angry. He kicks the door. “Open the fuck up! We need to talk!” Gojo’s hand slides off your mouth though not enough to leave completely. It’s just his palm moving, his fingers hooking into the corner of your lips, prying your mouth open. Two of them slip inside, salty with your own slick, and he pushes them back until you're gagging.

“Answer him,” Gojo whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Go on. Tell him you’re busy.”

You can’t. His fingers are deep in your throat. You gag, tears springing to your eyes, and he just laughs, low and dark. “Oh, right. You can't talk with my fingers in your mouth, can you?” He pulls them out, slick and wet, and wraps them around your jaw, tilting your face toward the door. “Try again. Use your words.” “Naoya,” you choke out, your voice wrecked, breathless. “I’m—I’m fine. Just—” “Just what?” Gojo thrusts, hard, and your sentence crumbles into a gasp. His cock sinks so deep you feel it in your stomach. “Just getting fucked stupid? Tell him the truth.” There’s a beat of silence. You can picture Naoya on the other side of the door, his fists clenched, his jaw tight. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, certainly enraged. “You’re lying. I can hear you breathing. Open the fucking door.” Gojo’s hips slow. He pulls almost all the way out, leaving just the tip, and then drives forward in one smooth, devastating motion. You cry out, quickly muffled by your own hand. “Don't make me break this door down,” Naoya warns. Gojo chuckles, right in your ear. “He sounds mad. Poor guy. You really do know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?” He leans closer, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But you’re not his anymore, are you? You're mine. For tonight, anyway.” He fucks you slow now, deep and deliberate, his cock dragging along every inch of your walls. You feel every ridge, every vein and your legs tremble in the delicious drag.

“Tell him,” Gojo whispers, “that you’re busy. That you don’t have time for him anymore. ‘Cause he’s nothing to you now, right? Tell me he’s nothing to you.”  You swallow, wanting nothing more than to open your mouth and babble about how incredible it is to get railed in a bathroom, how brainless Gojo’s cock is making you but you have to be good, he’s waiting for you. So instead, you manage to say, “Naoya, leave me—ngh—alone!” Naoya growls at the closed door before him, even going so far as to stomp his feet like a petulant kid. “Fine! Fucking fine, Y/N! But I promise you, you’ll regret this! I’ll make sure you do!”

Sure, you think, eyes rolling back, as if your Etsy witch can touch me anymore when Gojo is fucking me. You slump forward, relief flooding you when you hear his footsteps retreating, but Gojo doesn’t let you rest. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back, and resumes his brutal pace. “Good girl,” he purrs. His voice is different now, softer, honeyed and  almost affectionate. “Such a good fucking girl. You did so well. You listened. You obeyed.” He kisses your shoulder, open-mouthed, wet. “See? I knew you could be good for me.” The whiplash is dizzying and it only makes you arch more, something inevitable and delicious approaching in the far distance.  “That's right,” he murmurs, still fucking you deep and slow. “You took that so well. Pretended you weren’t getting your tight little cunt stuffed while your ex was right outside. That takes skill, pretty. You’re so fucking perfect for me.” His hand snakes around your front, fingers finding your clit. He rubs slow, tight circles, and your hips buck. “Bet you've been practicing, haven't you?” His voice is a low, knowing drawl. “All those nights you thought nobody was listening. Thought nobody could hear you moaning. But weren’t you the one to tell me? The walls are thin as shit, angel.” He’s ramming into you now, fast and rough again, his words spilling out between each thrust and all you can do is be a ragdoll in his hold.  “You'd lie in bed, late at night, fingers in your pussy, listening to me stroke my cock. I’d hear you. The wet sounds. The little ‘oh, yes’s. And I’d think... fuck, I need to have that. I need to feel that cunt clench around me.” You're dizzy, overwhelmed. His hand on your clit, his cock in your cunt, his words in your brain, it’s all too much. “Did you think I didn’t recognize you at the party tonight? The girl with the needy little moans?” He bites your earlobe, hard enough to sting. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to corner you. And then you showed up drunk and sad, with that asshole on your heels, and I knew tonight was the night.” He’s watching you in the mirror and you catch his reflection. His eyes are dark, lips parted, face flushed. He’s absolutely beautiful.

“I'm gonna fill you up,” he growls. “Gonna pump my cum so deep inside you it leaks out for days. And when you walk past my door tomorrow, you're gonna know. You’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna touch yourself to the memory, and I’ll be right there, on the other side of the wall, stroking myself to the sound of you coming undone.” His hips slam into you. Once, twice, three times. You feel the pressure building, the coil in your belly tightening to the point of pain. “Satoru—” you gasp, hands fumbling for purchase on the wall.  “I know, angel, I know. Cum for me,” he demands. “Wanna finally feel you cum on my cock—fuck.” You shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, your cunt clenching around him, your body shaking. You cry out his name—Satoru—and he follows a second later, buried to the hilt, his cum hot and thick inside you. He holds you there, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slick and sticky. Then he pulls out slowly, watching his cum drip down your thigh. “Good girl,” he says again, his voice a warm, approving caress. He turns you around, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you, soft, tender, unhurried. “You did so well, pretty. So, so good for me.” Your knees are weak and he notices, turning you and pressing you to his chest to keep you upright. He continues to whisper in your ear as your senses return to you, and when you finally lift a hand to gently push at his chest, he lets you, eyes immediately flickering down to your eyes.  “Still with me?”  You nod, before you fall forward into his arms. 

When your body breaks down alcohol, it converts the ethanol into acetate, a process that produces a lot of NADH from NAD⁺. The imbalance of the NADH⁺ ratio leads to the feelings of weakness and grogginess that come from a horrible night out.  You wake now, approximately ninety percent NADH and ten percent regret.  For a while, you refuse to move. You only stare at your ceiling, blinking slowly at the familiar crack in the paint above your head, the soft grey light pressing through the curtains, the horrible cotton-dry feeling your tongue against the top of your mouth.  How the fuck did you get home? Your own bed, in most cases, the preferred place to wake up after all. It’s safe, it’s familiar, and most importantly, it’s yours. But the last thing you remember is not collapsing into the warmth and security of your own bed. The last thing you recall comes in fragments: Utahime’s party, Gojo’s hands on your body, the bathroom light flickering too bright overhead, the sink cold behind you and his voice low in your ear.  And then nothing. You suppose there are brief pieces after that, blurry and soft around the edges. Glimpses of a car window, someone cursing under their breath, the sound of your keys jingling and the vague sensation of being carried. That one must have been a drunken hallucination because it’s humiliating and therefore cannot be the truth.  You fumble for your phone which is not beside your pillow where you usually place it after your nightly doomscroll before bed, but placed neatly on your bedside table. There’s a few texts from friends on your lock screen, but there’s only one person you want to text. 

shoko: alive?

actually don’t answer if you’re dead

if you’re alive though please drink some water and let me know that you’re ok 

You laugh softly. Why did you jump to conclusions so quick? Of course it was Shoko that took you home! Who knew her upper body strength was so good that she managed to carry you into your own bed after a night of drinking. 

you: im alive!!

thank u so much for taking me home btw 

i owe u :3

She quickly reacts to your message with a heart before the typing indicator appears. 

shoko: i didn’t take u home (?) 

gojo did obv

he WHAT? is probably what you’re thinking but please remember to breathe and drink some water before you crash out 

You are, in fact, thinking he what?And because Shoko accurately called you out on that, you decide to follow through on the rest of her advice. You turn your head and stop a sticky note stuck to the glass of water beside your head, bright yellow and neat as a warning label. 

water is important when you’re recovering from a hangover! — satoru

Then, a little to the left, attached to a packet of painkillers, 

because i know your head probably feels like shit rn — still me 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, unsure whether to laugh or to run away. 

You do neither because your head really does hurt like a motherfucker, and take the painkillers along with a generous gulping or two of water. The cool liquid does little against the parched nature of your throat, but when you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you feel alive enough to venture out of your bed.  There’s a sticky note on the ground next to a pair of slippers you swore you had separated, one in the kitchen one somewhere in the living room. 

the ground is cold! wear slippers! — forever urs :3

“Forever yours?” you repeat aloud, voice wrecked with sleep and dehydration even as you shove your toes in. 

There’s another note on the back of your bedroom door. 

no matter what u see in the mirror remember you’re beautiful! — shrek to ur fiona?

You open your bedroom door and make your slow, regretful way to the bathroom where you lay your tired eyes on your puffy face. You have definitely seen better days. There’s another note stuck to your mirror. 

face wash is on the left toothbrush is on the right if you use the face wash as toothpaste, that’s between you and god — not your doctor 

Huffing out a sound that might be amusement, you pick up your toothbrush and ensure you squeeze toothpaste onto its bristles. The toothpaste is minty and makes your eyes water slightly, but by the time you rinse your mouth, you feel one step closer to not feeling like the undead. 

There’s another note stuck to the towel rack. 

if ur eyes are puffy, put a cold compress over them! — still not a doctor

From the bathroom back to your room for a change of clothes and even on your way to the kitchen, you’re guided by a series of sticky notes. 

clean clothes! i didn’t look through your drawers dw — feminist 

welcome to the kitchen! huge milestone for you — ur biggest fan 

water already boiled in here so when you wake up to reboil it it’ll take less time — the kettle knower 

drink real water first before the coffee !! seriously don’t put coffee in me just yet — mug 

soup inside on the second shelf :3 not homemade so don’t get too excited i’m handsome, not magical i couldn’t have it both ways — :(

in the microwave for two minutes with lid half on! take it out when it’s boiling — the soup sipper 

You finally feel alive enough to laugh, embarrassingly loud in the quiet of your kitchen. You stand there in your slippers, teeth brushed, face washed, and dressed in clothes when any other time you might have still been under the covers. 

The apartment feels full of him. A note when you open your utensil drawer for a spoon, a note sitting on top of a coffee pod conveniently placed on your counter, a note against the body of a vase you’ve placed on your dining table to feel more homey. 

eat slowly, you get hiccups when you rush! 

The notes take you away from your drying rack when you’ve finished the store-bought soup and washed your spoon, taking you to your living room. Your camera sits on your coffee table, a sticky stuck on the surface that reads: “turn me on ><” You roll your eyes but do so, lifting it up and framing the sorry state of your living room before hitting the record button. The first shot captures just how many sticky notes litter the surface of almost every object, the words telling you a funny joke or reminding you to put something back. You take your time walking through all of them, his handwriting everywhere, his name everywhere (except when he decides to write down a silly nickname). 

Satoru.

Satoru.

Satoru.

Then, you find the last one on your front door. 

if you’re overwhelmed, you don’t have to open this today. if you’re angry at me, just yell at me through the wall :( if you’re okay, i’d like to see you — satoru

And then, before you can think it through, you reach forward and open your door.  Gojo stands in the hallway, a bouquet of flowers clutched in both hands like he’s praying. His eyes light up when you open your door and he moves forward instinctively. He’s so close that the toe of one sock is nearly edging over the threshold of your apartment.  You let out a short scream.  He startles just as badly, eyes going wide as he reaches forward on instinct to steady you, and your camera slips from your hand. “Oh—”  It hits the floor before either of you can grab it, bouncing once, then sliding sideways across the carpet until it knocks gently against the leg of your couch. The camera keeps recording from there, tilted on its side. It catches the lower half of your open door, Gojo’s socked feet in the hallway, your bare feet on the carpet, and the hem of your sweater falling over your shorts. “Are you okay?” he asks in a rush. 

“What are you doing standing right in front of my door, you creep?” you shoot back, one hand pressed to your chest. “Were you standing there the entire time?” 

“I was trying to be romantic.” He shoves the bouquet toward you, panic making his voice crack at the edges. “I literally got you flowers!”  You take them automatically, bewildered by the weight of roses in your hands. “Thank you? Is that why you’ve littered all over my apartment?”  His face falls. “Was that not cute?” 

You blink. “Cute?”  “Did you not think it was cute?” he asks, suddenly horrified. “Because I thought it was cute. I mean, not in a weird way. Well, maybe a little weird. But intentional weird. Charming weird.” 

“The sticky notes?” He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Look, I’ve never done anything like this before, okay? This whole romance thing is seriously above me, I have no idea how I’m meant to ask you this without scaring you away.”  You stare at him for a long while before laughing. The sound pulls from your throat loud and bright that it almost hurts with an incoming headache, but it’s so funny you just can’t stop. “I knew you had no experience with women. I called it all along, didn’t I?” “Please, this and that are completely unrelated.” His shoulders seem to relax at your laugh, and he finally cracks a smile, running a hand through his hair. “You never were going to make it easy for me, were you?” 

“Easy? When you’ve just left forty sticky notes in my apartment and then lurked outside my door?” His smile trembles, trying to stay bright, but the nerves are still there beneath it. You can see them now that you know to look. The way his fingers flex at his side, the way his eyes keep flickering from your face to the threshold like he is measuring the exact line he is not allowed to cross.  “I wasn’t lurking,” he says, quieter. “I was waiting.”  Your fingers tighten around the bouquet.  Gojo looks down at it, then back at you. “I wanted to knock earlier, but I thought if you woke up and saw me before you were ready, you’d panic.” “Please, I wouldn’t have panicked.”  “You literally panicked ten seconds ago.” “Touche.” You look at him for a short while before glancing down at your slippered-feet. “I’m still scared, honestly. I think I’ve been cursed in every possible aspect of love. That’s why when I heard your voice all the way back during that carwash event, I didn’t want you to know it was me. It would break what we had going on through the wall and I liked that. It felt like something I could just keep to myself. And then I found out you were Satoru and it was obvious you weren’t just mine anymore.”  Gojo lets you talk, lets you call him Gojo again without saying a single word until you finish. Then he says, “Were you disappointed?”  “No,” you say immediately. “It wasn’t like that.” 

He smiles then, head tilting to the side. “Then I can be just Satoru. Just your Satoru, if that helps.”  It’s so stupidly cheesy that you have to scoff, even as your cheeks warm.  “I’m serious,” he chuckles along with you, stepping a little closer. “I liked being 4B. I liked that you knew me when I was just some guy through the wall that you liked talking to. I liked talking to you through blackouts and through shitty phone calls. I liked what we had too. Have, if you’ll let me.” “Are you asking me out?” He huffs, a weary smirk on his face. “Isn’t it obvious?”  Instead of answering him, you shove the bouquet of flowers back into his chest, watching as his brows furrow in confusion, before you’re reaching forward to cup his face and kiss him. In one suspended second, Gojo simply stands there doing absolutely nothing. He freezes so completely beneath your hands that, if you risked opening your eyes, you might find his bright blue ones staring back at you. His lips are still against yours, the rest of him gone rigid, roses crushed between his chest and yours, fingers locked around the stems not quite sure what else to do.  You almost pull back. 

But then, in a rush of movement, the bouquet is gone.  He throws it blindly into your apartment with a kind of urgent, graceless force that makes several roses scatter across your carpet. Before you can laugh, his arms are around you.  One arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close enough you half tread on his feet, other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, warm and shaking just slightly. Nothing in the world has ever felt so right.  There’s too much smiling in the kiss, and your noses are pressed awkwardly for the kiss to be smooth but then he tilts his head and gets it right.  You kiss him until your lungs begin to object and then slowly, you pull away. Gojo follows you for half a second before he catches himself, eyes opening slowly. His pupils are blown wide, hair a mess, and his mouth is parted without anything clever coming out of it.  “So,” he licks his lips, eyes flickering down for a moment. “Is that a yes?”  From the floor, your camera continues recording from its crooked angle. It captures none of it neatly, not your face and not his, not the way his thumb brushes your cheek. It catches the fall of the roses, the way your bodies draw the other in in a rush, the stumbling as he walks you back into your apartment and you both disappear from the frame in a fit of giggles and whispered words.  “Yes, Satoru,” you laugh, letting him guide you further into your apartment. “It’s a yes.”  Later, when you edit the film, you leave the shot in. It isn’t as graceful as it could be nor will it win an Oscar in cinematography, but for your love assignment, you decide that this will do. 

a/n: oh my GOD this is another draft that i started writing in 2023 (?) and is affectionately known by my friends and i as the jorkin' it fic <3 b99!au fic coming next !! not that i don't love the other fics i've written but it's definitely my favourite wip so i hope you all love that one too! thank you so much for reading until the very end and i hope u enjoyed :3

[fireladylisa]

king of the rink (hockey!au)

summary: hockey star satoru gojo has an unhealthy obsession with his teammate toji's girlfriend and would do anything to make you his.

wc: 13.7k

18+ | gojo masterlist

late february

satoru gojo was having one of the worst days of his life. despite the fact that he just scored enough goals to get his team to the stanley cup playoffs and been promoted to team captain, he was fucking miserable.

his teammates were crowding around him, lifting him into the air as they (and the crowd) chanted: "gojo! gojo! gojo!" in all honesty, it should have been the best day of his life, all things considered. he had worked his ass off since he first stepped on the ice at five years old in order to get here. missed out on being a normal teenager as he dedicated his life to hockey, being the youngest in his generation to be drafted at only seventeen years and eight months old. earning a spot as of one of the greats at his age.

his first two years of college were spent playing for his uni's team to hone in on his skills and by his third year he had been able to graduate early and go straight into the nhl where he's been playing for four years now.

so yes, he should be happy. his jersey had a "c" for captain, his team was going to the fucking stanley cup playoffs and he had women willing to throw themselves at him in hopes that he would give them a sliver of attention.

his only problem was you. his teammates girlfriend that he was downright obsessed with.

you stood behind the glass, dressed in an oversized blue jersey that had his team's name and acted as a dress. you were wearing black tights underneath it, knee high leather boots rising up your legs that formed vile thoughts in his head. you were watching with excitement and hearts in your eyes. hands clapping as your friend whispered something in your ear. you weren't paying attention though, eyes locked on the man that skated his way off the ice and toward you.

fucking toji fushiguro.

satoru had been friends with him in high school but they grew apart when toji joined a frat in university. he was too busy with hockey to fuck around and the friendship slowly fizzled out before he graduated ahead of his class. then a year later toji graduated and got drafted onto the same team as satoru. the friendship was never what it was before, the men only seeing each other as teammates and nothing more.

satoru had never thought of himself as a jealous person. from elementary to college he had always been considered a "popular" guy, able to get any girl he wanted without putting in much effort and most men wanted to be him.

even now. he was a goddamn superstar, stupid fucking rich and living out his childhood dreams. he wanted for nothing except for the one thing he couldn't have: you.

it was a brutal reminder that you were someone else's when fushiguro picked you up and spun you around, lips locked against yours. the number 12 plastered in a big white font on the back of your jersey. toji's number.

satoru was annoyed but eventually found the strength to tear his eyes away from you, stomach twisted in knots at the fact that you weren't wearing his number. he allowed a smile to stretch across his face as his team huddled around him, his ego reminding him that he was satoru fucking gojo.

even though his heart screamed at him that it didn't matter if he couldn't have you.

later that night he was five shots deep in some shitty liquor, pretending to enjoy himself at some equally shitty party that was meant to celebrate the team qualifying for the playoffs.

he had a beautiful woman sitting next to him, her leg thrown over his lap as she kissed on his neck and whispered vulgar things in his ear, breath reeking of alcohol and mint gum. she had no shame that a few of his teammates sat at the same booth, deep in conversation about the days game and some other bullshit he didn't care about.

he was too busy trying to the hide the glare that was forming on his face, because sitting right across from him was you.. and toji. and you had the nerve to be dressed like that, tempting his restraint. questioning his morals.

toji's arm was thrown around your shoulder, your body slightly turned toward him. it gave satoru the perfect view of the dip in your waist as he tossed back his sixth shot, the bodysuit you wore doing nothing to hide the hips he often dreamed of digging his hands into.

what the fuck was his problem? he had a girl practically eating his face right now and all he could do was eye you like some virgin loser.

he moved to take another shot when you laughed at something toji said. your nose crinkled as you tried to control your laughter, hair falling into your face as you titled your head down. finding some joke toji said funnier than it probably was. his heart thumped loudly at the sound, the music bumping in the club drowning out over the noise of blood rushing in his ears.

he was convinced you were an angel and it only confused him even more that you were with someone like toji. sure, he's only known you for the five months you'd been dating his teammate and not on a personal level but he knew his former friend since they were teens and he had always been a jerk that toyed with girls like it was his favorite pastime.

not that he hadn't had his fair share of one night stands, but he wouldn't do that to you. never you.

what could you possibly find so interesting about him that you hardly looked at satoru when in the same vicinity as him? it frustrated him to no end. he knew that he could treat you better than toji could if only you would acknowledge him.

"want to get out of here?" the woman whispered in his ear. he didn't even remember her name and it annoyed him that it wasn't you asking him that question.

satoru checked himself when he found his hand moving to push her off of him. it wasn't her fault that she wasn't you, and he was in need of releasing some tension. especially when you showed up dressed like the goddess of seduction herself, making his dick rock hard and throbbing with lust the moment he laid eyes on you.

he was pathetic, really. you were toji's girlfriend.

he waited a few more minutes to see if you would look at him just once tonight. even a small glance would satisfy satoru at this point, but you didn't. you talked to everyone but him, flashing those glossy eyes at toji like he painted the fucking sky.

only when he stood, girl latched tight to his arm as if she were afraid he'd slip away, did you finally look at him. satoru almost dropped to his knees right there, head at your feet while he offered the world to you. thankfully his dignity was still intact and he didn't make a fool of himself, or his date that was begging to be fucked.

"hey! i didn't get the chance to tell you earlier but you did great out there today." you smiled at him, completely oblivious to the way your innocent words tugged at his heart.

satoru let his smirk cover up how fucking whipped you had him. how ready he was to say fuck it and pull you into his arms right in front of toji, daring his teammate to do something about it.

"yeah? 'preciate it beautiful." and the way your eyes widened at the pet name he decided at this very moment he would call you from now on, had him biting back a chuckle. you were so fucking cute, teasing him with your mere presence like he didn't know how to bite back.

clearly the name was far less amusing to toji, who shot him a glare and not so subtly pulled you closer to him. satoru fought the urge to roll his eyes, though he was satisfied he got under his skin. it filled his big head with the idea that toji's insecurity meant you would possibly give him a chance.

why else would the dark haired meathead act like satoru threatened his relationship with a nickname as simple as beautiful?

"fuck off, gojo." toji huffed, face scrunched in annoyance while satoru was cool as a cucumber, smirk widening as placed his hands in his pockets. he was beyond amused at toji's frazzled state. what an insecure dud.

"what? can't recognize a beautiful woman when i see one?" he continued with his taunting, his plan officially set in motion. satoru would just have to woo you until you realized toji was a brain-dead loser and he was much better for you.

didn't you know how good you two would look together? how good he could be to you?

"eat a dick, dude."

satoru only laughed and shot you a wink, savoring the way your eyes widened even further before he turned and pulled the woman out of the club.

while he was balls deep in his date that night, pounding his irritation away, he thought of you. how much tighter you likely were. how you were probably a huge freak underneath that shy act you put on in public. and when he finally pulled out, ripping the condom off his swollen cock as he stroked his load onto the stomach below him, he imagined he was still buried deep inside you. condom nonexistent as he filled you to the brim with his hot cum.

ㅤ

you were exhausted after your night out with toji, celebrating his teams recent big win until three in the morning. a choice you immediately regretted as you woke up in the same outfit you wore last night, one you had hoped would get your boyfriend's attention.

you made sure not to drink that night, desperately needing to get laid and not wanting toji to turn you away because you were too drunk. he had been stressed lately, with it being the middle of hockey season and all, and he hadn't fucked you in some weeks now. so to say you were disappointed when he only kissed you and wished you good luck on your finals tomorrow, would be severely understating it.

part of you wondered if he was seeing someone else. you'd only been dating five months now, so when he started dodging every hint you threw his way that you were in need of physical affection, red flags started flying.

you could understand and appreciate how busy he was. you were on your last year of law school, studying for the bar exam and getting ready for an internship at one of the most powerful firms in the country. you were busy yourself but you still found time for him, even if it would screw you over in the end.

you really shouldn't have gone out with toji last night, but he had begged and pleaded with you until you had no choice but to say yes so he could stop whimpering like a dog. you threw on your sexiest outfit, doused yourself in his favorite perfume and wore your new victoria's secret lingerie.

he had eyed you like you were candy, giving you a sloppy kiss and a smack on the ass before walking you to his car. you had been even more hopeful when toji became oddly possessive after gojo called you beautiful. the comment had left you flustered, cheeks burning from the sudden attention that you didn't know how to respond to.

gojo had stared at you like you were the only woman in the room and it had you dumbstruck. toji had never looked at you that intensely and it left you feeling shy and exposed. so when he finally pulled you closer, it gave you the false idea that your outfit would be ripped off you the second he took you back to his place.

only toji hadn't done either of those things. he had dropped you back at your apartment, kissed you goodnight after a silent car ride and pulled off before you could even close the door.

now you lay in bed still horny, head pounding from a lack of sleep and if the clock on your nightstand was correct, an hour away from one of the most important exams of your life. you sighed, pulling your phone off the charger as you checked your messages.

shoko (8:30am): hey babes, you up? wanna grab coffee before our exams?

shoko (8:50am): hellooo?

shoko (9:00am): boo, you whore. i just seen a pap picture of you with toji last night so you're either out cold rn after a long night of fucking or you're still getting your back blown out. 🤣

shoko (9:05am): i gtg, professor won't let me retake if i miss this test. love you, don't make choices i wouldn't!

dad (9:06am): hi honey. how's law school treating you? call your old man when you get the chance.

instagram 99+ new notifications

you wondered what shoko would think if you told her you did in fact not get your back blown out. instead you went to bed alone, doubting your relationship more than you already did. that the satoru gojo showed more interest in you than your own boyfriend did.

your stomach still tickled at the way he called you beautiful. such a simple name that left you feeling like a cat in heat. not that you'd ever admit that to anyone outside of yourself.

you were still unsure of how to feel about his nickname. on one hand you were in a relationship with his teammate and shouldn't entertain comments from other men. on the other, the crush you had on the hockey superstar still lingered somewhere deep in you.

when you first started dating your boyfriend, it had been with the intention of getting a little closer to the man with sharp blue eyes and white hair, that had been at the center of your dreams every fucking night. toji was hot but he wasn't really your type, so you were surprised when you found yourself actually falling for him two months into the relationship.

you met him at some party shoko dragged you to back in september, right before hockey season started. you hadn't really been checking for him, searching the room for gojo but he hadn't been there. so you cracked and gave him a chance after he kept "accidentally" bumping into you.

he made you feel like you were the hottest girl in the room that night, his hand on your lower back all night, whispering the crudest of comments in your ear until he took you back to his condo and fucked you into the mattress.

you hadn't been expecting him to ask you for your number before he dropped you back home, assuming this was a one night stand and nothing more. you weren't stupid. you knew the reputation most athletes had, especially toji fushiguro. but he clearly had an interest in you as he started texting you almost daily for hookups until two weeks later when he finally asked you to be his girlfriend right before his first game of the season.

now here you were, feeling more neglected than ever and you'd only been dating the man five months. this is why you'd been single for more than four years before meeting toji. men were complicated and more often than not, a waste of time. in the end it would always be you and your rose toy.

you opened up instagram next, scrolling through your friends stories before you stopped on gojo's which had a green circle around his icon. close friends? you quickly went to your notifications tab, hands shaking as your heart thumped. thumped. thumped! eyes bulging when you saw:

satorugojo followed you back (3 hrs ago). plus some of his 3.5 million followers that had followed you in response.

oh! you swallowed hard, clicking on his story and seeing he posted a picture of himself at the gym. athletic shorts riding low on his hips. grey boxers showing. white happy trail peeking from his black shirt that rose as he lifted one arm, showing off his ridiculous muscles. blue airpod max's snug on his head of wild white hair.

no days off 💪🏻 he captioned it. posted at 6:30am.

out of pure instinct you went to screenshot it before stopping yourself. this is your boyfriends teammate, what the fuck were you doing? you weren't some weird fan anymore, you were toji's girlfriend. snap out of it!

you forced yourself to close the app, texted your father that you would call him after your exam and quickly stripped and hopped in the shower. you spent twenty minutes reciting your mental notes on criminal law, civil law, etc.. you really shouldnt have went out last night.

after brushing your teeth and fixing your hair, you were out the door and thanking god that you lived close to campus or else you would have missed your exam. all because you were drooling over the fact that another man followed you on social media. get real!

you were grateful that shoko had been waiting for you the moment you stepped out of that too stuffy lecture room three hours later. the exam itself went fine. though you'd occasionally hear gojo's voice calling you beautiful, you had locked in and been the first one finished.

you were beyond drained and immediately dropped your head on her shoulder, mumbling about how you couldn't wait to graduate and you were never going to a party again. and something about fuck men.

"uh huh, it must suck getting fucked all night and almost missing your exams. poor (name)." she jokingly patted your back until you lifted your head to glare at her.

"i would find that funny if i'd actually gotten any."

"again?!"

twenty minutes later you sat in front of your best friend at a local cafe, wearing your heart on your sleeve as you ranted to her about your relationship issues.

"i just don't understand him, sho. i go out of my way to dress how i know he likes, wear perfumes that he says are his favorite and all i get is a smack on the ass. almost like i'm his dog begging for praise and he's patting my head and calling me a good girl."

shoko was empathic but had a look that said she didn't really know what to say. it was usually her in your position, while you never really had the patience for a relationship. it was the occasional one night stand for you, preferring to fixate on fictional men who would never disappoint you as real men often did.

toji was the perfect example of that. he'd been so hot and cold lately. kissing you at his games and acting like a loving boyfriend, to barely acknowledging you and leaving you aching for more.

"fuck one of his teammates."

you choked on your latte, looking around to make sure no one heard what she said as you attempted to regain your composure. when you finally calmed down enough you shot her a scowl, embarrassed at your little episode that had a few people staring like you'd pissed in their coffee.

"what? honestly i don't know why you went for him when suguru geto was right there but i'll try not to judge you too much." she had a shit eating grin on her face which only made you want to sink into the ground even more.

you had no plans to cheat on toji when you didn't even have proof that he was doing the same to you. but your mind still drifted to gojo. if you were going to sleep with any of them, it would be him for sure. or maybe you'd switch teams and go for that hot soccer player ryomen sukuna. but you weren't a cheater so you didn't allow that thought to simmer in your head.

though you were curious as to why he followed you, especially after he'd called you beautiful last night. why were you still stuck on that anyway? it was just a name he probably called twenty different women as everyone knew satoru gojo was a major flirt. but it was the first time he called you that.

"enough about me." you attempted to regain some control over the conversation. "how'd your exam go? you're almost done with med school! are you gonna stay in the city?"

"don't know." she shrugged, taking a sip of her tea. "thinking of working in a high school. if not, maybe moving a few cities over. enjoy some new scenery y'know?"

of course you did. you sometimes found yourself dreaming of starting somewhere fresh that wasn't your hometown but something had always kept you tethered here. maybe it was your irrational fear of change, or the stability you had here. family, friends, career. there hadn't really been a reason for you to leave.

just then your phone buzzed.

toji 💘: think you could stop by the rink? finishing up practice in 30 and wanted to see your pretty face.

