#the feeling of everyone watching your relationship and knowing that at the end of the day the only thing that matters

[kiwriteswords]

Something To Be Thankful For

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: With Thanksgiving in the US next week, I could not help myself! Started writing this one last week and debated on posting, but here we are. Enjoy! Grateful for this community! (Also needed to post this before I move onto writing some Christmas content, lol!)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags/Warnings: Thanksgiving, fluff, domestic moments, holiday traditions, family dynamics, slow burn, new relationship, found family, mentions of grief, mentions of wine/alcohol, and food TW.

Sypnosis: When you accept an unexpected Thanksgiving invitation from Aaron Hotchner and his son Jack, a simple holiday dinner becomes something more. Through shared laughter, heartfelt moments, and the warmth of a home-cooked meal, you discover the beauty of connection and the quiet joy of being exactly where you belong.

You were shuffling papers into your go-bag when you heard a knock on the edge of your desk. Glancing up, you were greeted by Hotch’s warm smile, softer than the one he wore in the field but still undeniably him. It was a smile you’d only recently gotten used to—the kind of smile that reminded you things between the two of you were no longer strictly professional.

The bullpen was quieter than usual. Most of the team had already left for the extended Thanksgiving break. Morgan had been the first to bolt, teasing everyone about having a “real” meal with family, while Garcia had dragged Reid out the door, insisting he couldn’t spend the holiday with nothing but his books for company. Rossi had a feast he was looking forward to slaving over, and you could still hear Emily groan at having to see her mother. JJ, however, was looking forward to the domestic Thanksgiving she was hosting. Now, it was just you and Hotch left, lingering in the familiar silence of the BAU.

“You’re not headed out yet?” Aaron’s voice broke the silence, low and thoughtful, drawing your attention away from your bag. He stood near your desk, hands in his pockets, his tie slightly loosened from the day.

“Just tying up some loose ends,” you replied, zipping your bag shut and brushing a stray hair from your face. “You?”

He hesitated, his gaze shifting from your bag to you and then back again. His expression was softer than usual, but his shoulders still carried that ever-present weight. “Actually, I wanted to ask what your plans are for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, nothing special.” You shrugged, keeping your tone light and breezy. “My family’s out of state, so I’ll probably just stay in. Maybe I’ll cook something small and watch some cheesy holiday movies. You know, the usual.”

Aaron frowned slightly, the crease between his brows deepening, and you immediately regretted how casually you’d phrased it. His concern was unmistakable, and it made your stomach flip.

“You’re spending it alone?” he asked, his voice a touch lower, softer.

“Well, yeah,” you said lightly, trying to shrug it off. “I didn’t think traveling back for just a few days made sense. Plus, it’s not like I’ve never done it before.”

He didn’t respond right away, and his silence made you look up at him. There was something unreadable in his expression, a quiet thoughtfulness that always made you feel like he saw more than you ever intended to show. His lips pressed together briefly, and then his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. When he finally spoke, there was a quiet determination in his tone.

“Then join me and Jack.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Join us,” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice gentler this time. “It’ll just be the two of us. Jessica is with Haley’s family, and Sean… well, who knows where he is. There’s plenty of room at the table.”

“Oh, Aaron, I don’t want to intrude—”

“You wouldn’t be,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. He stepped closer still, and now his eyes held yours with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “Jack would love to have you there. And so would I.”

Your throat tightened at his sincerity, and for a moment, you could only stare at him. This was Aaron Hotchner—stoic, composed, sometimes impossibly guarded. But now, he was standing in front of you, asking you to spend Thanksgiving with him and his son. It was more than an invitation—it felt like a gesture, an opening to something you hadn’t dared to hope for.

The two of you hadn’t discussed Thanksgiving before this. Your relationship was still new, so new that you’d intentionally avoided bringing up the holiday, not wanting to impose or create any kind of awkward expectation. But here he was, offering exactly what you hadn’t dared to ask for.

“You’re sure?” you asked, your voice quieter now, hesitant.

“I’m very sure,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “You shouldn’t spend the holiday alone. And honestly…” He paused, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. “It wouldn’t feel right without you.”

Aaron could see the uncertainty flickering in your expression, but he also saw the moment it gave way to something warmer, something that made his chest tighten. He hadn’t planned to ask—not until he saw you standing there, zipping up your bag with a casual mention of spending the day alone. The thought of you sitting by yourself, piecing together a small meal, felt wrong in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You nodded, the weight of his sincerity breaking through your hesitation. “Okay. I’ll come.”

The relief that washed over his face was subtle but unmistakable, and his small smile made your chest feel impossibly light. “Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop the smile spreading across your lips. “Sounds perfect.”

As the two of you walked to the elevator, silence filled the space, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You felt his presence next to you, steady and sure, and your mind raced with the implications of spending Thanksgiving with him and Jack. It was new territory, uncharted and a little daunting, but the thought of sitting at his table—laughing, sharing stories, carving turkey—filled you with a warmth that hadn’t been there before.

Aaron glanced at you as you both stepped into the elevator, catching the faint trace of a smile on your lips. For him, the idea of having you there wasn’t just about avoiding loneliness; it was about inviting you into something that mattered to him. Jack needed to see that warmth, that joy again. And, quietly, so did he.

The morning of Thanksgiving arrived, and your kitchen looked like a crime scene—a deliciously fragrant, pumpkin-filled crime scene. Flour dusted the counter, a rolling pin was haphazardly balanced against a bowl, and the golden-brown crust of your homemade pumpkin pie was cooling on a rack, mocking you with its imperfect edges.

“This has to be perfect,” you muttered, frowning as you adjusted the spices in the filling for the third time. Despite your best efforts, doubt lingered like a stubborn stain. You didn’t want to bring just any dessert to Aaron and Jack’s Thanksgiving table; it had to be flawless.

But the pie wasn’t your only problem.

Your bedroom was a disaster zone. A few blouses were draped over the chair, rejected dresses lay in a heap on the bed, and a pair of black heels you’d pulled from the back of your closet sat mockingly on the floor. Every outfit you tried on felt wrong—too formal, too casual, or just not you.

After tossing yet another top onto the growing pile, you grabbed your phone and hit Aaron’s contact. The second you heard his warm, familiar voice on the other end, you started rambling.

“Hey, okay, so, uh, what’s the dress code for today? Like, should I wear a dress? Or maybe a nice top and jeans? Or should I do something fancier? I don’t want to overdo it, but I also don’t want to look like I didn’t try—oh God, what if I look like I’m trying too hard? Are we doing photos? Do I need to plan for that? Aaron—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, a soft laugh threading through his voice. “Take a breath.”

You paused, clutching the phone tightly as you exhaled. “Sorry. I’m just… overthinking.”

“I can tell,” he said, still chuckling. “But you don’t have to. Trust me.”

“How can I not overthink? It’s our first holiday together, and I don’t want to mess it up,” you admitted in a rush.

“You won’t,” he assured you, his tone gentle. “Honestly, you’re adorable when you get frazzled like this.”

Your cheeks heated at his words, and before you could protest, he added, “Jack’s still in his pajamas. And as for me… well, I’m not exactly pulling out a suit for dinner at home. Something comfortable is perfectly fine.”

“Wait—Jack’s still in his pajamas?” you asked, blinking in disbelief, looking at the clock on your nightstand.

“Yes,” Aaron said, clearly amused. “And he’ll probably stay in them until I convince him to change for dinner. So, whatever you’re comfortable in will be perfect. You don’t need to try for us.”

His words sank in, melting some of the tension in your chest. “Okay,” you said quietly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.”

“Of course,” he said softly. “Now, how’s the pie coming along?”

You glanced toward the kitchen, where the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon lingered in the air. “It’s… well, it’s not going to win any awards for presentation, but I think it’ll taste good.”

“That’s all that matters,” Aaron said. “We’re looking forward to it—and to seeing you.”

Your stomach fluttered at the warmth in his voice. “Me too,” you murmured, suddenly feeling a lot calmer.

“Good. I’ll be there soon to pick you up. Take your time finishing up.”

“Okay. Thanks, Aaron.”

After you hung up, you felt the lingering anxiety dissolve. You ditched the fancy outfit idea and settled on your favorite pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Then, you went back to the pie, focusing on getting the filling just right while you waited for him to arrive.

When the familiar black SUV pulled into your driveway, you took a deep breath, balancing the still-warm pumpkin pie in one hand and a bag filled with carefully packed containers in the other. You barely had time to lock the door behind you before Jack jumped out of the car and bounded up to meet you, a wide grin on his face.

“Hi!” he chirped, his excitement palpable. He glanced at the pie in your hands. “Is that dessert?”

“It sure is,” you said, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “And there’s more where that came from. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh, I’m always hungry,” Jack said with a dramatic sigh, making you laugh.

Aaron approached a moment later, his brows lifting in surprise as he took in the scene. You were balancing a picture-perfect pumpkin pie in one hand and a bag in the other, your face flushed with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Pumpkin pie and—what’s in the bag?” he asked, his tone light with curiosity.

You straightened, holding the bag up with a sheepish smile. “Homemade stuffing. And a couple of bottles of wine.”

Aaron blinked, his lips curving into an amused smile. He had expected you to bring the pumpkin pie you raved about, knowing how thoughtful you were, but this was above and beyond. “You didn’t have to go all out.”

“It’s Thanksgiving,” you replied, shrugging. “It felt weird to show up empty-handed.”

“And the wine?” he asked, his tone teasing as his gaze flicked to the bottles tucked in the side pocket of the bag.

“One red, one white,” you said, grinning. “You like red, I like white, and I’m not driving, so… why not?”

Aaron chuckled softly, shaking his head. You’d thought of everything. “Fair enough. Why not?”

Jack reached for the bag, eager to help, but Aaron gently intercepted it. “Let me carry that,” he said, taking the bag and pie from you. “You take it easy. We’ve got this.”

As he walked back to the car, his thoughts lingered on you. He’d always admired your attention to detail, but this? This was another level. It wasn’t just the food or the wine—it was the thoughtfulness behind it. You’d taken the time to think about what would make the day special, not just for him but for Jack, too. It tugged at something deep in him, quiet gratitude that he wasn’t facing this day alone anymore.

The drive back to Aaron and Jack’s apartment was quiet and peaceful, the kind of stillness that only came with holidays. The roads were nearly empty; the world seemingly paused for the day.

Jack filled the silence, animatedly telling you about how his dad had let him help with the turkey that morning.

“Well, I didn’t really touch the turkey,” Jack admitted, grinning. “But I got to pick the seasoning!”

From the driver’s seat, Aaron couldn’t help but smile. Jack was practically beaming, his excitement contagious. Aaron found himself glancing at you in the rearview mirror, the way your eyes lit up as you listened to Jack’s story.

“You’ve got a good sous chef there, Aaron,” you teased, glancing at him. He gave you one of those small, subtle smiles that you were quickly learning to adore.

The warmth of your voice settled something in him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been dreading this day, how empty it had felt knowing Jessica was away and Sean was off doing who-knew-what. But now, with you in the car and Jack’s laughter filling the space, it felt… full. It felt right.

“Well,” Aaron said, his lips twitching into a faint smile, “he might be better at seasoning than I am.”

Jack let out a laugh, and you joined in, the sound weaving through the quiet hum of the car. Aaron’s chest tightened for a moment—not in discomfort, but in recognition. This was something he hadn’t allowed himself to hope for in a long time: the beginnings of a new kind of family, one that made the holidays feel like home again.

When you arrived at the apartment, Aaron carried your things while you shrugged off your coat. He set the bag down carefully and returned to you, his hands outstretched to take your coat. His gaze lingered a little longer, studying your face before trailing down to your outfit. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice low and warm. The sincerity behind it made your heart skip.

You glanced down at your outfit—a simple pair of jeans and a soft sweater—and flushed. “This? It’s nothing fancy.”

“I know,” he replied, his smile growing slightly. “That’s why I like it. You could be wearing sweats, and you’d still look great.”

Your chest fluttered at his words, and you smiled shyly. “Thanks, Aaron.”

He hung your coat with an easy familiarity, glancing back at you as if he wanted to say more but chose to keep it to himself. For a moment, the quiet in the room felt heavy with something unspoken, but then Jack broke the silence, bounding toward you with the same enthusiasm he’d shown when he first greeted you.

