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sugurugetoshairbrush · 1 month ago

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tl;dr smoking a bowl outside with stoner!suguru getou

(hood!toji gets everyb caught up) [prev]

“Suguru, I swear I’m not mad… just curious how a romantic picnic date turns into a group affair.”

You lean into the phone camera, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Suguru’s sheepish expression. He avoids your gaze, moving his phone away as though shielding himself might lessen your scrutiny. You hear him inhale sharply.

“Hold on,” he says, voice low. “Let me go to my room.”

The screen shifts as Suguru walks through his apartment. The lighting dims, and soon his room comes into view. He sits back against the headboard, deftly tying up his hair before meeting your gaze again.

“Well…” he starts, dragging out the word. “I had all the food laid out in the kitchen to prepare—when Gojo bust in.”

You can already tell where this is going, but you let him continue.

“He got all excited, assuming we were all going on a picnic. Said it would make his week since his car’s in the shop and he’s had two migraines in a row. I�� didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.”

Suguru gives you a knowing look, as if this explanation alone should suffice.

“Then,” he adds, rubbing his temples, “in true Gojo fashion, he invited Shoko and Nanami because, apparently, we haven’t all hung out in a while.”

You groan, setting your phone down to focus on your hair. “But we’re literally going today.”

“I know, baby. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” His voice softens. “Hey, if it helps: Nanami’s driving, Shoko’s bringing the weed, and Gojo made all the food. We’ll pick you up last, so be ready by 1, okay?”

Your arms cross as you narrow your eyes at the screen.

“Please and thank you?” Suguru adds, flashing you a guilty smile.

By the time Nanami’s flashy Lamborghini pulls up outside, you’ve decided to focus on the bright side: a picnic is still a picnic, and riding in a sports car doesn’t hurt. As you step out the door, the car horn blares obnoxiously. You spot Gojo leaning over the console, earning a sharp scolding from Nanami.

The passenger window rolls down, revealing Gojo’s grinning face. His white hair gleams in the sunlight, and he’s decked out in a crisp Burberry shirt with bold blue lettering.

“Hop in, twin!” he calls, waving enthusiastically.

The butterfly door lifts open, and you climb in, greeted by the lively chatter inside. Suguru, sitting beside you, pulls you into a quick side hug, while Shoko smiles lazily from the other side.

“Ready for some chill vibes?” you ask, settling in.

Shoko sighs dreamily, brushing stray hair from her face. “God, yes. Work’s been a nightmare, and Utahime’s visiting her family, so I’ve been suffering alone.” She holds up a clear backpack, revealing sparkly glass pipes and a mylar bag. “I brought some goodies—figured they’d fit the picnic aesthetic.”

Nanami grunts from the driver’s seat as the car pulls away. “Picnic aesthetic, huh?” he mutters, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “No wonder you’re so good at marketing.”

Shoko swats at him, laughing. “Damn right.”

Suguru drapes his arm over your shoulders, the soft fabric of his hoodie brushing against your skin. You peek at the GPS over the seat. “Gojo, you have the address to the nature reserve, right? I’ve been dying to see the pond. I think we’ll see swans!”

Gojo turns, flashing his signature grin. “Of course, sweetheart! You’re the best at picking scenic spots. And get this—Nanami’s trying a pipe for the first time. I’m thrilled.”

Nanami yawns, merging into the fast lane. “Just hope Gojo packed enough food for people other than himself.”

“Are you calling me big-backed, Nanamin?!” Gojo gasps dramatically, drawing a chorus of laughter, and the lack of response speaks for itself.

The trees are a deep, verdant green when you arrive. Sunlight filters through the canopy, casting golden streaks over the moss-covered ground. In the distance, you spot the pond, its still waters reflecting the sky.

Nanami parks carefully, muttering about the dirt ruining his tires. As everyone piles out, Gojo begins chattering about wild plants versus botanical gardens. You stretch your legs, joining Suguru at the trunk as he retrieves the picnic basket.

He grins, setting the basket aside before scooping you into his arms. “Let’s make this memorable,” he teases, lifting you effortlessly.

You squeak, clutching his neck as he carries you bridal-style. “Suguru!” Making good use of this vantage you squeeze at the flex of his biceps beneath your touch.