✮

"why are you just standing there? move your feet!" satoru yelled at his team, tired from the early start to his day when he'd only gotten about four hours of actual rest. he wasn't usually this cranky, typically cracking jokes with the boys or giving them words of encouragement but he was still on edge from the fact that you'd actually spoken to him last night.

satoru didn't know what it was about you that left him so dizzy with obsession, when he'd never acted this way over a woman before. he had girlfriends sure, some he cared about but never anything too serious or long-term, preferring to focus on his future in the leagues and not wanting anything to distract him from that.

until you walked in the room. you'd been there to watch toji practice, dressed in low rise jeans that showed off your waist jewelry and straps to your pink lingerie. a matching long sleeve crop top and cardigan to protect your arms from the chill of the facility.

he thought he might propose to you right then and there. call it love at first sight. you were insanely hot and walked with a confidence that made every man and woman stop and stare at you. even coach stole a glance when he thought no one was looking.

he was hooked from that day forward. never missing a day of practice just in case you might show up, even if it bothered him that you were there to see toji and not him. he looked forward to seeing what outfit you'd wear or how you'd style your hair. he even noticed little things, like if you were in a good mood you'd be straight faced but if you were annoyed, you'd have a forced smile on your lips to keep up appearances.

on those days he wanted to yell at toji for not keeping you happy enough, though he knew that was unfair. plus you weren't his to worry about, even if he desperately wanted you to be. but for now he would settle for breathing the same air as you if that was all he could get.

"who the fuck are you talking to huh?! i dare you to say that shit again!" a yell broke through his thoughts. when he looked to the ice, toji was pushing suguru back with a mean shove. almost knocking satoru's friend on his ass and making him drop his stick.

"what, you gonna hit me fushiguro? i'm not one of the newbies, you don't scare me." suguru was calm as ever, amusement dancing in his eyes as he straightened himself. satoru was tempted to stand back and watch, getting some kind of sick enjoyment out of watching whatever suguru said make toji turn red with anger.

"actually, I think the next time i say it out loud it'll be to your pretty little girlfriend. oh there she is! what do you think fushiguro? she might want to know-" before suguru could finish, toji landed a punch right to the man's nose that sent him flying to the ground.

"are you two idiots done?" satoru yelled onto the rink, standing where coach usually does as he was filling in for him today. "fushiguro, you're out for the day. go home and blow off some steam. don't come back tomorrow if you still feel you need to attack your own teammate."

toji wasn't hearing it as he skated aggressively off the rink until he was behind the board and glaring at satoru as his cheeks flared red. "fuck you, you're not coach."

satoru lifted a brow, fighting the urge to give the man the same treatment he just gave suguru. "nah, but i am your captain and i said to fucking go home. or does the c on my jersey mean nothing anymore?"

if it were possible, you'd be able to see the steam shooting from toji's ears as he thought about what to say next before huffing and moving to sit on the bench, taking his skates off and pushing past satoru, storming to the locker room. satoru wondered what suguru had said to make the man so upset, watching as the doors that led to the backrooms closed behind him with a loud bang!

he didn't have much time to ponder on it before he noticed you standing at the entrance door, eyes wide as you watched the commotion. he wondered how much you saw, but really he was concerned with how much time he'd have to talk to you before toji came back and dragged you away.

he hadn't expected to see you again so soon but the surprise was more than welcomed.

he watched, eyes cloudy with desire as you walked further into the facility. hands holding a takeout bag, face set in confusion as you looked around, unsure of what to do after walking in on your boyfriend behaving like a psychopath.

satoru would never embarrass you like that.

when your eyes met his he raised his hand to wave you over, fighting back a smile as he watched you ponder over if it was a good idea or not after you'd just watched your boyfriend curse him out.

he finally felt like he could breathe again when you started walking toward him, dressed in a grey sweatsuit, faux fur jacket and a fitted cap. you were stunning and satoru almost choked on the drool that was forming at the sight of you.

when he turned to make sure geto was alright, he saw the man was already back up and finishing his drills with the others. satoru made a mental note to ask him what his mess with fushiguro had been about and why he mentioned you. for now, you would have his undivided attention.

"hi beautiful." his voice was raspy from yelling at the team for the past two hours, but he was satisfied to see the unintended effect it had on you. the slight widening of your eyes, pretty lips covered in gloss parting in surprise, the way you tightened your grip on the takeout bag.

"oh, i-" you bite your lip before relaxing your shoulders, releasing a breath and giving him a small smile that he knew he would be thinking about for the rest of the day. "hi."

satoru tried his best not to grin but you made it so hard. look at how cute you were, stuttering over being called beautiful when you were so much more than that. he would make sure he reminded of you that everyday when you were his, since toji was a clearly failing as a boyfriend.

"brought me lunch? how sweet. you didn't have to do that, princess."

princess? satoru had no idea where that one came from, he'd never called a woman that before but he could tell you liked it by the way your smile widened and your eyes softened. he would stick with that one then.

he felt like he was gonna melt with the way you had his body burning with a deep, scorching need that pulled in his stomach. a need that had him wondering how soft your lips were, what the gloss you wore tasted like, and what your skin felt like under his hands.

"i actually.. uhm- it's for toji. what happened with him and geto?"

satoru's mouth soured at the sound of his name taking up room in your conversation. he wanted to learn a little more about you before the beast came back and whisked you away.

but this was a good opportunity for him to get your number. yeah, he could work with this.

"not sure yet, princess. but if you want i can text ya after i talk with suguru, that way you get both sides of the story and not just whatever fushiguro tells you."

he watched as you swallowed, eyes tracing the movement of your lips and letting them fall to your exposed neck and the way your gold jewelry sat so perfectly across your skin. the captain of the number one hockey team in the world right now, was totally checking out his teammate's girlfriend and felt not even an ounce of shame about it.

embarrassment was never really satoru gojo's style. if he was one thing, it was confident. plus what was wrong with him letting you know he found you attractive? if your relationship with fuhsiguro was strong, then the man had nothing to worry about.

"you want my number? i don't know.. wouldn't that be inappropriate since-" you stop and lick your lips and satoru thinks he died and came back to life. "i'm dating your friend?"

mood fucking ruined.

"fushiguro isn't my friend. strictly teammates." the words came out harsher than he meant it and his heart sank at the way you shrunk back, the tension from earlier returning.

"i'm sorry, i didn't mean-"

"(name), what the fuck are you doing? we're leaving now!" toji's voice interrupted as soon as satoru reached out to touch your arm and you were gone in blink, spitting out a "s-sorry, sorry!" while chasing after your boyfriend who lacked the decency to even wait for you.

rage boiled inside of satoru, his fists clenched at his side, watching as you stopped the door front hitting you before disappearing behind it. toji was a fucking monster and you deserved better than him.

he had a new goal now. he would get you away from his teammate and then he would make you his. that started with finding out what suguru had against fushiguro that set him off and-

fuck! he didn't get your number.

✮

the car ride was awkward as fuck to say the least. toji was beyond pissed, one hand gripping the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles turned white, the other placed on your thigh squeezing considerably softer, grip still possessive as he swerved through traffic.

you wanted to ask him what was wrong, but he had ignored you when you asked the first time, as you followed him out of the training facility. you took that as a sign that he didn't want to talk about it and stayed quiet. opting to scroll through your phone instead, not a clue in the world where he was taking you.

dad (1:03pm): how did the exam go? i just talked to nishimura and he says you're all good to start your internship after your grades are released. don't forget to call! love you honey.

you (1:30pm): it went great! thanks for getting me the internship dad, I really appreciate it. can I call in 20?

dad (1:30pm): 👍

just as you were going to put your phone away, an instagram notification came through that had your cheeks heating instantly.

satorugojo (just now): number, princess? forgot to get it before the big bad wolf stole you away.

oh my god! you had no idea what he was doing or why he was suddenly so interested in you but it put you on guard. the crush you harbored still lingering somewhere inside you. locked away out of respect for toji. and it would stay there. you had no plans to disrespect your relationship unless toji did first.

so you ignored the message and locked your phone with painstaking difficulty, giving the man next to you your attention. face still heated from gojo's message. the fangirl in you screaming at the fact that li ole' you managed to get the satoru gojo's attention.

"where are we going?" you asked your boyfriend, hoping he didn't notice your reaction to gojo's dm. you needed to get real. he was probably giving ten other women the same attention that he gave you. he was satoru gojo after all. number one hockey player on the rink, world's biggest flirt off the rink.

"taking ya home. i have some business i need to take care of." he kept his eyes on the road, jaw still tight with annoyance from his earlier interaction with geto and gojo.

you frowned, fingers tightening around the lunch you'd bought for toji. if you weren't annoyed before, you definitely were now. he's the one that asked to see you and now he was ditching you. again.

"what business?" your voice was low as you attempted to stop yourself from cursing him out. you didn't do relationships often but when you gave a man the time of the day, you never allowed them to treat you like this. toji fushiguro wasn't the exception.

his grip tightened around the steering wheel and you thought he might rip it off with the way the skin under his fingernails turned red.

"nothing you need to know." he removed his hand from your thigh, moving it to hold onto the gearshift.

how fucking dare he? "hey asshole, you asked to see me! i deserve to know why you're wasting my time and ditching me without even properly saying hello."

"are you deaf, woman? i just told you to drop it!" woman? you were seeing red.

"fine! maybe i'll ask geto what had you angry enough to punch him, since we're keeping secrets now."

toji slammed on the breaks at a red light, sending your body forward before your back hit the seat again. you dropped the food on the floor, whipping your head to stare at the man beside you who had clearly lost his mind.

"are you crazy?!"

toji was already staring at you, a death glare painting his face, veins protruding in his forehead, his hair half covering his eyes. he looked murderous but you weren't going to back down.

"i'll only tell you this once: stay the fuck away from him and gojo, (name). ya hear me?"

you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms as toji turned and started driving again, flipping off the person that honked for him to go. you didn't take your attention from him though.

"or what? i wouldn't have to go to other men to find out what's going on with my own boyfriend if you'd actually talk to me! for crying out loud, you punched your teammate then act like i'm in the wrong for wanting to know why."

you couldn't believe this is what your first argument with toji was about. not him neglecting your needs five months into your relationship, but him hitting someone and refusing to talk to you about it. it was pathetic really. even more so that you kept giving him the time of the day. his behavior was off and did nothing to help the growing suspicion that he was cheating on you or hiding something worse.

toji ran his free hand down his face but stayed silent, keeping his eyes locked on the road as if he suddenly cared about driving safe when he just slammed on the breaks, nearly giving you whiplash.

"let me out." you sighed. he was close enough to your apartment anyways and you'd rather walk then deal with his bullshit for another minute.

it shouldn't have surprised you when he only mumbled "fine" and pulled into a gas station. speeding off after you slammed the door shut. you were so fucking mad that your brain short circuited and before you could even process what you were doing, you opened instagram and went to the dm you got a few minutes ago, typed in your number and hit the send button.

when you made it back to your place, you sat at the desk in your living room and opened your laptop. that's where you sat for the next four hours, phone turned off, studying for the bar exam. not letting a man distract you from what was actually important.

not until the clock read 5:55pm and you were stretching your sore back as you made your way to the kitchen to get some food, turning your phone on to finally call your dad who answered on the first ring. your face frowned when you were bombarded with notifications but you ignored them for now.

"(name), thank god! are you alright, do you need me to come down there? i'll kill him if he hurt you-" your father rambled, a calm fury lacing his voice that he typically reserved for his opponents in the courtroom.

"i'm fine dad!" you cut him off, anxiety crawling up your spine as you neglected the meal you were going to make, putting him on speaker as you started going through your missed notifications. "i was only studying, i'm sorry it took me so long to call. what's going on?"

"i got a call from a friend who said he saw you a video of you on tmz arguing with that man i told you was no good for you! he could have hurt you driving like that, and then to leave you at a gas station in the middle of winter? i-"

you zoned out as you read all the notifications you missed, clicking on the first one from apple news titled " trouble in paradise already? hockey player toji fushiguro caught in a screaming match with girlfriend (full name)."

you felt like throwing up as you read the article, clicking on the video that was attached and credited to tmz. someone had captured almost the entire thing. from the moment toji stormed from the facility, you chasing shyly behind him, to him speeding off and the person in the car following. the video cuts to him recklessly swerving into the gas station, you slamming the door and him zooming off.

you wanted to shrivel up and die out of pure embarrassment. you had been too angry to think about the fact that your boyfriend is in fact, a well known hockey star and would more than likely be followed by paparazzi or fans. this wouldn't be toji's first time dealing with a scandal but you were far from famous and hated drawing negative attention to yourself.

you swiped down when your phone buzzed again with another notification from instagram. you ignored it and went to the nearly one hundred messages you missed.

shoko (4:00pm): ANSWER YOUR PHONE NOW

shoko (4:00pm): TMZ JUST POSTED YOU ARGUING WITH TOJI. CALL ME!!

shoko (4:01pm): OMG (NAME), WHY IS YOUR PHONE OFF. THIS IS SERIOUS

shoko (4:03pm): im coming over after my shift at the hospital! you better open or I'll kick the door down.

unknown number (3:25pm): hey princess.

unknown number (4:10pm): just saw the video. wanna talk about it? sorry your bf's a dick

toji 💘 (4:05pm): answer the phone now. i'm not fucking around.

toji 💘 (4:07pm): you're a fucking brat, feel better now that you embarrassed us?

and only one missed call from him out of the near one hundred you had gotten from your family and friends.

"i'll call you back dad, i have to go." you hung up before he could respond, saved the new number under "satoru 🏒" and called shoko.

✮

two weeks ago

satoru hadn't spoke to nor seen you since the video of fushiguro leaving you at a gas station was posted. you had missed the game today and satoru held a deep resentment toward his teammate for that. he wanted to see you before the next game tomorrow, which would be taking place in a different city. as would the next seven after that.

you never responded to his text which usually wouldn't bother satoru if it had been literally anyone else. he hadn't stopped thinking about what suguru told him two days ago, the secrets fushiguro was hiding from not just you but the public as well. he knew it wasn't his business.

he reminded himself again that you weren't his girlfriend but he still felt an odd sense of responsibility toward you. an urge to protect your heart from his teammate's bullshit. even if he didn't get you in the end, you didn't deserve what toji was doing behind your back.

that's what led to him grilling the man in the locker room after everyone else had left. he held him back under the guise that he needed to talk to him about his performance at the game today when that couldn't be further from the truth.

"make it quick cap. got some things i need to get done before we fly out." toji glared at him with his arms crossed.

satoru took his time removing his helmet, ruffing up his hair before setting it in his locker. his pads were next, followed by his shinguards and gloves. toji was clearly annoyed, sighing impatiently which only made satoru smirk and shoot him a wink.

"how's (name) holding up?"

toji was immediately defensive, standing straight and moving closer to intimidate satoru, though the captain was still slightly taller than him. "fuck do you care for, gojo? you fuckin her or something?"

"not yet." satoru could lie and say he didn't mean to say it, but where was the fun in that? he loved to see toji riled up and was dying for a reason to lay him out after how he publicly humiliated you.

"don't fuck with me. couldn't give a fuck if you're captain or not, don't disrespect my girl." toji all but hisses.

satoru let his laughter fill the room. loud and obnoxious, stomach squeezing as if what toji said was the funniest thing he'd heard all week. "no, that's just reserved for you right? i knew you were still the same scumbag from college but, a baby? that's a new low, even for you."

toji froze, his eyes doubling in size as all the color drained from his face. his mouth dropped open but he didn't say anything before slamming it shut again. satoru couldn't help but think how weak he looks right now. he hadn’t even mentioned the rumors of his gambling, the pregnancy accusation had been more than enough to leave the man stunned. 

“what is she now? four months? and you’ve been dating (name) for five, which means you’re not only going to be a father but you’re a fucking cheater too.”

having had enough of being scolded like a child, toji locked eyes with his old friend, wondering where they went wrong. years ago he would do anything for him but right now, he never hated anyone more than satoru gojo and he could tell the captain fucking knew it by the way he smirked.

"so what? you gonna run and tell her, act like some kind of prince charming and fuck her while her walls are down. that your goal gojo? you might be as shitty as me."

"oh I'm not gonna say a word to her. you are."

it was toji's turn to laugh, equally as obnoxious. "like fuck i will."

satoru was past finding this entertaining, his face switching into a threatening look as the act dropped, his voice low and threatening as he leaned closer until he was next to toji's ear. "you'll do it, or else i'll be forced to report your illegal gambling to the higher ups. what was the punishment for betting on your own team again? that's it, you'd be kicked out of the league."

✮

present (early march)

you hadn't seen or heard from toji since he left the city two weeks ago, traveling for some games away from home and you were surprisingly calm about it. you'd been knee deep in your studies for the bar exam coming up in july, and didn't have room on your schedule for relationship drama. you were pretty sure you were going to end things anyways but wanted to do it in person.

it turns out that dating famous people wasn't for you. you preferred a lowkey life, one that didn't include getting harassed by your boyfriends fans because: how dare you slam the door of toji fushiguro's car! you ended up making your account private and deleting comments until the hype died down and people moved onto the next big story.

it only took a week of nonstop harrassment, no big deal! then, after you posted a selfie with your account public again, the "she's such a diva!" "the (name) hate was so forced now y'all love her 😂" "that's a baddie right there 💅" comments started pouring in. though you could also thank gojo for that.

he reposted the picture on his story (which you liked) and only captioned it: 🤍

then he commented:

satorugojo: pretty girl (15,340 likes)

you didn't like it, not wanting to stir up any rumors more than he probably already did but it didn't bother you either. your actual reaction was to bite your lip, grinning like a teenage girl with a crush and pull out your rose toy. imagining a certain white haired, blue-eyed hockey player to help push you over the edge. it technically wasn't cheating, especially if your boyfriend ghosted you and you had plans to break up with him anyways.

you were just a girl.

a week after that, the boys were returning from their out of state games and shoko invited you to a party being thrown to celebrate them winning every game (eight in total!). it was a team effort of course, but you knew the real star was gojo. he was a beast on the ice, often being called the king of the rink by sports channels.

you watched a few games on tv, noticing how his teammates passed him the puck and he'd immediately shoot without thinking twice. he never froze, always confident in his ability to carry his team to a win. he was the sniper and captain for a reason, having insanely accurate aim and scoring from angles that seemed near impossible.

his post-game interview only proved how cocky he was.

interviewer: you made that look easy. what happened from your perspective?

gojo: their goalie gave me too much room. that’s on him.

and it was the hottest thing ever. his confidence, the way his white hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead, his dimple flashing whenever he smiled. it's what made you finally decide to text him. it was simple, just a quick "watched the game last night, you killed it! 🐐🏒"

to which he responded: "scored just for you, princess." and you didn't respond but hearted the message then screamed into your pillow.

now you were squeezing into a black dress that hugged your figure nicely and matching tights after telling yourself you were done with the public scene. unfortunately shoko was your best friend and you always had trouble telling her no.

you let your hair down tonight, spraying on your favorite japanese cherry blossom perfume as she walked into your bathroom.

she wore a dress similar to yours, only hers was purple and she slung a leather jack over her shoulders that had the teams logo and colors. the upper right patch sporting the number "2", which was geto's number. you didn't mention it but smirked to yourself.

"you look hot as fuck. think toji's gonna be jealous when his own team is drooling over you?"

you groaned as you applied your clear lip gloss, not wanting to hear his name. you still had to break up with him and weren't looking forward to it. you planned to pull him aside at the party where there would be plenty of people to thwart the explosive reaction you knew you would get in private.

"he should be." was all you said before she was pulling you out the door and into an uber. the party was more private and at geto's house, so you were glad there wouldn't be as much paparazzi as a nightclub might have.

you found yourself playing with your thumbs the entire twenty minute drive there, watching as the city lights faded into trees as you made your way into the hills. buildings turning into mansions, the stars in the sky becoming more visible with less light pollution.

you were nervous about breaking up with toji but more anxious about seeing gojo. especially after he reposted you on his story and called you pretty girl in your very much public comment section. his publicist probably scolded him for that one. as far as the public knew, you were still with toji.

"ready?" shoko grabbed onto you, stopping your fidgeting hands as the car slowed down in front of a surprisingly modest sized home, compared to the other ones in the neighborhood. your stomach twisted at the sound of loud music and at least fifty cars parked in the street and in front of geto's three garages.

you thanked the driver before stepping out of the car, heels clicking against the pavement as your friend pulled you toward the gates. there was one man waiting with a camera strapped across his neck, though he quickly lifted it when he spotted you.

multiple flashes started going off and you had to block your eyes as he started yelling. "(name)! you here to see toji or gojo?" "(name), what happened that day at the gas station? seemed heated!" you ignored every question while shoko told him to fuck off and pulled you through the gates after confirming her invitation with security.

you tried to blink the light spots away and not allow that creep to ruin your night. you didn't understand how stalking people just to get their photo wasn't illegal but that was a problem for another day because you were at the front door that had been left wide open. the bass from the song playing giving you a boost of confidence as you slid your jacket off and threw it on one of the racks at the front door.

you didn't know what to do with yourself so you let shoko pull you along, "geto said they'd be out back by the pool!"

oh. it was that kind of party. it's not that you didn't know how to swim, just that you needed a very good reason to do so plus it was cold as fuck. you weren't a fan. you didn't even think about the fact that shoko had geto's number as she kept dragging you through a sea of bodies.

couples were basically fucking as they danced to the music, men and women alike were throwing back shots like no tomorrow, someone was throwing up in the corner. it was only eleven and these kind of events lasted until three of four in the morning. not that you'd be staying any longer than needed to satisfy your friend.

the pool was big with checker style tiles at the bottom and matching black sun chairs on each side of it. most were being occupied by members of the team you recognized, a pretty girl or guy on their lap. some people splashing each other in the pool.

on the lawn kicking a ball back and forth was gojo, suguru and a few other men you'd never seen before. toji was there too, standing with his back against the fence, playful smirk on his face, dressed in a plain black shirt and jeans. you froze when he looked up and made eye contact with you.

"i think i'll wait inside, you go ahead!" you pulled away from your friend before she could stop you and bolted into the house, toji following while yelling your name.

you pretended you didn't hear him as you entered the music bumping house, in search of a drink and an escape. your nerves were getting the best of you. you'd never actually broken up with someone before, opting to just let them ghost you or you ghost them. this was different, toji was obviously not going to let that happen like you hoped he would.

what were you even supposed to say? "hey, I'm really sorry but i'm not feeling the spark between us anymore and I think we should break up. oh by the way, I have a fat crush on your captain." you guess that wasn't really bad as long as you left out the last part.

you beelined toward geto's kitchen, pushing past people and moving around the island to get to the fridge. pulling it open you sighed in relief that there was one last bottle of heineken, grabbing it greedily before cracking it open against the counter. you didn't really drink but knew you would need it in order to survive this conversation that loomed over you like a dark cloud.

your entire body tensed when you heard him enter the room, yelling your name and making you want to die of embarrassment as a few people stared. how did this become your life? this is exactly why you didn't date in the first place!

you took a few sips before setting it on the counter and turning. time to face the music.

he moved toward you with a frown, having the nerve to look confused at the fact that you might not want to talk to him. it was going to be a long night.

"what the fuck? why are you ignoring me?" he grabbed onto your arm but you were quick to snatch it away. scoffing in disgust when he started checking you out. "the fuck are you doing wearing that short ass dress out the house like you're not in a relationship?"

"ha! are we even together still? I haven't heard from you in two weeks dipshit." you put more space between the two of you, pressing your back against the counter as he moved closer. he reeked of alcohol and weed, the white of his eyes turning red, eyelids slightly droopy.

he bit his jaw, taking in a deep breath and looking around before speaking. "i've been focused on the games, y'know that. can we talk in private?"

"absolutely fucking not. whatever you need to say you can say it right here." you hardly had time to process what was happening before he yanked your arm and started pulling you to the front door. you were too stupefied to protest, letting him control your body until you were on the front lawn where only a few security guards were, paparazzi guy gone.

you yanked away from him again, giving him your best death glare as you stopped yourself from smacking his face off.

"speak and make it quick, i don't wanna spend all night arguing." you could tell toji was taken aback by your tone by the way he leaned away from you. you had never talked to him this way, acted so indifferent toward him.

"listen.. first i need you to know that i wasn't ignoring ya on purpose. i knew you were pissed and wanted to give you the space you need to cool off. you think we can actually talk now?"

"i'm still standing here aren't i?" you needed to keep your act up. seeming cold would make it easier to break up with him. he needed to understand that there was no saving this relationship and being sweet wouldn't help that.

"you're a fucking brat." he ran a hand down his face, suddenly interested in your heels. "don't kill me, doll. i need you to understand that i wasn't thinking straight when it happened. everything was moving too fast, i was drunk and didn't wear protection-"

you already knew where this was going, heart about to leap out of your chest as you squinted your eyes at him, humiliation crashing into you like a wave. all this time your suspicion had been valid, the red flags so obvious only a fool would ignore them. and boy were you the fucking fool.

honestly the entire thing was funny. here he was trying to find a way to tell you that he cheated on you, while you were trying to find a way to break up with him. kind of poetic how everything came together in the end.

but no protection? he either was about to tell you he'd gotten another woman pregnant or he contracted something from her.

"fuck are you laughing for? i didn't even finish-"

"oh you definitely did finish. god you're so pathetic. so which is it toji? do you have a baby on the way or do i need to get an std screening?" you had always worn condoms with him but you could never be too sure about anything. your hands started to tremble despite trying to hide it.

"the former." he grumbled. nice.

this was really fucking nice. you hit the goldmine when picking him over gojo huh? you regretted hiding your feelings all this time, forcing yourself to be with someone who wasn't even your type. who was originally only a door to get access to another man.

"wow. i have to hand it to you toji, you really embarrassed me in ways i didn't think possible. well, good luck with that." you moved to push past him, wanting to get back to your beer before you lost your shit. only the man grabbed your arm, holding you still as you tried to wiggle away from him. he wasn't letting up, squeezing hard enough to keep you still.

"that's it, really?" he looked hurt. he looked hurt. oh my god, if you got anymore mad than you already were you'd probably explode. literally.

"aww, was i supposed to cry? because honestly, i’m just embarrassed i stayed this long. you weren't even my first choice, won't be too hard moving on."

you moved to pull away again but toji was furious this time, pulling you back hard enough to make you stumble but he kept you upright, pulling close enough that you had to look up to face him. "the fuck are you talking about?"

his eyes were dark, set in an untamed fury but all you could do was grin. you were starting to get cold and needed this conversation to be over. "don't make me laugh toji. you didn't seriously think i was at that party looking for you? it's a shame gojo wasn't there that night or else i could have avoided wasting my time with this."

“hey you piece of fucking shit! let go of her before i break your wrists."

your heart sped up at the sound of gojo's voice coming from behind toji. you looked past him and there he was, wearing a tight black nike shirt that showed off all his muscles. with grey sweats that hung low on his hips and exposed the top of his boxers, but you were too busy staring at the huge dick print pressing against his pants.

holy shit. you were soaking your panties as another man had you yanked up and looked ready to kill you.

"mind your fucking business gojo." toji hissed but kept his eyes locked on you while you kept your eyes on the man behind him.

gojo looked pissed but winked at you before he started to move, making his way to the front lawn before stopping a few feet away from toji.

"i said let her go before i beat your fucking ass fushiguro."

toji huffed out a laugh, turning to look at his teammate. he wasn't stupid enough to think he could outright beat him in a fight. gojo was more on the lean side but that didn't equal weak, and toji knew that by having his fair share of fights with him when they were younger.

it didn't help that you were looking at the man like you were about to start drooling and clawing at him. he doesn't know why he didn't put it together before. the way your eyes would drift while he kissed you at games, the eagerness to join him at every party they had, the fact that you were following gojo on instagram but not him.

toji had never been checkmated like this and did the first thing that came to his intoxicated mind. he turned so he was facing gojo, moving his hand from your arm to the middle of your back and smirked. the feeling sending chills down your spine, eyes wide at the action.

"you want him so bad? there he is, whore." and he pushed you so hard that you gasped as you tripped and twisted your ankle. but before you could hit the grass, gojo caught you, his arms wrapping around your body and pulling you against him.

"are you fucking insane?! i'm gonna kill you fushiguro!" gojo roared at the man's retreating body moving to the front gates, starting up his motorcycle and speeding away.

gojo made to follow but you tightened your grip on his shirt, biting your lip as you stared at him. head titled back, hair falling from your heated face. "don't leave. it-it hurts to stand."

gojo looked conflicted before looking back at you. a rush of desire flooded you from the intense stare he gave you, fury and worry written across his face, his blue eyes glowing a little brighter under the moonlight. "shit, okay okay, uhm- let me just-"

and the world titled when he bent and picked you up, your arms immediately going to wrap around his neck. holding you bridal style as he walked back into the house and made his way toward the stairs. most people minded their business, though some stared and whispered to each other:

"what's she doing with him?

"isn't that toji's girl?"

"didn't you see the video? i think they broke up."

only shutting up when gojo shot them all a promising glare. you just tucked your head into his neck, inhaling the smell of his cologne, a mixture a vanilla and something spicy. you heart was thumping so hard that you felt it in your throat, the feeling of one of his arms under your legs while the other was dangerously close to your left boob.

you were on fire. body too busy buzzing with excitement to acknowledge the slight sting in your ankle.

he kept a firm grip, holding you close to his chest as he started moving up the stairs. he didn't say anything as he kept walking until he reached the first bedroom.

"get out." he told the couple that sounded like they were in the middle of making out. you didn't know as you kept your head hidden in gojo's neck, only feeling the wind they left behind as they rushed out and slammed the door behind them.

"i'm gonna sit you on the bed alright, princess?" his voice was loud against your ear as you refused to move your head, the vibrations from his throat sending butterflies to your dripping cunt. you could feel your juices coating your inner thighs and you weren't even embarrassed. you were sure gojo heard what you told toji and he was still here with you which meant there was a possibility he wanted you to.

you nuzzled your nose against the side of neck, inhaling deep to savor his smell. had he been drinking? you didn't smell any alcohol and for some reason that turned you on even more.

you heard him take in a sharp breath, his grip on you tightening and a small groan escaping his lips. "that's not fair darling. i gotta take a look at your ankle. can i do that first?"

"y-yes." but you still whined when he gently sat you on the edge of the bed, moving to his knees in front of you to inspect your injury.

you sighed in relief when he slipped your first heel off, his low raspy chuckle making your pussy contract against nothing. "hmm, not this foot then?"

you finally looked at him and your head spun with how hot he looked between your legs, staring up at you with those sharp blue eyes and a grin on his face. looking like he was made to be between your legs.

you wanted so badly to pull his hair and guide his face toward where you actually needed him to take care of you.

✮

satoru gojo realized that he was a very weak man when it came to you. no one had ever had him on his knees as he checked them for injuries, nor had they ever moaned so blatantly at an innocent touch. it made his entire body hum with need.

he fought every urge, every instinct to rip those stupid tights off your body and plunge his face between your legs. he wanted to lick you until you were squirting on his tongue and riding his face, calling out his name and his only. then he'd fuck you in that dress, make you cream all over his dick while he filled you until you begged for him to stop.

but he couldn't, remembering the conversation he had with toji in the locker room.

you were vulnerable right now whether you realized that or not. having a bombshell dropped on you, being manhandled by that ogre and then fucking you would be wrong. and that's how satoru knew he was fucked because had you been anyone else, he'd already be inside of you.

he was careful with your next foot, slowly removing the heel and freezing halfway when you hissed in pain. he was actually going to kill fushiguro, but he needed to take care of you first.

"let me know when to move, princess." and the way your body shivered had him feeling like he was the messiah himself. you nodded your head and bit your lip, never breaking eye contact with him. it made him feel..nervous? his friends would never fucking believe that. probably would tease him endless if they knew how much you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger.

he controlled himself, took your heel off all the way and stood. looking down at you while you were leaned back with your arms behind your body to keep you upright, staring at him like the sun rises and sets on him. satoru had overheard what you said to toji, that you had been looking for him the day you got with him. it made him feel a little less crazy for this obsession he's had with you, knowing you wanted him too.

you wanted him!