“Come on! We’re setting the table,” Jack said, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dining area.

“Lead the way,” you said with a laugh, letting him guide you.

Aaron stood by the doorway to the kitchen for a moment, watching the two of you go. Jack was chatting animatedly about napkin folding techniques he’d learned from his Aunt Jess, and you were smiling, nodding along with genuine interest. Aaron turned back to the kitchen, his chest tightening—not from stress, but from something softer, more hopeful.

The next half hour passed in a warm flurry of activity. While Aaron focused on the turkey, you and Jack worked together to set the table. Jack insisted on folding the napkins into what he called “turkey shapes,” even though they looked more like triangles, and you encouraged his efforts as if he were crafting masterpieces.

“You’re a natural,” you told him as he carefully adjusted a plate.

He grinned up at you, his pride clear. “Do you really think so?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a playful wink, and Jack’s grin widened even more.

From the kitchen, Aaron glanced over at the two of you. His hands stilled on the turkey baster as he watched Jack eagerly showing you his handiwork, your laughter mixing with Jack’s excited chatter. The sight made something settle in him, a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time spreading through his chest.

He shifted his focus back to the turkey, his mind wandering to how easily you’d fit into their dynamic. It wasn’t forced, wasn’t awkward. Instead, it was natural, like you’d been part of their little family all along. He shook his head slightly, the faintest smile lingering on his lips as he resumed preparing dinner.

The apartment filled with the warm, savory aroma of roasting turkey, the clinking of plates as Jack adjusted the table settings, and the soft hum of conversation. Occasionally, you glanced toward the kitchen, where Aaron worked with quiet efficiency, a faint smile playing at the edges of his expression whenever he caught your eye.

Jack’s laughter echoed brightly, and Aaron chuckled softly in response, the sound grounding the space in warmth and comfort. It had been a long time since Thanksgiving had felt like more than just another day, but with you here, it felt different. It felt like something new, something he wanted to hold onto.

The table was set, the food was ready, and the apartment buzzed with a warmth that felt almost tangible. Jack had insisted on lighting the small candle centerpiece he’d picked out, proudly declaring it “fancy.” You couldn’t help but laugh as he adjusted the napkins for the third time, clearly taking his job very seriously.

Aaron carried the turkey to the table, the golden skin glistening perfectly, and Jack’s eyes widened in awe. “Whoa, Dad, it looks awesome!”

“Thanks, buddy,” Aaron said, his lips quirking into a small smile. His gaze flickered toward you for a moment, something softer lingering there before he gestured for everyone to take their seats.

As the three of you settled in, Jack’s excitement bubbled over. “Can we eat now? Please?”

Aaron shook his head, chuckling. “Not quite yet, Jack.” He leaned forward slightly, his gaze warm as he looked between you and his son. “Before we start, I think it’s only right that we share what we’re grateful for.”

Jack groaned, though his grin betrayed him. “Dad…”

“Come on,” Aaron said with a faint smirk. “It’s tradition.”

Jack sighed dramatically, but you could tell he didn’t mind as much as he pretended. Aaron turned to you, a slight tilt of his head. “Would you like to go first?”

You blinked, caught off guard, but quickly smiled. “Sure.” You looked at Jack, then at Aaron, and for a moment, your words caught in your throat. “I guess… I’m grateful for this,” you said softly. “For being here, for both of you. This is the kind of thing I’ve always dreamed of—a warm meal, good company, and moments that feel like home.”

Aaron’s expression softened, his gaze steady as he nodded. Jack beamed at you, clearly pleased by your answer.

“My turn!” Jack piped up. “I’m grateful for… um… pie!” He grinned mischievously before quickly adding, “And Dad. And you,” he said, looking at you shyly. “And for not having to eat Brussels sprouts this year.”

That earned a laugh from both you and Aaron, and Jack grinned, proud of himself. Aaron’s smile lingered as he turned his attention to Jack.

“Well, I’m grateful for you, Jack,” he said, his tone soft but steady. “And for this… for today. It’s been a while since Thanksgiving felt like Thanksgiving.”

His gaze shifted to you, and there was something unspoken in his eyes, a depth that made your breath catch. “I’m grateful for you,” he said simply. “For being here.”

The words were gentle but carried a weight that settled over the table like a warm blanket. Jack didn’t notice the brief pause that followed, busy trying to decide what part of the turkey to claim first, but you felt it—the quiet sincerity of what Aaron had said.

As the meal began, the conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating the clinking of plates and utensils. The food was incredible, each dish perfectly cooked and seasoned. You found yourself marveling at Aaron’s skill in the kitchen.

“This is amazing,” you said between bites of turkey. “I can’t believe you pulled all of this together.”

“Dad’s a really good cook,” Jack said proudly. “He always lets me help.”

Aaron glanced at you, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks at the praise. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said quietly, his tone tinged with modesty.

The meal stretched on, each bite more delicious than the last, but it wasn’t just the food—it was the atmosphere. The apartment felt alive in a way it hadn’t in years. For Aaron, this was the first Thanksgiving he hadn’t spent alone with Jack since Haley passed. The ones before that—when he and Haley were divorced—had been different, fractured in a way he tried not to dwell on.

But tonight? Tonight was different. It wasn’t just the food or the laughter; it was the way you fit so effortlessly into this moment. It was the way Jack’s eyes lit up when you praised his napkin folding, the way your laugh softened the edges of his own grief, the way you leaned into this space like it was where you belonged.

Aaron leaned back slightly, watching you and Jack talk animatedly about the pie, his heart aching in a way that wasn’t painful but full. It had been years—years—since he’d felt this kind of warmth during a holiday. Not since Jack was a baby, not since he and Haley had been on the same page. This wasn’t just a good Thanksgiving. This was a piece of something he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.

For you, this moment was everything you’d dreamed of when you thought about falling in love someday. Not the grand gestures or big declarations, but this—the little moments. The laughter shared over a meal, the warmth of a family gathering, the simple joy of being wanted somewhere.

As the evening wore on, Jack began to nod off at the table, and Aaron scooped him up, promising him a slice of pie tomorrow. You helped clear the dishes, and the quiet rhythm of the task ground you both in the moment. Aaron glanced at you as you set the last plate in the sink, his expression soft.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“For what?” you asked, turning to meet his gaze.

“For being here,” he said simply, the weight of his gratitude clear in his voice.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest as you replied, “Thank you for having me.” And for the first time in a long time, you both felt like Thanksgiving was exactly what it was meant to be.

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[lara4eclipze]

“i wish you were sober"

— ( 🎲 ) take me where the music ain't too loud

— ( 🎰 ) angst , fluff , drinking , drugs, no label relationship , sort of good ending! , dw they become gir-

— ( 🎥 ) @wonysugar hii bae! , here's some angst for you :)) , idrk how I ended up with this but 🤞😘

this party shit , wish we could dip — go anywhere but here

you never knew what you and lara were , it was like you both were pining each other just waiting until one of you breaks and succumbs to love

she would be mad at you when you showed affection towards others but when she shows affection to others it's alright , it felt like you were getting fried in your own oil

you couldn't leave her — you didn't want to leave her , as much as it hurt you — you were never gonna leave her she was a part of you , someone who made you complete , you couldn't think about your college life without her

"I'm fine lara we should leave you know?—it's getting crowded in here" you wince as you took a look around seeing a bunch of teens passed out or drinking

"y/nnie come on!" lara manages to slurr out of her mouth , she was obviously intoxicated — she looked hypnotizing , her hair perfectly framed her face — lipstick smudged from drinking out of red plastic cups

"gosh your so b-boring" she hiccups, her hands now on yours trying to lift you off the couch you were sitting on

her words struck you — you were boring? for not participating in some stupid shit no teen should do? , "I just don't want to do this" you reason pulling back your hands and shooting her a sympathetic smile

"fine leave then" she suddenly bit — her tone was icy cold leaving no room for argument , she turns away from you and goes to a group of teens who were wasted

"okay...— I'll just go" you awkwardly mumble to yourself , you stand up and make sure all your things are in your bag — as you're walking out of the house you spot lara in the corner of your eye — smiling and flirting with someone

don't kiss my lips and please don't drink more beer

you wanted to storm over there and just scream at lara as if that was gonna make her sober — it really did fucking took a toll out of you , having to put up with this BS from lara — having to see her flirt with everyone but you

you check your watch and see it was already too late, by this point weird men start popping up in the party so you've taken it upon yourself to get lara home safely

"laru—we have to go" you lower your voice and whisper to her , she looks at you confused her eyes were half lidded and she reeked the smell of alcohol

fuck you fell for it again.

"I don't wanna go yet" she whines , her body slumped against yours as you tried to balance her, "I'm not asking if you want to , you're coming with me either way" you sternly declare

you turn to walk away still holding to her , she grips your shoulders and makes you face her — lara's lips soon was on yours , it felt soft and warm , she tasted sweet and almost like chocolate

as you both pull away you saw how her eyes were glossed over , her lips still having your lipstick on it some smudged over

"why won't you love me? hcc , I've done everything yet you never even tried reciprocating my feelings!" lara accused as the previous alcohol she has consumed made her sensitive , tears start to leave her eyes as she continues to reason why she had always wanted you

"i will always choose you over any of these people!" she screams , her voice broke as she kept on tearing up

you held her body , hugging her , as her tears fell on your shoulders — hiccups and many more thoughts left her mouth unfiltered

"I love you — don't you love me back?" she questions, looking up at you — her eyes were filled with tears her nose was red from all the sniffling she had done and god her voice trembled as if she was afraid of losing you

"I love you too , now don't cry I'm not gonna replace you ever" you replied using your handkerchief to wipe away her tears, she clings onto you and sniffles murmuring some thank you and I love you's

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt. 3

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

PART ONE | PART TWO

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af, you might dislike gojo in this im sorry, very very mild geto x reader

NOTESજ⁀➴ i feel bad for changing the tags so often bcs i really dont wanna catfish ppl into my story BUT I GENUINELY DIDNT PLAN THIS STORY OUT SO EVEN I DONT KNOW HOW THIS IS GONNA END

wcજ⁀➴ 5.6k

taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie

The cool breeze cut through the streets, but you barely felt it—your mind too occupied with the thoughts swirling around you. It had been a quiet kind of afternoon, the kind that you could lose yourself in, if only you weren’t so aware of every little thing happening around you.

You were meeting up with Gojo, Geto, and Shoko, as usual. At least, that was what you told yourself when you agreed to tag along. But this wasn’t just any other meetup. Gojo had insisted—practically begged—that everyone finally meet someone important to him.

“It’ll be great!” his voice echoed in your head, far too enthusiastic. “I want you guys to meet Mina properly. She’s really excited to get to know you all, too!”

And so, here you were now. Standing at the corner of a familiar street, waiting at the meetup spot, hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket as the cool breeze nipped at your skin. The streets were quieter than usual, the kind of calm that made you feel more aware of the thoughts swirling in your mind.

Your mind inevitably wandered, drifting to the idea of finally meeting Mina up close. You’d seen her before, of course, but only from a distance. The cheerleading team had always been easy to spot at school events, and you’d watch her from the sidelines, noticing the way she effortlessly blended into the crowd, always smiling, always surrounded by laughter.

There was something almost magnetic about her—something perfect. The way she carried herself, the way her laughter seemed to light up a room. Even from afar, you couldn’t deny that she was stunning. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what it was, but it was obvious. She was the kind of pretty that made heads turn, the kind of perfect that seemed like it belonged next to someone like Gojo. The way they spoke about her, the way he looked at her, it all seemed like the pieces of a picture that fit together so effortlessly.

You tried to push the thoughts away, but they lingered in the back of your mind. Would she really be as perfect in person as she was from a distance? Would she live up to the image you had built in your head without even realizing it?

The sound of footsteps pulling you back to reality made you glance up, only to see Gojo, Geto, Shoko—and Mina, standing with them. She was everything you imagined and more. Pretty, confident, and with a kind of presence that seemed to match Gojo’s energy effortlessly. Your stomach twisted.

As your gaze met Mina’s, you felt a fleeting, sharp pang in your chest. She was even more striking up close—her warm eyes and inviting smile only confirmed what you’d observed from afar. Everything about her seemed effortless, like she belonged with Gojo, almost like she was made for him.