The group finds a sunny clearing near the pond, where Gojo unfurls a faded anime blanket.

“Is this… a Digimon blanket?” you ask, incredulous.

“Don’t shame me,” Gojo replies, flopping onto it like a starfish.

Shoko’s voice rings out. “Guys, there are mallards and swans! This spot is perfect.”

Suguru sets you down gently, his hands lingering at your waist. The group settles on the blanket, and Shoko begins unpacking the “tools.”

“Someone better have a lighter,” she says, pulling out a sparkly pink pipe.

Gojo raises a hand. “Torch incoming!”

Gojo grabs the pipe with a grin, packing it densely then handing it off to Nanami like a secret treasure. Nanami takes it with a steady hand, pressing his thumb over the carb and raising it to his lips. Gojo leans in, torch in hand, his elbow brushing your knee as he strikes it to life. The torch flares, a fiery orange that crackles sharply as it meets the bowl. Nanami inhales, his sharp cheekbones hollowing even more under the effort.

Leaning back onto his hands, he exhales a thick cloud, the smoke curling lazily upward before blending into the earthy aroma of moss and wood around you. It’s a strangely serene contrast—the cool, natural air swirling with the unmistakable musk of the smoke.

When Nanami cracks his eyes open, his usually stern face is softer, his posture visibly unwinding. He chuckles quietly, a rare, lazy smile creeping across his lips as his blond hair falls slightly over his forehead.

Shoko doesn’t wait long to snatch the torch from Gojo, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Watch this,” she teases, expertly lighting the bowl and taking a long drag. She exhales smoothly, her lips reddened from the pressure as perfect rings of smoke float into the air.

“Damn, Shoko, you’re too cool,” you murmur, enchanted as you wave your hand through one of the ghostly rings. It feels delicate against your skin before vanishing entirely.

“Shoko’s not the only one who can pull off tricks,” Suguru interjects, his cocky tone drawing everyone’s attention. He grabs the pipe, refilling it with deliberate care. With a smirk, he meets Shoko’s eyes. “I see your rings and raise you one.”

Suguru takes his hit, dragging deeply. When he exhales, his rings are massive, thick, and perfectly stacked, floating higher and wider than Shoko’s. The group collectively hums in impressed acknowledgment.

“Show-off,” Gojo mutters, his mock annoyance earning quiet laughter from everyone, including you.

When it’s your turn, you and Gojo, ever the chaotic duo, completely botch your hits. The smoke erupts in sharp, uncontrolled bursts as you both cough, doubling over in fits of laughter.

Suguru rubs your back in mock sympathy, unable to resist a sly jab. “You’d think you’d have learned something by now.”

It backfires quickly. A few rounds in, even the pros are struggling. Coughs ripple through the group as scorched lungs and parched throats demand mercy. The earlier finesse gives way to everyone wheezing and giggling uncontrollably.

The world around you starts to feel softer. The golden sunlight filtering through the trees feels warmer, the greens of the forest deeper. You breathe in the mingling scents of smoke, damp earth, and pine, savoring the strange but comforting mix.

Suguru’s fingers brush lightly over your forearm, sending a shiver across your skin. His soft hum is followed by a warm kiss pressed to your temple. You lean into him, feeling the weight of his presence grounding you.

“Guys! Guys!” Gojo’s hoarse voice interrupts the calm. He’s pointing wildly toward the pond, barely containing his excitement.

Squinting, you follow his gesture. Across the shimmering water, a pair of swans has landed. Their long necks intertwine gracefully as they glide across the surface, the image so peaceful it feels unreal.

The sight captures everyone’s attention, pulling a hush over the group as you all watch. The gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a bird fill the space.

Amidst the calm, Gojo’s shuffling breaks the silence. He’s hunched over the picnic basket, digging through its contents with increasing urgency.

“’M already hungry,” he grumbles, drawing groans from the group as the spell of the moment breaks.

Gojo pulls out a charcuterie board, followed by a tray of croissant sandwiches, a vibrant fruit platter, and bundles of baby’s breath flowers. The spread is as picturesque as a painting, sunlight glinting off the delicate petals and golden pastries. Suguru, suddenly interested, reaches over to pick up one of the flower bundles, plucks a single bloom, and carefully tucks it behind your ear.