"stand for me. wanna make sure it's just hurting and not sprained or broken." satoru was no doctor but he had his fair share of injuries with being a hockey player.

when you stood, that skimpy dress of yours rose just a little and exposed the under curves of your hips before you pulled it down. yeah, you were trying to kill him and he would gladly let you. it was almost sad, honestly. if only satoru were able to easily feel shame.

"what's it feel like?"

"just stings a bit but i can put weight on it."

"good."

then it was silent. painfully so. you were fiddling with your fingers, looking everywhere but at him and he was fighting the urge to pull your body against him. it didn't have to be sexual, he just really wanted to touch you. make you feel special in all the ways toji had never done, to make you forget the hurt he watched you try to hide.

"look, i'm sure you heard what i told-"

"was it true?" and he responded so fast that it made you chuckle and step closer to him. warm cheeks was the closest he'd feel to embarrassment. like i said, the man rarely felt shame.

"yes."

and then he was reaching toward, placing both of his hands against your hips and pulling you tight against him, internally smiling at the way you gasped. he grabbed your chin and lifted your face to his, almost laughing at how blown out your eyes were. his pretty princess. seems he wasn't the only one whipped.

he leaned forward until his lips ghosted over yours. he could feel your breath clashing with his, an magnetic force buzzing between you, two opposites trying to latch together. "now's the time to tell me to stop."

and when you responded: "why would i do that?" he let his lips press against yours. it was slow, not rushed and messy like how he kissed his dates. you deserve more than that. he took his time, committing the way you felt to memory, trying not to cum in his pants.

the air around you both is charged, walls closing in on satoru as he lost himself to you. the floor shifting beneath him, music lowly thumping in the background as he tuned the world out and focused only on you and your very soft lips. then he teased them with his tongue, testing boundaries. so that's what your lipgloss tasted like.

stars burst behind his eyes when you connected your tongue with his. he groaned into your mouth as he deepened the kiss and your hands slowly crept up his chest, manicured nails lightly scratching his muscles.

he knew he should stop things here but his mind was gone and soon enough he was pushing you back to the bed, letting your body fall before he was back on you. he settled between the legs you so willingly spread for him, his throbbing cock pushing against your pussy. his lips locked against yours.

"satoru." you moaned when he started trailing kisses to your neck, hips grinding against his length as you gripped the sheets and the man was actually shaking.

that was the first time he heard you say his first name. most people opted to call him by his surname, which was normal in his culture but to hear the way it fell from your lips.. he thought he might be in love with you.

"fuck princess. you smell so good, got my dick leaking right now. y'know that?" then he was back above you before he got to the point of no return, reminding himself that he said he wouldn't take advantage of you. he typically wasn't a very patient man when it came to taking care of his needs, but for you he would try.

"i can't, i-i'm sorry" and satoru hadn't stuttered since he was child, but this was the man you had reduced him to. he quickly removed himself from you, sitting on the bed next to you as he placed his elbows on his bouncing legs, head in his hands as he attempted to regain some kind of control.

"what? why the fuck not?" you shot up, looking at the man beside you like he had an extra head. hurt in your voice that had him lifting his head to look at you. your eyes were glossy and it nearly broke his composure. his heart sunk at the thought that you might think he didn't want you.

"can't take advantage of you like that-"

"you're not! i want this just as much as you do, why are you doing this?" and if he knew how desperately you'd wanted been wanting him for the past two years, then maybe it would be a different story. but he didn't, so he stood his ground.

literally. he leaped up from the bed, dragging his hand through his hair as he paced the room.

"i won't take advantage of you like that. you just broke up with your boyfriend after finding out he cheated on you and then he-"

"i know what he did." and his heart cracked just a little at the glare you shot at him. he never wanted to be at the center of your ire, even if you looked fucking adorable with your lips set in a pout.

"then you understand why i can't fuck you right now, as much as i want to."

then you were standing and making your way to him, favoring your right leg and satoru started thinking of what weapon he would use to kill toji. he moved to help you, attempting to lead you back to the bed and mumbling about going to get you ice but you stopped him.

"satoru..i appreciate the concern, but i've been wanting this for a very long time."

he couldn't help the shit eating grin that spread across his face. he was still satoru gojo after all and your words did nothing to help his already large ego.

"yeah?" he whispered, running the back of his hand down your cheek, amused at the way you shivered against him. "tell me how long, beautiful. how many times did you touch yourself and imagine it was me instead?"

"two years."

oh.. his eyes darkened and in a flash his mouth was back on yours and your bodies were once again tangled together on the bed. your equally aroused moans filled the room, the party long forgotten as he gripped your hips and ground his aching cock into you. trying not to cum at the way you were squirming beneath him, begging him for more.

new plan: satoru was going to eat your pussy until you screamed his name and burst on his tongue.

✮

you were gone beneath gojo. your pussy was throbbing, head thrown back in pure ecstasy, heart trying to break free of your chest. he hiked your dress up your hips, taking care to caress them before he kissed his way down your body.

he was savoring you, his teeth lightly nipping at your inner things before he sat back on his legs and stared down at you like he were a god and you his worshipper. the room was dark save for the moonlight and it gave his eyes an unnatural glow. his white hair falling to his eyes before he pushed it back.

"lift your hips for me, princess."

your breath caught, face on fire and tingling as you obeyed the man above you. strong hands instantly grip the top of your black tights, slowly pulling them down your body along with your panties. your juices had escaped your underwear and stuck to your thighs and the sight had gojo ripping the tights of you, no longer as patient as he once seemed.

"gonna make you feel so good. make you forget all about that bastard. that okay, love?" the way he was eyeing your bare pussy as he settled his face between your thighs had your nipples hardening, your entire body hypersensitive to the man below you. he noses your thighs, kissing and biting like a man starved.

you couldn't tell if he was joking or not. you were practically a puddle beneath him and he still questioned if you wanted him. "yes! god, yes. please, i need you satoru."

he was immediately on you, licking a long stripe from your hole to your clit before sucking on it hard. you threw your hand back, hands moving to grab his hair as you started riding against his face. the way he ate you like you were his last meal would be the death of you. you couldn't take in full breaths, too busy moaning like a whore and fucking yourself against the man that plagued your thoughts for two fucking years.

"taste as good as you look." he mumbled against your pussy, the heat of his breath making you shake violently. he was quick to add two fingers, pushing them deep while your back arched off the bed.

your moans were pornographic when you looked down at him, his eyes locked solely on yours.

you would feel embarrassed by the sounds you were making so obviously telling him you hadn't been touched in a while, if he didn't look drunk on your pussy. his eyes rolling back as he curled his fingers inside of you and sucked harder. your squishy walls tightening around him.

"satoru! oh my god, ngghhh m'gonna cum- haaah!"

he pumped his fingers faster, his other hand gripping your hip and pulling you flat against his face. the feel of his nose nuzzling against you had you squirting against his mouth, your own dropped open in a silent scream as you tightened your thighs against his head.

he groaned and drunk up everything you gave him. gojo looked feral, like he would die if he missed even a drop. the feeling so intense that you were momentary blinded by the white pulsing pleasure rushing through your body from head to toe.

✮

two days later gojo texted you while you were doing some shopping with shoko. he had been doing that a lot since that night, texting and calling you when he wasn't practicing or doing whatever hockey players did when they weren't on the ice.

satoru 👅 (2:10pm): ever been ice skating?

you (2:10pm): no lol, i'd fall and break my neck 🤦‍♀️ no thank you.

that was how you found yourself standing rock solid in the rink of his practice facility. he assured you no one would be there today and he was careful to sneak you in the back to avoid paparazzi.

you tried to protest, really you did but he was annoyingly determined.

"i don't have skates."

"i'll buy you some"

"what if I fall?"

"i won't let you."

"i've never done this before."

"i'll teach you."

an hour and a half later here you were scowling at the man currently hovering over you, wearing those stupid white skates he got you, trying not to fall on your ass. you dressed yourself in blue jeans, a plain long sleeved white shirt and your faux fur jacket to keep you warm. your hair tied tight behind your head.

he was dressed in black sweatpants, black skates and a #1 blue jersey that he wore over a long sleeve shirt.

"don't look at me like that, princess. makes my dick hard."

he pulls you closer and you slide forward, almost falling because you were clueless as fuck and didn't think to move your legs. he smirked when you fell to his chest, his blue eyes sparkling at you.

he gripped your chin before placing a gentle kiss to your lips and moving to stand beside you. you were swooning, but made sure to hide that from the man who was obviously trying to humiliate you.

"relax your ankles. you look tense as fuck, that's only gonna make this harder."

you shot him a "keep talking, i dare you" look but listened to him anyways. trying your best to relax and remind yourself that satoru was a professional and wouldn't let anything happen to you.

"start by putting one foot in front of the other. we're just gonna glide, nothing crazy."

he waited for you to move first, his patience surprising you. satoru was the complete opposite during his games, a beast on the rink that earned him a spot amongst the greatest at his young age. and here he was, hand reaching to grab yours. letting you to make the first move. it gave you butterflies.

you sucked in a deep breath before grounding yourself. "ok, i'm ready."

satoru placed a kiss to the side of your head before skating in front of you so he could guide you. you had insisted on staying by the board, which you gripped like your life depended on it.

slowly you let your feet move you forward, marching more than actually gliding but you were moving and that was all that mattered. even if the man in front of you was obviously holding back a laugh while you were actively fighting for survival.

"you're doing great, now try to actually slide. you're not in a marching band."

it took you a while but when you started to get the hang of it, you were doing something close enough to skating to satisfy satoru. he praised you the entire time. telling you how hot you looked on his turf, how you were his real life ice princess, how he was going to eat your pussy real good if you stayed upright.

he was driving you up a wall. showing off when you finally found the courage to push off the wall, skating around you and stealing kisses that left you flustered. he started skating backwards effortlessly, arms crossed at his chest as he smiled at you with pride written across his face.

you personally had no idea how he did this for a living. while you were mostly doing ok now, you still struggled to stay up right, arms in front you just in case you fell. he always made it look so easy but you realized just how chaotic this sport could be.

after a little more showing off, he skated behind you with his hands on your hips and his mouth littering your neck with kisses. he squeezed you against him as he shifted weight and dug the blade into the ice, easing you both into a stop.

"you did great babe."

you let your head fall back on his chest, legs tucked between his as you came back down to earth. one of his hands left your hip, while the other rubbed circles against your exposed skin. you didn't even realize he was taking a picture until your phone was blowing up with notifications later that night.

satorugojo tagged you in a photo

satorugojo: future first overall pick

and the comments went crazy.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ‎‎note: i'm thirsting over the jjk men real bad right now and need gojo inside of me RAW! also sorry if anything is inaccurate, i crammed some hockey research in before and while writing this 😅 ps: i'm american so it might be diff in your country! did y'all catch that shatter me reference? 🤭

gojo taglist

[fireladylisa]

ugh I can't wait to post gojo again, I have so many fics written for him im obsesseeeed

[g0ssipgirl25]

Kento Nanami

[pariisxoxo]

i've seen it ♡

nanami kento x female reader

written by pariisxoxo

masterlist

CHAPTER 12

You were sitting with two of your coworkers, who you would consider your closest friends on your lunch break. You haven’t spoken to Nanami since the weekend, sharing texts back and forth on which movie was playing in theaters. How adorable you thought that Nanami was so consistent in keeping a little tradition you both had. It seemed as if he liked to have a routine, and you did too. You scrolled through a list of what movies were currently playing and selected three to forward to Nanami and let him make the final decision. You giggled at his text when he shared that he already bought 2 tickets in advance.

"What?" your coworker asked leaning over your shoulder to look over your cellphone. You flinched and brought the phone to your chest. "Nothing what." you responded. "You were smiling on your phone and ignoring my conversation."

"It's nothing just a funny video." you dismissed. You didn't want to tell anyone outside of your family the relationship you were developing with Nanami just yet. What if someone were to find him and snatch him up before you? That can't happen at all. You had to remind yourself, Nanami Kento is still…a man. But he was so different from the last men you've encountered in your life. But that scared you a bit, what if all how he portrayed himself was just an act? Your horrible luck with men left a scar in your heart, always second guessing yourself on whether you'll ever be good enough for the man that's in front of your eyes. And Nanami was more than enough to you. You would describe him as all the male characters in the romance books you read. And oh how you wished to see him everyday, be apart of his life even. You were ready to experience it. What it would be like to call you his girlfriend, what it would be like to take so many pictures together, and what it would be like to just wake up the next day with him right by your side. You couldn't wait any longer, maybe you had to push a few buttons. But what if he wasn't ready at all? All these questions in your head left you to no answer whatsoever. But you knew someone that did.

You tapped your older sisters contact and typed out your message and hit send:

'i need to talk to you, can i come over maybe this weekend?'

Emiri

'sure! come over at 2? Got some errands to do before.'

You breathed and went back inside as your lunch break had ended quicker than you thought.

────﹒♡﹒────

You knock on the door to your sisters apartment that she shared with her husband. You felt fortunate that they decided to live not far from you and your parents home. Only having to take 2 different trains. Long rides, but they at least you didn't need to take an airplane to visit your sister on the weekends. She opened the door and you invited yourself inside, "I made us these hot pumpkin chai lattes, I've always wanted to try them so let me know if you like it." she said. You nodded your head back at her and put your bag down on the living room sofa. "So what's wrong, why did you need to see me?" she asked. You sat down with her in the small dining table, looking down at the hot mug of the latte with whipped cream on top. You took a small sip trying not to burn your tongue. "It's good, I like it." and you did, it had the perfect amount of sugar and spice for you. Nanami would probably like it as well you thought. Then you realized why you were here originally for Emiri. "I'm here because I want to have a second opinion other than mom…" You stared down at your hands on the table. "Okay? About what?" she asked, her face already showing slight signs of worry.

"About Nanami-" you said.

"Oh no, what happened? Did he do something mean, I swear if he did something." she responded, already getting agitated just from the subject. "No, he didn't do anything wrong, I think it's just me." You muttered at the end. "Oh god, what did you do?" Emiri questioned. "No! Nothing!" This had already not go to plan.

"So then, what happened?"

"Well ever since he took me out the other night, I've never really had these feelings so hard for anyone. I want to see him every day, I daydream of what our future could be like together, as stupid and pathetic as that sounds. I sometimes wish he could just ask me to date him, but if he ever did, I feel like I would throw my guts up and get so scared. We call and text but nothing is really initiated, it's all just mutual. I sometimes feel too vulnerable and it scares me, a lot. I don't know what to do, and I get so worried that he could be talking to other women and cut me off and I'm so terrified on how my heart would take that. I can't even tell my friends about him because I'm scared they would somehow get his contact and just take him because he's such a good man, he's what any girl wants in a man.." Your face was burning red right now. You wiped your sweaty palms on your pants and looked up at the ceiling like a tone of bricks just plopped on your shoulders, but at the same time you felt relieved you could finally tell this to someone.

Your sister sighed at your entire rant and mumbled your name, "I understand..dating is really scary, but that's where putting trust in him comes to part. Don't you trust him that he wouldn't be leading you on?"

"I don't know…my past relationships with men were never great. You know that."

"Every human being on this Earth is different. I know your history with guys aren't great, mine weren't either, you remember my first ex. But something tells me my first relationship won't end the same way yours will."

"I don't know, things can happen.." You said.

"Maybe, but you'll never know unless you try. You do want him right?" Emiri asked you. You nodded your head back, you've never wanted a man in your whole entire life. Only just the silly fictional characters in the books you read or the movies you watch. But a whole real man has never walked in your life for you to see your whole future with until now.

You groaned and took a long sip of your warm drink, "It's just so crazy how he consumes my brain, we text but I hate texting, sometimes I even hate calling. And we face timed once because he was multi tasking, I couldn't go to bed after that night by the way. I just want to see him every single day. We could be doing nothing and I wouldn't even care, as long as he's just there."

"Then go after him, what I mean by that is don't literally chase him. The man has to always has to go after the girl. But, keep him wrapped around your finger. You need to trust in yourself that this can happen. And it will. Whole time this feelings you have is just you falling in love, which by the way I think it's so adorable that you're telling me all this." your older sister added. Your cheeks flushed from the embarrassment that you basically just poured your whole heart out to her about this man you've been seeing for a few months. And all that she said was right. Falling in love is the scariest thing to you right now, since it was pretty much your first time ever. Doing all this, and having no little faith in yourself did nothing to help.

And when it came to your body reactions, anything Nanami Kento did as a gentleman made your stomach do an insane amount of cartwheels. And whenever you would read one of your romantic books that had explicit content, sometimes your mind would drift to him wondering what it would be like if he had touch you so intimately. It was dirty, something you've never thought of at all, you've never even been touched like that before in your life. The only access you had to sex was through the books you read and the time you and your friends accidentally came across an 18+ website when you were in high school. You sometimes felt guilty thinking that way of Nanami because of the way he treated you, but you couldn't even help it. You had strong feelings for him that weren't going away any time soon.

"Thanks for the advice." You said to your older sister. "Anytime, but now I want updates. When are you guys gonna hangout again?" she asked. You started telling her about the movies you've been seeing with him and how he seemed to be enjoying going with you cause he always asks you, only you. He never invited anyone else, it was always you and him at the movies every month.

────﹒♡﹒────

Nanami Kento was reading a book he brought while he was waiting once again for Satoru Gojo to show up. It had been months since they last saw each other and Gojo had at this point demanded Nanami to show up for lunch or else he would find where he lives someway somehow. If Gojo were to find Nanami's house he would never hear the end of it at all, probably poorly judge and critique how warm toned it is and how there is not a single speck of dust in the home, but that's just how Nanami liked it. Only thing was that he often felt alone sometimes, especially when he always had leftovers for dinner. Ever since he met her he wishes to share his leftovers. Sometimes he would get so lost in thought and make too much dinner, as if he was serving for 2. Which he never did until he met her. That worried him a lot, he was getting off-track of his regular life because of his fond attraction towards this woman. He didn't mind it, as he enjoyed spending time with her and she was overall a very good person. She always looked put together, had very elegant manners, and was willing to do things for him such as paying for him and never talked back. All these traits made her even more attractive to Nanami's eyes. His mind would drift off when he would read his dating-advice books, picturing scenarios to do with her. Such as, how she would react if he touched those delicate soft looking hands, or putting his arm around her shoulder when they sit down together. And those lips, always having a certain gloss on them, he wouldn't care what flavor the lipgloss would be, as long as he got just one chance to feel those lips on his. No. He had to think of the reality first. No matter what, he wanted your comfort first, you deserved that more than anything. Who was he to think if he could just kiss you? How dare he let himself get ahead like that. He's never even held hands with you, but he wants to change that fast. There just has to be a right timing like his books say. And he could feel one, but could she? That was always the hard part with it all, he didn't want to be so pushing with her. Didn't want to scare her away from anything, he wanted the exact opposite of that, he wanted her to come to him from anything she was scared of. And he would make it all right for her.

The door jingled and Nanami's eyes looked up and he saw Gojo walk in not noticing Nanami until he was deeper into the restaurant. Nanami pulled on his casual tie, he knew he had to tell Gojo what has been going on in his life. Even though he prefers to keep things to himself, that would never work for his friend at all.

"Nanamin~" the white hair man spoke and sat himself down straight across from Nanami. "It's been so long, I hope you bring good news about…certain things…" he continued. "Are you going to eat anything?" Nanami said handing Gojo an extra menu, "You know I'm not here for that! But a sandwich does sound good." The two ordered their meals, two sandwiches with fries on the side and continued where Gojo had left off, "So? Anything interesting happen? Or are you finally a lost cause to society."

Nanami cleared his throat before he spoke, "I know what you're asking but I don't really want to answer you." He tugged on his tie again, a bad habit he has whenever he gets flustered by something or nervous. "Are you kidding me?! Spill, tell me what happened." Gojo looked at him now upset, he deserved to know everything that's been going on. If it weren't for Gojo, Nanami would have never met this lovely girl. "I'm not one…to share my feelings like this with anyone…" Nanami said softly. "Yeah no shit, do you like being this closed off?" his friend asked.

Nanami sat still in silence, it wasn't that he enjoyed being closed off. He just didn't find the right person to open up to, and it was hard to find the right one. Until now. With her, he could feel a sense of warmth and almost feel seen whenever he talked to her about anything. And she would never judge, he hoped. But she didn't seem like the type to at all. "I don't want to be…I guess it's hard for me not to be." he continued.

"Well that won't do if you want things to go further by the way. You do want things to go further right? Judging by that book on the table." Gojo laughed and pointed at the closed book that contained helpful tips on dating judging by the title. Nanami on the other hand flipped the book over so he would stop staring at the bold cover, his face in full beat red. "As much as I hate to say it, I guess you are right. Whenever I get home after spending time with her, I feel as if there is an empty hole in my chest and I look around my apartment and see nothing but the same things everywhere; that makes me upset now and it used to not be that way. I don't like going home alone, it feels lonely. I don't like how I live the same way every single day anymore." He finished. For as long as he could remember, a simple lifestyle with a good paying job was just enough for Nanami. After that, he will plan to retire with enough money till his grave and live somewhere with no bustling streets at all and read all the books he could ever imagine. But he never imagined spending it with someone, although that would be nice. Now, he wants that more than ever. Through the years, the loneliness was slowing creeping up to him no thanks to the past weddings he's gone to and witnessing people falling in love all around him. As much as he tried to avoid it, he couldn't stand it anymore. And she was the reason to all these problems.

"So don't live that way anymore, maybe you should tell her what you're telling me." Gojo stated back. Nanami's shoulders flinched before he shook his head, "No, no, she could get weirded out." he interrupted.

"Would she really?" Gojo asked.

No, no she wouldn't. She wasn't like that, she would feel so sorry probably. The two sat in quiet for a few seconds. Nanami couldn't even figure out what to say out loud to him. But he knew one thing for sure, "I don't want to move things too fast…"

"Oh my god you're such a bore. You have too! If you keep things at one speed you'll never reach the finish line!" Gojo explained more, "Before you know it, she'll get tired of you acting the same."

But I don't want to scare her, Nanami would say. However, he would just be going in circles once again. He just had to do one thing, make the first move.

taglist - @aprincessstreak @maihaibai @withloveanna @noodlecrow @nanamisfemcel @sosofiiiii @anonymous123sm @mimicosmos8 @lvrjulss @itspennyy

[lcqra]

you’re late for work . . . again. 18+

god, you’ve done it again.

“you’re late.” he says firmly, standing tall with his arms crossed against his chest.

ever since your boss, nanami, let you off the hook once for not arriving on time for work, you’ve been stuck in this repetitive cycle of being behind schedule. whether that’s simply waking up late, taking too much time to get ready, or even just waiting in your favourite cafe’s queue for your daily dose of coffee.

you hesitate before speaking up, his demeanour slightly intimidating. “i’m sorry, boss. i promise you it won’t happen again—“

“how can i be so sure of that?” nanami interrupts, “your track record is becoming nothing more than a long list of empty promises.” he exhales, his tone more disappointed rather than confrontational.

you fall silent, unsure of what to say as your eyes find his. he’s not wrong. what started off as a single mistake had progressively turned into a bad habit.

he lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“prove it to me.” he mutters, looking directly at you, his hand moving to settle on his hip. you give him a confused look, as if he hasn’t put it simply enough.

“prove to me that you still want this job. show me that you’re serious.”

and here you are.

you’re not entirely sure how things ended up like this, but it’s too late to go back now.

the office door is locked, room dimly lit, curtains drawn tight, and the air feels noticeably warmer than before.

nanami’s back is pressed against the wall, his pants shoved down far enough for his cock to spring free. one hand gripping the wall behind him, and the other tangled in your hair, grounding himself while you’re knelt down before him, serving him with your mouth.

“fuck…” he groans, biting down on his lip as he lets out ragged breaths.

your hand joins in, stroking him in rhythm with your mouth, the dual sensation sending him over the edge. his hips jerk forward involuntarily and his grip on your hair slightly tightens.

“there’s a good girl…” he whispers as he looks down at you, watching how you coat his cock with a thin sheet of saliva, the sloppy sounds of your mouth destroying every last ounce of professionalism he had left.

you pull back to catch your breath, still stroking him as you gasp for air. you glance up, as if you’re waiting for some kind of validation. nanami, on the other hand, looks down at where your hand moves up and down, utterly wrecked.

his chest heaves, and his gaze becomes unfocused. he brushes his thumb over your glossy bottom lip, all swollen, then cups your cheek.

“don’t stop… i’m close…”

before you know it, you’re swallowing him back down, deeper this time, your hand pumping in sync with your mouth once again. his thighs tremble as your pace quickens, the wet heat of your mouth around him causing him to let out a broken groan, losing all ability to think coherently.

his last bit of control snaps. his balls tighten almost painfully and he thrusts forward into your impatient mouth, hitting the back of your throat with overflowing thick, hot ropes of cum. his hand moves to fist your hair, his eyes closing as his head rolls back against the wall, letting out out a low, guttural moan while his cock pulses.

release after release, his grip on your hair finally loosens once he completely emptied himself into your mouth, sweat beading at his forehead. you swallow hard, eyes all teared up, and you lift a hand to wipe off the excess… mess, from around your mouth.

nanami forces his eyes open, staring down at you with those dilated pupils, his expression unreadable. fingers clumsy, he slowly pulls his pants back up, then reaches down to help you up from the floor. he steadies you once you’re back up on your feet, his hand lingering on your waist a little longer than necessary while you fix your messed up hair.

“still not convinced?” you tease, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

nanami exhales quietly and says nothing, he only rolls his eyes at you.

[sacratiti]

── LOVE & LOAVES

⸝⸝⸝ between decorating cakes, mopping the floors and managing customers, you've been crushing on the hot boss of the nana-pan bakery. can you get through a shift without burning a loaf of bread and earn his affection? grab a bite and find out! | 2.2k wc

cw: bakery au, clumsy!reader, bakery owner!nanami, he's very aloof, miscommunication trope-ish, conflicted reader, lowk angst (???) with a dollop of fluff, not proofread

art creds: @Neconi_oO on twt

OOPSIES: GOODBYE KITTY!

it's 8am saturday and you're covered in flour, sugar and broken dreams. staring at you is the hello kitty cake you insisted you could make on your own. nanami advised against it, saying "it'll be a miracle if the shop doesn't burn down."

thankfully, it didn't burn down, but the abomination you've made isn't much better. hello kitty is looking more like goodbye kitty with lopsided eyes and her bow on the wrong side of her face.

during her twisted creation, you managed to spill an entire bag of sugar and flour, opting to scoop the remaining granules onto hello kitty as a sick crown.

to top it all off, the baguettes you were supposed to prepare aren't even halfway done. your eyes dart around the kitchen, praying this isn't the last you'll see of it.

to your terror, the ding! of the front door resounds through the cafe.

nanami walks towards the kitchen, long legs taking him forward unfairly fast. when his gaze lands on your mess, he doesn't shout, doesn't order you out or fire you on the spot.

he pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. "clean this up before i fire you" is all he says

"y-yes sir!"

crisis averted, phew. you get to wiping the counters off immediately.

he lingers in the background, steel gaze nearly pinning you in place. that's the thing about him that always has your heart beating twice as fast; he speaks in few words, always curt, yet his actions suggest there's something more.

goodbye kitty is discarded along with the last bits of your ego. just as you're about to swipe flour down the drain, nanami lunges over grips your hand. hard.

"what have i told you about that, hm?"

within seconds, his face is uncomfortably close to yours. there's always some distance between you. now you're face to face, so close you can feel his body heat.

you freeze, pinned in place by his eyes. "uh, to not do it?"

he huffs a real sigh. "disposing of flour or batter in the drain clogs it. don't do it again, understand me?"

you gulp loudly. a meek "yes sir," is all you can muster.

he lets go of your wrist, tossing it into your chest. he leaves in silence, probably going to record inventory.

left to clean alone, you're finally free to process what just happened. after much thought, you come to three truths: one, it's a miracle that you weren't fired. two, cleaning this mess definitely isn't going onto your paycheck, and three, there's a new feeling bubbling up in your chest.

something you've ignored since you first saw him. vulnerable, new, totally inappropriate.

could it be... love?

you shake your head at that. there's no way you're falling in love with your boss more than you already have.

OOPSIES: KAREN KATASTROPHE!

you're currently doing your best to dissociate and act like the women in front of you screaming her head off doesn't exist. maybe you should've quit last saturday.

"i already told you, i want my lemon squares HOT!" she shouts, jabbing a finger at you. the only thing hot is her breath, but you can't say that unless you want to be fired for real this time.

you take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose before speaking (a habit you've picked up from nanami) "ma'am, the lemon squares are served cold. it says that on the menu," you deadpan.

she ignores you for the umpteenth time, saying "no it didn't," as if you both aren't staring at the same thing.

the other patrons are silently watching the affair, some taking their phones out and recording. this is incredibly embarrassing for you, not knowing whether to kick her out or endure this verbal barrage.

unfortunately, you're pulled out of your thinking by a ghoulish hand waving in your face. "where's your manager?!"

"right here."

the new voice is too solid to belong to the karen in front of you. you look to the source of it. it's nanami, stoic as ever. his face is a brick wall, expression unreadable. "what do you need, ma'am?" he remains professional though his voice lacks any warmth.

"well, i-uh, the lemons," she stammers on. the entire time nanami is staring into her soul. while patrons are quietly giggling (yourself included), it's clear he finds no amusement in this.

"look, ma'am," he interrupts, "i'm going to politely ask you to leave because you've disrespected my employee and our establishment."

flames ignite behind her eyes. "whatever! i am never eating here again!"

she turns on her heel, nearly tripping as she storms out the shop. "you forgot your lemon squares," nanami shouts behind her. you stifle a snort, as well as everybody else inside.

she comes back for them in shame. just as you think the threat is gone, she grumbles a curse towards a patron unlucky enough to be in her path.

"and don't come back," he finishes.

he goes around the shop apologizing to every customer, even giving them the shop's signature baguette. once the commotion dies down, he circles back to you.

"you handled that well."

"oh, thank you." his words are more shocking than what just happened. in the one and a half months you've worked here, the nicest thing he's said to you is how formal the font of your resume was.

"if someone bothers you again, tell me immediately." his voice drops, eyes glinting with something dark, possessive.

your cheeks warm, twiddling your fingers together. "of course, sir."

"no one disrespects my assistant or my establishment."

your heart breaks a little at that. you've been officially assistant-zoned!

later that day, you find some downtime by cleaning off spoons. the feeling comes back, warm and sticky in your chest. there it is, always creeping up on you when you're alone. it's planted itself inside you and there's no shaking it.

it's becoming easier and easier for nanami to fluster you, and it's purely accidental! but a small part of you hopes that it isn't.

OOPSIES: DISPLAY DISASTER!

one good thing came out of the karen situation: nana-pan has become a tourist attraction! videos of nanami's reserved reaction went viral, resulting in three times the usual amount of customers. he prefers the quiet vibe of the shop, but business is business.

he still doesn't break a sweat despite the increased workload, his only complaint being people asking for free baguettes all the time.

contrarily, you're losing your mind trying to adapt. you've never done well under pressure, much less while on the job. people are asking for nonexistent items, nanami's number and everything under the sun.

the bakery is packed wall to wall every day. between greeting customers, cleaning, baking and managing your sanity, you haven't had a second of down time.

so, is it really that surprising when you destroy an entire display in seconds?

it was 6pm on a saturday, peak business hours. everyone was getting off work and desperate to order before everything sold out. nanami changed the main display to most popular items, one of which being a massive 30 inch baguette that stuck out on either side.

a terribly confused elderly woman was inquiring about eclairs. your first mistake was walking backwards in such a crowded room.

