riveredmoon - Tumblr blog

riveredmoon · 9 hours ago

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ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴜᴇ ᴛɪᴇ ᴊᴏʙ

Two years after you called it quits, your ex partner-in-crime comes back with a job you just can't pass up.

Pairing: Ex Partner-In-Crime!Gojo Satoru x Reader

A/N: for @spearofheaven's jjk vs the world event!!! congrats on 1201942848238 followers my love <33. also my search history is so cooked after this one i had to give up on complete accuracy halfway through

dividers by @/enchanthings, art by @/3-aem!

You fucking hate Gojo Satoru.

And not in the hatefucking way. Or even the joking frenemies way. What you feel for him is pure, animalistic rage, loosely disguised as discourtesy. You hate the way he never seems to take jobs seriously. The way he prances around like the marble doesn’t echo and wears glittery suits like the soirée doesn’t notice, the way he flips his hair as he flicks the safety off his gun like robbing institutions is some sort of performance. Maybe it is, to him.

On the bright side, you don’t have to work with him anymore!

You haven’t in two years, actually. And it’s been peaceful, despite the loan sharks banging at your door and the constant need to move to narrowly avoid the IRS. You’re happy – if only marginally disappointed at the thought that you could’ve earned more money if you continued to rob banks rather than hunt for jobs like it’s the Great Depression. You don’t miss Gojo Satoru in the least.

So why is said Gojo Satoru, flashy suit and all, splayed out on your couch wrist-deep in a bucket of homemade popcorn?

Simple.

“Jujutsu Bank,” he grins, sliding you the details in a folder labeled confidential. “Some higher ups are paying to get the goods, and whoever does the job gets half. Can you believe that?”

Your nose scrunches in distaste, but you flip through the pages anyway.

It’s not like you can turn down this much cash.

“I thought you were fine doing heists by yourself.”

He leans back, arm slung over the back of the couch, and shrugs a little. “It’s surprisingly difficult.”

Your brow twitches.

No shit.

The plan is simple – too simple, which means it’s either going to go perfectly, or Gojo’s going to ruin everything just because he can.

“Blue tie or red tie?” he murmurs the night of, standing in your doorway like a six-foot-tall problem in bedazzled shoes. His hair is swept back in that artfully tousled way that you know took him at least an hour in the mirror. “I don’t even know why I’m asking, I’ll look great either way.”

“They’re both terrible,” you mutter, eyes still glued to the blueprints spread across the table. The paper’s curling at the edges from too much coffee and too many fiddling hands.

He doesn't miss a beat, leaning forward and tilting a bit so he’s in your line of view. “So.. blue?”

You give him a flat look. “They’re both terrible.”

He smirks, plucks the blue one off the back of your dining chair, and ties it with the speed of someone who’s performed the action for an audience before. “Blue it is.”

Insufferable.

By the time you make it to the marble steps of Jujutsu Bank’s grand hall, the gala’s in full swing. Light spills from the crystal chandelier like liquid gold, catching on diamonds and pearls and champagne flutes. People laugh in clusters, the kind of laugh that only shows up when they’re certain they’re richer than everyone else. You could steal a necklace and earn a fortune – the cameras have already been disabled. But that’s not what you’re here for.

Gojo’s inside already, naturally, holding court near the string quartet like he’s hosting the event instead of robbing it. He’s laughing too, same as everyone else, flashing teeth and sipping champagne like it’s water. His glittering suit catches the light in a way that screams look at me.

He spots you across the room. Instead of acknowledging you with a subtle nod, like any competent partner would, he lifts his head from his glass and mouths hey gorgeous over the rim.

You keep moving.

But he intercepts you anyway, slipping between mingling guests with infuriating ease, brushing your arm like you’re sharing some intimate secret. You are, in a way. If either of you slips up then the other is equally, royally, fucked.

“Did you miss me?” he murmurs, leaning in just close enough for his breath to hit against the shell of your ear.

You pass by a server and take a glass off the platter, offering him only a simple glance before taking a sip. “I missed the sound of silence.”

Your eyes swipe over the crowd, scanning for security.

He chuckles.

“Missed you too. A lot.”

You slip into the closed off corridor while Gojo distracts a guard with a story that’s so obviously fabricated you’d like to scream. But it works somehow – the guard’s laughing, head tilted back, not noticing you at all.

The hallway is all muted lighting and faint echoes. Your boots pad gently against polished tile. And behind you, like a war drum, comes the tapping of customized dress shoes.

“You walk too fast!”

“You talk too much.”