Her eyes caught yours, and there was a brief moment where everything felt suspended—until she broke the silence with a bright, friendly smile. “Hey, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” she said, her voice cheerful, full of sincerity.

You hesitated for just a second, but it was enough for your heart to betray you, tightening in your chest as you forced a smile onto your face. “Yeah, you too,” you replied, hoping your tone didn’t sound as strained as it felt.

Mina’s smile didn’t waver, and for that, you were grateful. “Satoru’s told me so much about you all,” she said, her voice light and warm. “It feels like I already know you guys.”

“Oh, has he now?” Geto chimed in, his voice teasing as he shot a glance at Gojo. “I’m almost scared to ask what he said about us.”

“Don’t worry,” Mina laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “It was all good things... mostly.”

Shoko snorted, crossing her arms. “Knowing Satoru, I wouldn’t be surprised if he exaggerated every story.”

“Exaggerate? Me?” Gojo put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “I would never!” He turned to Mina with a grin. “Don’t listen to them. I’m the most honest guy you’ll ever meet.”

“Right,” you muttered under your breath, earning a chuckle from Geto beside you.

Mina glanced your way, her smile growing as if she had caught your comment. “You must be the sarcastic one,” she said lightly, her tone playful. “Satoru mentioned that.”

The words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. “Did he?” you managed, keeping your tone neutral, though inside you felt a flicker of something—was it warmth? Embarrassment? Jealousy? You couldn’t tell.

“He said you’re his closest friend,” Mina continued, her sincerity disarming. “That you’ve always been there for him.”

Your throat tightened at that. “Yeah, well,” you said, shrugging as casually as you could manage. “Someone’s gotta keep him in line.”

Mina laughed again, and it was such a soft, genuine sound that you hated how much you wanted to dislike her. But you couldn’t. She was kind, effortlessly charming, and genuinely seemed to care about making a good impression.

“Alright, alright,” Gojo interrupted, throwing an arm around Mina’s shoulder and grinning at all of you. “Let’s get going before Suguru starts roasting me, or Ieiri finds a way to embarrass me.”

“I don’t have to find ways,” Shoko deadpanned, smirking.

As the group started moving, you walked alongside them, listening to their chatter but feeling a little outside of it all. Mina was a natural fit, seamlessly blending into the dynamic like she’d always been a part of it. Watching her laugh with Geto and Shoko, seeing how easily Gojo leaned into her space, it all felt too... right.

You tried to shake off the nagging feeling, reminding yourself that this was what Gojo wanted—to have his friends meet someone important to him. And Mina, in every way, lived up to the role.

Still, as you glanced at them—Gojo’s arm draped over her shoulder, Mina looking up at him with that easy, perfect smile—you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever stop feeling like you were standing on the outside looking in.

The small café came into view, its warm glow spilling out onto the sidewalk. It was cozy, tucked away from the bustling streets, and one of those places that always smelled like fresh coffee and baked goods. Gojo pushed the door open dramatically, holding it for everyone with a grin that was, as always, a little too much.

“After you, my queen,” he said to Mina, bowing exaggeratedly as she stepped inside, laughing softly.

You trailed in last, your hands stuffed into your pockets as you followed the group to a corner booth. The seating arrangement seemed to happen naturally—Gojo slid in first, pulling Mina down beside him, while Shoko casually took the seat across from them. You hesitated a second too long, and Geto nudged your shoulder, gesturing for you to sit beside him.

So you did. Sliding into the seat, you felt Geto glance at you briefly. It wasn’t much, just a quick flicker of his dark eyes, but it carried a weight you couldn’t quite decipher. He didn’t say anything, though, and neither did you.

The chatter resumed easily enough. Gojo was in full swing, dominating the conversation with some ridiculous story about their last mission. Mina listened intently, her laughter ringing out at all the right moments. Even Shoko seemed mildly amused, her smirk betraying her usual cool detachment.

You wanted to focus on the conversation, to lose yourself in the familiar rhythm of your friends’ banter, but your thoughts kept drifting. Mina fit in so well, like she’d always been part of the group. The ease with which she spoke to Geto, how she didn’t hesitate to tease Shoko lightly—it was effortless.

And yet, it made you feel... out of place. Like you were watching it all unfold from behind some invisible barrier.

“You okay?” Geto’s voice was low, quiet enough that it didn’t interrupt the others. His gaze was steady, unreadable.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Yeah, why?”

“You’ve been quiet,” he said simply, leaning back in his seat. “More than usual.”

“I’m fine,” you replied, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

Geto didn’t press further, but the knowing look in his eyes lingered. He was always good at reading people, especially you. It was both comforting and unsettling.

“Hey, you two over there,” Gojo called out, pointing at you and Geto with a playful grin. “Are we boring you or something? You’re awfully quiet.”

Geto raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed. “Not everything needs to be a performance, Satoru.”

Gojo gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. “A performance? This is entertainment, Sugu! You should be thanking me.”

“More like tolerating you,” Shoko muttered, sipping her coffee.

The table burst into laughter, Mina included. You chuckled along with them, though it felt hollow. As the conversation shifted again, you found yourself stealing glances at Mina and Gojo. The way she leaned into him, how his arm rested casually on the back of the booth behind her—it all felt so natural.

And yet, a part of you wished it didn’t.

The conversation flowed around you, and you caught yourself drifting again, staring absentmindedly at the coffee cup in front of you. It was silly. You had no reason to feel this way—this quiet, gnawing feeling deep in your chest. Maybe it was just the weight of how easily Mina had slipped into this dynamic, how effortlessly she made everyone smile. But you weren’t a child. You weren’t some outsider. You were one of Gojo’s closest friends. So why the hell did it feel like you were on the sidelines?

A sigh escaped you before you could stop it, and you cursed under your breath. Get it together, you thought, forcing your eyes to flick up.

When you did, you found yourself meeting Mina’s gaze. Her expression was warm, a little hesitant, but there was something real there. She wasn’t trying to dominate the conversation or make everything about her, but she was giving it her all, smiling, laughing, and just... being present. It was clear she was genuinely making the effort to be part of the group, to get to know everyone—not just Gojo, but the rest of you too.

And as you watched her, you realized that maybe this feeling of yours wasn’t about her at all. Maybe it was about you. About how, for all your history with Gojo, you’d never felt as though you were part of this easy, natural rhythm before. You’d never had to share him with anyone in this way.

But Mina was doing everything right. She wasn’t overstepping, wasn’t pushing. She just fit. And something about that made you feel like you should try harder, too. It wasn’t about competition; it was about inclusion.

You cleared your throat, feeling an odd shift in the air. It was time to say something. Something that would help her feel even more welcome, even though the jealousy—small as it was—still lingered under the surface. It was ridiculous to feel threatened by her. She wasn’t taking Gojo away; she was just adding to the group dynamic.

You took a deep breath, pushing the weight of your lingering thoughts aside. You couldn’t afford to let this strange unease keep creeping in. It wasn’t fair to either of you, and especially not to Mina, who was genuinely trying to be a part of the group and you weren’t going to let the discomfort linger anymore.

"So, tell us more about yourself, Mina," you said, trying to keep it light, leaning back in your seat. "We know the basics, but I feel like there's so much more to you."

Mina's face lit up at your question, the shift in energy already palpable as she relaxed. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she thought for a moment, clearly appreciative of your effort to make her feel a part of the group.

"Well, where do I even start?" she said with a little laugh, running a hand through her hair. "I guess, I’m a cheerleader, obviously," she added, her smile a little sheepish. "But it's not all flips and chants, you know? I mean, I do it because I genuinely love it—there’s something about being part of the team, getting everyone hyped up, and seeing everyone come together that feels... energizing."

You nodded, genuinely interested. "Yeah, that makes sense. You seem like you enjoy it."

Mina grinned, clearly relieved to be asked about something she was passionate about. "Definitely! It's a lot of hard work, though. You wouldn’t believe how much practice goes into it, especially with the team. I’m always on my toes—literally. Plus, we’ve got some pretty intense competitions coming up, so it's been non-stop."

As Mina spoke, her voice full of warmth and excitement, you couldn't help but smile. It was hard not to be drawn in by her energy, the way she lit up when she talked about cheerleading and the team. There was something infectious about her enthusiasm, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to let go of that gnawing discomfort, just listening to her without any reservations.

You watched as her hands moved animatedly, illustrating her points about the intensity of practice and the thrill of the competitions. Her passion for what she did was evident in every word she spoke. Despite the strange tangle of emotions that still simmered inside you, a part of you couldn't help but admire her. She was so effortlessly likable, so kind, and it was impossible not to feel a sense of warmth toward her.

It was ridiculous, really. Mina was Gojo’s girlfriend now, and you were here, in the moment, enjoying the conversation. The past was just that—the past. You were here, part of this group, and that’s all that should matter. So you smiled, genuinely, as she finished talking, and offered her an encouraging nod.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to shift. Mina glanced around, and then her gaze settled on you, a curious expression in her eyes.

"So," she began, her tone light and friendly. "What about you? What do you do outside of all this college stuff?"

Before you could respond, Geto leaned back in his chair, glancing at you with that usual smirk. "Ah, she's in a band," he said, his voice laced with an easy-going amusement. "Plays guitar, right? You should ask her to play something sometime. She’s got skills."

As soon as Geto finished speaking, Gojo shot forward in his seat, practically bouncing with excitement. “Oh, you have no idea,” he said, eyes wide as he turned to Mina. “She’s the guitarist, and let me tell you, she's a legend. Plays it like it’s an extension of her body. I swear, every time she picks it up, it’s like magic happens.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up as you shot him a glare, trying to push down the embarrassment. He had this uncanny ability to make you feel like the center of attention without even trying, but right now? You just wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Gojo, please," you muttered, rubbing your face in mock frustration, though part of you couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he was being.

“No, no,” Gojo insisted, practically grinning ear to ear. “You need to hear her play, Mina. She’s got this raw, natural talent—totally different vibe from anything you’ve ever heard. Honestly, I’d go so far as to say she's got the kind of skills that could put some of those big-name bands to shame.”

Mina’s eyes widened, clearly impressed, while you tried not to visibly cringe. “Wow, really?” she asked, clearly intrigued. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that about you! What kind of music do you play?”

You felt yourself squirm a little under the attention, but you forced a small, humble smile. “I mean, Satoru’s just exaggerating,” you said, glancing over at Gojo with a playful roll of your eyes. “But I do love playing. It’s just... it’s kind of my thing. My band’s mostly into indie—nothing too fancy, just some good tunes to vibe to.”

Mina nodded, clearly still intrigued, but before she could say anything else, Shoko, who had been quietly observing the exchange, chimed in with her usual casual tone.

“Wait,” Shoko said, her eyes flicking toward you with a smirk. “Your band’s got a performance coming up, right? In about a month, I think?”

You blinked, surprised she remembered. "Yeah," you said, your voice a little quieter now, a flicker of nerves showing through. "It’s actually a pretty big one. There’s going to be some scouts there—so it's not just any usual gig. It’s kind of a big deal for us."

Mina’s eyes widened at that, her expression shifting from casual curiosity to genuine interest. “Scouts?” she asked, her tone suddenly serious. “That’s amazing! Is this the kind of thing you’ve been working toward?”

You nodded, trying to keep your composure, but the nerves were creeping in. "Yeah, it’s a big opportunity for the band. We’ve been putting in a lot of work to make sure we’re ready for it."

Mina smiled brightly, clearly impressed. "I can only imagine how exciting that must be. I’m sure you’re gonna kill it. Maybe we should all go and watch!"

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps interrupted the conversation, and the waitress approached with a tray. As soon as she reached the table, she paused, eyes lighting up as she recognized Gojo.

"I’ve got your usual." She said in a sing-song manner, a casual grin laced on her face.

You watched as she placed the familiar dessert in front of Gojo. It was something you and Gojo had always ordered together over the years. A simple sundae, but it had evolved into something far more unique. Back when you were in middle school and had first ordered this, the two of you had added every weird topping and extra bit you could think of. The first few times you’d order it, the dessert would always get confused or judgmental glances from waitstaff, who had no idea what to make of your creation. Even the newer servers still gave a look of uncertainty when they brought it to you, unsure if they’d gotten it right. But over time, it had become your thing—your signature order.