"our traditional french items are here," you said, gesturing to a sneeze guard chalk full of pastries.

your second mistake was turning around too fast. while you aimed for the front counter, fate had other plans. instead of the counter, you're greeted by the massive baguette. unfortunate event after another, someone trips and crashes into you. instinctively your eyes close, bracing for impact.

when you try to open them, you quickly realize you can't. rubbing your eyes furiously, you pull your hands back to see... frosting?

your entire body is covered in frosting, among bread crumbs and sprinkles. it looks like king candy chewed you up and spat you out.

the entire bakery is dead silent. all chewing, chatter and meandering has stopped. pastries are strewn across the floor, each more damaged than the last.

nanami walks in just in time to see the disaster. his stone cold expression is twisted up in confusion, mouth parted for silent words. every head in the room moves to him, following his every step. your heart is frozen at the sight of your boss. he's surely going to take you to the back and hand in your two weeks notice.

but he doesn't do that.

he strides over to you, takes your hand and carefully stands you up. "please continue eating," he says, talking to everyone else. "this will be cleaned up shortly."

he guides you to his office, not bothering to look back at the chaos you just caused.

when he opens a drawer, you assume he was getting your letter of termination. instead, he pulls out baby wipes and cleans your face off. he doesn't bother asking if you need help, just does it without asking of anything in return.

nanami has never been this close to you. (not like you'd let him, anyway) seeing the crease of his brow when he's focused up close, the respect he shares, you can't ignore how hot, how confused it's making you.

"what's this?"

"what's what?' he asks, voice unnaturally quiet.

"i mean, this... i dunno, kindness?"

for the first time ever, you hear nanami chuckle. not a snort, not a breath that could technically be considered a chuckle if you closed your eyes and jumped three times.

"aren't i always kind?"

if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was joking. "we must have very different views of kindness." pausing, you add "you can be a little rude" rather quietly.

a frown ghosts across his face, gone as fast as it came. "well, i don't mean to come off as rude." your irritated sigh isn't lost on him. he focuses on the baby wipe instead of your miffed expression.

you gently push his hand away, suddenly finding it unbearable. "so that's just how you act?"

he pauses, choosing his words carefully. "yes. i can come off rather impassive, but i never mean to."

that gets your heart beating again, but your walls are still up. "so this whole time, you've just been treating me like a regular person? that's what you're telling me?"

"would you like me to treat you as something more?" he arches a brow.

the room has suddenly shrunk two sizes and so have your clothes. perceptive as ever, he notices the way you shift in your seat, unable to hide the quirk of his lip. "cat's got your tongue, aye?"

you look away. "no, it's just that i thought you hated me this whole time."

his face scrunches into something unreadable. "hate you? what would make you think i hate you?"

that's the last straw. you can't control the word vomit that erupts from your sprinkle ridden mouth. "you treat me like a burden. i can't bake, can barely talk to customers and have probably cost you thousands of dollars in damages. i'm surprised you haven't gotten rid of me yet."

"...and you're kinda mean."

you say it simply enough that it's almost laughable, yet maybe that's what he needed to hear to understand. the weight of what you just admitted hangs in the air. it's between you and him, the crevices of your fingers, the complexities of your heart.

"look at me," he whispers, so tenderly that it's disorienting. "you may be very clumsy, and yes, you burn the most basic desserts, but that's just you. if i didn't like you, you wouldn't be sat here right now."

you can't begin to describe how that made you feel. giddy?— no, that's too energetic. blissful, grateful, contented. something intimate is the only way to describe his effect on you.

"you mean it?"

"i do. i mean," he chuckles, "it's my first time being a boss and your first time working at a bakery. we're still learning, right?"

"right." you're smiling before you even realize it. cheeks warmed by affection, it makes him smile too.

he finishes cleaning you off, stopping to eat a sprinkle off your face. once you're fully cleaned up and changed, you both go back to the main floor and clean up the display. a few people pitch in, some clearly doing it in hopes of a discount or free food.

shift officially over, nanami watches you leave, calling a 'safe travels' behind you.

when you started working at nana-pan a month ago, you didn't expect to be falling this hard— or fast— for your boss. you thought he was attractive when you applied, but nothing could've prepared you for such a debilitating crush.

on the walk home, you realize three facts: one, you've been cemented in history as the bakery assistant who fell on her ass and made an ass of herself. two, walking backwards in crowded rooms is never a good idea, and three,

you're definitely in love with nanami kento.

masterlist | @orangethecarrotcoloredpaperred

a/n: i don't think i've written anything like this before. maybe it's the sleep deprivation kicking in but i also think my writing style was different??? tell me how yall like it idk

[satomiu]

₊ ݃ 　࿔ྀིྀ　 ꒰ 𓈒 NANAMI KENTO might be the pettiest man alive . . . ⎯⎯　 ꒰ 1.3k ! ꒱ 　💭

contrary to outsider belief, your marriage to nanami worked remarkably well. too well.

a shocking revelation, considering you were “ill-tempered” while nanami had the patience of a saint, allegedly . . . .

the truth of the matter was that beneath the all the composure, politeness, and that expensive wristwatch kento always wore on his wrist, your husband unfortunately was just as much of a brat as you were.

if not, worse.

the two of you held grudges over the stupidest things imaginable: once, nanami corrected your pronunciation of “espresso” during breakfast. so? you didn’t kiss him goodbye before work for three whole days.

in retaliation, your coffee that he would make you each morning mysteriously happened to arrive without the three ounces of sugar you so adamantly required to — “balance out the armpit taste.”

petty. childish. ridiculous.

yet somehow, these cold wars became the foundation of a deeply functional marriage.

“kento dear,” you began, soft steps quietly thudding against the wooden floors as you made your way to him, who was fully dressed: soft charcoal sweater hanging off his frame, pushed up revealing his forearms, reading glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose while his sandy locs unstyled in a way you almost never got to see outside these walls.

which, unfortunately, was the problem. he was far too comfortable for the atrocities he had just committed against you whilst you slept.

“did you touch it?” your voice coming out suspiciously calm.

nanami doesn’t even look up from the cup of jasmine tea he was nursing. “no.”

you only narrow your eyes as you finally end up next to him. “kento.”

that bratty tone of yours was enough to earn you a glance now, hazel eyes tired yet sharp all the same. “i told you, no.”

“yeah, well,” you huff, crossing your arms, looking up at him expectantly, “waking up feeling like i got left in a meat locker says otherwise.”

he shuts his eyes as he takes a slow sip of his tea, setting it down with a soft clink, the steam curling between you. “interesting,” he begins, voice flat with quiet amusement.

“you seem quite functional for someone who claims they’re—” he pauses, unimpressed, before lifting his hand and giving your forehead a quick, precise knock with his knuckles, withdrawing before you can even think to catch his wrist. “—frozen solid.”

“ugh!” you huff, hands missing his wrist and instead clutching your forehead with an adorable frown. “i’m not frozen solid, but i’m going to be. i don’t know why you just can’t leave it on 72.”

he exhales slowly through his nose, “you know i get hot. i shouldn’t have to strip to be comfortable in my own home,” he says flatly.

his hand lifts without much ceremony, gently replacing yours on your forehead. he briefly rubs the spot he’d knocked before his fingers slip down to tug lightly at your ear, earning an immediate, indignant whine from you.

“or would you prefer i start walking around the house naked instead?”

“what? i’m not answering that.” you say, turning your face slightly away from him, the words coming out clipped as you huff under your breath, “pervert…”, still clearly offended at the recurring offenses.

you manage to slap his arm away. “i don’t see why you insist on wearing long sleeves and then complain you’re hot.” you grumble. “you’re making me hot just by looking at you.”

he scoffs softly at that, as if the answer is obvious. “i wear it because i enjoy being properly dressed,” he replies, smoothing an imaginary crease from his sleeve before leveling you with a look. “and physiologically speaking, it’s significantly easier to warm up than it is to cool down.”

“so, like i said,” he murmurs, reaching for his tea again, “the thermostat stays where it is.”

and just like that, the war begins . . .

the rest of the day was full of quiet hostilities:

the two of you swiping the thermostat in opposite directions each time you walked by, addressing each other by first name as if you were two disgruntled coworkers trapped in an enemies to lovers arrangement rather than of spouses, nanami opening windows for “circulation” while you wrapped yourself in blankets like a victorian child afflicted with a devastating illness, texting each other back and forth instead of verbally communicating.

YOU ‣ my hands are blue and numb. i hope your happy

KENTO ‣ *You’re How are you texting me then?

YOU ‣ don’t be annoying ken. that’s not the point

clearly, neither of you were willing to concede. which only meant this was quickly becoming a battle of endurance rather than a dispute about “temperature”. which also meant this was not going to end soon.

or so you thought.

despite the many, many hours of domestic warfare, the two of you still end up in bed the same way you always did, backs turned dramatically beneath the blankets, the thermostat unfortunately still set at 63. which meant nanami was winning.

the cold seeped through the sheets and curled around your legs until your body instinctively tucks in on itself, shoulders hunching deeper beneath the comforter with a quiet frown hidden against your pillow. beside you, nanami remaining entirely unaffected, laid comfortably on his side with one arm tucked beneath his pillow, warmth practically radiating off of him in waves.

it was infuriating.

because no matter how committed you were to the cold war, your body had always betrayed you first when it came to your husband.

sometime somewhere in between stubbornness and sleep, you found yourself shifting toward him subconsciously, inch by inch until your forehead presses against his back, your leg slipping over his beneath the blankets in search of warmth. the soft fabric of the white shirt he’d changed into earlier brushes against your skin, warm from sleep and smelling faintly of cedarwood and tea.

and god, the bastard was warm.

firm beneath your touch too, broad shoulders relaxing slightly the second you curl fully into him with a sleepy little sigh.

you knew he was awake. you could tell by his breathing, it wasn’t the same comforting slow that soothed you once the day came to an end.

for a moment, neither of you said anything, pride still clawing at your insides. then came the soft shifting of sheets before nanami turned toward you, your forehead brushing against his chest as his strong arms came to cage you in instinctively, one settling around your waist while the other tucked beneath your head. his chin rested atop your hair with a quiet exhale, pulling you into his warmth. 

your fingers curl weakly into the front of his shirt, face pressing deeper against his chest despite yourself. somewhere above you, nanami hums softly, entirely too aware of the fact that you were the one to cave first.

an inevitable outcome.

“interesting,” he murmurs into your hair, sleep roughening his voice. “what happened to hating me?”

you grumble something incoherent against him.

“mm?” he asks, entirely too pleased with himself. “couldn’t quite hear you love.”

your brows pinch immediately. “still hate you.”

his chest rumbles faintly beneath your cheek at that, amusement subtle but absolutely there. absolutely nanami.

“so, you admit defeat?”

you tilt your head up just enough to glare at him through the dark. “i told you. don’t say anyth—”

you were going to argue. save whatever was left of your pride.

except your words barely make it out before he tips your face up just enough to cut you off with a slow kiss, warm and unbearably smug beneath the blankets.

any and all insults died in your throat as butterflies began to bloom low in your stomach, your leg still hiked around his waist while his warmth slowly melted the last stubborn pieces of your pride away as your lips firmly molded against his own, a soft sigh escaping you. one of spite, obviously.

you could feel the faint curve of amusement against your lips when your annoyed little huff melts into him anyway — the exact outcome the two of you had been stubbornly dancing around all day out of pettiness and “spite.”

nanami pulls away from you before resting his thumb on your lower lip. “there you are love,” he murmurs softly against your mouth, breath mingling with yours: entirely too pleased with himself.

“63 seems perfectly fine to me, no?”

he only watches as your expression softens in real time before giving the faintest nod — mentally noting the effect he had on you.

“mm,” he murmurs. “thought so.”

what a horrible, horrible man you married.

nanamipill era incoming

[pariisxoxo]

i've seen it ♡

nanami kento x female reader

written by pariisxoxo

masterlist

a/n: leave a like and repost if ur super cool and love nanami as much as i dooo

CHAPTER 9

A month has passed since your Saturday with Nanami. You both had been texting back and forth on really anything. While you could tell Nanami wasn’t great at texting, his lack of emojis being one problem. But the other problem was that he preferred phone calls. You didn’t know why, isn’t texting just easier? But you could never say no to Nanami. You both would usually phone call every week, he would always ask how work was treating you, and you would ask the same. Telling you how the past few days he has been held back at the office, and sometimes he would come home to do more work. You weren’t sure if he wanted any advice from you, so you just kept your mouth closed but your ears open with mumbles of “sorry’s”. And on some occasions, he would facetime you. A bold move you thought. But was it? Or did guys normally just do this, how would you know? You often told your older sister the things you and Nanami did and she would just tell you: “He definitely likes you.” You wanted to believe her so badly, but the back of your mind was so confused. So confused and afraid that something would happen and he wouldn’t contact you again, or he found someone better than you because he started finding you less interesting the more you got to know each other.

One night you were both facetiming each other, you’ve never seen his hair down before and this was the first time. You often saw a few glimpses of his home. It was very minimalist, and it looked like he bought the included furniture. He told you the neighborhood he lives in is often quiet, and he liked it that way. And the same would go for him, he saw only glimpses of your bedroom. On the night you were both facetiming, he asked you about your bookshelves. You blushed. He had to remember the only books you read were romance ones, because then he asked: “Which one is your favorite on that shelf?” You turned around and looked at every single book, then you picked one with your eyes and said the name out loud. “Interesting, can I read it?” He asked.

“Uhm! Actually you should read this one..!” You got up to bring the book to show him closer on your phone. This book was the only one on your shelf that had no explicit content. He would definitely not contact you again if you gave him the other book.

“Okay.” He said,

“It’s really fun, I can lend it to you.”

Nanami smiled through the phone. You were gonna pass out in you were right then and there. He didn’t question why you didn’t want him to read your favorite one.

“I almost forgot to tell you,” He continued.

“Yes?”

“This new movie I saw looked pretty good, do you want to go next weekend?”

“Ah- is it that superhero one?” You asked.

“Yes.”

“Sure! I'm down to go.”

“Perfect, I will send you the times.”

Thus, this started you and Nanami’s monthly tradition of going to the movie theater.

────﹒♡﹒────

You and Nanami were chatting at a cafe one morning, he had told you he heard about this shop a few days ago, sending you a photo of his sweet treats and drink and telling you how he had discovered it opened a few blocks away from his work. He really wanted to take you there. You tried the new fall drinks and pastries they had, while he ordered his usual black tea but with a pumpkin puff pastry turnover to eat. You snapped another photo of your food, this time his food was also in the frame as you started growing more comfortable with him. Those phone calls really were worth every second. You showed him the photo you tried so hard to make aesthetic and he nodded with a smile. You then asked him if it’s alright for you to post the photo. “I don’t mind,” he replied.

“Do you have social media?” You asked him.

He shook his head, “I try my best to not use my phone a lot. Having social media I feel would ruin that for me.”

Oh. oh. What if he doesn’t like that I have social media? You hesitated with your thoughts.

“Then I won’t post it…” You said, putting your phone back in your bag.

“What? No, you should definitely post it.” He responded to you with concern in his eyes.

“No it’s okay I don’t really have to.” You were gonna explain another reason why you didn’t want to post it anymore before he stopped your train of thought with the call of your name from his voice. You haven’t heard him say your name in a long time…

“I want you to post it.” He said after calling your name and leaning more towards the small table you both shared, you could practically smell his cologne by now.

You stared at him for seconds. Trying your best not to move your eyes to your hand suddenly feeling warm by his on top of yours. When did he even put his hand on yours? You wanted to melt to the floor, butterflies were about to burst out of your stomach, it’s all too new, it doesn’t feel real. You blinked finally when a cellphone was ringing and Nanami pulled it from his pocket, his face frowned. “Excuse me. I’m sorry” he said and got up to go outside and answer his call. You finally removed your now sweaty hand from the table and stared at it replaying what just happened. You were hoping Nanami’s call would take a few minutes as you didn’t want him to see your tomato-like face right now. You’ll have to post that photo later.

You watched Nanami through the window outside, his head nodding to whoever was on the phone with him. But his face looked annoyed. It had to have been work calling. On a weekend? Who would want that? He looked over at you and you flinched your head back to finishing your fall-themed drink. The bells of the cafe’s door jingled and you heard footsteps coming from behind you. Nanami sat himself back in his original seat and let out a long sigh. “I am sorry for that.” he apologized.

“It’s alright” You responded. You didn’t want to bother asking about who called yet.

────﹒♡﹒────

You were on your way back to the train station Nanami promised to drop you off after your day with him. You both walked silently taking in the surroundings of the city's traffic and people that walk by. When you met your destination, you stopped your tracks, Nanami to follow. “The food was very delicious, as always,” you smiled. He hummed and nodded to your response. You looked down at the ground debating on asking him of that phone call, he never mentioned it. It’s like your mother said, if you aren’t always on his mind another girl will snatch him up. And people always appreciate it when someone cares for them right? You were only being nice, and then you spoke up. “Everything okay with work?” you asked.

“It was a call to do something when I get home. I am sorry for making you worry.” He answered, with another apology again. This man was so perfect in your mind. You wanted to know anyone who hurt him in the past so you can give them a piece of your mind. Did he even have enemies?

“It’s okay really! I’ve been told I’m a good listener anyway, not to brag or anything–” You stopped yourself before you could embarrass yourself even more.

Nanami smiled at you again and said your name. Again. Twice today.

“I wanted to ask you something before we part ways.” He said

You tilted your head in confusion waiting for his response.

“I want to take you on another date. A real one.” He said.

Time seemed to stop for you. But you couldn’t stop staring at his determined, genuine look on his face.

“Is that alright with you?” He asked, probably noticing the frozen facial expression you were giving.

You nodded quickly and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “Okay, I’d like that.”

Nanami nodded back and you both said your goodbyes. On the train ride back to your home, you stared at your phone trying to distract yourself from the last encounter you had with Nanami. At this point, you didn’t want to disbelieve that everything was real. It was real. Things seemed to be going in a good direction, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything else. All that waiting, all that trial and error led to him. Perhaps the universe was just protecting you from all the men that did you wrong so you could find Nanami Kento.

taglist - @aprincessstreak @maihaibai @withloveanna @noodlecrow @nanamisfemcel @sosofiiiii @anonymous123sm @mimicosmos8

[akaashiit]

number neighbour — ushijima. w

𝒖shijima 𝑤akatoshi x fem!reader ( chatfic )

╱ 𝒘𝒄 # 8.6k — 𝒂uthor's 𝒏ote ﹕ reader is left handed btw! i really really like this one used all my brain power. it's been in my drafts for oh so very long (january 11) and i've just been slowly working on it :) hope you enjoy hah

more in the number neighbour collection

akaashi — smau

you're bored, to say the least.

it's a seemingly normal tuesday night, your homework is staring back at you with judgmental eyes, and you've scrolled through every social media app at least twice.

at this rate, you'll be forced to do your homework! and you really don't wanna do that..

that's when you see the trend going around again when you eventually reach for your phone: message your number neighbor.

it's stupid, risky, and exactly the kind of distraction you need right now. (anything to avoid homework ig)

your phone number ends in five.

you take a breath, open a new message thread, and type in your number, but change the last digit to a six.

you better be damn grateful i didn't make that six seven

you hey number neighbour! hope you arent a serial killer

you put your phone face down on your bed and wait. you expect to be ignored, left on read, or maybe blocked, like majority of the people out there on the internet.

five minutes pass. ten. then, your phone vibrates. with a racing heart, you glance at it.

xxx-xxx-xxx I'm not a serial killer, I am a student.

you snort, fingers already flying across the screen. who texts like that, apart from emailing a teacher? it's so.. stiff.

also, who just reveals that information?

okay then. you'll do the same.

you thats exactly what a serial killer would say im a student too how's life on the other side of the digit? xxx-xxx-xxx Life is fine. I'm currently finishing my evening meal. It's important to maintain a consistent schedule for digestion and recovery. you . okay 🥹 thanks for the health tip doc xxx-xxx-xxx You're welcome. you are you always this serious xxx-xxx-xxx I'm told I can be quite literal. I don't really see the point in unnecessary fluff. you unnecessary fluff 😭 well, im bored entertain me ! tell me something interesting about yourself without giving away your secret identity xxx-xxx-xxx I enjoy volleyball, and I'm left handed. you woah two fun facts and another lefty omg me too xxx-xxx-xxx Being right handed is more common, but it doesn't mean you cannot follow your interests effectively.

you stare at the screen. they sound like a textbook come to life.

you thanks for the pep talk, i feel so much more effective now 🤞 anyway im gonna go back to avoiding my essay xxx-xxx-xxx Okay you dont kill anyone tonight neighbor xxx-xxx-xxx I have already stated I'm not a murderer. Good luck with your essay. It's better to finish it now so you can sleep early.

you toss your phone aside, collapsing back on your pillows.

"what a weirdo."

you're sitting in the cafeteria, picking at your lunch, when your phone vibrates in your pocket.

xxx-xxx-xxx Did you finish the essay?

you almost choke on your own spit.

you hi to you too i did barely stayed up till two am xxx-xxx-xxx That is inefficient. Lack of sleep leads to decreased performance and physical sluggishness. you okay doctor xxx-xxx-xxx As I've stated before, if you scroll up to read our past conversation, I am not a doctor. you nvm what about you did you do your homework xxx-xxx-xxx I finished mine yesterday at 8pm. you sweat xxx-xxx-xxx Funny you should say, I'm actually at practice at the moment. you volleyball? xxx-xxx-xxx Yes. My teammate is yelling because I'm on my phone during a water break. He says I'm evolving because I'm texting a stranger. you LMAOO tell your teammate hes right you ARE becoming a social butterfly wait stranger?? we're neighbors theres a bond there xxx-xxx-xxx We share a numerical sequence. That is all. you ouch my heart 🥺 fine go back to your balls =3 xxx-xxx-xxx That is a crude way to phrase it, but I will. And what equals 3? ⤷ you hearted this message

you put your phone away, grinning. then you pull it from your pocket again, and change the contact name.

health inspector.

you're supposed to be hanging out with your friend, but they're currently hovering over your shoulder. still counts as a hangout, right?

"who are you texting?" they ask, squinting at your screen. "you've been smiling at your phone for, like, ten minutes straight."

"just my number neighbor," you say, tilting the screen away. you really need to buy a privacy screen protector.. "he's super intense. like, 'i eat for digestion' intense. well, im think they're a he."

"is he hot?"

"wha- i don't even know his name! we agreed – well, we didn't agree, but we haven't asked. it's more fun this way. no expectations."

your phone pings again, and your friend groans.

health inspector My teammate took my phone and saw your contact name. you oh no what did you set it as health inspector Number Neighbor. you BRO THATS BORING i have you set as health inspector hah health inspector I don't inspect health. Anyway, he changed your name to 'Eagle Bait'. I don't know why. you eagle bait 💔 tell your friend he'd better start running health inspector He is very fast. I doubt you could catch him. you bruh i hate u health inspector Well, I don't hate you. I don't know you well enough to harbor such strong emotions.

you groan and bury your face in your hands. he's so frustratingly literal that it's actually.. cute?

you find yourself wondering what his voice sounds like. does he talk as formally as he texts?

you hey neighbor? health inspector Yes? you nothing just making sure u were still there health inspector I am always here.

wednesday arrives with a heavy rainstorm that swiftly cancels your outdoor plans.

with nothing else to do, you're lounging on your couch, watching a movie you've already seen (and cried to) three times, when your phone lights up.

it's a photo – a blurry, shaky shot of a red haired guy making a peace sign right in front of the camera lens. he has a wild grin on his face, eyes wide and mouth leering.

health inspector My teammate took my phone again. He says hello, and that he doesn't care if you see what he looks like. His name is Tendou. you lol hi tendou tell him he has very chaotic energy even through a blurry photo 🥹 health inspector He says that it's his specialty. you i can imagine health inspector He's currently trying to read our previous messages over my shoulder. I've placed him in a headlock to prevent this.

you choke on your microwaved, triple butter popcorn. the mental image of someone putting a hyperactive redhead in a headlock is a bit too much for you.

you damn rip tendou health inspector Oh don't worry. He isn't dead you i cant with you 😭 you actually have friends? i thought you were a robot /j health inspector I'm not a robot. Tendou is my friend, although he is loud sometimes. you sometimes or all of the time? health inspector Both He's asking if you are cute. I told him I don't know. you well what did you tell him after that health inspector I told him that physical appearance is subjective and that based on your texting, you seem pretty you aw thanks 🥺 health inspector capable of basic communication. Sorry, I accidently pressed send. you wow i knew something was off you didnt use a full stop 😔 capable of basic communication.. i should put that on my tinder bio! health inspector Oh. Do you use Tinder? you no lol i was joking do you? health inspector No. I don't have time. you you sounds like you never have fun. do you ever just eat junk food watch a bad movie etc health inspector I eat what is necessary for my muscles. you okay mr buff guy 🫩 health inspector How did you know I was male? you magic ABRACADABRA health inspector Okay. Occasionally, I have hayashi rice. That is enjoyable. you hayashi rice is your wild side? health inspector Yes. you jeez we need to get you out more ⤷ health inspector reacted ? to this message

the next time you get a text from Health Inspector™, you're at the shopping centre with your friends.

it's unusual because he usually only texts in the evenings after his apparently strict schedule is done.

health inspector We won. you oh a volleyball thing? congratsss (congratakaashilations) health inspector Yes. It was a practice match, but we won in straight sets. I scored 19 points. you 19 oh wow is that good? idk much about volleyball health inspector It's a high number for a three set match. My setter was very efficient today. you go celebrate! get some uh hayashi rice or something health inspector We're going to a convenience store. Tendou is buying icy poles. The blue double ones. echo reference?? you what flavor are u getting? health inspector I don't like sweets very much. I'll have water. you you're literally the most boring person ive ever met 😑 health inspector But we haven't met you oh COME ON get a chocolate bar live a little ⤷ seen by health inspector

when he doesn't reply, you go back to window shopping because you're broke asf with your friends.

five minutes later, a picture comes through, a large, slightly calloused hand holding a small chocolate bar. in the corner, it has a small nibble in the corner, as though someone has taken a tentative bite.

health inspector I bought it. It's too sweet. you CRYING i can literally feel the regret through the screen 💔💔 health inspector My teammates are staring at me. They think I'm possessed because I'm eating chocolate. you tell them your neighbor made you do it trust 😏 health inspector Okay Tendou is now screaming that I have a secret lover.

your heart does a weird little skip at the word lover, even though it's just a joke.. right?

you tell tendou i said hi and that hes a visionary health inspector I will tell him hi, but I won't tell him the other part. It will only encourage him. ⤷ you liked this message

you hey health inspector Yes? you we've been talking for a while now i still dont know your name or what you look like or how old you are health inspector I am 18. you okay one mystery solved im 17 health inspector Haha. 😂 I'm older than you you please never laugh over text again. what about a name health inspector I would prefer not to. If we find out who each other are, things might change. I like that you don't know who I am.

you pause, thumbs hovering over the screen.

he sounds like people usually treat him differently because of who he is.

orrrr maybe you're overthinking things again.

you fair enough i kind of like it too you can just be my health inspector health inspector And you can be my Eagle Bait. you NOT EAGLE BAIT AGAIN health inspector It's what's written on my screen, I've grown used to it. Also, I've said multiple times I'm not a health inspector. you touché health inspector I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight, Eagle Bait. Oh, that almost rhymes you night hi get it hi health inspector h.i hello oh youre gone GRANDPA delivered

it's a monday morning, so of course you're dragging yourself through the school hallways, clutching a coffee like it's the only thing keeping you sane.

your school is buzzing because the volleyball team has just won something huge, but you aren't really one for sports. you literally know nothing about the volleyball team - you just know their gym is always squeaky and smells like sweaty feet.

your phone buzzes in your pocket.

health inspector I am tired. you omg what happened to consistent schedules for recovery?? health inspector Our coach was dissatisfied with our blocking. We had to stay late. I didn't get to bed until 11:30pm yesterday. you uh 11:30 is a normal bedtime for most people yk also why did you have practice on a sunday.. health inspector Not for me My legs feel heavy. ⤷ replied to also why did you have practice on a sunday.. My coach says otherwise we will forget how to play. you thats stupid do you want me to send you a virtual hug

there's a long pause, and you watch the three bubbles appear and disappear.

health inspector I don't know what a virtual hug is. Is it a digital sticker? Do you want to call me? you LMFAO no it's just me saying i feel bad for you health inspector Oh you but here (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ health inspector That is a strange collection of symbols. It looks like a person with very long arms. you thats because it is a person with very long arms 😭 health inspector I showed Tendou. Now he's trying to recreate the face. It's unsettling.

you burst into giggles, earning a sharp look from your teacher and bemused looks from your classmates.

"sorry," you murmur to no one in particular.

after school, your friend drags you to the gym, against your will.

"just for a bit," she pleads. "my brother is playing, and i promised i'd bring him his knee pads. the fat lump forgot them."

you groan but follow her.

you stand by the entrance, on your phone, completely disinterested in the teenagers jumping around.

you im stuck in a gym well, not in the gym, but close enough the squeaking is giving me a headache health inspector I'm also in a gym. The squeaking is the sound of effort. you yeah no. it smells like stinky socks in here health inspector That is a valid description. you SEE health inspector My setter just messed up. He's angry now. I should go.

you look up from your phone, scanning the court in front of you, but none of them seem to be checking their phones.

"ready?" your friend asks, returning from where she's just thrown the kneepads at her brother.

"yeah, let's go. this place is too loud," you say. she laughs. "and stinks."

as you turn to leave, a volleyball rockets off the court and bounces toward the door. you stop it with your foot.