“These are for you,” he says softly, his smile warm and radiant, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his dark hair gleams under the sun’s rays.

Shoko fake gags, waving a hand dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. You two are hopelessly in love or whatever. Meanwhile, some of us have been abandoned by our partners.”

You chuckle and reach out to cradle Suguru’s cheek, pulling him into a kiss. His skin is warm and soft, and you resist the urge to linger longer.

Meanwhile, Gojo has wasted no time digging into the food. Bread crumbs dot his chin, and he shoves a forkful of fruit into his mouth with little grace, chewing loudly and making exaggerated moans. Normally, his antics would irritate you, but today they only make you hungrier.

You gesture to him, and he passes you a croissant sandwich. Flaky crumbs drift onto the blanket as you take a bite, the buttery crust giving way to a symphony of flavors. A dab of sauce trickles down your lip, and you swipe it away with your tongue before holding the sandwich out to Suguru. He leans in to take a bite, his lips brushing against your fingers.

If there’s one thing Gojo excels at, it’s setting the perfect mood with food. Suguru hand-feeds you sweet, tangy strawberries as you recline on the blanket, the pond glimmering in the distance and sunlight casting golden shadows over the lush greenery.

A speckled mallard waddles closer, eyeing the crumbs on the blanket with hopeful intent. Gojo notices and begins crumbling a croissant in his palm.

“Nuh-uh! Oh, hell no,” Shoko says, lunging to swat at his hand. “Feeding ducks is terrible for them—it causes malnutrition!”

Gojo dodges her attempt, smirking. “Yeah, yeah. One crumb can’t hurt. Besides, it’s already been subjected to secondhand smoke thanks to you, Sho’.”

Shoko winces, clearly torn between her environmental convictions and the undeniable truth of your earlier indulgence. Nanami, surprisingly, places a hand on her shoulder.

“Relax,” he says calmly.

Your eyebrows shoot up. Nanami, the usual voice of tension, diffusing a situation? Gojo notices too. He saunters over, dramatically wrapping his long arms around Nanami’s shoulders and burying his face in the blonde’s neck.

“Save me, Nanamin~” he drawls.

Nanami stifles a chuckle—his first real crack in composure—and it’s clear the weed is doing its work.

“Open up,” Suguru says, drawing your attention back to him.

He dangles a plump grape above your mouth, teasing you with a grin. You open obediently, humming with pleasure as the juicy sweetness bursts on your tongue. Suguru’s fingers are stained crimson from the berries, and he holds up a bright green slice of kiwi next.

As you savor it, the tangy flavor lingers on your tongue, and a random question pops into your head. “Mmm, juicy. Hey, Sugu, is kiwi a fruit or a veggie? I mean, it’s green, and most green foods are vegetables.”

He blinks at you, clearly caught off guard, his stained fingers hovering in the air. You reach out, grabbing his wrist, and pull his hand to your mouth. Slowly, you lick at his fingers, swirling your tongue around his forefinger before sucking it gently. The faint fruity tang sends a pleasant hum through you, and Suguru’s eyes darken with quiet amusement.

“Sweetheart… kiwi is definitely a fruit,” he says, cheeks tinged with pink as he carefully slips his fingers from your mouth. “It has seeds. That’s basic knowledge, y’know. Let’s blame this… lapse on the bud.”

“Mean,” you pout, batting your lashes playfully.

His smile softens as he leans forward, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “At least you know I’d never lie to you.”

You smirk mischievously. “Wish you’d lie to me sometimes, Sugu.”

Gojo cuts in, pointing an accusatory finger at the group. “That goes for all of you, rude as fuck! Now come on—make it up to me by feeding the duckies!”

The high must’ve softened everyone’s resolve because, against your better judgment, you all comply with Gojo’s whim, trudging to the pond’s edge with croissants in hand. The sunlight filters through the trees, warming your skin as the dirt path crunches softly beneath your shoes. A pair of swans, their feathers pristine and white, glide toward the shore, their movement as graceful as a brushstroke.

“Here they come!” Gojo exclaims, his voice cutting through the tranquility like a slap.

The swans jolt, flapping their wings in alarm before settling again.

“And you’re so obnoxious,” Nanami mutters, casting a sharp look at Gojo. “You’re going to scare them off.”