He’s smiling when you glance over your shoulder, but there’s a flicker there. A tension in his jaw that you’d probably miss had you not worked together for so long, so long ago. Like he’s calculating something heavier than the usual thrill of the heist.

The vault looms ahead. You kneel at the keypad, pulling a small device from your jacket. One you nabbed from the knocked out bank teller two floors down.

“You know,” he murmurs. “We’ve never hit a place like this before. Not together.”

“I noticed.”

His breath hitches audibly, and you frown as you fiddle with the vault device. Then he exhales. Slow.

“You left because of me.”

The topic change is abrupt. For a moment, he almost sounds like he might be.. sorry.

Your hands still, and you shoot him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself. I left because I didn’t feel like getting shot in the back.”

His mouth tilts like he might laugh, but doesn’t. “I screwed up.. a lot. But I didn’t, I never stopped thinking that– if I’d done it different, maybe, or..” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “..anyway. I promise you, I’m not the same guy.”

You look away.

He leans against the wall and watches for a moment. Silence, the one you like because it’s easier to hide in, fills the hallway. And then his voice takes it up again. “..if this goes south, just keep running. Yeah?”

It’s so uncharacteristically serious that your hands still for half a second before you cover it with a scoff. “What, suddenly you care?”

“I always have.”

“Bullshit.”

The lock clicks.

You’re in.

–––

The vault is colder than you expected, all brushed steel and clean lines. You know which deposit boxes to go to – you have the list memorized. Your fingers move fast. Gojo lingers by the door, eyes flicking between you and the hallway.

“Your lips do this sad little thing when you’re focused,” he says finally, tone lighter again, like he’s forcibly steering himself back into his usual game.

“You’re about to have a sad little bruise if you keep distracting me.”

He grins, but his gaze keeps darting toward the exit. You wonder – if only for a moment – if it’s the nerves.

You try to pry open the third box, but the lock jams. Hard. Before you can curse, he’s beside you, a hand settling briefly over yours. He produces a slender pick from somewhere inside his glittering suit (was that why he wore it? to hide the things underneath?), works the mechanism with unnerving speed, and passes you the opened box without a word.

For a heartbeat, it’s almost like old times. Like the rhythm you had before everything cracked. The quiet handoffs and the easy cover for each other – and you hate how natural it all feels.

He glances at you, something serious simmering behind his glittering eyes. “Back then.. when it all went to hell– I didn’t mean for you to take the fall. I thought I was buying you time.”

Your eyes lock. “..that’s not how it felt.”

“I know.”

There’s another moment of silence, where you hold his gaze. Something soft simmers behind it. Beneath the skin, hardened from the years of fighting to survive.

Then you sigh. “It’s okay, Satoru.”

You turn back to the box and load the last wad of cash into the bag.

Clean.

Easy.

Quiet.

Until it isn't.

The shouting starts out of nowhere, sharp commands ricocheting down the hall, heavy boots hitting the floor in unison.

Your stomach drops, and you shoot a panicked glance at Gojo.

Police, maybe. Or hired security. You thought they’d be distracted by the gala.

His head snaps toward the sound. You see it – the quick assessment, the decision.

For one long heartbeat, he looks like he’ll stick with you. You feel it in the way his eyes lock on yours, the way his hand flexes at his side like he’s about to grab you and drag you both out.

Then his mouth curves into that infuriating, dazzling grin.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Can’t split the cash.”

Before you can react, he catches your wrist, cold metal biting under your skin as the cuff clicks shut. You’re spun, shoved slightly toward the door.

Your wrists pull the chain taught, head flipping to give him a wild eyed, panicked, glare. “Satoru–”

And that’s when it hits you.

The blue tie.

Not a fashion choice. Not the stupid, sparkly statement you’d mocked. It’s the exact shade the Jujutsu City PD wears for formal events. With his stupid black suit and stupid polished shoes, he looks like he belongs to them. Like he’s one of them.

And with how many there are, nobody would notice that he’s not.

The world tilts.

Two officers rush into the vault, weapons not drawn, but ready, and you’re yanked forward by the chain of the cuffs. Your shoulder hits the doorframe, pain lancing down your arm. But it’s nothing compared to the hot, stunned rage clawing up your throat.

“Suspect secured,” Gojo says smoothly, the smile never faltering. His voice is suddenly saccharine as he flashes a badge you’ve never seen before at the incoming officers, tie drawing their eyes, selling the lie. Sealing your fate.

He’s all easy charm, playing the part so well you almost believe it – almost. But you know who he is. He’s an individual player at heart.

Your voice comes out low, vicious. “You absolute bastard.”

He only crooks his head to the side and smiles, that infuriating glint in his eyes. Like this is just another act, just another job. Like you mean nothing.