Gojo grinned like a kid as he slid the dessert between him and Mina, pushing it towards her with an enthusiastic gesture.

“Here you go, babe,” Gojo said, his tone playful. “I know it looks a little… weird but trust me. It’s a masterpiece. Don’t judge it until you’ve tried it.”

Mina hesitated, her gaze flicking between the toppings piled high and the spoon in Gojo’s hand. You could see the skepticism on her face, but after a moment, she took a tentative bite. The way her eyes widened in surprise made it clear she hadn’t expected it to taste that good.

"This... is actually amazing," Mina said, her tone a mix of surprise and approval. “I didn’t think it’d work, but it totally does!”

Gojo laughed, clearly pleased. “Told ya. The best things are always a little unexpected.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at her, clearly proud of the creation.

Unable to continue watching them gush over the dessert, you tore your gaze away and tried to focus on the food being served to the rest of the table. You picked up your fork, trying to push aside the tight feeling in your chest.

Just then, Geto, with his usual smug expression, cut a slice from his pancakes and held the fork in front of you.

“Here,” Geto said with a smirk, as though he were about to do the same thing Gojo had just done. “Open wide.”

You looked up at him in confusion, blinking. “What are you doing?”

Geto didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he nudged his head toward Gojo and Mina, who were now happily discussing the dessert and sharing it between themselves. You could feel the small pang in your chest again at the sight, and Geto must have caught on, because his smirk only deepened.

You couldn't help but flick your gaze back to Gojo and Mina once more, watching the way he smiled at her, the two of them so effortlessly comfortable with each other. A pang of something you couldn't quite place squeezed at your chest, and you quickly averted your eyes.

But as you were met face to face with the pancakes still in front of your face, you looked up at Geto, deadpanning with a frown. “Seriously?” you muttered, your voice tinged with an exasperated sigh. He was still holding the fork out, practically dangling it in front of you like it was some kind of challenge.

With a roll of your eyes, you leaned forward and took the bite from his fork, trying to ignore the feeling of discomfort that was still gnawing at you. The food didn’t help distract from the odd tension building up in your chest, but at least it gave you something to do.

Geto grinned smugly as you ate, clearly pleased with himself. You chewed the bite, trying to push aside the strange, tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t the food, nor Geto’s teasing, that was bothering you; it was the way Gojo and Mina seemed to be in their own little world. The way Gojo looked at her, the way they laughed together—it all seemed too natural. Too perfect.

Before you could shake off the feeling, Gojo suddenly cut through the moment with an exaggerated, playful tone. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s going on between you two?” He leaned forward slightly, a grin still on his lips, but there was something a little off about his tone—almost as if he wasn’t quite sure whether to be amused or... something else.

You raised an eyebrow, not quite sure what to make of it. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo gestured at you and Geto with his fork. “I mean, you two have been acting like you’re in your own little world since we arrived just now.” His eyes flicked between the two of you, his usual easy grin still on his face, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Geto shrugged nonchalantly, cutting into his pancakes. “We’re just eating, Satoru. Chill.” He took a bite, clearly unfazed by the question.

Gojo paused for a moment, his gaze lingering on Geto and then on you, as though trying to gauge something. “Yeah, sure, just eating,” he said, but the slight edge in his voice didn’t escape you. He quickly smiled again, though, and his attention shifted back to Mina. “Anyway, you like it, right?” he asked, directing his focus back to her as if to put the moment behind him.

You were still trying to piece together what had just happened, trying to make sense of Gojo’s sudden shift in attitude, but before you could overthink it, you decided to push it aside. It wasn’t worth dwelling on—whatever it was. So you focused back on your food, trying to ignore the small knot of confusion that had formed in your chest. It was probably nothing, right?

You glanced over at Shoko, hoping to distract yourself from whatever had just simmered in the air between you and Gojo. She had been quiet during the entire exchange, but now she was staring at the scene before her, completely deadpan. Her gaze flicked between you, Gojo, and Geto, the only reaction being a slow, unamused blink and a deep, weary sigh.

────────────────────────────────────────────

After the cafe, the atmosphere had softened a bit, but the there was a slight tension from earlier that still hung in the air, mostly because of Gojo. You tried to focus on the lighthearted chatter, but the nagging feeling didn’t completely leave you. Gojo was acting... off, and you couldn’t quite shake the odd feeling in your chest when you thought about how he’d reacted earlier.

The ride back to your apartment was uneventful, the conversation flowing easily between Geto and Shoko while you mostly listened, lost in thought. Gojo, however, seemed quieter than usual, distracted even.

When you arrived at the building, Gojo insisted on coming up with you, claiming he needed a “quick pee” before the drive back. The rest of the group stayed in the car downstairs, which was just fine with you. The lift ride was silent at first, the soft hum of the machinery the only sound between you and Gojo.

Then, Gojo finally broke the silence, his voice light but tinged with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “So, you and Suguru seem pretty close these days.”

You glanced at him, brows furrowing a little. “What do you mean?”

Gojo didn’t look at you as he leaned against the wall, arms folded. His tone was nonchalant, but there was something sharp beneath it. “I don’t know, just seemed like you two were... getting along pretty well just now. Spending a lot of time together, more than usual.”

There was a brief pause before he added, almost too casually, “Guess I never really pictured you and Suguru that close. But hey, whatever works.”

You blinked, the words landing heavier than you expected. “We’re just friends, ‘Toru.”

He gave a small, barely noticeable smirk, his eyes still not meeting yours. “Yeah, sure, just friends,” he said, voice a little too easy, but the faint edge in it was still there. He pushed off the wall as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open—but he didn’t step out.

You stepped out of the elevator first, waiting for Gojo to follow, but he didn’t move. Instead, he pressed the button to close the doors, looking at you with a lazy grin.

“Actually, I don’t feel like peeing anymore,” he said, his tone back to its usual playfulness as a chuckle slipped past his lips. “See ya.”

The doors slid shut before you could respond, leaving you standing there, feeling strangely confused.

Gojo leaned against the elevator wall, eyes half-lidded as he watched you step out. He pressed the button to close the doors before you could take another step, the action more impulsive than planned.

“Actually, I don’t feel like peeing anymore,” he said with a playful grin, the words leaving his mouth so easily that even he didn’t think much of it at first. His usual charm was there, but this time, it didn’t feel quite as natural.

You paused, looking back at him, and for a second, there was that expression on your face—confusion, curiosity, the way you always seemed to try and read him. Good luck with that. Even he wasn’t sure what was going on in his head.

Gojo held your gaze for a beat, his smirk faltering just slightly. He could feel the weight of the silence between you two, an awkward tension hanging in the air. But he ignored it. No need to read too much into this, right?

He waved you off, pushing the button again and watching the doors close.

“See ya,” he muttered, though his voice didn’t carry the usual lightness. His mind wandered back to the conversation, or rather, the subtle mention of Suguru.

It was nothing, really. He had no right to feel anything about it but if his best friend was going to get closer to one of his other friends—hell, maybe even start something—he had a right to know, right? Friends should keep each other in the loop, and that was all this was. He wasn’t supposed to care. Not really.

But then, his thoughts lingered on the image of you and Suguru together. Laughing, talking like you were the only two people in the room. He’d seen it, noticed it earlier. And now... it wasn’t sitting right with him.

He rubbed his temples as the elevator doors slid open, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway. Maybe he was just overthinking it. It was just... it was just weird, that’s all. Seeing you with Suguru like that. They were close, sure, but that didn’t mean anything.

Right?

But still, the more he thought about it, the more the thought of you and Suguru together—the way you looked at him, the way your smiles came easy—left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hated it. He hated that feeling. And it made him want to forget about it, brush it off. So he did.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, keeping his gaze forward as he walked away. No need to dwell. It was just one of those things. It didn’t matter.

Gojo barely registered the walk back to his car. His mind was still occupied with the odd heaviness he couldn’t shake, lingering just below the surface. As he reached the vehicle, he opened the door and slid into the driver’s seat, the cool leather beneath him offering little comfort.

He didn’t start the engine right away. Instead, he glanced up at the rearview mirror, eyes landing onto Suguru for just a moment. Suguru, sitting in the back, was engrossed in his phone, probably texting someone he didn’t need to be texting at that hour. Gojo’s gaze lingered on him, but something in the pit of his stomach shifted, and without even thinking, his eyes flickered to the passenger seat.

Mina was there, leaning back with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling under the dim streetlights. She caught his gaze and tilted her head playfully. "Got a good pee?" she asked, her voice light, teasing.

He smirked, the easy expression sliding back onto his face like a well-worn mask. "Yeah," he replied, the word coming too smoothly, almost like he was trying to convince himself. His hand moved instinctively to her thigh, squeezing it lightly as he looked at her, letting the familiarity of her touch settle him.

She didn’t seem to mind, giving him a grin before shifting her focus back to whatever it was she was doing. Gojo’s thumb brushed over her leg absentmindedly, and the motion felt automatic, like he was just doing what he always did.

He started the car, the engine humming to life, and without another thought, he pulled out of the parking spot, heading toward the main road. "I’ll drop you guys off first," he said, his voice casual, still somewhat distant as he motioned to the two at the back with a nudge of his head.

Mina hummed an acknowledgment, and Suguru muttered something from the backseat, but Gojo didn’t really hear it. His attention was elsewhere, pulled back to the fleeting thought of you again—the way you were with Suguru, the way you talked to him. The thought lingered, biting at him more than it should.

He gripped the wheel a little tighter, but it was too late to push the feeling down. It kept crawling back, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

────────────────────────────────────────────

With Geto and Shoko finally sent home, Gojo was nearing the last house – Mina’s. He parked by the sidewalk as they approached the apartment complex and took the elevator up. As they reached Mina's front door, Gojo slowed his steps, hands casually tucked in his pockets. The soft glow of the porch light framed Mina’s face, her features lit with that ever-present, effortless cheerfulness. He always liked that about her—how easy she made everything feel.

"Thanks for sending me home," Mina said, her voice light but tinged with affection.

"Anything for you," Gojo replied smoothly, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "What kind of guy would I be if I just let you fend for yourself out here?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "You’re so dramatic."

As she turned to unlock the door, Gojo took a step closer, reaching out. Gently, he placed his hands on her cheeks, his touch warm and lingering. Mina blinked up at him, caught off guard but not uncomfortable. If anything, her grin widened as he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead.

It was slow and deliberate, a soft gesture that made Mina’s eyes flutter shut. Her heart felt light, and when he pulled back, she looked up at him with a contented smile, unaware of the shadow of thought crossing his face.

Gojo’s eyes lingered on her, a furrow forming between his brows as his thumb absentmindedly brushed over her cheek. His expression softened, almost distant, like he was seeing someone else entirely.

“Gojo?” Mina tilted her head, her grin dimming slightly as she studied him. “You okay?”

Her voice pulled him out of his trance, sharp in its difference—cheerful where he’d expected something quieter, something familiar. For just a split second, his hand paused before he masked his hesitation with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, his tone light as always, but Mina caught the way he inhaled deeply, as if to steady himself. “I was just admiring your face. You’re, like, unfairly cute, you know that?”

Mina rolled her eyes with a laugh, her earlier concern dissipating. “Flatterer.”

He took a step back, giving her one last grin. “Goodnight, Mina. Dream about me, yeah?”

She smiled back, waving as she slipped inside, the door closing softly behind her.

Gojo turned on his heel, walking down the path with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. His smirk faded as soon as he was out of sight, his mind replaying the moment Mina spoke. The voice he’d expected—it wasn’t hers. And no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, that momentary lapse clung to him like a ghost he couldn’t quite let go of.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Old men aren’t always wise, Primo is well aware of that ; his own father being the most striking exemple of elder stupidity he can think of. Yet he, Primo Emeritus, humbly thinks he himself has been made wise by life. Raising three younger brothers since their idiot of a father wouldn’t...well, it definitely taught him things, and, most importantly, allowed him to form a strong bond with them.