Undeterred, Gojo grins while Nanami kneels by the water’s edge, cooing softly at the swans and sprinkling a few crumbs in front of his feet.

Shoko inhales deeply, a serene smile spreading across her face as she takes in the lush scenery.

“This is… nice,” she says, her voice dreamy. “Fresh air, earthy smells. Feels good to be surrounded by actual greenery for once. Usually, the only plants I see are the ones we smoke.” She shakes her head, the ends of her golden-brown hair brushing over her shoulders. “It’s kind of sad.”

You squat down, carefully grounding yourself with one hand wrapped around Suguru’s ankle. Your free hand skims the pond’s surface, the coolness of the water sending a shiver up your spine.

“They say, ‘go outside and touch grass,’ like it’s a joke,” you murmur, glancing up at Suguru, “but maybe they’re onto something.”

He chuckles softly, the vibrations traveling down to where your hand rests on his leg.

A thought tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. “Hey, guys… is water wet?”

Suguru freezes, letting out a sharp cough as though choking on air. To your right, Gojo snorts so loudly it startles the swans again.

“You lost me.”

“Guys, this is a judgment-free zone,” you insist, shooting Gojo a pointed look. “I expect sincere answers.”

Nanami groans, clearly over the conversation, but continues feeding the swans in stoic silence.

Gojo hums thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Okay, okay, I laughed, but now I’m genuinely stumped. I mean, water isn’t technically wet, right? It’s just… water. It only makes things wet. On its own, it just is.”

You perk up. “That’s what I’m saying! Water can make you wet, but that’s just the sensation. Objectively, you’re the one who’s wet.”

Suguru, exasperated, pulls his ankle free from your grip and hauls you upright, gripping your shoulders firmly. “You’re all ridiculous,” he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Of course water is wet. It’s a liquid. It has moisture. This isn’t up for debate; it’s basic science.”

“Smartass,” you huff, shrugging out of his grip.

Nanami clears his throat, his tone surprisingly contemplative. “Actually, Getou, I think they have a point. Wetness is about contact. Water itself isn’t wet—it’s what makes things wet. It’s all about perspective.”

Shoko throws her hands up. “What the fuck?! You guys are gonna give me a headache and ruin my high. Debate over. Full stop.”

You flick Suguru’s chest playfully. “Face it, we presented the better argument.”

Gojo sticks his tongue out in agreement, the obnoxious red muscle wagging in Suguru’s direction.

Suguru smirks, his grin teasing and wicked. “Funny because my argument came from someone intimately familiar with wetness. You might say I’m an expert in the field, after all.”

“Suguru!” Your face flames as you slap his arm, and Shoko groans in disgust.

Nanami doesn’t miss a beat, pointing toward the trail. “Getou, you’re done. Time out. Ten minutes. Go take a hike.”

Suguru raises his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I was going to check out the trail anyway.” He turns to you, dark eyes glinting. “Coming?”

You sigh but follow, the breeze by the water starting to chill you.

As you start walking, you catch Gojo giving Suguru a sly dap and a slap on the back. Thick as thieves, those two.

Suguru quickens his pace to match yours, and when you swat at his arm in retaliation for his earlier comment, he catches your hand effortlessly. Linking his arm through yours, he pulls you close as the trail winds through wiry trees.

You stop at a wooden post where the dirt path climbs steeply over an incline of jagged rocks. You eye the trail warily.

“You’re kidding,” you mutter, already regretting following him.

Suguru presses a finger to your lips, his grin widening. “No complaints. You wanted to smoke outside, so we’re fully immersing ourselves in nature.”

Grumbling, you follow his lead, climbing carefully over smaller stones before tackling the larger ones. Your footing slips near the top, but Suguru’s hand steadies you, his grip firm.

“Careful there~” he teases, his voice tinged with amusement.

You shoot him a glare as you regain your balance, brushing dust and dirt off your clothes. He nudges your shoulder gently. “Look around.”

You do—and the sight takes your breath away. Behind you, the slope drops sharply, the rocks giving way to a sprawling field dotted with vibrant magenta and lemon-yellow flowers. Patches of lush green grass ripple in the breeze, framed by towering trees that crest the hilltop above. The golden afternoon light bathes the scene, and for a moment, it feels like a dream.