“Don’t make it harder on yourself.”

Hands grab your arms from behind, guiding – no, dragging – you down the hall.

The orchestral music is still drifting from the gala, delicate and bright, like the world hasn’t just collapsed under your feet. You twist in the officers’ grip, catching one last glimpse of him through the narrowing frame of the vault door.

He’s watching you go, smile gone. Just that unreadable stare that makes your chest ache and burn all at once, eyes all dark like the tie around his collar. For a split second – barely more than the twitch of a hand, the falter of a breath – it almost looks like he might step forward. Like he might say something, reach out for you.

And then he turns away. Duffel bag in hand.

Yeah.

You fucking hate Gojo Satoru.

#part two where her sexy ex bf suguru blows him up #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader

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riveredmoon · 9 hours ago

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can’t beat it

geto suguru mini series

synopsis: stricken by grief and thoughts of suicide — geto suguru is shocked that his late best friend, gojo satoru, has made him sole guardian of his adopted son, megumi. geto reluctantly gathers the boy, forcing him to deal with a past that haunts him and the grief of a child his best friend loved.

warnings/contents: non curse, au, modern au, loosely based on the movie ‘manchester by the sea’, very little use of reader, mainly in suguru’s pov, heavy themes of depression, suicidal ideations, death, grief. heavy angst, little to no comfort. each chapter will have its own list of warnings.

chapters:

1. the call

art work found on pinterest

playlist

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riveredmoon · 10 hours ago

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BASIC LINE DIVIDERS — AUTUMN COLORS

NEUTRALS

PEACHY SHADES

BLUES

GREEN && EARTH TONES

YELLOWS && GOLDS

ACCENTS

⟢ Like/reblog if you use.

⟢ Credit is not necessary (but it’s appreciated).

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riveredmoon · 13 hours ago

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sugar and stars

gojo satoru. ᝬ fem!reader.

summary.ᐟ you reconnect with your ex when you return to your small town for your high school reunion after what seemed like a lifetime of events. seeing him again only unravels everything you thought you knew.

tee says.ᐟ hello hello! first of all, congratulations to day (@spearofheaven) for reaching one billion followers! thank you so much for letting me be a part of the jjk vs the world event! also thank u again to phybear for betaing for me... again... love you dearly. ♡

your initial relationship with satoru could be described as puppy love. he was the first boy you ever seriously liked, so he took many of your firsts. first real boyfriend, first kiss, first movie date, first i love you. the first person to see your naked body and run his hands over your curves with enough reverence to make you cry. he'd kissed your tears with crystalline shards of his own and you were certain you were in love with him. and you didn't doubt his love for he with you because he treated you like you were someone worth holding close.

even when outside talk thought the two of you wouldn't last, you didn't listen. the two of you stuck by each other all throughout high school and were even voted best couple for prom. it was perfect. he was perfect. a promise ring to seal the deal before the two of you set off to college cemented your beliefs. he was in love with you, and you him. in your mind then, clouded by his warmth and sweet kisses that left you breathless, nothing could have ever driven the two of you apart.

so how did it get to this? resenting the small apartment you'd called home, sticking out long library hours and even longer shifts to avoid the brooding weight of a conversation you didn't think you were ready for. the long swooping kisses he'd give you at the front door every morning shortened to just a chaste peck to your forehead… and that was even on days he remembered.

somehow, he'd always remember your favorite. from a quaint shop managed by an elderly woman who loved him like a son. a cold order of brown sugar milk tea was the beacon of light you clung to like a moth to flame.

deep down, you knew it was stress. university was a whole different ballpark than high school and the brunt of your sudden adult responsibilities had hit the two of you hard. trivial things like dishes left in the sink would explode into arguments about slacking off and the uneven distribution of help to fermented resentment and guilt masked as both pride and stubbornness. there are days where you don't speak to each other and days where you want the grip of his hugs seared into your skin for the rest of your life.

you talk to shoko about it. all she does is look at you with slight pity. you swallow the burn of shame in the face of her own loving relationship and put the mask of a loving girlfriend back on. because you love him. you do.

against your better judgment and to the surprise of those close to you, the both of you push on and get married. graduate college the year before the small wedding. it's happier, for a little bit. the title of husband suits him. the rings sparkle like twin stars in the mornings you share on your short honeymoon. you get his clinginess and the weight of his affection back tenfold and your soul sings in response. you move into a slightly bigger place in the city and try to rebuild your lives again. and it's good. you try and mend the broken threads of your growing tapestry to the best of your ability.

but the dead weight drags across the floor plan with you. a shackle tethered to your foot.