"sorry," a deep voice calls out.

a tall guy with dark hair and a bit of a scowl starts jogging toward you. he looks intimidating, but his eyes are focused entirely on the ball.

you kick it back to him. he nods once - not a smile but rather a blunt acknowledgement of your existence - and heads back to his team.

you don't think twice about it.

you heyy neighbor guess what i ate today health inspector If it's not a balanced meal, I don't want to know. you it was an oreo with ham on it health inspector Why would you put meat on a sweet? you because it tastes good why else you should try it health inspector I refuse. you suit yourself health inspector I have a question. you shoot health inspector Why do you continue to talk to me? Most people find me difficult to converse with.

you lean back against your headboard, brow furrowing as you type your response.

you because you arent fake everyone else tries so hard to be cool or funny you just tell me about your diet and your early ass bedtime it's refreshing health inspector Huh. you plus you bought that chocolate bar because i told you to that was nice :) health inspector It was very sweet. I still have half of it in my locker. you HELP WHAT are you saving it 😭 health inspector I didn't want to waste it. you has anyone told you you're such a dork health inspector I am told that often by Tendou. you of course ⤷ health inspector liked this message you so since you wont tell me your name can i give you a nickname health inspector is getting old health inspector What did you have in mind? you toshi

you don't know why you picked it - it just popped into your head.

somewhere, a tall boy with dark, olive green hair freezes. his heart thumps against his ribs.

toshi.

only his family and his closest friends call him that. it's a fragment of his actual name.

health inspector Why that name? you idk it just suits you health inspector .... you it's fine if not i know that was random health inspector Fine. You may use it. you YES

( you have changed health inspector to toshi )

you okay toshi go do your squats or whatever it is you do toshi I will. Goodbye Eagle Bait you bruh i dont get a new name 😔?? ⤷ seen by toshi kys toshi Okay I will keep myself safe ⤷ you disliked this message

tonight, your screen stays dark.

you find yourself checking your phone every ten minutes, which is annoying. you aren't supposed to care this much about a guy who thinks salt is a bold seasoning. like, seriously!

finally, a message arrives, and it isn't a 'goodnight'.

toshi I'm at a team dinner. Tendou is standing on a chair. you of course it wouldnt be tendou if he wasnt toshi He's singing a song about chocolate bars and secret neighbors. I believe he is trying to provoke me into showing him our messages again. you and did you toshi No. I told him that privacy is a human right. He told me I'm whipped

your face heats up.

you whipped? 😭 pleasee you barely like me you just like having someone to tell about your digestion and shit toshi That is inaccurate. I quite look forward to our conversations you wow i think thats actually the nicest thing youve said toshi It's the truth. People usually only talk to me about volleyball. Or they are intimidated and don't talk at all. you damn toshi You just call me a dork. you because you ARE a dork toshi but a cool one in an i follow all the rules kind of way toshi That is nice to hear. ⤷ you liked this message

saturday morning, you're at a local cafe. you snap a photo of your overly complicated iced latte - the kind with a mountain of whipped cream.

you [attachment] look at this it's the complete opposite of your water bottle 😝 toshi That looks like a heart attack desguised as a drink. you it's delicious! i wish i could send you a sip toshi I'd decline you aw man hey if i sent you something would you eat it? toshi I don't give out my address to strangers, number neighbours or not. you no shit that would be dumb 😑 i meant like ill leave it somewhere toshi That seems unnecessary. you fine have it your way ⤷ seen by toshi

you put your phone down with more force than necessary, a little irritated. you weren't actually going to stalk him or anything, but his immediate rejection wasn't exactly a nice feeling.

you go back to your book, feeling a bit silly.

around an hour later, your phone buzzes.

toshi I'm at the park near Miyagi Prefectural Library. There's a large oak tree by the fountain.

your heart skips.

that's- not far from where you are now.

you ..and? toshi I'm leaving practice now. I'll be passing that tree in twenty minutes. If you were to leave something there, I might find it.

you're already shoving your book into your bag.

you run to the bakery next door, grab a single, high quality dark chocolate brownie (less sugar, more toshi friendly), and sprint toward the park as fast as you can.

the oak tree is huge and gnarled. you tuck the small white bakery box into a crook in the roots, hidden behind some leaves, then run again.

you hide behind a nearby gazebo, peeking through the slats.

not long after, a tall figure walks down the path.

he's wearing a tracksuit - white and purple. broad shoulders, long legs, and a walk that screams 'i own this sidewalk'. from where you're crouching, you can see he has dark, olive toned hair.

it doesn't occur to you that this is the same guy from the gym..

he looks serious, his eyes scanning the ground.

he stops at the tree, looks around, making sure no one is watching, and reaches into the roots to pulls out the white box.

he opens it.

he stares at the brownie for a long time. then, he looks around again, a tiny, almost invisible soften to his expression.

he tucks the box into his gym bag and walks away.

your phone vibrates.

toshi I found it. you it's a brownie! try it before you judge it toshi I'll eat it when I get home. Thank you. ⤷ you liked this message toshi You were there Weren't you? you guilty ⤷ seen by toshi

great.

he's much more intimidating in person than he is in a text message.

toshi It was acceptable you acceptable?? thats it? toshi It was the best thing I've eaten that wasn't healthy. you HA I KNEW IT toshi Perhaps. My mother asked who gave it to me. I told her it was a neighbor, and she seemed confused as to why our elderly neighbor, Mr. Sato, would give me a brownie. you LMAAOAOO 😭💔 did you tell her the truth? toshi No. I find I like having this to myself.

you bite your lip, a slow blush creeping up your neck.

you me too toshi me too ⤷ seen by toshi

—

toshi I'm at the doctor. you shit what happened?? are you okay? did the brownie take you out? fuck im sorry are you allergic i shouldve checked oh my gosh toshi No. The brownie was fine. you oh toshi My ankle is slightly inflamed. It's a common occurrence. you does it hurt? toshi Not really. I have been instructed to ice it and refrain from jumping for 48 hours. you oh noo forty eight hours of no jumping how will you survive? 🥹 you can go relax and sit on a couch toshi I don't like sitting on a couch. It makes me feel stagnant. you you are SO dramatic just watch a movie or something toshi I am watching a video of our last match to analyse my footwork. you NO that doesnt count watch something that doesnt involve a ball toshi Suggest something.

you spend the next ten minutes arguing over movies. he shoots down every romantic comedy you suggest (highly unrealistic human behaviour) and every horror movie (i dont find jumpscares logical).

finally, he decides on a documentary about deep sea creatures.

toshi The giant squid is impressive. you awh do you relate to a squid toshi Yes ⤷ you reacted 😑 to this message

you're walking through the school courtyard during lunch when you see a group of girls whispering and giggling over a phone.

"he's so stoic," one of them sighs. "i wonder if he ever smiles."

curiosity kills the cat, so you peek over.

they're looking at an instagram post from a local sports magazine. it's a photo of a volleyball player mid air.

the caption reads: Shiratorizawa's Ace continues his dominant streak.

your heart stops.

the jersey is white and purple.

just like the tracksuit the guy in the park was wearing.

aka. your number neighbour.

aka, toshi.

you can't see his face clearly, but the build is unmistakable. the thick legs, the broad shoulders, the hair.

then it occurs to you - it's the same guy in the gym from so long ago. you just didn't recognise him without the tracksuit.

you scramble for your phone.

you hey quick question toshi What is the question? you do you go to shiratorizawa?

the 'typing...' bubble appears, and stays there for a long, long time.

you're holding your breath. if he says yes, the mystery is basically over. you could find him in ten minutes.

toshi Why do you ask? you i saw a photo of a player he looked like the guy i saw in the park

another long pause.

toshi I have told you before. If we know too much, this changes. you i know but toshi Are you disappointed? you what?? no why would i be disappointed? toshi Because I'm not telling you who I am you toshi ive been talking to you for a while i know you think water is a treat and you relate to squids you can't disappoint me toshi I see. Then I won't confirm or deny. But I will tell you this: My ankle is feeling better because I'm distracted by this conversation. And you.

your face turns five shades of red, and you have to put your phone face down on a concrete bench to cool off.

you're back in the gym, this time because you left your sweater on the bleachers after gym class. you'd hoped you could wear it somehow, but the gym teacher had promptly sent you away.

you spot a familiar head of bright red hair.

it's..

wait.

tendou?

he's leaning against the net, looking bored while who you guess is the coach talks to someone else.

suddenly, tendou spots you walking toward the bleachers. he narrows his eyes, then a huge, mischievous grin spreads across his face.

he points at you and then turns to the giant guy standing next to him.

the guy turns his head.

you freeze.

you're wearing your school uniform.

you look normal.

but you feel like you have 'NEIGHBOUR' written on your forehead in black sharpie.

the guy looks at you.

he doesn't wave or smile. he just stares for a second too long before the coach barks an order and he turns back to the court.

you grab your sweater and bolt.

once you're safely in the outside, your phone vibrates.

toshi You were in the gym. you i was not toshi Tendou said, "There's the girl who smells like brownies." you i do NOT smell like brownies AND HOW COULD HE EVEN SMELL THAT toshi You didn't say hello. you because you were BUSY and INTIMIDATING and we have a DEAL no names no faces ⤷ replied to no faces we've broken that toshi I'm not intimidating. I was just standing there you toshi you are a 6 foot something mountain of muscle you are the definition of intimidating toshi 6'2 I didn't think you would be afraid of me. you im not afraid im uhm preserving the mystery toshi I think you were running away. you no i was walking fast toshi Tendou is laughing. He says you looked like a startled rabbit. you tell tendou im gonna put salt in his next chocolate bar. toshi I will relay the message. He says he likes salt in his chocolate bar. you for fucks sake toshi And for the record.. That sweater would look nice on you. It's a good colour.

you groan and trip over your own feet.

"fuck-!"

you can't stop thinking about what he said.

about the sweater.

because it means he was actually looking.

toshi I have a question about the long armed person face you (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ this one? what about it toshi If it's a hug, does that mean you are a physical person? you you're gonna have to give me more info than that toshiTendou says some people show affection through touch, while others show it through acts of service. you tendou is getting deep and idk! maybe? i think im a bit of both what about you? toshi I give them my full attention. If I'm talking to you, it's because I believe you're worth my time. I don't engage in idle chatter with people I don't respect.

it's so blunt – there's no 'i think you're cute' or 'i like talking to you'.

just the fact that because he's texting you, you're officially worth it.

you wait thats actually really sweet does that mean i have your respect sir 🫡 toshi You have had it for a very long time now. ⤷ you reacted 🥺 to this message

it was his texts like this that had you speechless.

you just.. didn't know how to reply.

it's the night before a big game for him.

you know this because he's been texting less, which usually means he's, quote, 'in the zone'.

you big day tomorrow? toshi Yes. We're playing a team with very persistent defense. It'll be tiring you you got this! just think of the giant squid or smt toshi I will. Will you be there? you i dunno wouldnt that break the rules toshi What rules? The gym is a public space. I cannot stop you from entering. you yeah it'd be weird if you could toshi Besides, Tendou keeps looking for 'the brownie girl' in the stands. It would be easier if I knew where you were so I could tell him to focus on the match. you oh so u want me there for team productivity toshi Precisely you ill consider it ⤷ toshi liked this message

the stadium is packed – you've never seen so many people there for a high school game.

you're wearing a simple hoodie, your hood pulled up slightly, feeling like a spy. (cue spy music!) you find a seat way up, far enough that you're just a speck in the crowd.

the whistle blows, and the teams walk onto the court.

and there he is.

number one.

he seems.. different on the court. at the park, he was just a tall, imtimidating guy. here, he's still intimidating, but he's also a force of nature.

when he scores, he doesn't celebrate much. he just resets, expression completely blank, eyes fixed on the ball.

in one word, he's magnificent.

during a timeout, you see him take a drink from his water bottle. his eyes scan the crowd.

they move slowly, methodically, starting from the front row and working their way up.

your breath hitches. you know he can't see you – there are thousands of people here. you turn your gaze away, looking somewhere else.

your phone vibrates.

toshi You're here. I can feel it.

you nearly drop your phone in absolute shock.

you how?? you're literally in the middle of a game PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY toshi My manager is holding it. I asked her to check for a message during the break. My coach isn't very happy but I don't care. you I CARE YOUR COACH IS SCARY ASF whats his name again washing board toshi Washijo You're in the upper area. To the left of the scoreboard.

yes in this shiratorizawa has a manager idc

you are exactly where he said.

you you are a freak. FOCUS ON THE GAME toshi I am focused. Watching you watch me is not a distraction.

the whistle blows again.

you watch him hand the phone to the manager and walk back onto the court.

he looks up directly toward your section and gives a single, sharp nod.

then proceeds to absolutely demolish the other team.

you slip out before they officially announce the winner, not wanting to get caught in the crowd – or by a certain redhead.

you're halfway home when the text comes through.

toshi We won. you i saw! you were incredible toshi seriously toshi Thank you. I'm tired now. My muscles are aching you do you want another long armed person hug? toshi No.

ouch.

toshi I think, next time, I would like a real one.

you stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk, nearly walking into a mailbox, your face burning.

a real one.

the man who finds unnecessary fluff unnecessary – just asked for a real hug.

or at least, he admitted he wanted one.

you a real one? who are you and what have you done with the robot? toshi I'm the same. I'm just tired. Fatigue makes people more honest. you well go to sleep then mr honest toshi But it's still early. And I'm not home yet. you i dont care ⤷ seen by toshi

—

toshi Tendou is asking why I'm smiling at my phone. you youre SMILING?? toshi It's not a large smile My mouth is simply less straight than usual. you mmm sure ill take it so whats got u smilin toshi I was thinking about the way you ran away in the gym. you ?? I TOLD YOU I WAS WALKING FAST besides youre scary in person you have main character energy toshi I don't know what that means. It's my job to be reliable. And intimidating if necessary. you youre very reliable at making me nervous :/ toshi Why are you nervous? 🤔🤔 you BECAUSE we've been talking for months and i still dont know your real name i could find out rn but im respecting your privacy be grateful 😤 toshi I am grateful. ⤷ you liked this message toshi If I tell you my name, will you tell me yours? you maybe toshi Then not yet. I want to see how long we can last like this. It's like a game. you youre so competitive 💔 istg is everything a game to you toshi Only the things that matter.

you're in your room, folding your laundry and humming a song that has been fixated in your head lately. you really need to stop doomscrolling on tiktok. no, seriously ik damn well get off

your phone is on your bed.

not so wise decision.

you reach for a sock, stumble, and your palm lands flat on the screen.

and you had only been texting a specific someone moments earlier, so the screen is still on.

the phone starts ringing.

calling.. toshi

"no, no, no!" you scramble, fingers fumbling to hang up, but your phone is glitching. great – out of all times. it freezes on the calling screen.

he picks up.

on the other end, there's silence. you hold the phone to your ear, too nervous to breathe. you're too terrified to speak.

"hello?"

his voice. it's so much deeper than you imagined.

"eagle bait?" he asks.

"hi," you whisper. your voice sounds tiny compared to his.

"you called me," he states.

"..it was an accident. i was.. folding laundry."

"i see."

there's a pause. you can hear faint chatter in the background – he's probably in the locker room.

"you sound.. like i expected."

"and how is that?"

"kind. and a bit terrified right now."

you let out a shaky laugh. "me? never."

"i have to go to practice," he says ever so softly. "but.. i liked hearing your voice."

you smile into the phone. "i liked hearing yours too.. toshi."

"i will text you tonight." before you can utter a goodbye, he hangs up.

you collapse onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

now you aren't just texting a number anymore.

you're talking to a living, breathing person.

a person with a voice that makes your toes curl.

you're walking past the gym again – actually, lets be honest. you're taking the long way home just to catch a glimpse.

the gym doors fly open.

"BROWNIE GIRL!"

tendou is sprinting toward you, waving his arms like a windmill. behind him, he is walking out at a normal pace, looking slightly exasperated.

you freeze. you can't run this time; tendou is too fast.

"it's you! i knew it!" tendou skids to a stop in front of you, leaning down to look you square in the face. "ushijima is always staring at his screen with this look like he's trying to solve a very intense math problem, but the math problem is love!"

"satori," ushijima booms. he catches up, stepping between you and the redhead. "leave her alone. you're being intrusive."

toshi looks down at you.

"are you okay?" he asks, a genuine look of concern on his face.

"yeah," you squeak. "im fine. just.. laundry. i mean, walking home."

tendou snickers. "laundry.." he scoffs under his breath.

the other man looks at you for a long moment. you notice his eyes are a dark olive, like his hair.

"you're wearing the sweater."

"it's my favorite," you admit, fiddling with a loose thread.

he nods, a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. "it suits you. as i said before."

"WAKATOSHI-KUN!" tendou screams. "you're doing it! you're flirting! my eyes! they've never seen such a thing! actually.. she's shown me before.." echo reference??

toshi ignores him entirely. "ill text you later. i have to take satori away before he causes a scene."

"too late for that," you joke. "i've got to go as well."

he actually huffs a small laugh. it's a sound that blesses your ears.

"you're right. goodbye.. eagle bait."

"bye, toshi."

you walk away, feeling his gaze on your back until you turn the corner.

tendou turns to ushijima, grinning. "eagle bait? still?"

"she doesn't mind it. i think."

"you think-"

when you reach the front door, your heart is still trying to beat out of your chest through your throat.

you keep replaying it – the way he looked down at you, the way his voice dropped when he noticed your sweater, and, most importantly, the fact that he laughed.

your phone vibrates again before you even get the chance to take your shoes off.

toshi I apologise for Tendou, he has no sense of personal boundaries. you lol it's fine hes funny :) toshi He's a nuisance sometimes. But.. he wasn't entirely wrong.

you stop mid step, one shoe on, one shoe off.

you about toshi About the way I look at my phone.

friday evening, you're trying to study when a text comes through that isn't a text at all. it's a link to a destination on google maps.

toshi I'm going to a park tomorrow. Not the one with the oak tree. This one is further away, near the river. you okay? are you going to look for squids 😭 toshi No. I'm going for a run.

oh.

oh.

if hes asking u to run w him we cooked asf

toshi I'll be finished at 10am, and there's a bench near the bridge. you waiiit are you asking me to meet you like for real without any distractions or people around toshi I would like to see if you are the same in person as you are over text without Tendou present, if that's what you mean. you wow. rude justice for tendou ill be there toshi Nice 👍 ⤷ you reacted 🥹 to this message toshi ? you nothing toshi Also, I brought a brownie the other day. you you WHAT toshi Yes. It was good, but not as good as the one you brought me. you thats because i sprinkled it with some neighbourly love otw! toshi Oh is that a seasoning? I'll have to try it out you oh gosh ⤷ toshi reacted ? to this message

you arrive at exactly 9:55am. you're wearing a fresh outfit, your hair is actually done, and you've checked your breath, like, five times.

more like fifty.

the park is quiet, the morning mist still clinging to the river. you see a figure running toward the bridge.

he's wearing a black compression shirt and shorts. he slows to a jog, then a walk, as he nears the bench. drenched in sweat, his skin glows in the morning light. he looks like a perfect sculpture come to life.

ushijima stops in front of you, breathing hard. "you came," he says. his voice is a little raspy from the run.

"i said i would," you say, trying to sound cool. you fail miserably. "uhh, nice running?"

toshi wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. "thank you."

a beat, and you stare at eachother awkwardly.

"i realised something," he says, stepping a bit closer.

"what?"

"i don't know your name."

you smile, reaching out and gently poking his arm. damn, his muscles are like rock- "it's l/n. y/n."

he repeats it, testing the weight of the syllables in his mouth. "y/n. it is a good name. better than eagle bait."

you let out an unflattering snort. "i think everything is better than eagle bait."

toshi sits down on the bench, gesturing for you to join him. you sit, and for a while, you both just watch the river flow.

he reaches into his gym bag and pulls out a small, crumpled paper bag. he hands it to you.

inside is a single, slightly squashed chocolate bar. the same one you told him to buy weeks ago.

"i bought it this morning," he says, looking at his feet. "i thought.. maybe we could share it."

you feel a lump rise in your throat.

breaking the bar in half, you hand him the bigger piece. he promptly nudges it back to you and takes the smaller piece.

"to living a little," you say.

"to being neighbors," he replies.

the chocolate is slightly warm and has a papery taste to it, but it's easily one of the best thing you've ever tasted.

you sit on that bench for an hour. you talk about things that aren't volleyball, like how he likes the smell of old books and how you're terrified shitless of spiders.

"i am not afraid of spiders," ushijima says, looking at the remainder of his chocolate. "they're helpful. they eat mosquitoes."

"spoken like a true fearless soldier," you laugh. "but if one crawls on me, i'm using you as a human shield."

he glances at you, expression softening into a lopsided half smile. "i'm a very large shield. you'll be safe."

the.. peace lasts exactly forty eight hours.

by monday lunch, the school is buzzing (gossiping). apparently, someone (tendou) saw (spied) a mystery girl (you) sitting with the ace (ushijima) at the river.

you're trying to blend into the cafeteria wall when a shadow falls over your table. you look up, and it's not toshi.

it's guy with a black bowl cut and a guy with light brown hair, in a slightly more lopsided bowl cut.

"is it you?" the first one asks, pointing a finger at you like he's accusing you of a crime. "are you the one who made ushijima-san eat a brownie?"

"i.. maybe?"

"he hasn't stopped looking at his phone during stretches," the other one says, sounding personally offended.

before you can defend yourself, a hand lands on their heads and pushes them aside.

it's.. toshi!

he looks down at his apparently teammates with a look that would wither a cactus.

"go away," he states. "you are bothering her."

"we just wanted to see if she was real!" black bowl cut squeaks. "tendou-san said she was a forest spirit that lived in an oak tree!"

"uh. clearly im not a forest spirit," you say, finally finding your voice. "im a student."

toshi looks at you, then back at his teammates. "she is y/n."

light hair shrugs. "'kay. cmon goshiki."

they leave, albeit reluctantly.

"i'm going to practice. do you want to walk with me to the gym doors?"

you feel a hundred eyes on you, and you step forward, legs a little shaky.

"sure, toshi. let's go."

toshi Tendou has been banned from my phone. I've changed the passcode. you nah what was it before 😭 0000 toshi No It was 1111 you ..youre so predictable toshi I was joking Predictability is a sign of stability you in what world 🥹 toshi Anyway I have Friday evening free. My coach is attending a conference you are you asking me on a date perchance toshi I am proposing an evening with you. I'd like to go to the cinema. you oh? no documentaries about squids toshi There's a film about a man who survives in the wilderness. It seems logical. you okay it's a date but i get to pick the popcorn seasoning‼️ toshi Yes 👍 But no bacon flavour please. you DO THEY MAKE THAT toshi ... No. you ohhh they do dont they 😼 ⤷ toshi disliked this message

the cinema is oh so very dark and smells of buttered popcorn. you're sitting next to him, and even though you aren't touching, you can feel the heat radiating off him.

he's sitting perfectly upright, staring at the screen.

halfway through the movie, the main character gets lost in a blizzard. ironically, you shiver – the theater is a little cold.

without a word, toshi shifts. he doesn't put his arm around you – that would be too smooth for him. instead, he reaches over, takes your hand, and simply places it on his thigh, covering it with his own massive, warm hand.

"you're cold," he whispers. "this will help."

you bite your lip to keep from giggling. he is such an awkward romantic, and you love it.

you squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. his hand is rough with callouses from thousands of spikes, yet it's incredibly gentle.

you spend the rest of the movie not watching the screen at all, just focusing on the feeling of his thumb tracing small, absent minded circles on the back of your hand.

when the lights come up and the movie ends, he doesn't let go immediately. he looks at you, eyes thoughtful.

"the movie was.. acceptable," he says.

"was it better than the brownie?" you tease, grinning.

"no. but it is unfair to compare food and entertainment." he says, leaning in. "the company was better than the movie."

you think he might kiss you right there in the cinema, but then his phone buzzes.

yay. cockblocker

( 38 notifications from tendou )

tendou HOW WAS THE MOVIE DID U HOLD HANDS I CAN FEEL THE ROMANCE FROM MY DOOM SOOM ROON ROOM TELL ME EVEYYITMG EVERYTING EVERYTGING ECERTITN fucj EVERYTHING USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI USHIWAKA U S H I J I M A W A K A T O S H I ANSWER MEEEEEEEE ew are u making out OR WORSE.. DOING THE NAUGHTY ‼️‼️ ewwwwwwwww that's naaasty wear protection kids 😏

toshi sighs, deep and weary. "i'm going to change my phone number."

"don't you dare," you laugh, standing up and pulling him toward the exit. "i like my number neighbor right where he is."

it turns out that when the most stoic, volleyball obsessed boy in shiratorizawa starts walking someone to class, people notice. i know! absolute shocker.

you're standing by the school lockers in the morning when you see him. he's, well, hard to miss – he towers over the crowd like a giant.

a group of first year girls is hovering near him, one of them holding a pink envelope.

ah.

"ushijima-senpai!" she chirps, her face bright red. "ive watched all your games! please, take this!"

you pause, feeling a weird, cold prickle in your chest. you've never been the jealous type, but seeing a literal fan club form around your.. you don't know what he is, but! it feels different.

ushijima doesn't take the envelope. he doesn't even look at it LMAO. he's looking over their heads, his eyes scanning the hallway until they land on you.

"i cannot take that," he says to the girl, his voice loud and clear. "it would be an inefficient use of my time, and i am already spoken for."

the hallway goes dead silent. the girl's jaw drops, and her friends giggle awkwardly.

toshi walks straight past them and stops in front of you.

"you're late," he says.

"sorry, captain," you answer, hiding a grin. "i didn't want to interrupt your, erm, fan meeting."

"it was not a meeting. it was disturbance. let us go."

and so the two of you walk off together, leaving the girl and her friends behind, her still clutching the envelope pathetically.

your phone pings during your afternoon break. it's a notification from instagram – you've been tagged in a post.

it's a photo someone took of you and ushijima at the cinema. the two of you walking out, hands briefly brushing.

and.. the comments are a war zone.

@.user1 who is she she looks so plain @.user2 does he even like her? he looks bored asf @.user3 ushijima kun deserves someone more athletic! ↳ @.tendersatoes definitely not you then 😂😂

a lump rises in your throat. you know you shouldn't care what strangers think, but it still hurts.

although tendou's comment does make you crack a smile. seriously, tendersatoes??

you're about to close the app when a new comment loads.

@.Ushijima_Wakatoshi Her name is Y/n. She is not plain, she is observant. And I'm not bored. I'm focused. If you have time to comment on my personal life, you have time to practice on whatever you need to do. You're lacking in discipline. @.Ushijima_Wakatoshi Fuckers. ↳ @.tendersatoes pop off ushiwaka 🤪 CLOCKED BITCHES ↳ @.user2 whatever

you stare at the screen.

toshi just commented a whole paragraph for you.

and on top of that – fuckers.

you toshi did u just flame your uh FANS in the comments toshi I didn't flame them. I provided an objective assessment of their behavior and their priorities. you yeah.. you basically told them to go touch grass toshi Grass is good for them. Are you upset? I can delete the comment, but I think many people have seen it already. you no actually i'm really happy but pls dont get suspended for me toshi If it means I have more time to spend with you, then I welcome it. you TOSHI 🥹🥹 ⤷ toshi liked this message

since the gym is being renovated for two days, ushijima actually has an afternoon off.

you invite him over to your house to study, which mostly consists of you trying to talk about work while he stares at your bookshelves.

"why do you have so many books about people who don't exist?" he asks, picking up one of your romance novels.

"because fiction is fun, toshi! it's about feelings and drama and shit."

he puts it down, then reaches for another one.

you gasp, jumping on his back. "not that one-!"

"drama is just a lack of communication," he says, sitting down on your rug. he's so big that your room suddenly feels half its size.

you sit next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder. he freezes for a second before he slowly relaxes, resting his head on top of yours.

"i like your house," he says softly. "it smells like you."

you laugh, the sound muffled against his arm.

ushijima suddenly shifts, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. he opens up your contact info.

"i have changed your name again," he says.

you look at the screen.

it doesn't say 'eagle bait' anymore.

it just says,

y/n ❤️

"the red heart means affection," he says, his face turning a very unnatural shade of pink. "tendou told me it was mandatory for this stage of a relationship."

"for once," you whisper, leaning up to kiss his cheek, "i think tendou is right."

but ushijima turns his head at the last second, catching your lips with his.

"i agree," he says matter of factly once you pull away, then lifts your chin to kiss you again.

called both of my number neighbours once on a dare, one sent me to voicemail and the other was a woman with a child crying in the background. and i was reading the manga the other day and ml ushijima does not talk like a robot all the time 😭 bro fanon ushijima is scary.

genuinely really proud of myself for this one tysm for reading (new top 3 fav unlocked ?!)

tumblr, please allow more than 30 images. thank you.

also ! im making this a number neighbour collection/series so lmk through my inbox if reqs are open if u want any other characters with a specific plot, and smau or chatfic :D (if a character's already been done, i won't do it again. at time of this post ive got akaashi, ushijima, oikawa and suna)

taglist ( to be added OR removed, fill out the tag form ) @n-o-b-o-d-y123 @owl-captain-of-fukurodani @tc-selmarillian @blythmourning @sevslover @fosfatodna @tearsoftae @heavenquilll @perlleta @noemivalorr @bookworm-center @thesmithslvr17 @lottiekarottiqd @fweakygyatt @wellitseugi @haniipie @charukii @imgonnashartmyself @toorubae @kotarosangel @leosxrealm @irethepotato @lithiumval @dreamayy @wanderless-musings @sunnyl1ght

© akaashiit

[reignpage]

Read Between My Thighs

Synopsis: your plan is to avoid your rival, now that you’ve both been hired as assistant librarians, to minimise the chances of getting into hours long debates and committing murder. the problem is that he's everywhere — helping you carry heavy boxes, scoffing at your choice of literature, eating you out in the back corner between the We Shouldn't Do This and the We'll Never Speak of This Again shelves. in all the bickering and orgasms, you're left with one question:

is the smell of books an aphrodisiac?

Canto IV - The Emerging Stars

℘ this was a mistake. all of it was. from the very beginning, it was doomed. you're too similar, too ambitious, too cutthroat. at the end of the day, you're only ever meant to be rivals...aren't you?

Warnings: angst, some sexual references but no smut, fluff, not really much to say except hope you guys don't mind that this is not proofread either sorry, when I upload the other chapters to AO3, I promise it'll be proofread Word Count: 10.6k Canto III - Masterlist

The lecture hall smells faintly of old paper and radiator heat. Morning light filters weakly through tall windows, catching dust in slow suspension. At the front, Professor Aldmahn adjusts his glasses and turns a page.

“As we see in Book XI,” he says, voice projecting in a way only one with experience can do without much thought, “the katabasis is not merely a narrative descent, but a ritualised confrontation with memory. Odysseus does not simply visit the dead or observe them — he negotiates with the dead. Knowledge, in this context, is therefore transactional. This is important to note.”

A few pens scratch. Someone coughs.

9am lectures always carry a sense of death to them. Something about waking up before the sun’s risen kills a person’s soul and leads them down quiet corridors with dark shadows under their eyes, life saving coffee cups in their hands.

Most students don’t like 9am lectures. Most students want to sleep in. You’re no exception. 

Drained as you are though, there is a restlessness in you. A thing that itches to move its legs, to stretch, to run up and down the hallway screaming. Perhaps a ball of tension looking for release, perhaps some unresolved trauma from childhood, or maybe, much less interestingly, you’re just bored. 

Boredom is a human experience. 

It is a painful experience. 

One that could be likened to pushing a boulder up a hill or walking in a field for eternity. It is an experience shared by all, an experience as natural as breathing. It is an experience you’ve never felt in a lecture before. Because, yes you are one of those people that others look at weirdly when you excitedly riff with other students or with the professor, who's done the further readings, who always has something to add, who leaves the hall buzzing. One of those people that can’t have friends in the course because you’re considered too much at any hour of the day.

Today, however, people seem to tolerate you just fine; someone to your right even asked how your weekend was and what your plans for the week are!

You’re not sure if it’s a good or bad change.

Professor Aldmahn continues, “In this sense, Tiresias is exceptional. He alone retains the ability to speak coherently and offer guidance. The other shades, in comparison, lack agency. They require blood to speak, and even then, what they offer is fragmented. Tiresias stands apart as a stable source of knowledge.”

If the professor’s deterred by the soulless faces that stare back at him, he doesn’t show it. 

There’s a small shift to your left.

A few heads turn.

You don’t look.

“But that stability is questionable,” he says, calm as ever, voice carrying without effort. “Tiresias doesn’t provide a full account. He gives Odysseus what he needs to return home, nothing more. I think his wisdom is overstated.”

Professor Aldmahn tilts his head slightly. “Interesting. So you argue Tiresias’ usefulness is exaggerated? Is that a limitation imposed by the narrative, or by Tiresias himself?”

“Both, I believe,” he replies. “The information is selective. It’s shaped by what the poem needs Odysseus to know at that point.”

“And what do you think?” Professor Aldmahn’s voice redirects. His gaze settles on you. “You’ve been quiet today.”

A beat.

The room shifts with it.

You feel it. The familiar shape of an argument forming, precise and sharp. You could dismantle that. You know you could. It’s too neat, too contained. There’s a gap there, something unaddressed, something—

Your pen lowers to the page.

Some people sigh, as though aware that another miserable thing is going to make them regret turning up to this lecture. And for once, you’re on their side, and not on the other. 

Lifting your head, you meet the Professor’s gaze easily. “I think the selectivity is the point; the underworld isn’t meant to be a place of full revelation. It’s a place of suffering, of punishment. The underworld offers partial knowledge, and only under strict conditions. To find any hint of stability and aid is already a miracle in and of itself. Narratively, the characters cannot rely too much on Tiresias — knowledge is supposed to be limited, restricted.”