The soft click of a camera pulls you from your reverie. Suguru grins at you from behind his phone, his cheeks high, eyes crinkled with genuine joy.

“… Beautiful,” he murmurs, though you’re not sure if he’s talking about you or the view.

You raise a lazy peace sign, eyeing his hoodie, now dusty and frayed, with leaves clinging to the sleeves. “And you look cute, all dirty like this.”

He arches a brow and steps closer, looping your arms around his neck. “Well, that’s not fair,” he says, his voice low and teasing as his nose brushes your neck. “I’ll just have to get you dirty too.”

Suguru leans in close, his warm breath fanning over your lips, carrying the potent scent of weed, with traces of sweetness from the fruit. His loose bun barely holds back the strands of his hair that the wind has claimed, giving him an effortlessly ethereal look. You tilt forward, rising onto your toes to meet him, only for him to pull back with that signature, teasing grin, making you chase after him.

“Such a tease, Sugi,” you murmur, your thumb brushing along the short strands at the nape of his neck, the spot that always makes him shiver.

You trail soft kisses along his jawline, letting your lips explore, your tongue tracing the sensitive underside of his jaw. He hums, low and resonant, the sound vibrating through you. When your eyes meet his again, they’re darker now—his pupils blown wide with want.

Determined, you pout, pushing out your lower lip in a way you know will undo him. It works. Suguru closes the distance, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s hot and insistent. His lips move against yours with a rhythm that’s utterly addictive, their warmth a striking contrast to the chill breeze that raises goosebumps on your skin.

His hands slide beneath your shirt, rough fingertips brushing your bare sides. The contact sends shivers through you, and you instinctively arch into his touch. When a moan escapes you—soft, needy, and unintentional—it catches you off guard, but Suguru seems more amused than surprised.

“You’re more eager than usual,” he teases, the husky rasp in his voice making your head spin.

“I’m always eager for you,” you reply breathlessly, threading your fingers through his hair. You tug just enough to make him groan, the sound like fuel to the fire building between you. “You drive me crazy—can’t think straight.”

His answering laugh is low, reverberating against your chest as his hands tighten on your waist. But the humor fades when you press closer, your voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sugi, I need you. Right now.”

You pull at his hoodie biting down on his collarbone, rough enough to draw a hiss from him, your tongue darting out to soothe the reddened mark. Your fingers thread deeper into his hair, tugging hard until his gaze locks with yours. The look on his face sends a shiver down your spine—his cheeks are flushed, his lips parted, and his eyes dark with hunger. He looks wild, feral, as if the thin thread of control he’s clinging to might snap at any moment.

You slide your hand down to interlock your fingers with his, tugging him toward a stocky tree just a few feet away. When you stop, mere inches from the cracked bark, you guide his hands to your waist. He doesn’t need more prompting, his grip firm as he pulls you flush against his body. His breath is hot against your neck, punctuated by kisses that trail down your nape, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

You press back into him, the loose material of his pants doing nothing to mask how hard he is. He grinds against you, and the friction sends a delicious ache pooling low in your stomach. His mouth works at your neck, nipping and sucking as if trying to mark every inch of you. You mewl as his teeth catch your pulse point, the sensation sharp and thrilling.

The pressure of his hips against the swell of your ass has you jolting forward, your hands flying to the rough bark of the tree to steady yourself. The sticky texture of the wood barely registers; all you can focus on is the heat building between your thighs. It’s overwhelming, almost unbearable. You’re already so close, and he hasn’t even—

“C’mon, Sugi,” you whine, sliding a hand under your shirt to tease your nipple. His large hand quickly replaces yours, tugging at the jewelry adorning it. His thumb brushes the cold metal, sending a shiver through you as he presses his erection harder against you.

Desperation takes over as your arch deepens, grinding against him with more urgency. His hand slides over the small of your back, and you glance over your shoulder, batting your lashes with a pout. “Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Need you.”

Suguru groans, the sound low and primal, as if your words snapped whatever restraint he had left. His hand grips your chin, tilting your face toward him. His dark eyes search yours, and when you nod, he exhales sharply, his resolve crumbling.

A minute later, you’re breathless as he yanks down your pants along with your panties in one swift motion, just enough to expose you. He frees himself, his cock bobbing up against his navel, thick and glistening with pre-cum.