a once coveted declaration of love had turned stale over the three years you were married. you held out for as long as you could, but it was eating at you. and you could it was eating him, too. no amount of promises whispered into your shoulder at night could fix that.

what surprises you is how well he took it. you never did like seeing him cry, but it was necessary. you were young. naive. you have love for him, but you needed time from him. and him, from you. the fact that he had quietly agreed and wished you well told you that he had drawn to the same conclusion you had.

you sleep in each other's arms that night. he doesn't whisper any apologies this time. and when you return from work the next day, him and his things are gone. the divorce is finalized over the rest of the month. quietly. amicably. you keep the apartment, the ring, and the memories. and a cold cup of your favorite drink.

it takes ten years for you to work around the ghost of him. you have a few boyfriends. you can admit that. you fucked around for a little bit to try and forget him. but, as if to remind you of the weight in your chest, the sheets still smelled like him weeks after putting them into the wash. maybe it was your brain playing tricks on you. the sting of accidentally setting out a mug in his favorite color next to yours has dulled over the years.

you do well at your job. you make friends, rise in the ranks, discover things about yourself, and truly turn a new page. the bags under your eyes are a little less visible. you go out more. make plans with people and follow through with them. you laugh, you cry, and you love. you grow. the person you are without satoru gojo is one you come to love without him.

you think about him sometimes. wonder if he's as happy as you are with the development of yourself sans him. the thought of him doesn't weigh heavy in your chest anymore. the ring doesn't burn against the memory of his promise to you.

forever and ever, i'm yours to keep.

shoko calls about a reunion. a small meet up at a bar not too far from your high school. some classmates from back then gathering to catch up later in the month. it makes you hesitate. would you fall back into old habits around him? would the growth mean nothing and he was just the same person you'd said goodbye to ten years ago?

"he asks about you, you know." shoko picks up your call on the first ring. "in case you were wondering."

a soft puff of air leaves your lips as a faint laugh. "we're all friends. i'm not surprised. the… divorce rocked everyone else just as hard."

it had. you'd never heard shoko threaten medical malpractice against someone so casually. your friend group was small and talk was bound to happen over the decade you hadn't seen him. "i'm glad he's doing well."

shoko hums offhandedly. "it's bottomless drinks tonight. you'll find out the scope of his real feelings soon enough."

now your laugh is wary. "if it's bad…"

"you don't get to skip this one." her voice is sharp just as it is cutting and it makes you wince. "plus, a conversation would do you two well." then a low mumble you're absolutely sure she intended for you to hear, "and he misses you."

you don't know how to process that information. you swipe through your calendar and clear your schedule anyway.

your high school friends are so much different now. wedding rings gleam in low lighting, different haircuts, different styles that come with age and growing into your own skin. the host—your tutor from freshman year, you realize—even has kids of her own. you nurse a drink of your own and laugh in between hugs and conversations pick up just as if you'd seen them yesterday.

suguru bumps into your shoulder later into the night. long hair swept back, posture still slouched with someone who grew to be comfortable in their own skin. a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips when you make eye contact and your brows raise.

"suguru." surprise coats your tone with laughter, disbelieving even when you lean in with a hug that affirms his realness to you. "oh, wow. you don't look like shit anymore."

shoko snorts and he rolls his eyes in good nature. "you're not too bad yourself. how's life been treating you?"

"i don't feel the urge to take a running leap out of the window that much anymore, so there's that."

the three of you raise your drinks in toast. "here's to making it past thirty," shoko drawls around a plume of smoke. "may fourty grant all of us a fucking break."

it's fun. healing, a bit. you're not the only one who changed. but you've mellowed out. not nearly as high strung as college made you feel. you're surrounded by the people who love you and have always loved you even if you couldn't see it. even if it meant being apart for so long. even if it meant..

you see a flash of white in your peripheral vision. a laugh that sound like a heartbeat you know like your own. your body turns as if tuned to a frequency only you could here, setting your drink down on a nearby table.

"going outside for some air," you mumble offhandedly. you don't stick around to wait for a response.

your feet lead you to the back of the building and down a clearing, lampposts illuminating your path. a large clearing of grass that melds into thick trees that stretch into the night sky. the air is crisp and smells faintly of earth and the sweetness of your drink lingers on your tongue. the old dirt road is still trusty under the soles of your feet after so long. you reminisce over nights spent sneaking away from your responsibilities and shushing stray giggles smothered by bigger hands and smile a bit, fond.

you find the old swing set your teacher tied to a tree branch to give your class a semblance of a normal life. memories flood back when you take a seat, gently swaying back and forth. shared lunches on the field, running on the track field, tossing graduation caps in the air surrounded by the backdrop of flowers and wooded beyond.

his presence is felt before you even see him. still tethered together despite all these years spent apart.