There’s a small murmur. Approval, maybe. Or irritation. Certainly some grumbles of ‘Am I even in the right class?’

Professor Aldmahn nods slowly, smiling and revealing deep wrinkles in his eyes. “Controlled by whom?”

“The poem,” he cuts in. “Or by the structure of the nostos. Everything in that scene is oriented toward getting Odysseus home. Even the dead only matter insofar as they contribute to that.”

“Do you concur?” the professor asks you.

There it is.

The opening.

It’s almost instinctive: the way your mind turns, the counterargument rising sharp and immediate. You could push back, point out the inconsistency, pull at the thread until it…

You don’t.

Instead, you nod. Once. Politely. No more than that. “Sure,” you say. 

Eyes bore a searing hole into the side of your head, challenging. You pretend you don’t feel it.

Professor Aldmahn’s pen stills in his hand. “…I see,” he says after a moment, though he doesn’t sound entirely convinced of anything at all. If anything, he seems confused and cautious in one breath.  “Well, those were good thoughts, you two. Glad to see some people are paying attention.”

People whisper. Some glances between the two of you, waiting, expecting the familiar escalation, the relentless, eye-rolling back-and-forth that usually follows. It doesn’t come. Judging by the look on people’s faces, one would think the world was ending and trumpets were singing. 

And when Professor Aldmahn clears his throat and resumes the lecture, there’s a faint, unspoken sense that something has gone slightly, inexplicably off course.

Is it really that big of a deal that you didn’t continue debating, you wonder to yourself, with a little self-consciousness dragging you deeper into your seat to avoid the looks people are throwing at you.

After the lecture, you pack up your things and head straight for the door. A presence appears at your side. Blue sweater, blond hair, long legs, and a tight frown. 

“You don’t agree with me,” he says. It could come off as a question to someone else, perhaps an accusation or a reminder. To you, it comes with a tone of surprise, a hint of betrayal that almost makes you scoff. 

Still walking, you hike your bag up your shoulder and reply, “No, I do not.”

“So why didn’t you say?”

Usually, daring to dispute the other’s point so publicly, or even at all, would warrant a long back and forth battle that didn’t resemble a debate at all, more like turn-based lashings. The two of you would glare at each other, scoffing, turning your noses up. You’d point out how he has bed hair and he’d say your lips are crusty, or something of the sort. People would roll their eyes around you but no one would step in. Not professors. Not campus security. Not your friends. 

It could go on for hours. 

Today, you don’t have it in you.

You sigh and, for the first time in about a week, you meet his eyes. He looks the same as usual, albeit more tired. It’s hard to tell if that pleases you or not. Seriously, you ask, “What do you want? To gloat? Or maybe you want me to get on my knees and blow you?” 

He flinches like you struck him. Pink tinges his pale skin. A visceral reaction to the emotionless voice that pierces him. “No,” he says firmly, blinking hard. “No, of course not.”

“So? Is there something I can do for you?”

“A chance to talk, perhaps?” Nanami says, running a hand through his hair. 

Coldly, you remind him, “You had that, remember?”

Nanami freezes. He blanches. Pales like a ghost. You know he knows exactly what you’re referring to. Is he actually surprised you brought it up? Did he think you were just never going to say anything? Did he think you’d roll over and carry on as usual? 

“I did what you would have done,” he says quietly, almost to himself. 

You grip your bag tighter. “Is that what you tell yourself? Is that how you justify setting me up to yourself, to your friends, to whatever higher power you answer to? All for an assistant job you’ll have for only a month, maybe some time into summer too if you’re hanging around, before you go off and have an actual, graduate job?”

Nanami frowns. “She would have asked you if I had said no. She would have offered it to you, and you would have said yes.”

“Maybe,” you admit, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “Maybe, but guess we’ll never know because you eagerly took the offer, didn’t you?”

To that, he has nothing to say.

Nanami Kento…

Finally rendered speechless.

The sight doesn’t offer you much satisfaction. Another sigh, and you’re telling him, “Don’t be a pussy. You did what you did and you’re better off for it. Stand on all ten toes and keep your chin up. You got what you wanted from me — orgasms, momentary companionship, a job, the ultimate sense of superiority. You won. You won. There’s nothing else left you could take from me. It’s over. Don’t you get it? It’s done. We’re done. You won, Nanami, and it better fucking feel good, because it sure doesn’t feel like it on my end.”

Each syllable you utter leaves a deeper indent on the crease between his brows. He blinks through the words, tries to process them as he would a text written in Latin or a Shakespearean puzzle. His hands flex. His shoulders roll back. He takes every hit with slight winces. And for once, he doesn’t argue with you. 

Today just doesn’t seem to be a day for debates.

You glance at your phone screen, and nod. “I gotta get to class.” 

You look up at him. He’s not looking at you. He’s looking at the space between you. There’s no telling what he’s thinking, and at this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care.

From your position, he doesn’t look as tall or as blond as you remember. “Congratulations, Nanami.”

Your legs don’t stop moving. You let yourself be carried forward with the crowd, down the hall, where the lights flicker and the sun doesn’t reach. 

Behind you, he remains standing, following you with his eyes and pleading for you to look back once.

You don’t.

.

.

.

Nanami Kento has known loss. 

He knew loss at 6 years old, when he was passed for class representative in favour of a badly behaved boy who couldn’t even tie his laces on his own, simply because he was louder. He faced loss the two times he placed second in exams as a pre-teen — both times having been because he was ill the days of the exams, so he hardly counted those as reflections of his performance. And lost too many times to count in high school. 

Oh, and how could he ever forget the horror that was the obnoxious loudmouths in his school, who always roped him into their shenanigans? The same horrors that followed him into university and became his closest friends.

Loss, he learnt from a young age, is a part of life. It builds character. Motivates one to work even harder, to reflect upon their mistakes, and grow. 

Loss is natural. 

Inevitable.

Loss…

Loss is good. 

He knows that.

So why is losing to you so hard to swallow?

From the very beginning, from the very first day, you were a pain in the ass. 

He remembers Induction Day so clearly — he had already memorised every single fact about the university and the course before arriving, so he thought the whole day was nonsense, but his parents had forced him to go. They wanted him to be more outgoing, to get out of his shell. To please them, he went. 

“Does anyone know where our campus library ranks in terms of collection size in the country?” the student tour guide droned. 

She was clearly tired. Fatigued. Bored of herself. Whatever pay she was getting for this little gig, it wasn’t enough. Perhaps that’s what contributed to the drained mood he was in; they were putting out the energy they were getting themselves, leading to an endless cycle of misery that not even a bullet to the temple would end.

“Yeah, it’s the second largest library in the UK,” a voice said brightly to the group, turning back with a smile that was a little too pleased with itself.

He recalls the wide eyes and bushy-tailed quality of that person, the sincerity in the smile, and the twinkle in those eyes that spoke of excitement and profound interest. They stood out in a crowd of anxious, pimply-faced, shy individuals whose faces and names he could never remember even if he was held at gunpoint. 

That person on the other hand struck him as being someone who everyone’s gaze would naturally gravitate towards in a hall of people. 

That person was you.

Of course, he had no way of knowing exactly who you would become in his life — a rival, a pain in the ass, a colleague, a… lover, and a reflection of all of his worst qualities. He did, however, know in that very second he looked at you that you would be a face he’d always notice on campus.

“First,” Nanami corrected, without looking up from the pamphlet in his hands. It slipped out. He hadn’t even planned to say anything, to make his presence known to the group of people he was sure he wouldn’t remember meeting after the day. Yet, he did. 

And whether he regrets it to this day, it remains unclear.

There was a beat. 

Nanami looked up then, feeling the weight of many eyes upon him. Most distinctly, yours. There was a challenge in your gaze. A spark of a flame that was being stifled by the lack of enthusiasm the tour guide was showing. 

You wore an off-the-shoulder top he never saw again. It was somewhat out of fashion, a fact he only knew from seeing what the other students were wearing, both prospective and existing. Your Converse, however, were already worn in and you never could bring yourself to part with them, no matter how dirty or busted they became through the years. 

The two of you cocked a brow at each other.

At the same time as he was sizing you up, he knew you were doing the same. He was sure you were looking at his shiny Oxfords, his ironed trousers, the structured blue sweater over his white button up, his smudgeless glasses, and combed back hair, and came to the conclusion that he was a complete and utter nerd. 

He’s certainly heard the words come out of your mouth often enough. 

Tilting your head, you said, “It was second, as of last year. They updated the figures.”

“Your source?” he coldly asked. 

You smiled wider. Like you had been waiting for him to ask. Like he shouldn’t have. Like he was going to regret that. “Current.”

“Yes,” the tour guide drawled. “It’s second now. But second isn’t bad.”

The both of you thought otherwise. That was why you looked so smug, and he was fighting the physical urge to show his devastation. How could he have outdated data? How could he so casually humiliate himself like that, especially in front of a pretty girl?

Yes, in the very distant past, Nanami had once, quite briefly, considered you an attractive young woman. But something about you was off-putting — maybe your arrogant smile, your refusal to raise your hand to answer questions, your loud talking, your too-shiny lipgloss?

Or, maybe, he simply recognised a deeper evil inside you. 

One that prompts you to fold the corners of pages, to crack spines, to eat as you read and leave greasy residue on book covers, that encourages you to rate books as you read, to chew on your pen lids, to mutter under your breath as you read passages, to clench down on him when you knew he was trying not to orga—

“…I see,” Nanami said at last.

You hummed. “Yes, I hope you do.”

“Your course?”

“Classical Lit.”

“Me too.”

“Hmm.”

And just like that, it was understood: you were going to be seeing a lot more of each other.

It’s silly, really. To be so caught up in petty rivalry to the point that you become infamous around the department, that admin staff have to separate you as much as possible. Even sillier that it would keep Nanami up at night. 

Oh, he’s pondered how to destroy you so many times. 

After every exchange, he’d be left seething, grinding his teeth, bouncing his knee, plotting how to best you at the next opportune. Sometimes he’s successful, sometimes he’s not. The latter mattered most. He could win 999 times, but that one time he doesn’t never fails to have him tossing and turning in bed, replaying your smug smile, your repulsive laughter, cutting words, and the way you spitefully strut away. 

Nanami would love nothing more than to wipe your smile away, to smother your laughter, to dull your words into something resembling admittance of defeat, and to drag you back so he can continue his scathing monologue about the superiority of his own points.

He did all that but the last when it mattered most, and again when you gave him the opportunity to talk; he had nothing to say for himself.

What does it matter?

He won. 

He got you to admit defeat. He got the job, got to have the last real word in the lecture, got to see you at your lowest. And he’ll have so much more beyond you after graduation. 

So why can’t he focus on shelving the damn books? Why can’t he feel a sense of pride at the grateful smiles patrons give him after he helped? Why can’t he sleep satisfied and knowing he won’t have to be at the top of his game come the next day because you won’t challenge him anymore?

Why can’t he stop thinking about you?

“Any other symptoms?” Shoko drawls.

Nanami jolts. 

“What?” he asks, straightening up with a small frown. 

Shoko’s brow rises but ultimately says nothing about whatever trance he was just in. Instead, she continues stirring the olive in her dirty martini with the toothpick. “You were asking what that ‘painful squeezing’ in your chest was, remember? Like, I’m the Doctor of everything. I’m not even a doctor of anything,” she grumbles.

Right…

They’re at a bar. 

The campus bar. 

He’d invited her out for a long overdue drink, since he’s been so busy at the library for weeks. It’s a catch-up between cynical friends. Also an excuse to get an informal check up without the hassle of making a doctor’s appointment and trekking across the city to find out that he’s merely overworked and underpaid. 

Adjusting his glasses, he says, “Yes. It’s been persisting for about a week now. Eight days exactly. It’s nonstop. Although, the intensity comes in waves. It’s distracting. Even debilitating. I also experience a shortness of breath — a panting, of sorts — that renders me unable to think, to see clearly, to remain standing. It happened last night.” 

She leans closer. “Oh?”

“I was at my desk, studying. The pain was dull then. Forgettable. Out of nowhere, a notification from my bank came through — a deposit from my assistant librarian job, if I recall correctly. That’s when it happened. I suddenly felt like the room was spinning,” Nanami continues, fingers drumming on the sticky bar table. “I couldn’t process where I was or what was happening. I ended up…”

“Ended up…”

“Huddling in the corner of my room, clutching my body,” he admits. There’s a hint of a blush on his cheeks, yet he persists. “Does any of that sound familiar? Perhaps something you covered?”

Shoko blinks at him from across the table. 

Then she laughs. 

It’s loud enough to attract the attention of people around. She doesn’t care. Nanami does. Very much. But he knows he can’t do anything about the chortling she’s letting out. 

All he can do is mutter, “What an overly-insensitive response to your dear friend’s admittance of medical concerns,” beneath her unrestricted laughter.

Five whole minutes must pass before she could get herself together. She’s wiping the tears from her eyes and clutching her side as she recovers. “Are you kidding me?” she asks. “Nanami, you big, tall idiot. You had a panic attack. You had a panic attack because you were reminded of your day job. I’m no psychologist but I’d say you’re feeling guilty. How can someone who reads and knows so much not know that?”

“Is that what Freud’s diagnosis would be?” he dryly responds, feeling foolish for having thought she would be able to offer any real help. 

She snorts. “Freud would say you’re overwhelmed with a sexual urge to mount your mother, so I really wouldn’t listen to him.” 

Left with no choice, Nanami contemplates the concept a little longer.

Did he have a panic attack?

The hyperventilating, the rocking oneself back and forth, the feeling like the world was going to end—

Yes.

Yes, he did have a panic attack, didn’t he?

He releases a long, heavy sigh. Resigned, he drags a hand down his face and asks, “And the chest thing? Why does my chest clench so tightly? Why is my chest so painful I almost can’t walk?”

Shrugging, Shoko responds, “Dunno. Could be something serious. I really wouldn’t rely on Med students for official diagnosis. Like, at all. Go to the doctors.”

“I know, and I will, if it continues on like this. But I wanted to talk to you first.”

“You’re not coming to me for medical advice,” Shoko points out. She leans back onto the wrinkled faux-leather booth and pops the olive in her mouth. “You came to me as a friend. You want my personal opinion.”

Nanami swallows a ball in his throat. 

Her words ring true. Shoko may be a lot of things — mischievous, rebellious, a delinquent — but she is neither stupid nor a liar. Which begs the question: why did he not realise these things about himself? When did he stop being so sure of his character, of his thoughts, of his own body? And why doesn’t he know what to do?

He’s always known the right path for him. He’s always known the rational course of action. He never hesitates when it comes to helping someone pick their fallen items up from the floor, never doubts his judgment regarding someone’s intentions, never worries about anything other than his future. 

So what the hell is happening?

“Guilt, you say?” Nanami murmurs, finding the word particularly bitter. “Yes, I suppose that’s possible. After all, I did do something unethical to get ahead; I should have never resorted to underhanded tactics.”

Shoko rolls her eyes. “You’re telling the wrong person, babes. Look, you’re a friend of mine so I’m always going to have your back even when you do dumb shit. You really don’t need to justify yourself to me. Talk to her. Explain all of this to her. Be honest, to her and yourself.”

“Her?”

He hadn’t mentioned a ‘her’ to anyone. He’d been quite vague about his time at the library, and how he came to be the last one standing. 

She takes a sip of her drink, as though needing something to dull the frustration of dealing with clueless men. “Her. The her. The only her that matters to you. The one you jilted. The one you can’t stop thinking about. The one that’s literally causing your body to shut down, that’s breaking your heart into little pieces. Her.”

That gets the man rolling his eyes. “A girl can’t possibly be the reason for my symptoms. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yet you knew exactly who I was talking about,” she points out. He opens his mouth to retort, but she cuts him off immediately. “I’ll leave that for you to figure out. Here’s my professional diagnosis: you are burdened with a great sense of guilt over what you did, or whatever. To relieve yourself of your pain, you should address your guilt. In other words, apologise to her. Talk to her and reach a settlement. And maybe by doing so, you’ll finally realise something.”

Then she smiles to herself. “Hey, that sounded Doctor-like, right? God, I’m awesome.”

Brows furrowing, he asks, “‘Realise something?’ Realise what?”

She groans. “Oh my god, Nanami, I can’t do everything for you. Go do something to get her attention. Do something to force her to listen to you. Just talk to her. Confront her and all the things you don’t want to process, don’t want to admit to yourself. Just do something!”

A barrage of kicks under the table lands on his shins. Nanami shuffles out of the booth soon after. “Alright, alright. I understand. Right my wrongs, confront my source of malady, and relieve my psychological torment. Got it.”

Shoko watches him pull out his phone as he hurriedly strolls out of the bar. She rests her head on his hand and thinks, he don’t got a clue in the whole wide world.

Outside, Nanami sends a text to his friend:

Do you happen to know either of the numbers of Needa and Frend?

.

.

.

“Where are you guys?” you murmur as you text the words out to the group chat.

They’d texted you this afternoon, asking to meet up at the library before going to get coffee, which in and of itself isn’t odd — you meet up at the library often, being the diligent students that you are — but something about the location had your spine growing rigid.

You arrived on time, and had been waiting for about five minutes before they asked you to come inside. That was going to be a problem, you thought. You didn’t want to go inside. You haven’t been inside the library in over a week. 

Mrs. Collins was in there. He was in there. 

You didn’t want to run into either. 

But you need to see your friends, and they won’t reply to your messages about waiting outside. Were they doing an intervention on you? Were they fed up with the depressed mood you’d bring back to the apartment after every class? Were they forcing exposure therapy upon you?

Or maybe, they really do just need you to come in as they pack their things up. Ugh, why is this so hard for you? Why can’t you be nonchalant and pretend none of what happened bothers you? 

It’s a big library, you tell yourself. What are the chances you’ll see them?

Though, as you finally walk in, chanting those things in your head over and over again, you know you don’t quite believe in them. 

The first thing you notice is that not much has changed. It’s the same library. Same polished floors, same tall shelves stretching endlessly, same muted hum of turning pages and quiet footsteps. The smell hits you too — paper and dust and something faintly woody. Usually, it settles you. Grounds you.

Not today.

Today, it feels suffocating.

The air is thicker. Every sound is sharper. The space itself is watching you, waiting.

You slow your steps.

You’ve always loved it here. Loved the quiet corners, the weight of books in your hands, the feeling of getting lost between aisles and emerging hours later with something new tucked under your arm. It used to feel like a sanctuary, like a slice of heaven.

Now it feels like a place you’ve overstayed your welcome in.

Familiar spines, familiar sections, all arranged how you would have done it. Then, something new catches your eye. A display near the front, freshly arranged. Hardcovers, crisp and untouched, their jackets gleaming under the overhead lights.

New arrivals.

Your fingers hover over one of the books, tracing the sharp edge of its spine. Untouched. Unclaimed. No creases, no history yet. For a moment, something in your chest loosens.

You almost reach for it.

“They came in just today.”

His voice.

Right behind you.

“We’ve been having more and more new arrivals recently. More so than before,” he says, matter-of-factly.

Hand dropping, you reply, “How interesting.” 

Nanami says, “It is. It’s really quite interesting how Mrs. Collins had been able to acquire an increase in funding during a time of budget cuts, don’t you think?” 

See?

This is exactly what you were afraid of.

“I suppose that was her plan all along when she purposely hired two people she knew hated each other — she waited for us to cause trouble, to make a mess of things, so she could go cry to the board about needing more support.”

With a sigh, you turn to him. 

He’s standing at the end of the aisle, watching you. He’s exhausted, you can tell — dark shadows under his eyes, a slight stubbling on his jaw, a crease in his pant legs, his Oxfords not as shiny as they usually are, and his shirt untucked under his sweater all tell a story. 

You’ve never seen him look more like a mess. Not even when it was in the heart of exam and application season.

Bitterly, you ask “Is this the part where we bond over how we were both used? Because the way I see things, it isn’t an us versus her set up. It’s me against you, like it’s always been.”

Nanami ignores you. 

He strolls over to where you are. His chest meets your back, arms caging you in between the shelves. The familiar warmth, the woody scent over his soap, the slotting of bodies, it hits you all at once. You remain still. Very still. Wondering what he’d do. 

Behind you, he lets out a shaky breath, nose skimming your hair. “We were too good at our jobs. We took too long to mess up. And one ripped page from a random book, when we were… She couldn’t prove it was us, and it wouldn’t be enough to convince the board what the library needed: one, protection from the budget cuts; and two, an increase in funding. So she got her hands dirty. She staged a crime scene, so to speak, inspired by what we reported to her.”

“I don’t care,” you tell him, unable to shove him away and get some air.

Shaking his head, he continues, “Now, she’s received special money to increase security and pity money to order more new additions. That, and she gets to go on holiday more often this year. It’s sickening, and we can gather evidence of it.”

“Stop ignoring me.” You spin around, glaring at him. “I. Don’t. Care.” 

He frowns. “I thought you would want to do something about this. Call her out, report her—”

“Are you not hearing me?” you snap. 

Stunned into silence, he blinks rapidly, as though reeling from your failure to meet his expectation — he expected that you’d care about justice, about vindication, about being right. He expected you to stand up for yourself, to fight, to win. What he didn’t expect is for your eyes to turn glossy and for a flicker of pain to flash in them, all while you stare up at him like he’d kick you in the stomach after petting you.

“I care that you called me unreliable, emotional, and not cut out for the job.”

“That was in the interviews,” he defends. “When she asked me why I was a better fit. That was before..”

You don’t hear his words; blood is rushing in your ears. “I care that you ignored me for a week. I care about being blindsided. I care about the reason why you would…” you stammer out, blinking back tears that were rising, “...after everything we did, everything we said to each other… How could you not warn me what she was planning? How could you stand there and do nothing? How. Could. You.”

“You…you would have done the same thing,” he repeats like it’s the one tether he has and he’ll grasp it till it frays and snaps. “I didn’t want to be the one left behind. I-I thought that was your intention from the start, with all our little games, the ones we knew we shouldn’t play. I thought you were fattening me up for the kill. I thought you would have done the same thing when given the chance.”

Perhaps disappointed, you laugh to yourself. It’s cutting, both yourself and him.

So that’s what all of that was to him: a complex plot to sabotage him. 

You straighten up, tears drying and the towering walls you’d erected returning. He can feel the chilling gust breeze through him. He’s losing you. Again.

“Yeah, sure. You’re right. Maybe if she’d come to me first, I would have agreed to set you up. Maybe I would be raking in a bonus for my help. And maybe I wouldn’t even be chasing you to explain myself, to try and backtrack, to apologise. Maybe we’d just part ways understanding that in some ways — in ways that matter most — we lost to each other.”

You’d already figured out that, somehow, he’d gotten your friends to agree to help him set this up, so he can have an opportunity to talk to you. It’s likely that they thought it’d help you. It’s also as likely that Nanami had smooth-talked his way into weakening their defences with some promises or the other. 

They’re not here, but they will be at home, and you’re going to give them an earful when you get back. Then you’ll lean on their shoulders and get the suffocating waves of sobs threatening to rise up and out of your mouth out of your system once and for all. 

Nanami reaches for your arm, fingers grazing the material of your sweater. “No, it doesn’t matter,” he decides right here and now. “I don’t care if you would have.”

“Stop trying to talk to me. I have nothing more to say to you. Just leave me alone,” you say, snatching your arm away. 

“I can’t!”

You draw back. 

He…

Nanami had raised his voice for the first time since you’d known him. 

People passing by stop. They’re staring at him, at the assistant librarian they recognise. They eye you too, but you pay them no mind. You’re far too shocked by how crazed he looks — hair a mess from the frequent running of his hands through them, face flushed, chest heaving, and stoic face crumbling into a look of total panic. He starts pacing back and forth between the shelves. 

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, and outside of sex, it’s so jarring to hear him say something so uncouth. He resembles nothing like the Nanami you know. The Nanami everyone knows. “I’m doing this all wrong,” he mutters to himself. “I prepared a speech. I ran through this scenario hundreds of times in my head. I anticipated your insults, your revenge, physical attacks, and I was ready for it. Any of it. All of it.”

Those piercing eyes look at you, insisting, as though begging for you to understand. 

“Yell at me. Hit me. Right here,” he says, grabbing your hand with his own. He presses it to his chest, over his heart. “Hit me. Please.”

You try to tug your hand away out of his grip. He doesn’t let you. A little disoriented by the manic tremble of his voice, you carefully say, “Nanami, I’m not going to hit you.”

“Please,” he breathes out. Nanami keeps your palm flat against his chest. You can feel the thundering of his heart. It’s so strong you fear it might leap out of his ribs. “Please, hit me. Hurt me. Do something other than ignore me. I-I don’t know what to do when you don’t look at me, when you don’t argue with me, don’t shove your opinions down my throat, don’t gloat, don’t put me in my place, when you’re indifferent to me.”

The word came out like it’d been barbed. 

He draws closer, unwilling to let you go. “I can take your constant chattering, your glares, your grating laughter, your differing opinions — wrong as they are.” That almost gave you enough strength to pull away with a deadpan face, but his soft gaze keeps you glued to the spot. “I can take your hate. Because it means you feel something for me, because it makes me special. It gives me a role, a goal, a fucking purpose. So hit me, hurt me, hate me. Anything but writing me out of your life.”

Your heart’s pounding in your chest now too. It’s beating with an intensity that nearly has your vision spotting. 

Nanami was right, a thing he often is; you had been ignoring him. 

It hurt too much to look at him, to listen to his voice, to know his eyes were on you instead of the lecturer. You couldn’t understand why he was so insistent on getting your attention, on talking to you, when he had been the one to cut you off. 

He rejected your invitation to come up to your apartment. He kept his distance the last week before Mrs. Collins, the old hag, had made her decision. He accepted her offer. He stood by and allowed you to take the fall, because it benefited him, because he expected the worst from you. 

And yes, you kept agreeing that you would have done the same thing. The truth is, however, you really don’t think you would have. 

Values aside, because sabotage truly wasn’t below you, you’d grown to consider him a…friend. He was an ally on long days, a person to glance at when an older man asks where a copy of Lolita can be found for the third time in a week, a person who’d let you drink from his thermos when you’d ran late and couldn’t grab a cup of coffee, a person who brushed your hair into place after rendezvouses. 

The line between you had been crossed and blurred; it was impossible to define your relationship. But an alliance was there. A loyalty you’d come to expect. An understanding you would have gone above and beyond to protect. He didn’t feel the same. 

That was fine. 

It was fine when that ache in your chest thrummed so hard you couldn’t sleep, when you’d spend classes and lectures with an empty notebook spread and a blank document. It was fine when you would find yourself standing in the shower for what felt like five minutes, but was actually an hour, just staring off into space. It was fine when you saw him talking to girls who he hadn’t betrayed, hadn’t sold out for a job, and it had your knees weak and your breathing staggered. 

It was fine because it defined what you were to him. 

Him grasping your hand like it was the only thing keeping him on the ground, like you’re about to disappear at any given moment and it would kill him, however?

Not fucking fine. 

“Nanami,” you exhale out, scared, “that…that sounds an awful lot like a confession…of love.” The last syllable has your wide eyes meeting, equally as frightened by the word. “Is it?”

He lets your hand drop. You step back. No, stumble back. Nanami follows. His breathing is growing ragged, more so than before, and you can see a tempest spiralling inside. 

“You tell me,” he says, laughing a little. “No, seriously. Tell me. Because all I know is I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t focus on any of my work. I can’t breathe when you’re not looking at me. I feel like I cease to exist if you’re not perceiving me, ever the proverbial fucking tree in the forest.”

Every step you take back, he counters with a step forward. He maintains the short distance between you, keeping you in arm’s reach. 

Nanami continues, sounding angry, whether at himself or at you, you can’t tell: “I do things I shouldn’t do, that I wouldn’t do if it weren’t for you, like damage priceless books because I think your body’s more precious than historical artefacts. I steal manuscripts because I want to make you smile and annoyed in equal measure with the fact that I’ve gone ahead and written my thoughts all over it, left my mark, my soul, on something I desperately and pathetically hope you’ll go on and cherish.”

How did he get his hands on the manuscript? 

The look on your face has him laughing mirthlessly. 

“Of course you didn’t open it,” he says to himself. “You must have been too mad to, right? I ruined a beloved author of yours? Forever tainted your reading experience?”

No, you hadn’t read it; you couldn’t bring yourself to. You tucked the heavy thing under your bed, and, once it started to feel like it was burning a mark under your back when you slept, you hid it in Frend’s room, along with all other copies you have of the authors’ works. 

Did she give it to him? 

Now that you know he’d written things inside it, you realise you should have burnt it — you’ll never be able to fight the curiosity otherwise. You’ll forever be haunted with the need to know what he’d written, what he said, what he thought. 

“Want to know something?” Nanami wonders. He doesn’t wait for you to respond, though you’d already started to shake your head. “I’m beyond happy to know I’ve made my mark on you, that every time you hear that authors’ name, you’ll think of me.”

Voice hoarse, you can’t help but ask, “What did you write?”

His lips quirk up at the corner. “Nothing you’d agree with, I’m sure.”

“You were insulting one of my favourite writers?” 

“Critiquing,” he corrects, taking another step forward right as you step back. “I wrote down my thoughts, and anticipated your counters during my breaks at my internship, every time I was thinking of you and wondering what you were doing. If you were stocking, shelving, dusting, offering recommendations, cursing me out. I argued with my imagination in those pages, because I’d clearly gone insane.”

He certainly looks it, you think. 

Especially when your back meets the wall in a corner of the library no one ever goes to and he cages you with his body, shielding you from locking eyes with anyone but him. 

“That’s where I’m at now,” Nanami says, resigned to the fact. “I pleasure you with my body where we could be caught, and I don’t think about how terrible it would be to be seen in an intimate position, to get into trouble, to lose everything I’ve built. I think about how devastated I’d be if someone else were to see you in a way only I should. But then it eats me up that I think that way about you, that I dare lay claim to your body, when no part of you is mine. And I so badly want to have a part of you. Any part — your body momentarily, your pleasure, your laughter, your smile.”

You’re panting as hard as he is. 

Your head is reeling. 

You’re dizzy with every confession, every brush of his breath against your cheek, every graze of your heaving chest against his, every inch of skin his eyes touch. “Nanami…”

Bending down, he presses his forehead to yours. At the same time, your eyes flutter shut. All you can feel is him. A pained noise escapes him the moment skin touches skin. He sounds accusing, betrayed, when he whispers, “You’ve taken all of that away now.” 

He’s everywhere, a shade from the depths of hell, that spirit that follows you and you cannot, under any circumstances, look back at. 

His head falls to your shoulder, and you’re so still you could be a statue carved by Bernini himself. “And fine, I deserve it. I’m the worst. I’m a monster. And I finally understand why you’d prefer to talk over me in our debates — I cannot stand the sound of my own voice either.”

Lips slide up the curve of your neck. 

You gasp.

It’s light. Barely there. Yet, it lights up a path under your skin, your jaw, your cheek, temple. 

“But please, please, do not take your hatred of me away,” Nanami pleads at your hairline, unable to face you. “It is all I have left, all I know, and I don’t know how to function without it. So yes, tell me. Is this love?”

“Let me go,” you murmur. 

He says your name in response like a prayer. 

You push him away, and this time he lets you. “No, Nanami. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.” Wrapping your arms around yourself at the sudden chill in the air, you continue, “I need time to think. I need time to process all of this, a-and we’ve got exams, and graduation to worry about. I don’t know if I should even forgive you.”