He spreads your thighs with one hand, forcing you to press yourself further into the tree for support. The other hand returns to your nipple, his touch slick and wet, and then you feel him—his thick tip gliding along your folds, teasing. Your slickness mixes with his precum coating him easily, his head catching at your entrance before slipping up to brush your clit.

“Please,” you whimper, your voice cracking as you push back against him. But your words tumble out incoherently, your mind too hazy to form a proper sentence.

Suguru chuckles, his voice rough. “What was that, baby? Say it again. Clearer this time.”

You whine, frustration spilling over as you curse under your breath.

“Sugi, pu—ah!”

Suguru suddenly pushes into you in one smooth, fluid motion, your slick sucking him so deep you hear the soft slap of his hips against your ass. His cock stretches you, fills you completely, and you cry out, the sound echoing. Your head knocks against the tree as his chest presses against your back, his breathing heavy and ragged.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice thick with arousal. “You’re so perfect, bent over for me.”

The sharp smack of his hand against your ass draws a yelp from you, the sting blooming into pleasure that makes you tremble. He pulls out slowly, the drag of his cock against your walls sending sparks down your spine. You push back against him, desperate for more, matching his rhythm as he thrusts deep, then slow, making you feel every inch.

“Feels so good,” you moan, your words slurring as you lose yourself in the sensation. “S-Sugi, you feel so good.”

His movements grow rougher, his hips snapping against yours with an urgency that drives you closer to the edge. The lewd sounds of your bodies meeting—wet, rhythmic, and desperate—fill the air, drowning out everything else.

“You’re so wet,” he pants, his lips brushing your ear. “So tight. Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so good.”

His hand finds your lips, and you instinctively suck on his fingers, coating them with saliva. When he moves them lower to rub tight circles on your clit, you gasp, your body jolting at the added stimulation. The dual sensations of his cock inside you and his fingers against your clit are too much, and you feel yourself spiraling.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his voice strained. “Fuck, I can feel it. So tight f’me.”

Your body shudders as his thrusts quicken, and his words push you over the edge. “Yours,” you manage to gasp, your voice breaking. “All yours—ah, Sugi!”

Your orgasm crashes over you, your walls clenching around him as your vision goes white. Suguru’s grip tightens on your hips as he drives into you, his breath hot and erratic against your neck. He murmurs praises in a husky tone, each word sending a shiver down your spine as he fucks you through your climax.

You remain clenched, your orgasm washing over you in waves, and you can feel his rhythm falter. Your mind is hazy, consumed by the need for more—an ache that only he can fill. Without thinking, the desperate words spill from your lips.

“Sugu… so deep, s’good—ah, come inside. Inside.”

As if compelled, his fingers dig into your flesh, leaving crescent-shaped imprints on your skin as he buries himself fully, shuddering. A guttural moan tears from his throat as he releases deep inside you, his warmth spreading, leaving you both trembling.

The sensation is intoxicating, his thick heat pooling within you as you instinctively push back, savoring every pulse and drop. His voice, raw and broken, murmurs your name like a prayer, and the way he groans against your ear is utterly intoxicating.

The chill of the air suddenly cuts through the heat radiating off your bodies, and you shiver, the reality of your surroundings creeping back. Suguru, noticing your tremble, seems to regain his senses. With a gentle, lingering touch, he eases out of you, carefully tucking himself back into his pants, his gaze soft as he steadies you.

The breeze is brisk, but the warmth of Suguru’s hands on your waist lingers, grounding you even as your legs feel weak and unsteady. You turn to face him, burying your face in his chest.

“Leed fan cee labe,” you mumble into his shirt, the words muffled and nonsensical.

“What was that?” he asks, his brows raising in confusion.

You lift your head, meeting his amused gaze with a sheepish smile. “Need a Plan B, babe.”

Realization dawns on his face, and his expression shifts. “Shit, you’re right.” His hands slide down to adjust your rumpled clothing, tugging your bottoms back into place. “Let’s head out now—we can stop so I can grab you one on the way.”

You nod, though the sticky discomfort between your thighs is impossible to ignore. A flush creeps up your neck, but you push the thought aside, focusing on the changing sky instead. The molten orange of the setting sun blends into hues of deep pink and violet, painting the horizon like a masterpiece. It’s breathtaking.