He knows his brothers like the back of his hand ; severe, cold and bitter Secondo, who shies away from the very love he desperately craves ; flamboyant, charismatic Terzo, hidding a bottomless pit of self-hatred under pretty smiles, witty jokes and flirty comments ; sweet, kind-hearted Copia, who feels like an impostor as he battles with Sister Imperator’s clumsy, sometimes harsh and unfit motherly affection. They aren’t perfect, and neither is Primo or their relationship, but they tried, tried so hard, built trust, love and loyalty between all of them, and in the end, it’s all that matter.

Point is. Primo is wise, and he knows his brothers. Knows Terzo – no, not Terzo. Alessandro. So as he watches the scene unfolding in front of him, he knows instantly. It’s in the way his brother’s eyes linger on the rythm guitarist, not long enough for it to be obvious, but enough for Primo to notice. In the way Terzo is almost always subcounciously turning toward the quintessence ghoul as he talks and offers new ideas. In the way his face lights up when Omega praises said ideas, and add his owns. In the way the singer takes every occasions to brush against his ghoul, to adjust the position of his crooked grucifx, to pat his strong arms. How Terzo’s ears grow pink when they make eye contact for just a fraction too long.

Omega is, admitedly, harder to read, even though Primo worked with the ghoul for a time. He always liked him, sturdy, serious, as amazing a pack leader as a musician. He seems more relaxed with Terzo than he was with Primo, a tad more playful, which the older man doesn’t resent. And despite his difficulties to intrepret the quintessence ghoul’s attitude, there are signs that don’t lie. A way of angling himself so that Terzo is never out of his sight, leaning ever so slightly into Terzo’s fleeting touch, praising him with a special kind of warmth in his voice, the ocasional soft, fond chuckle at one of the singer’s joke, absent-mindedly brushing his tail against Terzo’s leg.

If all that wasn’t enough, the other ghouls’ frequent shared knowing glances would be great giveaways as well. So Primo smiles and keeps listening, keeps watching.

Once they reach the end of the practice session, Terzo saunters toward the armchair his older brother folded himself in, ever the showman, grinning.

« So, what do you think, old man ? »

Primo chuckles softly.

« I see you’ve been working hard. I must say, I’m impressed. You’ve grown, and your music with you. »

For just a moment, Primo gets a small, private smile ; Alessandro’s smile, as his little brother squeezes his bony hand in his gloved one.

« Thank you, » he whispers. Then his smile widens, turns into that cocky grin everyone knows, his voice rising again. « Had any favorite ? Ah, your growling vocals-loving hide must have liked Mummy Dust, right ? But you’re a sentimental one too. Maybe He is ? »

Primo shakes his head with a huff.

« Both are very nice, as is the rest of the album, but I have to confess, Deus In Absentia struck me the most. »

At that, Terzo’s face makes something complicated, and he looks over his shoulder, meeting Omega’s eyes from where the ghoul is packing his guitar. He stares back, tipping his head in acknowledgement. Terzo looks back at Primo with an expression just a tiniest bit more eager than he’d usually let it be.

« Really ? Omega helped me with the lyrics. I admit, it might be one of my favorites as well. »

As always, Terzo is quick to offer his arm to his older brother when Primo gets up, much less gracefully than in his youth.

« Well, it is truly a touching song, in my opinion. Both emotional and majestic. »

He leads the both of them to his rose garden in comfortable silence, and only speaks up once he’s sure they are truly alone.

« So, Omega, eh ? Somehow, I’m not even surprised. »

Terzo splutters, almost tripping over his own feet.

« Wh- what ? I don’t- »

A warm smile pulls at Primo’s lips, lightening his weathered face.

« Alessandro Terzo Emeritus, I have known you for your entire life. I know how being in love looks on you. »

For a few seconds, his little brother stares at him, before letting out a long sigh and running a hand through his hair, ears going pink again.

« He is- he’s special, Prim- Dante. He- I never felt that way before. Not that much. »

Primo huffs, gives Terzo’s arm a light squeeze.

« I am glad. I always thought he was a truly admirable ghoul. I trust he takes good care of you ? »

Terzo hums, hanging his head down, raven black locks brushing his features.

« It might sound stupid, but he makes me feel...special. Me, not Papa Emeritus the third. Like he can see right through every layers of bullshit I wrap myself in. »

Primo stops walking, turning around to face his little brother. His happy-looking, flustered little brother. Softly, gently, he presses his bony hand to Terzo’s chest, right above the heart.

« You deserve it. You deserve someone who sees you. I am so, so very happy for you. »

Terzo lights up.

« I’m thinking...I’d like him to know my name. My real name, I mean. I know he would use it wisely ; hell, he was long hesitant about calling me Terzo in public. »

Though it isn’t a question, he looks up through his lashes at Primo, in search of something. The older man pats his brother head with a raspy chuckle. Gives him the reassurance he needs ; the one their father could never give them ; the one Primo endavored to offer his brothers whenever he could.

« I’m sure he’ll be honored. A lovely ghoul indeed. » Primo takes a step back, considers, then decides that a bit of teasing cannot hurt. «  And he’s big too, isn’t he ? »

Terzo chokes on his inhale, instinctively covering his ears, either to hide the flush that can only be seen there because of the paint, or to fruitlessly try and block words he already heard.

« I- the hell ? »

With a snort, Primo smiles mischieviously.

« What ? He is, you barely reach what, his chest perhaps ? »

He waits for realization to dawn on Terzo before adding :

« But, you know. Huge down there too, I’m sure. »

His little brother splutters, before shaking his head incredulously.

« If you were Secondo, I would have kicked you, old man. »

Primo chuckles.

« I am sure that if Secondo had made such a comment, you two would be fighting like you used to as kids, rolling on the ground and all that. »

Terzo smirks.

« Well, I wouldn’t be able to pull his hair anymore. »

With a tut, Primo swats his younger brother on the back of his head.

« Low blow. But, in all seriousness. I am so very glad you are happy. »

« ...Thanks, Dante. »

[inkandiridescence]

The Start of Something New

This is chapter one of something I've been writing yay

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Every year on Oscar Sunday my family and I would make our own pizzas and eat in front of the TV watching our favorite actors win awards. 

"You know one day..."

"You're going to be on that stage. We know, you say that every year." My dad says with a teasing grin. I would smile into my bite of pizza before going back to cheering on my favorite film of the year.

This year is different though. This year I'll be ordering my pizza and eating it in my hotel room. This year I'll call my parents and tell them "I told you so." 

Sure, I haven't actually been nominated (yet) but presenting an award is pretty cool too. Especially at my age. At first, I was a little upset that my movie hadn't gotten nominated, but it's still an honor to be a part of the show. 

I'm smoothing out my dress when I hear a knock on the door. I don't get a word out before my agent rushes into the room. 

"Kiddo you look stunning." She says and I smile to myself in the mirror.

"Thank you lucy. I mean I gotta look good, Billie Eilish might be there." I say and shoot her a smirk through the mirror. 

"I mean, she probably will be. This is her first-ever nomination." My eyes widened. 

"Don't get my hopes up. Dude, imagine she actually wins. I would hand her the award oh my god." Lucy laughs and picks up a necklace. 

"That would be a sight to see for sure. Oh, by the way, Matt was looking for you." I roll my eyes. 

"He knows I'm getting ready. I told him five thousand times." She laughs before patting my shoulder, "He just wants to make sure you're okay. He really cares about you." She gives my arm a quick squeeze, "Car will be here in ten. Come down soon." I nod and look back toward the mirror.

Matt and I have been dating for almost two years. Our relationship is kind of rocky, to say the least. Sometimes he's really loving and sweet and other times it's like I don't even have a boyfriend. Sometimes I wish I didn't. Everyone would always tell me how they felt when they saw their boyfriend. How giddy and happy they would feel. I don't feel any of that. Even when he's being all lovely. I don't know, maybe there's something wrong with me. 

——

As we pull up to the carpet I see the many many flashes of lights. Butterflies erupt in my stomach as it finally hits me. I'm at one of the most prestigious award shows. Holy shit. 

Matt grabs my hand and gently squeezes it. I smile and look at him just to see that he's recording it. Again. I pull my hand away and open the car door without waiting on someone to do it. 

The cheering gets louder as I step out making me blush. Matt gets out right behind me as we line up to start walking down the carpet. 

"Why'd you pull your hand away?" He asks while grabbing my hand again. "I don't want to talk about it right now." I say as Lucy hurries us onto the carpet.

"Alyssa over here!"

"Alyssa! Matt! Look here!"

"Give us a kiss!"

I smile and look at everyone, ignoring the last comment. Not quickly enough, Lucy comes over to take Matt to the end so I can take solo shots. 

As soon as I'm finished I take a deep breath and walk over to Lucy and Matt. I grab Matt's hand and walk into the theater. We make our way over to our seats and sit down. 

"So, we have time, why'd you take your hand away?" I sigh and face him, "I just hate how you can't be cute or whatever without filming it. Youtube isn't the only thing in the world you know."  He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, I know. And acting isn't the only thing in the world." He mumbles under his breath. I take a deep breath not wanting to start an argument now. 

——

As the night goes on and awards are collected I grow more and more nervous. I'm backstage waiting for the commercial break to end before I go out to announce the winner of Best Original Song. 

I almost shit myself when I hear the voice overhead. "Welcome back to the 94th Academy Awards. Here to announce the nominees for Best Original Song, It's Alyssa Greer." The audience claps as I walk out with a smile and wave. I take a second to admire the audience. I'm standing on the Oscars stage. 

"Each of these pieces has powerful and engaging lyrical motifs, combined with dynamic instrumental storytelling that have touched our souls. They created an emotional experience that will remain with us long after the final credits. Here are the nominees for Original Song." I smiled and let out a small breath as the nominees played on the screen behind me. When it got to Billie's name I said a silent prayer that it was her. Suddenly the cameras were back on me. 

"And the Oscar goes to...Billie Eilish and Finneas!" I smile. I see her and her brother get up and hug everyone. They make their way up to me and I hand Finneas his award first then Billie hers. She hugs me tightly, "Thank you, baby." My cheeks heat up and I can't stop smiling. Baby? You can't be doing that to be girl, I will go feral. 

I had been so caught up in my thoughts and staring like a kid in love at Billie, that I didn't even realize they had finished their speech until I made eye contact with ocean-blue eyes. We walked off together, me trailing slightly behind the siblings.

"Congratulations Billie," I whispered in her direction before quickly making my way back to my seat.

——

The night seemed to drag on. The awards seemed a lot shorter when I was sat comfortably in my own home. But finally, finally, they were over. "Hey, baby we're going to the party right?" Matthew asked. I looked at him confused. "You know, the after-party?" 

"Oh. Right. Sure yeah." He nodded his head happily and pulled me out of my seat to go get dressed in something more suitable for a party. I don't even know what I'm to do at this party. I can't legally drink, everyone here is much older and more famous than me. I'm gonna feel so out of place, and it won't help that Matt will just be vlogging everything.

Sighing I put on a tight sparkly top with matching dress pants. I look kinda hot. "Hey Al, you ready?" I hear from the bedroom. "Yup!"

We make our way down to the lobby and out the door into the car. Here we go.

[shaanks]

Would you want to pull that Shanks has separation anxiety hc back out from under the bed and maybe perhaps share it with the rest of us? Tbh I LIVE for the head canons you share!!

You are so sweet!!!! 😭😭😭 I'm sorry I've been sitting on this one for several days now, I wanted to be at least sort of clear-headed to answer it properly. Some of this is going under a readmore because I'm incapable of answering things concisely lmfao.

Edit: for anyone watching out there this post is riddled with spoilers so read at your own risk.

**

I think about Shanks and all of his sublimated feelings and fears and dreams so much it makes me so crazy and sad lmfao. Focusing in on the fears part though like...abandonment and loss have been really central themes in his life.

He was found in a locked treasure chest - seemingly abandoned by his biological family (which in the end, good, because if they are who we think they are they suck anyway).

He spends his childhood aboard the LITERAL ship of dreams, two of the most prolific men of that era are his father figures, he has this incredibly close relationship with Buggy, he is soaring on the wings of this burgeoning era, where the only limits he has are what his imagination and talent allow him to be capable of...and then it all just stops.

The family that he knows sails away to the end of their journey without him because he opts to stay behind with Buggy when he gets sick, and nothing is ever the same or right again. Roger sickens, Rayleigh's mind begins to fray. The crew disbands. Everyone disappears.