"is this swing taken?"

time has softened him. glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, white hair still tousled like he'd just run his hands through it. your gazes meet and his smile softens to something more personal.

it takes a moment but you motion for the other swing silently. he sits down, drops a plastic takeout bag near his feet. the wind whistles between the two of you as you toy with the cuff of your sweater.

"you look good. better." he exhales a bit, warping space around his voice. "the best i've seen you in a while."

words are still stuck in your throat. the ring burns a lot brighter near him, hanging from the chain around your neck hidden underneath your shirt. twin heartbeats against your chest. you can't bring yourself to ask him if he still wears it on his person, too. you never could bring yourself to put it away.

he moves forward, a hand extended towards you. "got your favorite."

your head snaps up, inhaling sharply when a gleam catches your attention. your chest squeezes with the casual offering, blinking in surprise when the scent of sugar hits your nose. silver glistens in the moonlight. a breath slips past your lips. "oh."

you take the cup. cold seeps up your palm the same way a sudden wave of nostalgia nestles between your bones. the bridge of your nose burns with the telltale sign of tears.

"what if i don't like this anymore?" you can't look at him again, certain you'd truly leave your safe haven with tear-stained cheeks. what if meeting him again spirals into something you couldn't come back from? "we haven't spoken in ten years. we're not the same anymore."

satoru's swing stills next to you. the party goes on behind you, faint hollers and cheers in the distance. stars twinkles above your head as your only witness. the wasn't just a high school reunion anymore. it was a test to see if your healing was real. if the ache was still present even after the illusion of laying it to rest over the past decade.

"it would have been worth the seconds of conversation." an offering. to rebuild your shared promise from the ground up, maybe. it's just as uncertain as the thoughts swirling within your head. but.

"you kept the ring," you murmur after a beat. satoru musters a small grin that borders on sheepishness. "why?"

"i needed something to hold on to." he admits quietly. "when you left—when we separated. it undid me. the ring was proof you once existed under the same sky as me."

you toy with your own chain. a nervous habit picked. it draws his own gaze that shifts when realization breaks across his features like a new dawn.

"i'm not here to ask you to pick up where we left off. though i could very well get on my knees a beg if you asked me to."

you let out an amused scoff and he smile brightens. "but," he continues, "if i could see you again... i would like that very much."

but. you take the drink. take his comfort and offered sugar and the weight of his kindness. it unburdens your shoulders a bit.

#what is with you never giving gojo happiness #so beautiful #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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riveredmoon · 14 hours ago

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‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏ 𝓓IAMOND 𝓔YES ‧₊˚♪࿐₊˚⊹

✦ ── pairing: ex-groupie!reader x rockstar!suguru

✦ ── synopsis: ages, he kept you tucked against his side—something noncommittal and precarious stuffed into the pocket above his heart despite how after each gig he'd have you beneath him, crying out his name. too many substances and a blowout fight later, you up and left without a kind word to reassure his psyche. you set out to be something of your own instead of living off of his career earnings and sweet nothings. running back to him after one worrying text, though? that's something you hadn't reckoned.

✦ ── contents: explicit smut, past failed relationship, party scene, substance abuse (alcohol and unnamed drugs), recovery, angst, hurt/no comfort, making out, semi-public sex, spitting, piv, unprotected sex, noise control, crying and apologizing during intercourse, unplanned pregnancy, cliffhanger lolololol.

✦ ── a/n: this oneshot is part of my dear @spearofheaven’s jjk vs the world collab event! go show daya and the other writers some love with more evil ‘ex’ centered fics hehe. so glad i could be a part of this, thank you my dear <3.

fanart by chu-cho, dividers by me & roseraris & sister-lucifer

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Just… shut up. No one’ll hear us.”

Your back lifted off of the brick wall keeping your mind and body steady, the nipping chill of the night biting your bared skin as Suguru latched his lips against your perky tit. The brush of the breeze made you shiver, but not nearly as much as his hands roaming you madly.

Your head was on a swivel around the empty alleyway, worrying your lip between your bared incisors and pressing with enough force to nearly taste copper before a languid moan trickled from your lips unabashedly.

You could feel that familiar smug grin across his lips that made your stomach lurch and plume pluck away.

His pierced tongue was swiveling around your hardened bud, free hand groping the neglected mound as his knee pressed into your heat. Your thighs trembled, feeling his rough and calloused palms fit for a musician against your heated skin for the first time in what felt like an eternity, now being unraveled beneath the knowing sky like a whisper into the night.