“Don’t,” he says resolutely, licking his lips. “Don’t forgive me. I want to be kept in your heart and your mind, even if it is for all the wrong reasons. If resentment is all you can give me, then I’ll take it.”

God, when did the most cynical, pragmatic man you know become such a romantic?

With a nod, you back away as he stays where he stands, watching. 

“Alright,” you agree. “Time and space. That’s all I need.”

Nanami tries to give you a reassuring smile, but his heart isn’t quite in it. He says, “Whatever you need.”

Like your feet are on fire, you start walking away, confused and adrift in a sea of thoughts and voices. 

The last one you hear says, “I’ll wait for you.”

.

.

.

“Smile, sweetheart.”

Groaning, you force yet another smile on your face as your mother takes the millionth picture of the day. 

“Just one more,” she insists, again. She tilts the phone, steps back, then forward, then back again. One would think she’s directing a full photoshoot instead of capturing you in an oversized gown and a cap that won’t sit straight. 

“It’s been ‘one more’ for the past twenty minutes,” you mutter. 

Behind her, your father fixes you a look that says, ‘make my wife happy or you won’t get your graduation gift.’ You smile even wider.

The campus is buzzing — families calling out names, bursts of laughter, the sharp pop of champagne somewhere in the distance. Caps are already being tossed, hugging circles forming and dissolving just as quickly. All around, mothers are fussing over their no-longer-children children, fathers patting their sons on the back, and friends are crying in huddles. 

“Hold your certificate higher,” she says. You do, barely adjusting your grip. It still feels a little unreal in your hands; it feels like it belongs to someone else, someone more put-together, more certain of what comes next. “Perfect,” she says softly this time, snapping the photo.

With a plea in your eyes, you groan, “Please, mom, that’s enough. My feet hurt and I’m hungry. That ceremony took forever.”

“Okay, okay. Come here,” your mother says, pulling you into a hug before you can say anything. It’s tighter than usual. “I’m proud of you,” she murmurs into your hair. 

Your dad steps forward, pressing a smile to your forehead with a kiss. “I’m proud of you too, honey. You worked hard, and I know you’ll do great, all that cheesy stuff fathers are supposed to say without crying.”

Something in you loosens at that.

When they pull away, eyes a little glassy, you have to clear your throat and pretend you don’t want to bawl up and cry. “Stop, you’re going to ruin my makeup.”

“Go ahead, dear. I brought your makeup bag,” your mother teases. “After all, it’s not everyday my baby graduates.”

Graduation…

The day you’ve been waiting for for years. It’s the culmination of all of the work you put in every day of your life. When you missed plans with friends to study, when you pulled all-nighters to make sure you’ve memorised your essay plans, when you’ve missed mealtimes, when you beat yourself up for losing easy marks. 

All of it was for this day. 

And it’s pretty bittersweet.

For as long as you can remember, there was always a next step laid out — another year, another exam, another goal to chase. School, college, university…it had been a constant, something steady to measure yourself against.

Now it just… ends.

A strange quiet sits beneath all the noise around you. Beneath the laughter and the congratulations and the endless pictures, there’s this soft, unfamiliar feeling, like standing at the edge of something vast without quite seeing what’s on the other side. Yeah, graduating has clearly been having a cheesy effect on you. You’re contemplative, poetic, melancholy, already nostalgic. 

You think of your friends, scattered somewhere in the crowd. The ones who knew your worst habits, who sat beside you in lectures, who shared notes and snacks and stress in equal measure. It’s so easy to pretend nothing will change, that you’ll still see each other all the time, but you know better. Life has a way of pulling people in different directions.

That part aches.

But there’s something else too. Something lighter.

A thought that, for the first time, nothing is decided for you. No timetables, no deadlines, no predetermined path. Just space, wide and open and yours.

You exhale slowly, shoulders easing.

Maybe it’s okay not to know yet.

Maybe that’s the point.

Maybe you’re allowed to take a leap and just follow your heart, not your brain now. Maybe it’s time to give logic and reason a break. 

“Come on,” your mum nudges, already reaching for your hand again, eyes bright despite the tears she’s pretending aren’t there. “We’re going to be late for our reservation.”

“Hold on. I have something to do.”

You push through the crowd, leaving them there for a moment. You bundle your dress up with a fist and hold your cap down with the other. Through the gaps between bodies and crowds, you move. You meander, searching. 

Where is he?

Where is he?

Where is he?

Then, a flash of blond.

“Nanami!”

He turns at the sound of your voice over the din. He’s dressed just like you — cap in hand, gown with the Literature department’s colours, in his best clothes under it. His family surrounds him. 

For a second, he just looks at you, surprised. Then something in his expression softens. Hope, maybe. Or caution; he doesn’t want to assume. He doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. 

You slow to a stop in front of him, suddenly aware of your heartbeat, of everything you meant to say slipping just out of reach. “Hi,” you manage, a little breathless. “Um, congratulations.”

He lets out a small huff of a laugh, almost disbelieving. “Hi.” Nanami steps forward, away from his family, who are sharing glances with interest and mischief. You feel his eyes take all of you in. “Congratulations to you too.”

Up close, he looks the same, and not. Still composed, still steady, but there’s a looseness to him now, something less guarded than before. He’s matured, you realise. He was so stiff when you first met him, so rigid. He’d grown more lax in the years, but especially in the last couple months. Nanami doesn’t look like the nerdy, condescending boy you corrected on Induction Day; he looks like a man about to take on the world.

“I, um…I saw you,” you say, gesturing vaguely, wincing at how inadequate it sounds. “I thought I should come over. Just to—” You trail off. Just to what? “Say hi?”

He tilts his head slightly, watching you in that quiet, attentive way of his. If he finds your sudden weirdness off-putting, he gives no indication of it. On the contrary, he just looks happy. “I’m glad you did,” he says simply. 

And he means it. You can hear it in the way his voice dips. 

Your chest tightens.

A month ago, you’d asked for time. Space to think, to feel, to figure out what his apology, and his confession, meant to you. You hadn’t reached out. Hadn’t known how. Part of you had wondered if that silence had already said everything. And you know, by how surprised he was to see you approach him, he was thinking the same thing.

Nanami’s gentle gaze skims your features. His voice is a mere whisper in the air when he admits, “I wanted to say hi too. At the very least, congratulate you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

He’s being so meek, so shy. It doesn’t suit him. And it doesn’t suit you either. So you admit something too: “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me.”

“I always want to.”

This whole time, you’d been wondering if you left it too late to respond. If by the time you came up with an answer, he’d look at you strangely and ask, ‘what are you talking about?’, and you thought about how much more that would hurt than whatever he did wrong to begin with. But Nanami’s not leaving much room for doubt now that you’re standing in front of him.

“I read the manuscript.”

He blinks. “Oh.” He recovers. “The courteous thing to do is ask what you thought of it, but I’m not certain I’d like to know.”

“Your notes in the first section, where she traces the history of the word, were irritating as hell,” you tell him anyway. “You kept trying to ground everything in formal sources. Legal language, institutional use. That’s only one part of it. She’s looking at how the word moves in everyday use. Who says it, when, and why. That’s where the meaning shifts. You can’t ignore that just because it’s harder to pin down.”

Nanami, despite your lecture, stays standing in front of you. “I see.”

“And the part on the reclamation of the word? She’s clear about that, and its feminist roots. It depends on context. It depends on who is speaking and who is listening. You kept trying to make it consistent when it isn’t meant to be, and I didn’t appreciate you writing quotation marks around ‘empowerment — it is empowering!” 

“Sure,” he says. “Or is that another way the patriarchy keeps women down, by indoctrinating you to believe normalising degrading language against women by both women so that you will accept it when a man says it?”

“Shut up,” you counter, because he made a good point and you don’t really have the time to break that down. “Also, you kept anticipating what I would say. Some of it was right. Not all of it. You assumed I’d defend everything she wrote. I wouldn’t. Some of it is speculative, I’m smart enough to recognise that, despite my biases towards Rightur.”

He adjusts his glasses. “Of course you are. I did write some of those comments to get a reaction. Forgive me.”

“No, I knew that,” you say. Shuffling in your heels, you fiddle with the tassel on your cap. “I just wanted you to know that I read your notes, and I didn’t find it as completely irritating as I initially thought. I actually kinda enjoyed reading them, and there were times where I anticipated what you’d say, and I could imagine the faces you’d make, and that was the annoying part. I couldn’t read without thinking of you.”

Nanami’s brows knit together. 

“I don’t understand.”

Taking a deep breath, you say, “Listen, I won’t keep you; I’m sure you have plans with your family. I do too. All I wanted to say before we parted ways is that, I’m thankful for you, for the manuscript, for the games we shouldn’t have played, for our debates.”

His mouth opens, you stop him with a hand. 

“No, just let me speak,” you huff. He does. “I’m grateful for you pushing me, for you being a pain in my ass, for making these three years memorable and fun. I know that if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have pushed myself as far as I did. I wouldn’t have found every achievement as gratifying and fulfilling as I did; they would have been like all my other successes: a relief.”

It’s funny how you hadn’t rehearsed any of these words and yet they flow out of you so naturally. You’d thought about how hard it’d be to face him, but as it turns out, it’s not that hard at all.

You continue, cheeks heated under the watchful and curious eyes of his family,“And most of all, I’m thankful for your honesty that day. I never stopped thinking about what you said, and all I worried about was whether I’d be able to say anything remotely as heartfelt and poetic, and that really grinded my gears, y’know?”

“That I’d be more eloquent and sophisticated with my confession than you?” Nanami fills in the gaps, cocking a brow as he does. 

Sheepishly, you nod. “Yeah. I had all this time, and all I could think to say is… I hate you.”

He falters just slightly, then recovers with a smile. “You do?”

“Yes,” you say, meeting his eyes with certainty. “I hate you. I hate you so, so much. I hate everything about you: your blondness, the fact that you sometimes make good points, that you remind me natural intelligence isn’t enough. I hate that you judge me for dog-earring my pages and cracking my spine. I hate that you read a new book every week and I read the same ones all the time. I hate that you’ve got impaired vision but you see better than me.”

His family behind him try to step up, concerned as to why their beloved Nanami is probably being bullied, but he steps closer to you, ignoring them. 

“Yeah?”

Sniffling, you mutter, “Yeah. I hate that you’ve already formed a little wrinkle between your eyebrows because you’re always so serious, and it makes me giggle to see you look so mad when you’re just writing notes or putting books away.”

Nanami smiles wider. “You hate my wrinkle? What else?”

“I hate that you’re so patient, even when people say and do the stupidest things. I hate that you match your sweaters to your mood — light blue for when you received good news, dark blue when you’re tired, and brown for when you’re meeting friends. I hate that I associate blue and yellow to you, and I can’t look up at the sky or the sea without thinking of you. I hate that you’re everywhere I look. I hate, hate, hate, that we might never see each other again.”

He draws closer till you’re craning your neck to look up at him. He’s smiling really hard now. Grinning ear to ear. Hands cradle your cheeks and you let him feel how heated they are, let him brush his thumbs over them. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” he drawls. “You must be overwhelmed with hate.”

You scrunch your nose, even as you lean into his touch. “Yeah, but it comes naturally to me. You drive me insane, you see.”

“Mm,” he hums, thumbs still brushing gently over your cheeks, like he’s committing the shape of you to memory, like he thought he’d never get the chance to touch you again. Not a hint of embarrassment at the fact that his family’s watching shows on his face. He might have forgotten they’re there at all. “Sounds terminal.”

“It is,” you murmur, though your voice wobbles. “I don’t think I’ll recover.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he says. “I think I caught the same thing. Must have gotten it from me. Forgive me.”

The two of you share light laughter. And it’s so easy. It’s as easy as arguing, as reading, as wishing the worst for someone who made you the best. You could spend hours like this. But your parents are waiting, and so are his.

Your hands come up, almost without thinking, settling over his wrists. “I was serious about the not seeing you again thing. I want to see you after this. I don’t—” you shake your head, searching for the words, “—I don’t want that to be how this ends. I don’t want you to just become…a person I used to know.”

“Neither do I,” he says, sure.

“So,” you say, forcing a steadiness you don’t quite feel, “can we try again? Not necessarily to fix everything right now and pretend nothing happened, but just…to meet? Talk properly?”

His answer comes too quickly to be anything but honest: “Yes. Yes, please.”

It almost makes you laugh, how immediate it is. “Okay,” you say, a little breathless. “Okay, good. Then, when are you free?”

That’s when he hesitates. It’s subtle, yet you catch it instantly. He glances back briefly, like he just remembered they existed. “My family’s going on a trip, to celebrate. We’ve got more relatives to visit around the country, and it was planned weeks ago.”

Nanami’s explaining as though he needs to justify any of it, but all you’re thinking is, of course it was. Of course the timing would be like this. Of course you’re too late. 

“Oh,” you repeat, softer this time.

Something in your face must give you away, because his hands tighten slightly against your cheeks. “I’ll come back,” he says, firm now.

You blink. “What?”

“I’ll drive back as soon as I can,” he continues, as though he’s already decided it, as though it’s the most obvious solution in the world. “We won’t leave it like this again. I won’t.”

“Nanami—”

“I mean it,” he insists, quieter but no less intense. “If this is…if this is you giving me a chance, I’m not going to miss it. I’ll come back. We’ll talk. Properly.”

There’s something almost desperate in the way he says it; he’s already mapped it out in his head, already prepared to bend whatever he has to just to make it happen, already rushing through conversations and parties with relatives he’s not even very close to.

You stare at him for a moment, a little stunned. “…You’d do that?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. None.

A small, disbelieving laugh escapes you. “God, I hate that you’re like this.”

“I know.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling now, really smiling. “Okay,” you say. “Then… go. Do your family thing.”

“I will,” he says, though he doesn’t move. Not yet.

“And come back,” you add.

“I will.”

A beat.

“…Where are you even going?” you ask, suddenly realising you don’t actually know, realising that if you’re going to do this — whatever this is — you have to ask questions. It’s what girlfriends do, or whatever you are or will be to him. 

For the first time since you started speaking, something unreadable flickers across his face. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears, smoothed over into something fine.

But not quite as warm.

“Shibuya.”

“Shibuya,” you repeat. “Sounds fun.”

Nanami peers into your eyes before he draws back. Crowds reappear in your peripheral. The noise sets in again, almost deafening. He’s smiling, and so are you. Whatever you wear on your face, he reflects threefold. 

You back away too, back the way you went, back to where your parents are waiting. 

The wind blows between you, carrying petals with them, which swirl around your bodies. 

“I’ll come back,” he promises one last time.

“I’ll see you.”

[sofim6]

FATHER 🫶🏻

[slvqtore]

𝜗ৎ choso kamo x fem!reader , smut // nsfw ! : choso can’t help missing his pretty little girlfriend — m!masturbation , sub!choso , choso being absolutely needy and whiny , choso is ashamed. ( 0,7k )

“fuck..” choso groaned, breathless as he stared down at his hard on straining against his pants. he could practically see the outline of his cock.

this had been going on for hours.

leaning back against your shared bed, he ran a hand along his hair before closing his eyes in a rather miserable attempt to calm himself—or rather his aching cock—down. he’d tried everything. turning on the tv which played a show he didn’t even register. talking small walks around the neighborhood, hoping it would finally knock some sense into him.

but none of it worked.

his mind always drifted back to you. he missed you, missed your scent, missed that sweet voice of yours moaning to his name, missed the way his body would press up against yours..

he whimpered lightly just by thinking of you. his hands slowly made its way to his pants. but then, he hesitated. “shit, no.. this—i can’t..” he sighed, panting slightly now that his cock is basically twitching. he bit his lip.

surely doing this once wouldn’t hurt right?

although his movements showed hesitation, he finally unzipped his pants, letting his swollen cock spring free as it slapped against his stomach. he wrapped his hand against his cock and immediately whimpered at the feeling. “o-oh, god—haah—i shouldn’t be doing this—mffnghh..”

his hand glides up and down his cock, thumb pressing hard against the bulging vein. his hips jerk up involuntarily, and he couldn’t hold back the pornographic sounds slipping out of his mouth. “ah, fuck.. just like that—nghh..” he moaned out your name, imagining it’s your hands instead of his own.

he was panting heavily, cheeks flushed a deep crimson red as he continued to buck his hips lazily. “mm, right here—haah—nghh, yes.. yes, ah~” he whined pathetically when he squeezed his sensitive tip juuust right, practically rutting against his own hands as more precum shot out of his tip.

in a swift, almost desperate motion, he reached for your pillow, burying his face into it. god, it smelled just like you. and that turned him on even more. “mfgghh, y-you smell so good baby..” he whimpered your name countless times, now imagining it was your tongue licking his tip just the way he liked it. “i—i’m sorry i shouldn’t be—fuck—doing this..” he choked out.

he pulled away just enough to drop the pillow onto the bed, only for his body to follow immediately after, his raw cock grinding against it before he could stop himself. “i—haah—keep—nghh—doing that baby..”

his mind was hazy now, thoughts slipping through his grasp, completely drowned by his own pleasure. a shaky breath left him as the pressure built. “shit, shit, ‘m close.. mfnghh~” he moaned loudly and pathetically, hips rutting against your pillow as his pace grew faster, growing more desperate and frantic with each movement. “oh g-god, yes.. ah, ah, ah, ah~”

his voice broke apart into breathless fragments, cock still grinding up and down the pillow in an uncontrollable pace. “fuck, i’m coming—mfnghh..” it was then his thrusts became sloppy, as he could feel himself growing closer and closer by the second. “nghh.. mmfnghh—m’ coming!—ah~” he moaned, eyes rolling back as his tip shot hot ropes of cream, staining your pillow and all over the bed.

this was definitely not going to be the first or last time he’d do this.

𝜗ৎ a/n : first time writing smut um.. kinda nervous.. lmk if this sucks or if there’s anything wrong with it 😭

[willowsslove]

Where The Scars Linger (Nanami x Reader Fluff/Angst)

Summary ˖ ᡣ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ How do you save a marriage when the man you love is the one pushing you away?

Warnings ˖ ᡣ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊ Angst, mentions of scars, mentions of divorce. Fluffish ending.

Word Count ⊹₊⟡⋆ 3,950

⊹₊⟡⋆Masterlist⊹₊⟡⋆

You’d probably missed it the first handful of times, too relieved, too grateful to have him back in your arms at all. Alive and warm. Breathing, instead of another name added to a list that never seemed to stop growing.

Your cheek against his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath your ear. That alone had felt like the worlds greatest mercy.

But it dawned on you pretty quickly that something had changed. 

You never expected him to come back unchanged. That would’ve been naïve. Still, when you first saw him, when the medics stepped aside and the light caught his face properly, the shock stole the air from your lungs. 

The right side of his face was blistered, skin pulled tight and uneven despite Shoko’s expert care. Scar tissue spider-webbed across his cheek, angry and raw. And for a single moment…you froze.

Then relief crashed through you. Breathtaking and overwhelming. He was alive. He was standing in front of you. That mattered more than anything else ever could.

Months pass. Careful treatment and time doing what it can.

The skin settles, though the scars remain. His right eye clouds over, the colour of watered down milk. Sightless permanently. 

And still, he is the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

Still your husband.

“Hey” you breathe, stepping up behind him as he stands at the door. You slide your arms around his waist and press yourself close. Your palm spreads across his abdomen, his skin warm through fabric, familiar and missed. 

You feel it instantly, the way his body stiffens, muscle going rigid beneath your touch. A hitch in his breath, a small warning. His fingers twitch, itching to pry you off.

You pretend not to notice.

You lean in anyway.

“You think you could come home at lunch?” you murmur, voice dipped playfully low, trying to inflect it with as much obvious desire as you could. “I need a little… self-care.”

You feel his breath change before he speaks.

“No. That’s not possible.”

Curt and flat, like you expected. 

He peels your arms away like they burn, steps out of your hold without looking back. The space he leaves between you feels cold. He bends to pull on his shoes, laces them with neat, practiced precision, the same way he does everything. Controlled and methodical.

You stare at his broad back. At the way the muscle shifts beneath the sky-blue shirt he favours. The sword holster already strapped in place. A horrible reminder of everything that took him from you, and what brought him back wrong.

“Please, Kento—” you start softly, reaching out, fingers barely grazing his shoulder before he shrugs you off.

The rejection hurts more than you expect it to.  

“I’m busy.”

He stands, reaches for his tan suit jacket and slips it on, one arm, then the other. And then, like he hasn’t just pushed you away, like he hasn’t fractured something delicate in your chest, he turns, presses a brief, chaste kiss to your cheek.

You don’t react. You just watch him walk out the door without another word.

He’s been like this since he came home. Since the bandages came off.

Before that, before he could see himself clearly, he let you care for him. Let you sit close, touch him. He watched you quietly while you changed his wrappings, while you smoothed creams and lotions into puckered skin with slow, careful hands.

Then something snapped. A switch was flipped, clean and final.

He no longer holds you when he sleeps. Turns his back instead, a blank wall of cool distance. Even when you curl up behind him, content to be the big spoon, breathing him in, he finds an excuse to leave the bed. The bathroom. The kitchen. Anywhere but stay with you.

He doesn’t reach for you anymore.

No gentle love-making against the counter. No lazy mornings tangled in sheets together. No lingering touches, no heat, no hunger.

Everything…just gone.

You’d tried not to let it bother you, tried to tell yourself that you had to wait, that he’d been through something life changing, something that had left him with injuries, mental and physical, that you couldn’t even begin to understand. But the detachment, the complete lack of intimacy, watching him drift away and become a stranger was unbearable. 

You’d gotten your husband back, but only in the flesh, not in soul. 

…

By midday, your thoughts are spiralling, a self destructive loop you can’t escape. The house is too quiet. No footsteps. No breathing that isn’t your own. The silence presses in, makes everything louder.

You lift your phone. Your finger hovers over his name in your contacts.

You want to hear his voice. You need it. Need him to say it, to reassure you that everything is fine, that this morning meant nothing, that he still loves you. That you haven’t already lost him.

But the memory of his cool rejection stops you. The way he’d pulled away. The flatness in his usually warm voice.

Your hand trembles.

You scroll lower instead, thumb tapping Shoko’s name before you can overthink it. It rings once. Twice. Then her voice filters through the speaker, soft, breathy, echoing slightly.

“Shoko here.”

You can hear the chaos around her. Metal clattering. A wheeled tray squealing across tile before crashing to a halt. You’re on speaker, of course you are. You can just picture her phone propped somewhere unholy while she peers into some poor soul opened up upon her table.

“Hey… it’s me” you say quietly. The words feel intrusive the second they leave your mouth. Embarrassment curls tight in your chest. You shouldn’t be calling her with this. “Um…never mind, pretend I didn’t call. Sorry for bother—”

“I’m not busy” she interrupts gently. “Talk. I can tell something’s wrong.”

A sickening crack sounds through the phone, followed by a wet, visceral squelch.

“It’s Nanami” you say softly. Your free hand hooks around the nape of your neck, fingers pinching skin hard enough to ground you. To keep your voice steady.

“Is he injured?”

Of course that’s where her mind goes. She was the one who stitched him back together. Who scraped him and Gojo off the battlefield and made them whole again.

“Not physically.” You pace the room, nails worrying at your skin, a nervous habit you can’t seem to stop.

The sounds on her end cease abruptly. Latex snaps. Footstep louder as she nears the receiver, her hand closing around the phone, and suddenly her voice is closer. Focused.

“What’s going on?”

“He’s… distant.” The word feels inadequate. You struggle to hold yourself together, throat tightening. “He doesn’t… touch me anymore.”

She exhales slowly. Weary. “Well. He’s been through a big… change.”

“I know—” You rush the words, afraid she thinks you’re selfish. “I understand that. I just…I don’t understand why he’s distant with me. I was there through it all. Through all the treatment. And I’d never see him as anything other than perfect—” Your voice falters, breathless, embarrassment bleeding in through the cracks.

She laughs softly, just a gentle puff of air. “I know you were. You were very brave.” A pause. “I think you just need to give him more time. I’m sure he still loves you. He’s just… tender right now.”

“I miss him.” The words shake as they leave you. Tears burn behind your eyes, gathering fast. Your throat burns, constricting as you try to swallow. “I feel like I’m losing him”.

“Tell him that” she says gently. “I’m sure he’s not doing this intentionally. As long as he knows you’re still there, that you still love him, that you still need him, body and soul, it should help.”

You nod even though she can’t see you. Tears spill over, slipping across your cheeks and down over your lips, seeping into the corners of your mouth. You sniff, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

Her voice softens further. “Don’t cry. He’d hate to know he’s causing you this much pain.”

“I’m so lonely” you gasp. Your knees give out and you slump onto the couch, sinking back into the cushions. The tears come freely now. “I miss him so, so much.”

She stays with you. Listens. Lets you cry for fifteen long minutes, offering soft reassurance, quiet advice, gentle encouragement, until there’s nothing left in you but exhaustion and salt-stung skin.

The house is still quiet, but at least you’re not alone in it anymore.

… 

You find the rum shoved into the back of a cupboard, dust clinging to it’s glass shoulders. You crack it open, bring it to your nose. Sharp and sweet, like forbidden caramel. You hesitate only a second before deciding it shouldn’t hurt.

You make yourself a rum and coke. Then another. The pours are heavy, more rum than mixer, barely diluted. You sit at the kitchen table and nurse it, watching condensation bead and slide down the glass. Ice chimes softly each time you lift it. Your thoughts buzz, a low hum under your skin. The tightness in your shoulders loosens. Your body softens before your heart can catch up.

He comes home the way he always does. Quiet, and careful. Like he’s afraid to disturb you no matter what you’re doing.

Now, you wonder if it’s something else entirely.

If it’s avoidance.

Avoiding you, your eyes, your questions. Your hands.

You take another long swallow, the thought burning through you like acid.

“Kento” you hum when he steps into the kitchen. He pauses, surprise flickering across his face when he spots you sitting there in near darkness. “Welcome home.”

His voice is cool, detached. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”

His hazel eyes flick to the bottle. Then to the glass in your hand.

“Because…” you wave vaguely. “Atmosphere.”

He flicks on the light without acknowledging you. You wince as it floods the room, stinging your eyes. He moves in immediately, takes the bottle from the table despite your protest and pours the rest down the sink. You watch it disappear. He rinses your glass quickly and sets it on the drying rack.

Clean, quick, and final.

He turns, hands gripping the counter, lower back braced against the hard edge. “What are you doing?”

You scoff and stand, the world tilts. You plant a palm flat on the table, waiting for the room to stop swaying. When there’s only one of him again, you move toward him, unsteady, hands landing on his waist, twitching against the warm muscle.

“Oh…” you breathe, melting into him. “I missed you.”

You nuzzle your face into his chest like a cat seeking warmth, breathing him in. “You smell good, I missed you so much”

“And drinking helped for what reason?”

“Self-medicating” you laugh softly.

This is the closest he’s let you get in days. You’re drunk on the sensation alone, your cheek rubbing against his chest, his heat soaking into you. “Nanami” you breathe, saying his name over and over, helpless to stop yourself.

“Stop that” he grunts, hands closing around your arms. He pulls you back. “You’re drunk.”

“Oh, Nanami, please” you whimper.

You rise onto your toes and kiss him, sloppy and uncoordinated. His lips are stiff beneath yours, permitting, but not returning the action. You mouth at him desperately, teeth catching his lip, hands clawing at his neck, trying to pull him closer.

He doesn’t move, stood like a stone wall. 

His hazel eyes look at you like he doesn’t know you.

You don’t notice. You can’t. Want roars too loud. Your fingers fumble with his buttons, lips leaving his mouth only so you can see what you’re doing. You reach the fifth button before he catches both your wrists in one hand and stops you cold.

“Stop. I’m not in the mood.”

You do, for a second. You stare down at where his grip holds you, your drunk, touch-starved mind screaming at you to keep going. You surge forward again, mouth crashing back onto his, teeth nipping at his lip in your clumsiness.

“I said stop”. He snaps the words and shoves you away

The sudden force, combined with your unsteady footing, sends you stumbling back. Your hip collides with the corner of the table. Pain flares white-hot before you come to a stop, braced against it.

For a moment there’s only silence.

You freeze, hands splayed on the table. The shock sobers you in an instant.

His hands lift, hovering, reaching for you. Then his gaze flicks to his own hand, the scarred one, the webbing along his skin, and whatever he sees there makes him pull back. His arms drop to his sides.

“I’m sorry” he says. Exhausted. Worn thin. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No. I’m sorry.” The humiliation burns, a feeling you never thought he’d make you feel “I shouldn’t have… jumped you like that.”

You shake your head, push hair back from your face, fighting to stay composed. Fighting not to cry again. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You can’t look at him. You can’t stand the weight of his eyes on you. You turn away, hiding the tears, the bitten, bloodied lip, the shame burning across your face. “Don’t worry.”

An awkward silence fills the air, you have the desperate urge to hide.

“I’m going to shower” he murmurs.

He slips past you, pausing just long enough to press a kiss to your temple. You flinch. Not fully, but enough. Your shoulders curl inward, your head drops, hair falling like a curtain between you and him.

And once again, he’s gone, slipping into the bathroom, the soft click resonating round the kitchen.

You stand there for a moment, unmoving. Your heart pulses hard in your chest, uneven, like it’s lost its footing. It feels as though the bottom has fallen out of you entirely. You don’t know what to do with your hands, with your body. 

The taste of rum lingers on your tongue, and thankfully, the alcohol blunts the worst of it. 

Just enough.

You know tomorrow will be different. Morning will strip you bare. You’ll feel it all at once.

You turn on the faucet, cold water rushing loud in the quiet room. You splash it over your face, gasp at the chill, cup your hands to sip some slowly. Then you shut it off and lean over the sink, elbows locked, water dripping from the tip of your nose.

You stare down at the plug hole.

Your thoughts twist together, a tangled mess of shame, confusion and longing, too knotted to separate. 

Later, when he’s showered and slipped into bed, when the usual kiss to your cheek never comes, you stand in the doorway. 

Hovering. Caught on the precipice of a decision that feels far too heavy and final.

You could cross the room. Crawl in beside him. Reach out and press your fingers to his warm back, just to be sure he’s still there.

But you can’t.

You can’t take the expanse of his back turned to you. The way his wheat-coloured hair fans across the pillow. The way his body goes rigid whenever you get too close.

So you turn away.

You tuck your nightgown tighter around yourself, chasing warmth that won’t come. You choose the couch instead. Curl onto your side beneath a blanket pulled from the linen closet, staring at the walls washed dark blue by the night.

The distance between you and him has never felt so vast. A chasm you keep reaching across, only to be pushed back every single time.

And you don’t know how many more times you can survive the fall.

…

Your decision comes the way most of them do.

Not dramatic.

Not loud.

Just blank. Heavy. Settled into your bones like something inevitable.

You tried.

You kept reaching for him, again and again. Small, careful touches. Fingers brushing his hand. Quiet reminders that you loved him. That you were still here. Waiting, hoping he’d take your hand, pull you in, hold you like he used to.

He didn’t.

He left you alone.

You’d wanted the weekend. Something simple. The beach, maybe. Salty air and blazing sunshine. Time to remember each other. You touched his hand when you suggested it.

He flinched. Actually flinched.

Mumbled something about work. About being called in. Wouldn’t meet your eyes. Then, later that afternoon, Gojo called, cheerful and oblivious, asking for Nanami.

That’s when it hit you.

He hadn’t been called away. He’d chosen to leave. To avoid you.

He was gone, and you were clinging to what was left behind. A shell. A familiar shape, but empty inside.

You didn’t confront him. There was no point. It felt like shutters slamming closed around your heart, an act of self-preservation more than cruelty. You couldn’t survive being gutted like this anymore.

So you chose to leave.