Roger allows himself to go to the gallows, and on the way there he lays the future of their world on the shoulders of a grieving 14 year old boy, who has to now learn what it means to be utterly alone in a world that has not only branded him enemy, but whose governing structures are fully aware of his power and the danger his talent and proximity to Roger entail.

The only person he had there with him, Buggy, runs out on him - for reasons that were understandable, but could have been avoided by words neither of them had the emotional maturity to express, especially not in the moment of such anguish and grief.

He eventually finds people, good people, new friends and comrades, people he can trust, but even then he is having separation and its cost modeled for him in the form of Yasopp and his son, and eventually in the form of a tenacious, lovable little boy named Luffy, who loves so fiercely and is very clearly terrified of the prospect of being left, of being alone. A fear Shanks resonates with deeply. A pain he knows he will eventually have to inflict on this little boy.

There's a lot of meta around that Shanks had no faith or interest in Luffy until he ate the gum-gum fruit and didn't think he had any potential to be a pirate, but I think that's a really shallow, kind of willfully ignorant take on it. Shanks himself found a home at sea as a boisterous naive child, and the RHP more than have the capability of looking after a child with a penchant for trouble...but that's how he lost his world, too.

Leaving Luffy behind hurt him, but he left him with connection, an emotionally valuable memento, and to Shanks' awareness he was leaving him with a stable support system firmly in place. There are no guarantees in this life, but he's learned through personal experience that not even the Pirate King can grant you assurance that your family at sea will survive.

ALL that to be said that I think one of Shanks' deepest, most untended hurts is loss, the loss of family, of friends, of love, and because that wound has gone unaddressed--and because he went from lost 14 year old boy to Captain to Yonko in such quick succession, and there doesn't tend to be a lot of emotional support for mythic figures of authority--it manifests as separation anxiety.

Individual members of the RHP are rarely seen off on their own, with the exception of Benn going off to rescue Luffy that one time. They all move around together.

When people leave, Shanks keeps tabs on them, when danger arises, he does his best to be two steps ahead of it. I genuinely think there's a part of him that whispers "you'll never see them again" any time someone he cares about walks out of a room, or leaves the ship a little before him. There's a reason, I think, that he's always shown to be the last person to board the ship, why he's always ushering people on ahead of him 50 times before he goes up.

With a lover, I think it would manifest tenfold, I think that's partially why he's so clingy and touchy-feely and cuddly (aside from just being literally the sweetest man alive), because to have that sort of connection means he reached out of the imposed avoidance of his own desires to really bring someone in close, and I think that kind of loss, or the perception of the possibility of that kind of loss, would devastate him in a way he wouldn't recover from.

So he holds your hand everywhere you go, shadows you through rooms, presses you close to his side when you're out at bars, and worries, just a little bit, every time you get up to go to the galley or have to take night watch without him.

Because what if it all falls apart again. What if you disappear. What if the crew disappears. Just like what happened before.

I hope this makes sense and was coherent, I just have a feeling or two about him, ya know?

[giveafike]

Hi can you write Ben Shelton x fem reader where reader is also a pro player and her and Ben are like close friends and team up to play mixed doubles in like the us open and it's kinda like friends to lovers and they being all flirty on court and eventually admit feelings to each other?

TLDR: STORY! Tennisplayer!fem reader x Ben Shelton friends to lovers. Sort of took them flirty on and off court. Tried to build it up. Mention of Bryan Shelton and Tommy Paul cameo, thanks for stopping by, kings.

Word count + info: 17.6k! SUPER LONG STORYTIME w dialogue! (over an hour's worth of reading, ouu you're well fed tonight)

Character Inspo: Just a sweet girl, like "girl-next-door" girl. Listened to "After the First Kiss" - Faye Webster writing this (cried on first listen, enjoy the link), if that helps you envision sweet, cute, pure vibes. No specifications are mentioned (except a general "shorter" height than Ben).

Warnings + Content Ahead: SFW - no warnings - slight mention of cheating and gaslighting.

Azzie Notes ✚: Hi my sweet munchkins! I'm so sorry anon, this took so long to come out but life got busy + then tumblr had this unavailable for me when I queued to post which tbh was a miracle bc I was rlly unsure while writing this, and I took my own time to reread and rework it, but idk guess I have writer's block, sorta? It doesn't feel like my best work... be brutally honest w me in ur feedback when u finish reading.

And then also there's a part that was just v vulnerable for me to write, but I couldn't really imagine the scene playing out any differently. Essentially, Y/N's dialogue about her ex - that's my lived experience...erm, so I was just tinkering of ways to rewrite it but I just couldn't think of anything else to fill it with.

Anywho, boy do I have a lotta requests coming up! Be patients w me pls! Also anon, "d" you are a genius, I'm so excited to write ur prompt hehehehe, but sorry if it takes some time :(. I got a Holiday surprise coming up, I'll lyk by the end of the month what that is, but OOOH, SFW Shelton nation, prepare urselves! How are we doing otherwise? Let me know! Are you taking good care of your health in these cold months + wrapping up? Make sure to get your vitamins in! Also, is my tumblr ugly? Should I make a colour theme and redo my masterlist properly? Help?

————————————————————————

Beyond the Baseline - B.T.S

The relationship between you and Ben Shelton was like watching day and night play tennis. Seriously, how could you be friends? What did you even have in common? What would you even talk about?

You, polished, textbook perfect, poised. A steady player who never lets emotions show on the court. Confident but never loud about it. After a win, you’d offer a graceful nod to the crowd, maybe a modest fist pump, but never more. Your game was a masterclass in precision in every shot calculated, every movement on and off court methodical. Fans admired how you dismantled opponents with strategy and patience, and your flawless form made it look effortless. Off the court, you were polite and kindred, smiling, making everyone feel at ease without even trying.

You were the embodiment of calm, pristine tennis. If anyone wanted an example of “playing by the book,” they’d point to you.

And then there was Ben Shelton.

Ben, who was your complete opposite. Loud, unpredictable, made waves and was unapologetic, and yet, utterly captivating. His game thrived on power and chaos, booming serves, fast sprinting bursts across the court, and reckless dives to the net, every point celebrated with fist pumps and wild energy. He lived for those moments that made crowds roar, he basked and riled the stands. When you calmly shake hands with your opponents, Ben chats effortlessly at the net, teasing, joking, and slapping his opponent’s back with that infectious grin. Impossible to dislike, even when he was cocky. Off the court, he was just as loud, just as alive when socialising. If you were a quiet, steady river with your course set, Ben was a wildfire, impossible to contain or predict.

Yet, somehow, despite your differences, you clicked.

It all started that first year on tour at a crossover event where the tours shared a venue. After a long day of matches, you found yourself in the players' lounge, neatly perched in a plush chair, legs crossed, posture upright and as perfect as ever. You still had that composed, in-control air about you, ready to handle anything gracefully.

Then, in strolled Ben Shelton.

He collapsed into the chair across from you, manspreading like it was his personal throne, slouching so far down it was a wonder he didn’t slide onto the floor.

He glanced at you with a lazy grin, his curls messy and unruly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Y'always sit like you’re posing for the cover of Tennis Monthly?” he asked, amusement laced with that accent of his, no intention of introductions or small talk.

You blinked, taken aback for a few seconds. “I-...what?”

“Yeah,” he continued, sitting up a bit as he waved a hand at your upright posture. “We’re off the court. Y'know, you can relax, right?”

You stared, completely thrown off by his audacity. Who starts a conversation like that? And how do you even reply to that? You didn’t even know him well, yet here he was already challenging you. Your lips broke into an awkward, tight line as your mouth was still agape, trying to find words to respond - not that you needed to, it seemed like Ben had more to tease you about, clearly enjoying your confusion with a wider, gummy smile.

“Don’t tell me you play tennis like this too, all tight 'n rigid. That's so boring.”

It took a moment, but when you finally brought your eyes up to his, you burst out laughing. His nerve! “You did not just say that,” you managed between giggles, shaking your head in disbelief. “My tennis form? Really? You want to talk about form and play?”

He shrugged, not even a little apologetic, enjoying the riffing as his feet rested against the coffee table filling the gap between you two. “Just sayin' loosen up. This isn’t a press conference. I mean, d'you even know how to slouch?”

You shot him a playful, mock-serious look, tucking a strand behind your ear as you leaned forward, your arms resting on your folded legs. “I can slouch.”

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, folding his arms over his chest. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

You paused, narrowing your eyes at him in a challenge. Slowly, way more dramatically than necessary, you leaned back in your chair, gently scooting down an inch on the chair, still keeping your legs crossed but allowing just enough of a slouch to break your normally perfect posture. You looked more uncomfortable than anything, your back now curved, while every other inch of your body remained proper.

Ben snorted, shaking his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Wowwww,” he said, barely holding back a laugh. “Look at you. A real rebel huh?”

You rolled your eyes, bringing yourself back up to sit properly, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m not trying to impress you, you know.”

“Oh?” he cocked his head to the side like a puppy, his grin turning into something softer. “Too late. You already have.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words catching you completely off guard. There was something about the way he said it, teasing, but with an undertone that made butterflies dance in your stomach and your skin buzz. You found yourself opening your mouth to respond, but just like the other attempts, nothing came out. You just stared at him, feeling completely disarmed by his effortless charm. He didn’t push, just grinned and waited, like he was used to leaving people speechless.

How much confidence could a guy have, and how could he play it off so casually that you don't even mind it?

And in that moment, there was no awkward silence, no need for formalities. Just easy, unexpected banter that flowed naturally and lingered in your mind for longer than you'd like to admit. It wasn’t what you’d expected from someone like Ben, but somehow, it felt right. He opened a side of you within a few conversations, a side that took years of coaxing from some of your closest friends. You couldn't even explain it, for everything you both were and were not, somehow ying and yang, a mountain and a streaming river, you were opposites and yet fit together like a landscape. He’d broken through your perfectly composed exterior, making you laugh and talk without even trying, and for some reason, you didn’t mind at all.

And now here you are, present day, strolling through an Australian mall at midday, looking the ever-polar opposites.

You strode in your knitted cardigan top and straight-leg pants while Ben towered over in a casual t-shirt and his signature stupidly short black shorts. Your arm was casually linked with Ben’s, your steps in sync like this was second nature. It wasn’t unusual for you two to walk like this; in fact, it would be strange if you didn’t. Over time as you both got to know each other, it had started as a joke but became a habit, something along the lines of Ben not wanting you to get "swept away by the crowds". You shared this easy closeness, the kind that people would easily mistake for a couple, but it was just the way you were.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourselves.

“Hey,” Ben’s voice interrupted your thoughts. You blinked, realising he was watching you, that knowing grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. His finger was pointing at a poster right beside a warm small shop.

“Didn’t you mention that necklace before on call a while ago? Wanna go in and have a look?”

You shook your head, brushing it off. “Oh, no, I was just-”

Before you could finish, he was already steering you toward the small store, his hand warm on your shoulder. “C’mon, just looking, right? Besides, you need to get somethin' while we're here. Not like you can't afford it.” He flashed you a wink that made your stomach flip.

The two of you stepped into the warm-lit shop, drawing a few amused glances from the few other customers and the shop assistant. It only really occurred just odd you two looked, Ben in his usual casual attire, slouched with his hands in his pockets, striding while examining the glass displays and you, neat and polished, hands folded and shy.

Ben leaned close, glancing over the cases as if he actually knew what he was looking at. “So you’re gonna match with me and get one of those silver chains, right?” He tugged at his thick metal chain with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at you.

You rolled your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Yeah, Ben, because that would look so ‘me,’ right?”

He snorted. “What, scared of a little edge? Imagine the next headline: ‘Good Girl Gone Bad’ ”

“Or,” you retorted, arching a brow, “it could just read ‘WTA Pro Loses It With a Clear Cry for Help.’”

He chuckled, his laugh low and genuinely amused. But then his expression softened as he caught sight of the delicate rose-gold necklace you’d been admiring. “Alright, alright. Let’s see the one you’re actually into.”