Your fingers clasped and unfurled in a flickering motion by your side, afraid to get tangled in him again, hands hovering just a breadth above his leather jacket.

He smelled like pine and sex, and you’d confirmed that he still tasted like smoke and mint when his lips found yours.

Maybe you were a little flustered and foggy-minded, but you could’ve sworn your feet began to give out beneath you and Suguru pulled you flush against him as his tongue began to explore the cavern of your mouth.

A part of you, a better part of you that still had a sense of restraint, wanted to press your palms against his shoulders and peel him from you.

But you didn’t, allowing him to glut in his lust.

He gave into you like a bad habit, flooding his mind and defiling it with your mark, backpedaling on any chance of healing he could’ve even thought he had progressed with all of this time away from you.

He was only now realizing that he was nothing without you.

And you knew he needed you right now.

You could pick up where you left off and return to your regular life away from the flickering lights and endless sea of star-struck eyes, but that despairing look in his eyes scared you.

How does anyone respond to a text right after their shift from the one person they promised they’d never step foot in front of again?

9:32 PM — DO NOT ANSWER: hey. need your help. meet me outside our place on fourth?

You gawked at your phone screen, hand trembling over your car door handle, still clad in your waitress outfit that reeked of bitter coffee and dried grease outside of the diner you’d just clocked out of.

You immediately knew where he was beckoning you towards—the humble coffee shop you’d met at when you were all wide-eyed and naive, giggling at the raven-haired and tatted star ordering a cold brew and scribbling his number on a crumpled and stained napkin before striding out and taking your heart with him.

You texted him as soon as you’d gotten home that day, squealing in the privacy of your bedroom when he actually replied. When he said he wanted to take you out.

But things made for a sharp turn you hadn’t quite foreseen.

You didn’t expect to become the flame he used when things got dark—your heat lapping up his leaking wounds and cauterizing them shut, a compass to navigate in the fog of his convoluted feelings.

He’d have a joint wedged between his lips as he bent you over the dressing room couch, hips pistoning into you just mere minutes before he was about to perform in front of a massive crowd chanting his band's name, sometimes his name.

He’d have you perched on his lap at almost every function or afterparty, nuzzling into your nape and finding solace within your touches.

But they were fleeting.

You were a pretty, precious gem for him to turn over in his hand. Observing, dissecting, but never quite chipping away at you and those devastatingly beautiful orbs. And begging for that attention felt like a race you’d never possibly toe the finish line with.

He started dabbling into substances that had you teetering on the edge of a fun hookup and worried girlfriend. Though, you knew you weren’t his girlfriend, it was grossly clear. He might not fuck anyone else, but with you it never went farther than a quickie or being tangled up in his arms before he knocked out and you gathered your things to scamper out.

Yeah, he’d bought you lunch on occasion but he’d never take you out to dinner. Every time someone made the comment of how you two looked like a great couple, you watched him still and change the subject to something less… daunting. Avoiding anything serious was his forte.

Cutting you out of his mind was easier.

You followed suit into his habits as your emotions clouded your judgement, turning to numb your feelings when things got especially dark. Drinking until you’d be expelling your insides out on the side of the road, getting into frequent arguments with family about ‘where you were headed.’

You thought it was all a load of bullshit at the start, angrily brushing off their comments, until the truth of it managed to plague your mind.

You’d been missing work more frequently, practically on the verge of losing your job. You were never home, and when you were, it was a fucking disaster at your place that you never seemed to pick up after.

You changed your hair, to see if it’d stamp a smile on Suguru’s lips. And it did, before he’d forget all about it while you sucked the life out of his cock and he had his head tossed back, too busy carding his fingers messily through your newly done locks to guide your mouth.

You changed. For him

And it started to scare the shit out of you.

You no longer wanted to spend the entire night out partying and getting stoned out of your mind with his friends and the rest of the band. You didn’t want to wait around as a disposable groupie—you wanted a life for yourself. Something you could be proud of.

It had ended in a blowout fight, one you hadn’t foreseen. Screaming at each other in the back of his driver’s car about how you were sick of this life and he could only roll his eyes in indignation. Maybe it was disdain, arrogance. Maybe he was afraid of something real.

But you weren’t going to wait around to find out.

That night, you had forced the driver to pull over on the side of the road, to drop you off on some street in the middle of the night, and you weren’t going to let Suguru fight you on it. He was nothing to you now.

The last you’d seen of him, he was too busy snarling and spewing venom in your direction. Calling you a coward for leaving things behind when deep down it was him all along.