Being alone was better than being with someone who made you feel lonely.

The door opens softly. Like always. Shoes scuff as he toes them off. Keys clink into the bowl by the door. The whisper of fabric as he loosens his tie. Normal sounds on a normal evening.

You steel yourself.

These are the words you’ve only ever heard in your nightmares.

He senses it immediately, that there’s something wrong. Maybe it’s your face. The way your shoulders are set. The manila envelope on the table, stark and out of place.

“Y/N.”

It’s the first time he’s said your name in a while. It sounds strange from his lips now. 

You swallow. Trying to pick your words carefully, everything you’d rehearsed vanishes. “I… I’m leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“No.” Your voice shakes. “Kento, I’m leaving… you.” The words nearly choke you. Your gaze drops to your knees. “I want a divorce.”

The silence that follows is thick. Heavy. Neither of you move. You wonder if this is it, if he’ll just nod, go to another room, sign the papers like it’s a task and be done with you.

“What— I don’t understand.” He steps forward, breathless, then stops short of you. “Why would you— I don’t want this— no, you can’t—”

“I don’t understand either” you whisper. Somehow, your voice holds. “I don’t know how we got here. I’ve tried, Nanami.”

He winces at the name. At the distance you’ve put between you.

“I feel alone” you continue, the words finally spilling. “All the time. I reach for you. I try to kiss you. To touch you. I’ve thrown myself at you like some—some common whore.” Your hands clench, nails biting into your palms to keep the tears back. “And you push me away. Every time. You don’t even look at me anymore.” Your breath stutters. “When was the last time we fucked?”

He looks wrecked. Jaw tight. Hazel eyes wavering. He shakes his head, like he’s holding himself back from saying something worse.

“You don’t get it” he says finally.

“What don’t I get?” Your voice rises despite you. Tears blur everything. “I can’t live with this distance. I miss the love we used to share. I miss being wanted by you.” Your voice breaks completely. “But more than anything…I miss you, so much…it feels like I’m dying”

He goes still. Confusion drains into despair. He moves closer, his eyes redden with every breath.

“When I first saw myself in the mirror after treatment…” His voice is rough. Unsteady. “All I could think was how you’d regret this. Regret me… surviving.” He swallows hard. “I didn’t want to see it in your eyes. I thought it was better if I pushed you away instead.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you. Tears cling to his lashes.

“I mean…look at me.” His brows tremble, folding in pain. “Who would want this?” A broken laugh. “Actually, maybe it is better if you leave. Find someone else. Stop wasting your life on someone already broken.”

Something inside you ruptures.

It feels like you’re bleeding internally, waves of emotion ripping at your soul. Sobs tear out of you, violent and uncontrollable. Your head throbs. Burns. Everything hurts, like he’s taken a blade and split you open from throat to stomach.

You realise you’re wailing.

Your hands claw at your face, covering your mouth as the sound pours out of you.

He tries to stop you, grabs your wrists, tries to still you, but you thrash, the agony too big to contain.

“Why?” you scream. “How could you think that of me?”

“Y/N” he gasps, fighting to hold you, finally pulling you hard against his chest. Holding you there. Anchoring you. “Stop”

“I love you” you sob, fists knotted in his shirt. “I’ve never loved anyone but you. Nothing…nothing will ever change that.”

“You loved who I used to be” he whispers, his voice breaking as it brushes the crown of your head.

“No.” The word snaps out of you, sharp and sudden. You shove him back, hands pushing hard at his chest. “Don’t. You don’t get to say that.”

Your breath comes fast, jagged, lungs burning as you force the words out. “When I saw you on that table, I thought I was going to die. I just wanted you back.” Your voice cracks but you don’t stop. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life. And then you woke up, and I swore I would make sure you knew, every moment of every day, that I love you.”

“Y/N” he exhales, helpless, as you struggle through tears, hyperventilating around every syllable.

“No” you cut in again. “Stop talking. Just listen for a second”

You grab his hand, the one latticed in scars, he instinctively tries to pull away but you refuse to let him. Your grip tightens until he finally gives up.

“I adore these scars” you say fiercely. “Every day I look at them and thank the heavens because they are what brought you back to me. You survived. You’re here.” Your thumb presses into his palm, grounding him. “You came home. To me. To your family.”

His breath stutters. A single tear slips free, tracking slowly down his cheek, catching in the uneven scar tissue before falling.

“You’re beautiful” you whisper. “You survived. I love every last inch of you.”

You lift your hand, hesitate, just for a heartbeat, before pressing your palm to his cheek.

He doesn’t pull away.

The skin beneath your fingers is soft. Textured. Rippled and puckered. But real. Your chest aches as your heart swells, the sensation of him, alive, warm, here, feeling impossibly precious beneath your touch.

“Please” you breathe. “Kento. I love you.”

“I love you too” he gasps.

He surges forward suddenly, arms wrapping around you with desperate force, pulling you flush against him. Your face presses into the scarred side of his throat, breath catching against warm skin.

“Please don’t leave me…” he chokes. “I don’t want a divorce—”

“I don’t want one either” you whisper, lips brushing his scarred flesh. “I thought I had no other option. I love you, and the pain of watching you fall out of love with me hurt too much.”

“I never did” he breathes fiercely, holding you tighter. “I never stopped loving you.”

This was just a random dream for my delusional brain which refuses to acknowledge Nanami's death! IT DIDN'T HAPPEN!

Please don't steal, reproduce, feed into AI, or repost without my consent.

⊹₊⟡⋆Asks are Always Open⊹₊⟡⋆

[chastiefoul]

"ken, are you even listening to me?" you scolded the man lightly, after finding he had planted yet another kiss to your face as you spoke, his expression was playful when he pulled away; almost childlike.

"i am. what made you think otherwise?" both corners of his lips turned upward just a tad, as though unmoving if you didn't know any better, if you hadn't spend the past few years of your life staring at your husband's handsome face, memorizing its features.

you narrowed your eyes in disbelief but spared him anyway, decided to continue away the story you'd been telling him. "and then she said..." you carried on, chattering animatedly about something you'd claimed was the craziest thing ever all the while nanami was proceeding with his initial plan; bringing both of his hands to tuck your hair behind your ears, stroking it over and over softly. never forgetting to nod a few times like letting you know that he's still listening.

"mhm, keep going, my pretty wife." he murmured, cupping your face as he stared at you adoringly before sprinkling kisses atop of it, different spots each time making sure he didn't miss even a single inch of your skin. a kiss to your eyelids each, cheeks, and when he reached your nose you couldn't help but let out a chuckle, at that nanami beamed.

"i'm starting to think you're not listening at all," you berated the man with an ear to ear grin, your attempt at scolding was failing miserably. as that too was swallowed by a prompt kiss to your lips.

"how presumptuous. i could listen and admire my wife's beauty at the same time." his hands were now on the sides of your face, his thumb rubbing your cheeks subtly. the smile he's wearing as he said that was blinding, contagious in every way.

"you're lucky you're cute." you raised an eyebrow at his apparent flirtation and sweet excuse that still made your inside fluttered despite of years of marriage.

"i am lucky," nanami concurred easily, his tone made it obvious that he was talking about a different thing. to be yours, the implicit meaning was loud inbetween the silent spaces. once more you were swarmed with a barrage of kisses, this time to the corner of your brows, your jaw, forehead.

you tried to hid yourself between the crook of his neck, feeling how it shook along with nanami's laughter. "seriously, what's gotten into you?" you mumbled into his skin, giggling slightly. your chest lightened, bursting with fondness.

you felt another gentle nudge atop of your head. "what? am i not allowed to kiss my lovely wife?"

"you can. but in moderation."

"nonsense. there is no moderation when it comes to you."

[rotblut]

ZORO in ONE PIECE (2023) ☠ 1.04 "The Pirates Are Coming"

[angellude]

ೀ ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ ㅤ ♡ ㅤ. if you wanna come, give my brother some!

synopsis: the one where you’re dying to go to a frat party. you don’t want to go alone, and your best friend itadori promises to take you on one condition: you talk to his older brother. just talk, nothing crazy. of course, you never do anything half-assed.

content: MDNI. frat!choso kamo x reader, top reader x sub choso, college au, modern au, drinking, edible usage, vaping, alcohol, hookup, mutual attraction, explicit smut, slight age gap (college, reader is a freshman and choso is a senior), oral sex (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, creampie, dry humping, choso cums too soon, reader tops, teasing, crack humor, overwatch references (i have an addiction)

wc: 4.6k

a/n: art by thatsallitchief! y'all when i tell you i had so much work to do after spring break but mama got it done and is feeding y'all. except i feel like this one wound up being kind of rushed... also can you tell i've never been to a frat. they lowkey scare me which is why i would want my close personal bestie yuji itadori to accompany me to one!! anyways. i wrote most of this while half asleep soooooo sorry if there's any mistakes i missed while proofreading <333 i feel like i treat a/ns like diary entries lmfao

“pleaaaasee, itadori,” you pouted and rested your head on his shoulder, giving him puppy eyes. “please? kappa is throwing a huge one this weekend.”

itadori, who had his laptop open to his lecture notes but was really buried in his instagram reels, waved a hand. “kappa sucks anyways. weird ass frat.”

you raised a brow. “and you would know? you never go to frats, you spent every friday night playing fortnite or whatever…” you retorted, crossing your arms and slouching back in your chair. itadori scoffed in response. “modern warfare. and for your information, not every friday! sometimes i go to sig tau.”

“sig tau?”

“yeah. my older brother is a member.”

you shot up in your seat. “you have an older brother?” your jaw dropped, and itadori finally looked up from his phone. “yeah. look, dude. tung tung sahur.” he grinned, showing you his phone. you didn’t pay any attention to the brainrot he was showing you, more focused on the pressing matter at hand.

“itadori. you have an older brother who’s in a frat and you haven’t taken me yet?”

he shrugged. “i didn’t think you’d wanna go. buuuut i guess i can bring you with this weekend… on one condition.”

“anything.”

itadori grinned like how he did when he was about to steal one of your ramen cups. “talk to my brother.”

your raised brow and your smile dropped. a set up? “hell no.”

“please? i think you’ll really like him. he’s on the rugby team, he’s really tall—“

“nope. i told you, after that situationship from welcome week, men are off limits for me,” you held up a hand, shaking your head. itadori scoffed. “i wouldn’t really call fushiguro a situationship, more like a deluluship—“

“regardless! men are a no-no.”

itadori gave you a knowing look. “okay then. no frat. you can go to kappa on your own.”

you frowned at the thought of sticky floors, cheap alcohol, and being by yourself with no other friends. kugisaki and maki had no interest in coming with you to a frat. “… fine. what’s his instagram?” you gave in with a sigh.

itadori’s thumbs flew across his screen before he pulled up the page: a blank. user chosokamo. not even a profile picture.

“wow. he’s handsome,” you muttered sarcastically.

“he’s shy.”

“a shy frat guy on the rugby team? i don’t buy it.”

“you’ll see,” itadori grinned. “he’s nice. really, he’s quiet, but he’s a sweet guy. you’ll love him.”

“do i have to sleep with him or something?”

“i doubt you’ll get that far.”

you weren’t one to turn down a challenge. come friday night, you’d stalked down all of choso’s profiles. instagram, twitter, snapchat (practically nonexistent snap score), tiktok, spotify, linkedin, battle.net account. reposts of cat videos, playlists with rap and 2000s emo rock music for workouts, worked at a… plant nursery as a part time job? majored in biology with a focus in hematology. mained mizuki in overwatch.

you looked yourself over in the mirror while itadori waited outside. micro shorts, a cute halter top, some layered jewelry, shitty sneakers (in case of spills), and dolly makeup. good enough.

“come onnnnn slut!” itadori groaned outside your door. you swung it open and glared at him. “give me the goods.”

itadori rolled his eyes and slammed a red, sugarcoated gummy and pink vape in your hand. “can’t believe i’m your plug and your ride to a frat. for free.”

you scoffed, chewing the gummy. “hey, i gave you answers to the midterm, didn’t i? consider this payment. also, strawberry cloud dream?” you raised a brow at the pink device.

“it matches my hair!”

the sigma tau house was three blocks from campus and you could hear it before you saw it. it was brick and not exactly a small house, led lights in each window. red cups littered the lawn and a few guys out front were doing something that looked like it had started as a drinking game but had wound up being something entirely different.

you took a long drag of the strawberry cloud and ghosted it before braving a step inside. sticky floors, bass that vibrated your inner ear, faces you couldn’t really make out due to the low lighting.

you hadn’t even realized itadori left your side when he came back to you bearing gifts: a red solo cup. “sprite and svedka,” he grinned proudly.

you took a hesitant sip and grimaced. “holy shit. dude, this is svedka and like… a splash of sprite.”

itadori laughed and slung his arm around your shoulder. “welcome to your first frat party. okay, so, choso is in the kitchen—“

“the kitchen?”

“yeah, he doesn’t like the main room. actually, he doesn’t like coming out of his room…”

your brow furrowed. this guy didn’t sound like he belonged to a frat. then again, he studied blood. you let yuji lead you to the kitchen, shuffling past a girl who was throwing up into the trash can and right towards—

holy shit.

definitely over six feet worth of pure muscle, not too bulked but just beefy enough, eye bags, a scar on his nose bridge? no matter. dark hair that reached just below his ears, a wearing a band top and jeans. the hand holding his phone was both veiny and boney, his knuckles highlights with ridges of veins that ran down to his forearms. definitely your type. fushiguro who?

“yo, bro!” itadori smiled and waved, guiding you towards him. the man looked up, glanced at you, then looked back to his brother. “hey, yuji.”

you stood awkwardly at itadori’s side, mouth watering as you watched his older brother converse with him. his jaw was nice and defined, his lips pouted just the slightest bit…

“so this is my friend…” he finally introduced you. “the girl from my freshman year seminar i told you about? and this is my brother choso kamo, he’s a senior… right! so, um, i’m gonna go grab another drink—“

“wait, itadori!” you hissed, but he was gone in a flash. you whipped back to face his older brother, laughing nervously. “hi…”

“… hi.”

you stood in awkward silence for a moment. “so… kamo? not itadori?” you blurted out the ice breaker, and immediately regretted it. who asked a stranger about the specifics of their last name? was it the alcohol, or your nerves, or both?

“it’s… a long story…” choso looked away.

“right…” you dropped your gaze to the ground, then back up at him. you weren’t giving up. “so… itadori tells me you study biology? hematology?” a lie, obviously you’d figured out from stalking his linkedin. choso blinked up at you. “… yeah. he told you that?”

you nodded and lied through your teeth. “yeah. pretty… specific. why blood?”

choso shrugged and took a sip of whatever was in his cup. “my family has a history of blood disorders…” he murmured. “i wanted to understand it, so… i studied it.”

“oh,” you nodded slowly. it wasn’t the answer you’d expected. to be honest, you didn’t know what to expect with this guy. his head tilted up and you could make out the faintest tint of pink of his ears. “sorry. not good party conversation, huh?”

you shrugged. “i wouldn’t know. this is my first frat.”

his eyes widened. “your first— and you’re talking with me?” he scoffed. “you should go out and have fun with yuji.”

“i like talking with you,” you blurted out thanks to the 99% svedka drink in your cup. you realized how stupid you'd sounded. maybe three sentences exchanged with this guy and you liked talking with him?

he swallowed thickly. “you do…?” he mumbled, then straightened up when you nodded. “… what do you study?”

you could’ve easily ended the conversation fifteen, twenty minutes ago. once you got to the forty minute mark and had flown through three different topics of conversation with choso, you’d forgotten about your deal with itadori.

“so… mizuki?” you tilted your head. choso was smiling just the slightest bit by now. “yeah. used to main reinhardt, but his shield got nerfed.”

“so you abandoned him for support?” you laughed softly. “hey, at least you could be my d.va’s pocket healer now.”

choso raised a brow. “you play d.va? not surprised.”

you scoffed. “what’s that supposed to mean?” choso shrugged, not answering the question. “you play other video games?” he asked. you shrugged. “usually cod or fortnite with itadori. you?”

“… league of legends. on occasion.”

“ew.”

“hey!”

you busted out laughing, holding his arm for balance. you were about to make another snarky comment about his taste in video games when a head of pink hair swayed up to you guys.

“heyyyy guyssss…” he laughed and threw his arms around the both of you, effectively squishing you against choso’s firm chest. “having fun? need refills? you want—“

“yuji. go away,” choso playfully shoved his brother, earning a wide grin from your friend. “right right, of course, if you guys need anything… more drinks, condoms—“

“yuji!”

you laughed and rested your hand on choso’s chest, not having moved from where you’d been pressed against him. he tilted his head down to look at you. “sorry about him.”

“don’t apologize for him,” you smiled. “he’s an idiot, but i'm getting used to it.”

“yeah? how’s that going?” choso smirked, earning another small laugh from you. “not well.”

choso hummed. “try living with him for 19 years.”

“huh?” you tilted your head. the music had been turned up impossibly louder. choso leaned in and spoke a little louder in your ear. “i said, try living with him for 19 years.”

you laughed softly, the alcohol making you bubbly and flirty. “it’s loud in here.”

“it is,” he agreed, setting his cup down. “you wanna go up to my room?” he blurted out, then stilled. “i mean… just ‘cause it’s quieter. and i have my xbox so we can play games. not ‘cause… i mean— unless you’d—“

you suddenly felt sobered up. this had just been a stupid challenge, you remembered, but now it was real. “choso,” you cut him off, then nodded with a small smile. “lead the way.”

on your way up the stairs, led by choso holding your hand. you glanced down at the party to find itadori’s jaw dropped as he stared up at you, then he gave you a thumbs up and a big smile. you pretended you didn’t see him.

choso’s hand immediately left yours as soon as you were in his room. assuming he was undressing or tidying up his bed or something, you looked around his room. my chemical romance and deftones posters, textbooks, a bonsai tree.

then you heard the xbox turning on. you whipped around to find him sitting in his beanbag, thumbing the controller and looking up at you expectantly.

oh my god. he was actually serious about playing video games.

you glanced at him, then the tv. “you’re… serious?”

he furrowed his brow. “why wouldn’t i be?”

you pushed aside the ache between your thighs and settled next to him in his beanbag, noticing how he tensed up a little. you took the second controller and resigned yourself to the fact that instead of getting laid tonight, you’d be queuing up in ranked.

you were terrible at overwatch on console. you were used to pc and were still getting used to the controls. “you just walked into the enemy team,” choso muttered.

“excuse me. i’m tanking.”

“your kd is tanking, you mean.”

you frowned. “i’m used to pc, okay?”

“here,” he actually smiled, scooting closer behind you, wrapping his arms around yours and placing his hands over yours. “okay, left stick moves,” he mumbled in your ear. “right stick is for camera. this button shoots. this one’s your ult. you good?”

you glanced up at him, your faces inches away from each other. “yeah…” you murmured, looking back to the screen and playing better now that you knew the controls. “like this?”

“yeah, just like that… good.”

your thighs squeezed together, and you blushed as you realized he was close enough to probably feel it. you glanced back up at him, hearing your character die on the screen as you lost focus. choso didn’t comment, only staring down at you. he was close, close enough that you could make out the little scar on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips had parted just a bit.

without thinking, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. both controllers clattered to the floor.

choso was quick and eager, returning the kiss and grabbing your waist. his tongue slipped into your mouth, rubbing against yours as he grunted with effort. you felt his cock straining against his jeans as he almost rutted against your thigh.

he caught himself, though, and pulled away panting softly, his lips glossed with your saliva. “s-sorry, that was—“

you shut him up with another kiss, pulling him close and swinging your leg over so you were straddling his lap. he groaned and pulled you closer, grinding up into you. you rolled your hips in response, and a high pitched noise bubbled up from his throat.

you pulled away to find him beet red with wide eyes. “that wasn’t—“

“you whimpered.”

his face scrunched up a bit. "what? no, i didn't-"

his protest was cut off as you rolled your hips again, an undeniable, broken, high pitched noise spilled from his lips. his fingers dug into your waist, trying to hold you still as he looked away, his cheeks flushed.

"oh my god," you half breathed out, half laughed out. "you're serious."

"stop." his voice held no conviction, his body betraying him as you felt his hips bucking up and rubbing up against you just the slightest bit.

you smirked and lifted your hips, pulling off of him. "fine," you murmured, and he immediately got the look of a kicked puppy, instinctively reaching for your waist again. "wait, no, don't-"

he paused as you got on your knees in front of him, running a hand through your hair to push it back. "... oh," he murmured, his hand sifting into your hair as you undid his jeans. his breath audibly hitched when you pulled his boxers down, his cock slapping up against his abs. he was already throbbing in your hand and beading pre, which you thumbed and smeared over his flared head.

“fuck…” he groaned, spreading his legs further apart. you looked up at him through your lashes. “sensitive?” you teased, and he only managed a nod in response.

you hummed and gently pumped him, barely even that. deciding to tease, you basically ghosted your fingers over his length, then leaned in and pressed a little wet kiss to his leaking tip.

“mm-hm!” his hips bucked up and a whine bubbled up from his chest. his tip prodded at your lips, and you took the opportunity to close your lips around him and sink your head down just a few inches. he was already a whining mess, tugging at your hair as his thighs tensed.

“fuck—“ he groaned after not even a minute. “wait, wait, wait— ‘m not gonna—“

you pulled off of him, lips still connected to his cock by a string of saliva. “don’t tell me you’re already close,” you raised a brow.

he huffed a small, nervous laugh. “i… think i am…” and judging by how he looked, he wasn’t lying. dark hair sticking with sweat to his forehead just a bit, his chest rising and falling as he panted, his flushed skin, face and ears tinted pink.

“that fast?” a shit-eating grin tugged at your lips.

he groaned and let his head fall back, scrubbing his free hand down his face. “you were just…!” he protested, gesturing vaguely to his lap, then you.

you hummed. “fair.” you moved to take him back into your mouth, but a tug on your hair stopped you. frowning, you protested. “what…?”

his chest was still heavy with his panting, his hips twitching up into the air. “just— i won’t last if you keep—“

“so?” you shrugged, dropping your gaze back to where your hand was wrapped around him. you stuck out your tongue and let a glob of spit spill to his tip, then smeared it along his slit. “i know i was teasing you, but i don’t care. really.”

he groaned and tugged at your hair again, then reached down and pulled you up by your arms, making you squeak in surprise. “choso—!”

“not like this…” he grunted, hoisting you up effortlessly, holding your legs around his waist as he stood. “wanna make you feel good first…” he mumbled shyly into your neck, setting you down on the bed and kissing down your body. his lips left a wet, cool trail on your skin, goosebumps following.

your stomach did a flip. itadori was right… he really was sweet. your expression softened. “you don’t have to—“

“i want to,” he mumbled against your inner thigh, his lips suckling gently at the skin there. he hesitated, pulling just an inch away and gazing up at you like he was already drunk on you. “… is that okay?”

your heart flopped around in your chest. “yeah…” you sighed out softly. he nodded and carefully undid the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down with your panties.

“holy shit…” he mumbled aloud, probably meaning to keep that in his head. he reached up hesitantly and gently spread your drooling folds with his fingers. he glanced back up at you with wider puppy eyes, quietly asking for permission.

you nodded, fingers threading into his dark locks. “go ahead.”

he didn’t waste a second, pressing a wet kiss to your clit before suckling the bud between his lips.

“fuck—!” your knees jerked up along with your hips. "oh my god, where the fuck did you-?"

"mmph," he grunted against your cunt. "'m not a virgin, y'know,"

your cheeks flushed. "yeah, i knew that..." you grumbled, even though up until about five seconds ago you'd figured he hadn't felt the touch of a woman before. he huffed against you and picked up his pace as if he now had something to prove, his tongue delving between your folds and slurping up every drop of your slick. his thumb came to rub quick little circles into your swollen bud, leaving you fisting at his hair.

"choso- holy shit-"

"mmf..." he grunted, his hips jerking against the mattress. he kept humming and grunting in both the effort of eating you out and the pleasure from grinding against his bed, the vibrations shooting through you and making your back arch.

he definitely knew what he was doing, at least with you. every time your hips jerked up or your thighs twitched or you tugged at his hair, he chased it, learning you in real time. his hand slid up your stomach, grabbing a fistful of your top to ground himself. he was practically humping the mattress, desperate for friction to soothe his throbbing cock.

you were too lost in your own cloud of pleasure to even notice it. one hand fisted at his hair, keeping his face buried in your pussy, the other fisted at the sheets. "f-fuck, cho- 'm close..."

he groaned and grabbed your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to his face. "c'mon." you could barely make out what he said, his voice was so muffled. he sucked harshly on your clit, then brought his hand to plunge two deft fingers into your hole, bullying your g-spot. "c'mon, give it t'me... please..."

you came with a whine of his name, your back arching and obscene squelching noises coming from where choso’s tongue met your sticky walls. he groaned loudly, his jaw going slack for a moment, and the moment the mattress stopped squeaking was when you realized it had been making noise at all.

he shuddered a bit, pulling away from you with glossy lips, your cum dripping down his chin. your hazy gaze raked down his body as he sat up, finding a dark patch in his boxers.

you couldn’t help the laugh you exhaled. “did you seriously cum in your pants from eating me out?”

choso was beet red again, red crawling up his neck. “shut up.”

biting your lip, you smiled and crawled forward, slowly and deliberately, like a jaguar stalking her prey. choso gulped visibly, almost shrinking back a little, but his body froze up in fear... or excitement. or both.

"you couldn't even wait..." you smirked, tilting his chin up once you were on top of him. your fingers ghosted down his shirt, feeling his abs, dipping below his waistband.

choso let out a shaky breath, bringing his hands to hover over your waist, as if he wanted to grab on but he wasn't sure if he was allowed to. "i- i tried..." he murmured, the tips of his ears blushing pink.

your smirk widened. "didn't seem like it."

he swallowed hard at that, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. your fingers teased right at his trail, waiting until he was bucking up into you to pull his waistband down. he was still rock hard and throbbing, sticky cum dripping down the veins of his cock.

you bit your lip and smiled, your eyes lighting up at the sight of him like you'd just won the lottery. "mmh..." you moved your hips to hover over him, and he finally grabbed onto the swell of your hips.

"wait-" he stammered out. "... protection? i have condoms-"

"fuck that, 'm on the pill," you muttered, tossing your hair back and moving to sink down on him.

"are you s- ohhhhmygod..." he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow knitting as you enveloped him with a sweet squelchh! the stretch dragged a little whine out of you, and you bit your lip to hold it back. you bottomed out, ass flush to his thighs, and took a moment to stare at him. panting, flushed, brow seemingly permanently knotted upwards.

"choso."

"one second."

"are you seriously trying to not cum already?"

he whined and let his head fall back to the mattress, already humiliated from cumming in his pants, and now you were just being cruel. "just- give me a second, okay? jesus..." he panted.

you gave him a second, waiting patiently. then two, three, four, five...

you rolled your hips, and his hands flew to your waist. "fuuuuckk...!" he rasped, lifting his head to glare up at you, only to find you with a shit eating grin. "theerre he is..." you purred, rolling your hips again.

"please-" he whined into the back of his hand after throwing it over his face. "please, i just need a minute, 'm not gonna-"

"choso," you pulled his hand away, staring down at him. your free hand smoothed over his chest, feeling his heart banging against his ribcage. "look at me. you're doing so good..."

the sound that left him was sharp, broken, and obviously he hadn't meant to let it slip out. something like a whimper crossed with a groan and maybe even a little sob. his hips bucked up into you, your hole squelching softly. "don't say that..." he murmured, his face hot.

"takin' me so well, stretchin' me out..." you purred, just to see his reaction. it was gold, of course, another whine spilling past his lips. his fingers dug into the fat of your hips, not stopping you, just holding on for dear life. "you're doing that on purpose," he accused breathlessly.

"obviously."

you took his hands from your hips and brought them up to the curve below your breast, letting him hold you where he could feel your heartbeat. then, bracing your own hands on his chest, you leaned forward a bit, glancing down at where his cock disappeared between your drenched folds. little bubbles of pre foamed at where he did.

you dragged your hips up, then sunk down-

"fuck-" choso's breath hitched, and his bit his lip to keep from being loud. his jaw clenched, his eyes were shut tight like if he didn't look at you, maybe, just maybe, he could keep himself from cumming right now.

"you can be loud, cho. no one's gonna hear you over the party downstairs."

he swallowed thickly and nodded. "right, right..."

"and open your eyes. wan' you to watch me ride your cock."

he twitched inside you, and he huffed. "can you not-"

you rose and dropped your hips to shut him up, and a broken whine interrupted whatever complaint he had. and you didn't stop there, speeding up and bouncing on him without any pauses.

"shit, shit, oh my- fuuckk-" it dragged out of him. long and dissolving. his head pressed back into the pillow, his hands flexing against your waist. "okay. okay, okay, okay-"

your hands moved from his chest up to his hair, fisting his soft locks in both hands like handlebars. he whined and hugged you to his chest, burying his face in your neck.

"cho-"

"don't stop, please..." he almost cried into your neck. "please don't stop, feels s-s'good, 'm... fuuck, 'm not gonna last..." he dragged his words out with soft whines.

you felt it building in your stomach too. it was impossible to ignore at this point, the way his cock was rubbing up on your gummy spot and smearing globs of his precum over it.

"yeah?" you managed to pant out, dipping your head down to gently nip at his earlobe. "you gonna fill me up? hm?"

"hngh- fuck-"

you sped up, sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin as he began to buck up desperately into you.

"hm? can't hear you, cho. i asked if you're gonna cum inside me," you panted. choso was panting heavily, his gaze trained on where your pussy lips stretched and drooled around his cock, bouncing up and down.

squelch!

squelchh!

squelchhh!

he finally slammed his hips up into you, his head thrown back as a strained cry spilled from his raw lips. "h-hngh- 'm cumming- cumming-!!" his cock throbbed and twitched against your velvet walls, spurting and sticking his seed to your walls. "oh my god..." he panted, hips hips rutting up in aftershock, mushroomy tip smearing his sticky white allllll around your walls till he was leaking out of you.

you followed close behind, your fingers twisting in his hair, back arching and head tilting back. your poor hole quivered around him, squeezing his swollen cock in quick pulses. you glanced back in the mirror to find sticky patches of white dripping down your inner thighs, and your jaw dropped.

you looked back down at him underneath you: totally fucked out, half lidded eyes, chewed and raw lips parted, drool slicking down from the corners of his mouth. "that was..." he rasped, then closed his eyes.

"yeah..." you exhaled a small laugh, still catching your breath. you pulled off of him with a lewd drag, then plopped down beside him. his hand subconsciously came up to your hair, sifting into your locks, and you wondered if he was even awake at this point.

careful not to wake him up, you reached across him to the nightstand for his phone, hovering it over his face for the face ID. you scrolled to his messages to add your number, then furrowed your brow as you saw his group chat being blown up.

SIGMA TAU BROTHERHOOD 🔥💪🍻 todo aoi: CHOSO GETTING CHEEKS TN YO todo aoi: I SAW HIM TAKE A GIRL UPSTAIRS itadori yuji: i set it up hb of the year over here naoya zenin: kamo actually pulled? no way LMFAOOOOO kinji hakari: STOP CALLIN MY PHONE SHE GETTIN FUCKED TN😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹😹 naoya zenin: yo this mf got negative aura how did this happen todo aoi: CHOSO BROTHER I'M SO PROUD naoya zenin: i'm serious bro wtf

you snorted and tossed his phone to the side, burrowing your face into choso's neck and snuggling into him. the party thumped on downstairs. for once, though you'd hate to admit it out loud, you could say itadori was right. you were glad you didn't go to kappa.

© all writing belongs to angellude. all characters belong to gege akutami.