You glanced at him, surprised he remembered the specific piece. And the next thing you knew, he had the case brought out by the sales assistant. The delicate rose gold chain necklace with its beautifully intricate pendant sat in front of you. It wasn't long before the cool metal met your fingers as you gently hauled it out from its bed and into your hands, your breath hitching as you studied it dozens of times, trying to engrave it into your memory. Before you could think twice, you broke your trance and handed it to him.

“Help me put it on?”

Ben’s brows shot up, but he didn’t hesitate. “Turning this into a whole trust exercise, huh?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, turning around and sweeping your hair aside.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice quiet with a flutter of nervousness.

Obediently, you turned, holding your hair up and out of the way, feeling his hands slip around to clasp the necklace at the back of your neck. His fingers brushed your skin, surprisingly gently, and suddenly it was hard to focus on anything else but the feel of his hands there. His fingers trembled ever so slightly, his large digits fiddling with the small dainty clasp. You couldn't help but feel hyper-aware of his touch as you let out a small gasp, only for you to hear; the way he just barely grazed your neck for fleeting milliseconds, how his breath was ghosting over your ear in steady, focused breaths, how his tongue stuck out ever so slightly as he focused, his eyes honed in on getting this one thing right just for you - it was far too much.

You swallowed, realising this was the first time he’d ever been this close in this way, this… tender. A part of you wanted to step forward, break the tension, take the necklace and put it on yourself, the burning, buzzing sensation being oh so overwhelming to the point where it felt you might evaporate on this spot, right here right now. But realistically even if you really wanted to, you couldn't force or make yourself move, the feeling was like a drug, coursing through you and this was your euphoria, your high, something you hadn't felt in a long time, or maybe ever and you had no intention of cutting it short.

You gently bring your gaze up from your shoes, to the mirror and stare at him, running your eyes over his face. It's just a necklace, he's just helping you, c'mon get it together!

“There,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, and you felt the clasp fall onto your skin. But he didn’t step back right away. His fingers trailed down, skimming the nape of your neck, and for a second you thought - no, you knew - he was about to say something else, he took a sharp intake but then hesitated and remained in his silence. You look up in the mirror, seeing him still staring at your neck, and your hair, slowly meeting your eyes in the mirror before he realises he's been caught. He stepped back, his familiar grin slipping back into place, and the moment passed like a puff of smoke.

“How does it look?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, breaking free from the dizzy haze you've created in your head.

“Looks good,” he said lightly, and you hated the way your heart twisted at the easy casualness of his tone. He flashed you that infuriating smile, the one that made you both want to slap him and pull him closer at the same time.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice tight, almost irritated that you felt this intense pull that didn't seem to affect him nearly as much as it affected you. “Thanks.”

Your hand delicately took the pendant between your fingers, toying with it as you both stared at each other in the mirror entranced for a few moments, something shifting. You turned back to the display, focusing hard on the jewellery cases even though you could still feel the phantom warmth of his hands on your skin. You forced yourself to breathe evenly, to ignore the way your heart was racing, to pretend like everything was fine.

But as you looked at your reflection in the store’s mirror, the delicate gold resting against your collarbone, you couldn’t help but wonder if he knew, if he could feel it, too. The slow, insidious shift between you, the way everything had started to mean something when it was supposed to mean nothing at all. It wasn't the first time that Ben had done or said something that froze you, but it seems as though every encounter grows in its intensity, and worse, builds more confusion and haze inside of you.

“Guess that means you’re getting it, right?”

You gave him a shy smile breaking from your thoughts, turning around on your heel, still feeling the heat lingering on your neck. “I… think I might.”

As you admired the necklace in your hands, Ben flashed you a grin and excused himself, slipping off towards the main counter. You assumed he was just idly browsing or looking for something to keep him occupied while you made your decision. But when you turned to check on him, you saw him whispering something to the cashier, glancing over at you with a suspiciously wide grin.

You squinted, realising too late what he was up to. Just as you started toward him, the assistant who’d been helping you gently tapped your shoulder.

“Miss?” she said, her voice sweet but carefully practised. “We actually just got a similar collection of rose-gold necklaces in. You might want to take a look.”

You shot her a polite smile, still watching Ben out of the corner of your eye. “Oh, I think I’ve found the one-”

But Ben was already flashing his card to the cashier, sending you a playful wink and sticking his tongue out between his smile, before your assistant intercepted you again with a dazzling necklace display. By the time you returned to the counter, Ben was leaning casually, arms crossed, the structured paper bag already in his hand.

“Ben!” you hissed, reaching for it.

He laughed, holding it just out of your reach as he leaned in, his grin bordering on smug. “You don’t remember mentionin’ it twice, right?” he drawled, dripping with his usual playful tone, the same one that had you engaged from the day you first met. “Couldn’t risk lettin’ ya walk away from somethin’ you actually like.”

You smacked his arm lightly, only making him laugh more as he ducked away, looping his arm casually around your waist to draw you into a side hug. The warmth of his touch lingered, his hand resting comfortably at your hip. It was the sort of touch that should’ve felt natural by now, but somehow, it left you flustered. He was supposed to be the loud, obnoxious friend who made everyone laugh. So why did it feel like every touch, every sideways glance in your direction, especially today, held a weight that left you breathless? You hated that it was him, the one person you thought you’d never lose your cool around, who could make your composure slip so effortlessly.

“Don’t go gettin’ all mad,” he said, that easy grin still in place, his accent softening in a way that had your stomach fluttering. “It’s just a little token of your winnin's.”

You mumbled something about unfair tactics, even as your hand settled into his. He finally laughed, still holding your bag and chuckling as he looked around the mall. His gaze landed on a clothing shop just ahead, and his face lit up.

“Alright, you got your shiny new necklace. Now you’re helpin’ me pick out a hoodie,” he said, giving you a grin that could only be described as downright cocky. “Let’s see if I can look half as put together as you.”

“Fine,” you replied, barely suppressing a smile, “but don't expect me to return the payment favour, that's on you.”

Ben just laughed, letting you walk in first before he strolled in behind you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Once inside, Ben beelined for the hoodies, pulling out everything he could get his hands on without checking the tags or sizes. He held up a dark blue one with a shrug, grinning as he tossed it in your direction. “This one’s a classic, right? Nice and oversized?”

“Ben,” you said, giving him an exasperated look as you held the fabric up, it's nowhere near his size, way too small. “This wouldn’t even fit you like a sleeve. This would be a corset for you. Besides, since when do you need an oversized anything?”

He chuckled, looking down at his broad shoulders and long frame. “Point taken. Let’s see, you’re gonna have to help me find somethin’… refined. Like me.”

You rolled your eyes, but reached for a khaki cream-coloured hoodie, holding it up in front of him. “This one’s got ‘actually dressed himself’ written all over it.”

Ben took it from you and pulled it over his head without bothering to even look for the changing rooms, letting it settle over his broad shoulders and across his arms, the fabric fitting perfectly. He adjusted the sleeves, smoothing out a crease as he caught your eye with a playful smirk.

“So, how do I look? All cleaned up, or just half?”

You stepped closer, straightening the hood and smoothing the fabric across his chest and shoulders. “Not bad,” you said, nodding approvingly. “Maybe the best-dressed you’ve ever been for casual attire.”

Ben cleared his throat, a small blush creeping up his neck before he made a funny face at you and pushed your face away with his palm, making you laugh. You reached up and tugged the hood down over his face in response. “Stop it! Do you ever act normal?”

From underneath the hood, his face was hidden but the smile in his tone gave him away. “Normal? C’mon, that doesn’t sound like me at all.”

He yanked the hood off, reaching for another hoodie, examining a grey one this time. He pulled the cream hoodie up over his head, and just as he tugged it up, you realised his T-shirt was trying to come with it. Without thinking, you reached over and tugged his shirt back down, cheeks warming as he slipped into the hoodie with a cheeky grin.

“Good save,” he said, finally adjusting the fit with a little salute. “Now I really gotta make you my official stylist.”

“Oh, if it means I get to stop you from embarrassing yourself in public, I’ll do it,” you replied with a grin.

Ben just rolled his eyes sassily as he watched you inspect the look as he pulled the grey one on. “Don’t go givin’ me too many compliments now. Might go straight to my head.”

You laughed, giving his chest a final pat. “I’d say we’ve got it just right.”

After a long day of shopping and conversing together, the last thing you needed was more conversation, you couldn't wait to take yourself to your hotel room and sink in everything that had happened and everything that had been felt. As you took your small bags from Ben's hands you stood in the elevator, engrossed in the gossip Ben was subjecting you to, something to do with car dealers. Somewhere along the way, Ben had even pressed the button to your floor himself.

By the time you unlocked your door, it was almost automatic; you turned to face him, assuming he’d say goodbye and let you get some rest. But he strolled right in, still mid-sentence, as if he had every right to be there. You stood in the doorframe, breaking your smile and shaking your head, mouth agape as you realised what just happened.

“Ben... did you just follow me into my hotel room?” you asked, crossing your arms as you watched him plop down on your bed like he owned the place.

“Pfft,” he scoffed, “don’t flatter yourself. You ain’t got nothin’ in here worth followin’ you for - ‘cept maybe more of that wild fashion sense you got.” He shot you a teasing grin, his eyes flicking over to the small shopping bags you’d set down on the dresser.

You crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, so now you’re a fashion critic too? I didn’t hear you complaining when I helped you pick out those hoodies.”

He laughed, that easy, familiar sound filling the room, and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I still think you coulda gone a little crazier. All that walking around and y' bought tiny, little things like that necklace. Real tame, you know?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the urge to smile. “It’s called being tasteful, Ben. Not everyone can rock 'big and bold' like you.”

He gave you a mock-offended look, his drawl growing thicker. “Well, we can’t all be boring, now can we, darlin'?”

You felt a flicker of something under his words - the teasing words hung in the air longer than you expected, and you felt a jolt of something, nothing you could name, but enough to make you look away first, pretending to busy yourself with the bags again as you cleared your throat.

“Right,” you said, voice light, “because you’re the definition of exciting. The guy who almost bought a novelty koala mug for fifty bucks.”

“Hey, c'mon now, that mug was a steal,” he shot back, eyes glinting with amusement. “And besides, who’s gonna stop me? You?”

You giggled softly, flopping down beside him on your stomach, your elbow brushing the bedspread as you kept a careful inch of space between you. The gap between you felt electric, buzzing with that familiar charge you both pretended not to notice. “I already did, remember? I’ve saved you so many times from a lifetime of tacky souvenirs. You’d be drowning in cheap tourist mugs if it weren’t for me.”

Ben’s face softened, his smirk fading into something almost thoughtful as he rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand. “Guess I owe you, then,” he said quietly, his tone lower, like he was sharing a secret.

The room seemed to hold its breath, and you swore the sunlight dimmed just a little, softening the angles of his face. For a heartbeat, you thought he was going to say something more, something that would change everything between you. You caught the scent of his cologne, warm and fresh with a hint of spice, and your eyes flickered down to his lips, wondering if he’d noticed the way you’d frozen like a deer in headlights, caught between teasing and leaning in, unsure if you were daring him or daring yourself.

His gaze dropped, almost imperceptibly, to where your fingers played with the loose thread on the edge of the bedspread, and it was like he saw right through you. The air crackled, the tension stretching out like a taut string, ready to snap making you feel all sorts of woozy. You knew if you moved, if you even breathed too deeply, it would shatter whatever fragile moment this was. He was watching you so closely, noticing everything, the angle of your face, the way your hair fell, the way your breath caught just a little too fast, the tiny smile you couldn’t quite hide.

And then he grinned as he caught your smile; a lazy, crooked grin that made your heart skip. The vulnerability in his eyes flickered and was gone, hidden behind that familiar playful charm. It was safer that way, easier to laugh it off than to admit there might be something real between you.

You nudged him gently with your shoulder, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, aching from the sincere moment but almost glad it passed. Almost.

“You definitely do,” you said, your voice deliberately light.

Ben chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound that made you feel both safe and entirely off-balance. “Deal, you got it. How about some snacks? But, if I’m buyin’, you can’t go pullin’ that health-nut stuff on me. It’s gotta be a proper snack run, none of your boring, practical choices.”

“Oh, I’m so there,” you replied, half laughing, half trying to mask the flush that was still heating your cheeks. “Just don’t get all whiny if I veto your terrible taste.”