You hadn’t seen him since, save for the chilling moments when you’d start your car and the radio would blast one of his bands recent hits, flashes of his face burning into the front of your mind, only to scar over as you bore yourself into your work as a distraction.

Or when you’d scroll on social media just to see someone you followed attending one of his concerts, seeing Suguru on stage behind them and shining like the fallen angel he was.

And now, you felt yourself crumbling after you drove over to the fateful coffee shop, somewhat expecting to see him bleeding out on the ground or something even more dramatic.

He wouldn’t call you for something truly serious, only when he needed you for what you could give him. Temporary relief.

And part of you was well aware of that fact, yet you sped down the freeway in your sedan despite your better judgement.

You parked and hopped out of your car, head on a swivel for the man you hadn’t seen in years, before you felt a tug on your arm that dragged you into darkness, pressing you flush against the brick wall. The air was nearly knocked from your lungs, eyes flashing wide with unadulterated fear at the hooded figure that loomed over you, before he pulled the fabric from his head and matched your gaze.

It felt like time had stopped, your lip trembling seeing his face again. He’d gotten new piercings, ears decked out with more than just gauges and snakebites that protruded just below his lip. His hair was disheveled, falling over his face and sticking to his perspired face.

Those amethyst eyes you’d once fallen head over heels for bore into you.

“Hey,” he whispered out, tone husky and sent right through you to rattle your very bones.

“Hi,” you squeaked, voice coming out mousier than you wished it would before your gaze trickled over his form, ensuring he was in one piece. “A-are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Your voice broke with worry and he felt his chest clench.

“I missed you.”

The admission had you dizzy. “Geto… I- We can’t.”

He shook his head at the use of his surname, head angled past his shoulder before checking his watch. “I fucked up, alright. I screwed things up and let you slip through my fingers. Just… let me fix things.”

You swallowed thickly, heart lodged in your throat and strangling you.

Your lips parted, before the electric sound of a bass shrilled through the night sky, and the cheers of a crowd erupted.

You could pick out those chords anywhere.

“You’re performing tonight?” You asked, though it came out as more of a statement, eyes dialed in on the strobe lights flickering into the vast and endless midnight sky from the giant dome stadium just a few blocks down.

Suguru’s eyes never left yours, like if he were to blink, you’d disappear. “Yeah. They’re just soundchecking but-.”

“Why did you call me here?” You brusquely interrupted, nibbling on the inside of your cheek as your gaze bleakly followed the foggy tendrils curling from the top of the stadium. You turned to lock eyes with him, this time your irises flickering with a flame he’d seen set ablaze forever ago. “And don’t tell me it’s because you missed me. What do you want?”

He knew you’d be changed, all this time away from his spiralling chaos and you’d actually managed to grow yourself a backbone. But it was still shocking to see it in action.

Suguru shuffled, one hand resting on your waist like it’d ground him. “We’re on the last leg of the tour, which is why we’re back home. I-,” he paused, thinking through how he could explain to you that none of the showgirls or groupies he’d been introduced to were anywhere near like you. They couldn’t fill the corroded hole in his chest that was endlessly leaking for you, every kiss and thrust in vain when his mind was spinning with just you.

He didn’t have to say anything, your gaze trickling to the hickies decorating his neck and the vacant stare in his eyes.

You loved him—knew he’d always have a place tucked away in a corner of your heart. He was just like that, easy to fall hopelessly for and impossible to forget. But time away only made you grow to realize that you deserved more. Yearned for more. And if it wasn’t with him, then so be it.

You made it out, crawled your way with dirt beneath your fingernails and a caved-in chest to see the light again.

Healing wasn’t a linear process, you knew that better than anyone. You also knew how badly you wished for one last time to speak with Suguru, how badly you ached for closure.

Your trembling hand reached up, curling a fallen strand of hair past his ear, tracing the gauge as you eyed his pinched expression, scowling at the ground like it’d cursed his bloodline.

He was hurting, and he needed someone.

Gently, you rested your hand over his cheek and turned him to face you.

There it was, that mutual understanding that settled in the space between you, your amicable smile and his pleading eyes.

His hand cradled the back of your head, tilting it back for access as he slowly leaned in, warm breath fanning over your lips, before pressing his mouth against yours. What felt like an eternity of ache and longing swirled in your chests, your heart ready to burst as he slipped his tongue between your lips.

His hands, greedy and never satisfied, groped your tit and kneaded it with little delicacy. You groaned, lifting onto your tip toes to meet him even halfway.

It was dark, but anyone who walked by would be able to see the way he pressed his kneecap into your heat, the way your body bowed into his, heady whispers of his name as your bodies meshed into one pathetic heap.