Suguru’s hair has completely fallen from its loose bun, the dark strands framing his face and catching the soft glow of the fading sunlight. He looks utterly spent, his lips curving into a lazy, content grin. You can’t help but smile back.

“Ready to head back?” he asks, his voice warm.

“Yeah,” you reply, even though your mind buzzes with the impending awkwardness of facing your friends. There’s no graceful way to rejoin them after what just happened, not when the evidence still clings to your skin. It feels like your secret is scrawled all over your face in bold letters.

The forest around you grows darker as the sun dips lower, the tall trees casting elongated shadows across the ground. When you reach the edge of the clearing, you spot the rest of your group by the pond. Gojo, Shoko, and Nanami are slapping at each other’s shoulders, giggling like some badass kids up to no good.

Suguru clears his throat, and Gojo spins around, his eyes narrowing playfully as he looks between the two of you. Suguru hooks his pinky around yours, the small gesture comforting.

“You two have been gone sus-pic-iously long,” Gojo sing-songs, dragging out the words for effect.

Your nose twitches at the strong, smoky scent of weed lingering in the air, and you spot the faint haze around them.

“And your eyes are suspiciously red,” you fire back, raising an eyebrow.

Nanami straightens, crossing his arms as if to feign sternness, but Shoko waves her hands dismissively, ushering the subject away.

“Fair enough,” she says, smirking. “Let’s call it even.”

Without further comment, the group begins gathering the picnic supplies—folding the blanket, collecting containers, and making lazy conversation about the sunset. The walk back to the car is peaceful, a comfortable silence. You feel spent, wrapped in the afterglow of your raunchy rendezvous with Suguru and the tranquil camaraderie of your friends.

But as you approach where Nanami’s sleek car should be parked, your steps falter. Instead of the vehicle, you’re met with two tire tracks imprinted in the dirt and an empty space where it once stood.

Nanami freezes, his jaw slack as he stares at the vacant spot. His face drains of color, and for a moment, no one says anything. It’s Gojo who finally breaks the silence.

“It can’t be… Did they tow it?” His voice carries a mix of disbelief and amusement like he’s caught between laughing and whining.

The realization settles over the group like a heavy cloud. You’re too tired to muster any real outrage, and your friends—still riding their high—seem similarly incapable of processing the situation.

Nanami buries his face in his hands, looking utterly defeated. Suguru, ever the calm one, pulls out his phone, typing rapidly.

“We just need to get back to the apartment,” he says, his tone steady. “My car’s there. I’m texting Toji to pick us up—he’s mobile anyways.”

You nod along with the others, eager to leave the wooded area before night fully descends. Suguru’s phone clicks shut, and he confirms Toji’s ETA. Relief washes over you at the thought of Toji’s reckless but dependable driving.

As you lean into Suguru’s chest for warmth, Gojo starts humming, then breaks into a loud, off-key rendition of Rihanna’s SOS. He’s halfway through the third chorus when the distinct roar of Toji’s car cuts through the air.

The Honda skids to a stop a few feet away, its engine revving loudly, headlights piercing the darkness.

“Hurry, get in!” Toji’s gruff voice calls, leaning out of the driver’s seat, a smirk on his face that somehow screams both “here to save the day” and “brace for the worst.”

The five of you scramble into the car in a chaotic rush. Gojo claims the passenger seat after a brief, comical tussle, leaving Shoko, Nanami, and Suguru to squeeze into the back. You climb onto Suguru’s lap, shutting the door as the car lurches forward.

Perched awkwardly, you grip the back of Toji’s seat to steady yourself as the sedan jolts over uneven terrain. Toji glances back briefly, patting your hand beside his head. “Duck down if we pass any cops, would ya? Can’t risk another ticket.”

The sky outside deepens to a starless black, made even darker by the car’s heavy tint. Toji’s erratic driving tosses you against Suguru’s chest, each bump jarring you further. You focus on your breathing, willing away the queasiness creeping into your stomach.

Gojo hums some nonsensical tune, punctuated by bursts of loud TikTok videos from his phone. Shoko, meanwhile, has gone limp, her head lolling from Suguru’s shoulder to Nanami’s. Her soft snores are oddly soothing amidst the chaos.