With his high-profile, you wondered why on Earth he was desperate enough to get it done here, but your mind was too muddled to think logically and apparently so was his.

“Turn around,” he groaned, running his tongue over his lower lip to give you a view of the pierced tongue you felt dragging across your own. You complied, quickly pressing your bared breasts against the rough brick and jutting your ass out against his pelvis.

His bulge pressed against your back, far heavier and thicker than you remembered and turning your mind to mush.

He freed himself, unbuckling his chain belt and allowing his cock to spring free and slap his hardened abdomen. Lifting his cotton tee, he bit down onto the fabric and ran a deft finger through your folds, carrying your slick juices with it.

“Always this wet when you’re bent over, or is it just for me?” He snarled, though you could distinguish the insecurity laced within the loaded question, his vaulting audacity to wonder if you’d found someone to fill the spot he never could.

“Gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?” You retorted back with another question, not giving into his misplaced prodding and canting your hip upwards to feel his sensitive tip nudge your entrance.

Suguru dug his nails into your waist at the feeling, leaving red crescent shapes as evidence that this really did happen. Aligning himself, he spit on his shaft before pushing into you, stretching you open on his girth.

You arched backwards, maw falling slack and shamelessly whining out his name. Thankfully, he snaked a hand to cover your mouth as he sunk deeper, inch by inch, your eyes rolling into your skull as your saliva covered his textured palm.

“Still, fuck, so tight,” he grunted, corded veins in his forearms bulging as he kept you in place, fucking you like a limp ragdoll against the building wall.

You didn’t reply, and even if you could, it’d be a slurred mess of his name and whimpers as he pounded into you.

The flesh of his pelvis snapped against your ass, sounding off into the night brashly.

“Pretty girl,” he hiccuped out, folding forward and pressing his chest to your back, caging you in. Your hands, trembling as your stomach coiled into a tight knot threatening to snap with each rut, began pushing against his thighs to pry him from you as the overstimulation began to grow. But his hands found your wrists, pinning them to the wall as he nuzzled into your nape, taking in your scent and frantically trying to commit it to memory.

With your mouth now free, your cheek pressed into the rough wall, bits of gravel and brick digging into your skin as your lips hung open and strained whines trickled from you.

“I-,” you could hear Suguru halting himself mid sentence, hands tightening against your wrists with enough pressure to bruise. Reluctantly, he continued. “I’m sorry.”

And it kept coming.

“I’m sorry. So… so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so sorry, baby,” he huffed, digging his nose into your jugular.

You could feel wet lashes brush against your flush skin, Suguru fading and retreating into himself as he cried against you, thrusts becoming sloppier with each passing and stifling moment.

“S-Sugu,” you sighed out, fighting against his grip to cradle his face, but he was unrelenting, shaking his head, whispering about how he needed this.

How he needed you. Even if it was for the very last time.

The two of you were quickly pushed off of that teetering precipice, gasping as he finished inside of you, filling you to the brim and stuffing you with his seed.

You shuddered, legs nearly giving out as you dragged your hands against the wall to steady yourself.

Glancing from side to side, Suguru stuffed his flaccid cock back into the confines of his jeans before helping you tug your panties up, your cheeks heating at the feel of your mixed juices leaking from you.

You ducked your head to get a view of his face, but he quickly wiped his leather-covered forearms against his face, wiping away any evidence of his breakdown with a few sniffles and coughs.

You could feel your stomach invert as you spoke the inevitable.

“I think… you should see someone,” you whispered, placing a hand against his bicep and feeling the edges of your eyes crinkle with a gentle smile.

A sight to make Suguru feel nausea bubbling up in his gut.

He was too prideful to admit that he didn’t need to see someone, just needed you by his side again. Even if he couldn’t give you what you craved. He was selfish like that.

At his silence, you nibbled on your lip before shaking your head and dropping your hand, sending a flurry of goosebumps across Suguru’s skin as he yearned for your warmth in the darkness once again.

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

You left him in that alleyway, settling into your car and staring at your steering wheel with tears threatening your waterline, mind too jumbled to stop by the convenience store to pick up some napkins and plan B.

You got home, cleaned yourself up before passing out in your bed.

You blocked his number the next morning before heading into work.

You didn’t check the news or open social media for the next few days, too afraid you’d be bombarded with clips or headlines of how his band was wrapping up their tour.

Missing how Suguru’s performance was such a mess that photos were released of his bandmates arguing with him.

But only when you noticed your cycle late did you panic, wondering how you got yourself tangled up with the midnight-haired star all over again.