Nanami, ever the skeptic, watches Toji’s movements with a wary eye, his body stiff. “Something wrong, Toji?” he asks, his tone heavy with suspicion.

Toji’s brows furrow as he spares a glance at the rearview mirror. His hands tighten on the wheel, and the car speeds up to cut off a vehicle in the next lane. “Nothing major,” he says, though his voice carries a hint of unease.

“Nothing major?” Nanami repeats, pushing a hand through his hair. “I’ll take you at your word—for now.”

Toji clicks his tongue, as if debating how much to share. “Fine. Just a little hiccup,” he admits. “I double-back on a wealthy guy I scammed—transferred a chunk of cash to my second account earlier today. Forgot to use a VPN, though, so my withdrawal’s traceable. But don’t worry. I’ve got it all handled.”

The car goes quiet as his words sink in. You sit up straighter, your breath catching. Nanami chokes on whatever he was about to say. “You… what? Are we safe?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Toji says dismissively. “Relax. The IP’s all messed up anyway. I use public Wi-Fi—it’s not like they can trace it straight to me.”

Suguru groans, exasperated. “We’ve heard enough Toji, don’t incriminate my friends. Just get us home.”

You close your eyes, resting your forehead against the back of Toji’s seat. The constant dinging of notifications coming from his phone hoisted on the windshield mount is grating, and apparently, Gojo agrees—he snatches the device and powers it off. Toji glares but says nothing, his focus returning to the road.

“I’m getting carsick,” you mutter, pressing the button to roll down your window. Cool evening air rushes in, washing over your face and filling your lungs. Relief floods through you as familiar streets and buildings come into view, signaling the end of this turbulent ride.

Toji maneuvers into a tight spot between a Jeep and a Benz at the end of Gojo and Suguru’s street. The car creaks to a stop, and Suguru’s arms, which had been wrapped around your waist, shift to your thighs, smoothing over your legs.

You spot a sleek car with its hazards on, inching down the road. Squinting, you lean forward. “Check it out, Sugu! It’s a Bugatti.”

Suguru leans with you, intrigued. The car’s deliberate, almost sluggish pace feels odd, and you jab his chest lightly. “Scoping out the scenery, huh?”

Your teasing dies in your throat when the car suddenly surges forward, erratic and fast. The window facing you rolls down, and your heart sinks as the unmistakable silhouette of a gun muzzle emerges from the shadows within.

“Shit,” Toji growls, his voice tight with panic. His hand shakes as he fumbles to restart the ignition, the lanyard holding his keys slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor. Suguru yanks at your shoulders, trying to pull you down.

“What the hell’s going o—” Gojo’s voice cuts off as a thunderous crack tears through the night, the car shuddering violently as a bullet slams into its side. The second shot comes too quickly, sharp and jarring, the sound ricocheting inside the confined space. Chaos ignites in an instant.

Instant pain blooms in your left shoulder, hot and unforgiving, like fire spreading under your skin. It steals the air from your lungs, and a scream bursts from your throat—raw, guttural, almost unrecognizable as your own. Your eyes drop to your arm, now streaked with crimson, blood dripping steadily down to your fingertips.

Gunshots. I’ve been hit. A bullet grazed me. What the fuck? If Toji isn’t dead, I’m gonna kill him myself.

The thoughts slam into you, disjointed and surreal, the world spinning as your mind struggles to grasp the gravity of the moment.

“Suguru, they—” The words barely make it past your lips before his hands are on you, firm but trembling as he grips your shoulders. His voice is frantic, his usually steady tone cracked with panic. “Get down—stay low!”

Toji’s curses cut through the chaos, sharp and biting. His fist slams against the dashboard as the engine sputters to life. “Hold on!” he barks, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The car jerks forward, tires screeching against the asphalt, but the motion only worsens the dizziness clawing at you.

Your vision begins to blur, black spots creeping into the edges, stars flickering like dying embers. The muffled voices around you—Suguru’s urgent commands, Toji’s muttered expletives—start to fade, swallowed by the throbbing pain and the encroaching darkness.

Slipping under, the last thing you hear is Suguru shouting your name before unconsciousness claims you.

[taglist: @inthedarkshadows000 @saltyhansen @m0rgui @walq-chan @creative1writings @mentallyillcore @yourname-exee xoxo]

10/10 fanart by @murawya on pinterest

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