He sat up, giving you a mockingly serious look, his expression exaggeratedly grave. “Whiny? I don’t whine. I’m just... persuasive.”

“Sure you are,” you teased, feeling the tension still lingering about in the air.

You reached out to push his shoulder playfully, but he was faster. His hand caught yours, fingers curling around yours in a way that sent a spark racing up your arm. For a second, everything went still, the noise from the street outside faded, and the weight of the bed shifted beneath you, but all you could feel was the heat of his palm against yours.

It was Ben who let go first, his eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous spark. “9, don’t be late,” he said, pushing himself off the bed with a careless grin.

You watched him head for the door, your pulse still racing in your chest. “I’m never late,” you shot back, trying to sound unaffected despite the way your voice wavered, light and teasing.

He paused in the doorway, throwing a look over his shoulder, his eyes softer than usual, almost expectant. “We’ll see about that,” he said with a wink before disappearing into the hallway, leaving you staring at the closed door, still lying on the bed, with a strange, buzzing feeling beneath your skin. You couldn't help but feel the heat rise to your face, your hand on fire from the interaction as you stared around, dumbfounded from the passing moments.

Later that night, you headed to the hotel lobby, the low hum of late-night travellers and the clinking of glass doors filling the space. You spotted Ben before he saw you, leaning casually against a column in a purple hoodie, scrolling through his phone with a barely-there smile tugging at his lips.

He looked up the second the elevator doors opened, and whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t you in a simple top with the sleeves pushed up and cargo pants, like you were trying too hard to look like you weren’t trying at all.

His eyebrows lifted, a grin spreading slow and wide. “That’s what you’re wearin’?” he said, not even bothering to hide his amusement.

You scoffed, furrowing your brows, shoving your hands in your pockets before muttering, “Yeah... what’s wrong with it?”

He rolled his eyes, but you caught the way they softened, something playful and gentle mingling with the mischief. Without saying a word, he dug into his bag and pulled out a well-worn hoodie, its cuffs fraying slightly and the colour slightly faded from too many washes. “Here,” he said, thrusting it at you. “You’re not goin’ anywhere with me like that.”

You gave him a long, unamused stare. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he shot back, voice dropping lower, teasing. “Don’t make me beg.”

You snatched the hoodie from him with a huff, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the fabric as you slipped it over your head. It was massive, swallowing you whole, the sleeves dangling well past your hands. You tugged at the cuffs, rolling them up clumsily and folding the bottom into your waistband so it didn't completely swallow you up as Ben watched with a satisfied smirk.

“Better,” he declared, like he’d personally fixed a crisis.

“Happy now?” you asked, your voice sharper than you’d intended, but you couldn’t help the way your heart picked up speed when he looked at you like that like you were more than just some friend he dragged along on a whim.

He just grinned and nodded. “Let’s go.”

The grocery store was nearly empty, the white-lit aisles stretching out like pathways to nowhere. The two of you wandered slowly at first, examining small differences side by side, until you found yourselves in the snack aisle, surrounded by walls of bright, neon packaging. Ben was in his element, zeroing in on the loudest, most ridiculous options like a kid in a candy store.

He plucked a bag of neon-orange chips from the shelf, shaking it lightly. “Alright,” he said, his tone suddenly all business, “What’s your stance on cheese puffs?”

You glanced at the bag and back at him, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not food, that’s...radioactive material. Nothing should be that orange.”

He gasped mouth agape before forming a pout, side-eyeing you. “Loud and wrong, but okay...”

You snatched the bag from his hand, tossing it into the cart anyway. “Fine. But we’re getting something that won’t kill us on the spot too.”

“Oh, here we go,” he groaned, watching as you added a box of granola bars to the mix with a self-satisfied smile. He shook his head, grabbing the cart handle and steering it down the aisle with a flourish.

“You’re no fun.”

“Somebody has to be the adult,” you said lightly, your shoulder brushing his as you walked.

The cart squeaked slightly as you rounded the corner, stopping to examine a box and before you knew it, Ben had snuck up behind you, his hands on your waist, lifting you off the floor in one swift movement. You barely had time to react before he dropped you, albeit with a slightly abrupt drop, laughing into the cart like it was the most natural thing in the world. You gasped, grabbing at the edges of the cart to steady yourself as he pushed forward, his laughter echoing off the empty shelves.

“Ben, what are you doing?” you demanded, half-exasperated, half-laughing as the cart picked up speed.

“Shoppin’!” he said nonchalantly, his voice lilting with barely suppressed giggles. “What’s it look like?”

You tried to glare at him, but the sound of his laughter, the way he moved so easily beside you, pulling you into his orbit, made it impossible to be mad. He flipped the hood over your face without warning, almost like payback from your antics earlier and you yelped, fumbling to throw it off your face as he made a dramatic show of spinning the cart around in circles in a wide arc, as if he were doing doughnuts in his car, laughing as you swayed and clung to the sides.

“Ben, you’re insane!” you shouted, but it came out more like a giggle, and you knew he’d hear it for what it was; a thrill you couldn’t quite hide.

“Yeah, but you love it!” he shot back, slowing the cart and landing it to face him, just enough to meet your eyes, the world narrowing down to the space between you. His smile was softer now, more intimate like he’d forgotten you were in a brightly lit grocery store at all.

For a second, you forgot too. Forgot about the shelves stacked high with candy and cereal, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead as your world came back from spinning and went straight into those puppy-dog brown eyes that always invited you so warmly. It was just him, and the warmth in him, the way he was looking at you like he could see straight through all the walls you’d built up.

Then he blinked, breaking the moment, and you cleared your throat, holding your sides tighter like it was armour. “C’mon,” you said, your voice a little too casual. “We still need to get some popcorn.”

His smirk returned a flash of teeth and mischief. “Only if I get to pick.”

“Fine,” you said, hopping out of the cart in a not-so-gracious way, almost tripping and falling over before you found your feet, while he squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a laugh. You ignored him and nudged him aside as you led the way, leaving him and the cart behind. “We’re not getting any of that sugar-loaded nonsense.”

“Deal,” he said easily, falling back into step beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours with every step as he leaned onto the shopping cart's handle. It was comfortable, this back-and-forth, like a dance you’d both practised without realising.

The rest of the trip was a blur of bright colours and easy laughter, you vetoing his most ridiculous choices and him sneaking them into the cart when he thought you weren’t looking. There was something electric in the air, a charge that made you feel light and breathless. Every time your eyes met, it was like the world shrunk just a little more, leaving just the two of you standing there, suspended in a moment that neither of you wanted to end.

By the time you left, the night air was cool and crisp, and the city lights blurred into a haze of gold and blue. You carried your small, modest box of granola bars easily while Ben lugged a full backpack and a crinkling, overstuffed plastic bag of brightly coloured chaos, bumping your shoulder with his as you walked.

“Y’know,” he began, adding a lazy warmth to the night air, “if you think for one second that’s the last time I’m gonna put you in a cart, you’re wrong.”

You huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Oh yeah? You're planning on carrying me around as part of your personal grocery haul from now on?”

He shot you a playful grin, his smile wide and easy. “Might just make it a habit. You fit in there pretty nice.”

Rolling your eyes, you bumped his arm with yours, but the warmth lingered longer than you expected. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“Hey, I don't hear nobody complainin’ ‘bout bein’ chauffeured around,” he shot back, his eyes glimmering in the low streetlights. “And don’t pretend you didn’t love it. Saw you smilin’ the whole way.”

You tried to hide your grin, biting down on your lip. “I was not smiling.”

“Sure you weren’t,” he said, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl, and you knew he saw right through you. He always did, with that irritating, endearing way of his.

He kept walking, and you fell into an easy stride beside him, the silence that stretched out feeling warm, and comfortable, the kind that made you feel like you didn’t need to fill it with words.

As you cross the street, your fingers accidentally brush his for a split second, and you both tense up, the smallest contact sparking between you like static. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shot you a quick, almost shy smile before looking up at the half-lit sky.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said suddenly as if the thought had just hit him. “There’s this café I saw online, right? Said they’ve got the best breakfast sandwiches in Australia. And it's like, a 15-minute walk from the hotel.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah? And what, you’re planning to drag me out of bed before dawn just to try a sandwich?”

“Exactly! You read my mind!” he yelped excitedly without missing a beat, clearly not hearing your sarcasm. “We’ll beat the crowd! No lines, best seat in the house. Plus,” he added with a wink, “you look like you could use a proper breakfast after that grocery store workout.”

You gave him a sceptical look, though a smile tugged at your lips. “Fine. But if it’s some overhyped, greasy thing, you owe me.”

“I’ll take that bet,” he said, flashing that confident grin that made it impossible to say no. The walk back to the hotel was quieter, the playful back-and-forth giving way to a comfortable, unspoken understanding that neither of you wanted to break. After many attempts at trying to close the door on Ben only to be interrupted by "Wait, one last thing before I go"'s and many, many awful jokes, you finally found yourself drained as you collapsed onto your bed. You quickly set a reminder for his ridiculous plan, and a dreadful 5am alarm was made, leaving you with not nearly enough time to rest after the day's antics.

The alarm dragged you out of a deep sleep way too soon, feeling like you had just fallen into slumber. You groaned, fumbling to silence it, barely managing to swing your legs over the side of the bed before realising you were still wrapped in Ben’s hoodie, the fabric heavy and warm, smelling of cologne and well, him. Blinking blearily, you forced yourself to move, your mind foggy with sleep, the hotel room still wrapped in low shadow. The chill of the early hour made you pull the hoodie tighter around yourself, the soft material a comfort against the cold.

When you finally stumbled downstairs to the lobby, he was already there, leaning casually against the doorframe, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding a steaming ceramic cup of coffee. He looked up at the sound of your footsteps, and you noticed the way his eyes went wide for a second before he quickly masked it with a crooked smile. His hair was messy, and he looked like he hadn’t been awake for long, but the sight of him made your chest feel oddly light. You were still half-asleep, your hair barely brushed, eyes slightly open, and wearing his hoodie like it was a shield against the early morning chill.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he said, his voice rough and deep with sleep, the sound of it washing over you like a warm wave. There was a hitch in his tone, something unsteady and unguarded, and it made your stomach flutter in a way you couldn’t quite explain. "You look... cozy."

You tried to rub the sleep from your eyes, barely registering his words. “What?” you mumbled, blinking up at him.

The lights in the lobby were harsh, making you squint, and you fumbled with the hood, pushing it back slightly. Your fingers felt clumsy, too heavy, and you knew you looked a mess. No makeup, hair lazily brushed, the sleeves of his hoodie falling over your hands like a second blanket.

His gaze lingered, and he cleared his throat, glancing away quickly like he’d seen something he shouldn’t. “I, uh... you’re wearin’ my hoodie,” he said, a slow smile tugging at his lips despite the awkwardness in his voice.

“Didn’t think you’d be, y’know, sleepin’ in it.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you shrugged, still too groggy to care much. “It’s comfortable,” you muttered, your voice muffled with sleep. “I just… forgot to take it off.”

He was quiet for a beat too long like he was turning your words over in his mind, and you noticed the way he was looking at you, really looking, like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected. You wanted to say something, to break the strange heaviness of the moment, but your brain felt slow and thick with exhaustion, and all you could do was yawn and shift your weight from one foot to the other.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice softer, a bit hesitant, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep pushing. His eyes were bright despite the early hour, lingering on the way his hoodie hung loose on your frame, the oversized fabric almost swallowing you. “Well, it... looks good on you. Real good.”

You ducked your head, a sleepy laugh escaping your lips, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped at his words. “I’m sure it does, c'mon let's get going if we want to beat the queue or whatever,” you teased, though there was no bite behind it. You didn’t have the energy for anything but honesty, and you were still caught up in the warmth of his hoodie, the way it felt like a shield against the morning chill.

His grin softened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, looking suddenly self-conscious. “Nah, I mean it,” he said, his drawl slow and unsteady. “Didn’t know you’d make my old thing look that good.”

You shrugged again, feeling your face flush as you ducked your chin deeper into the collar of the hoodie. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes still half-closed, struggling to focus in the dim lighting.

“Yeah, you should,” he said, the words coming out a little too fast like he couldn’t quite control the way they slipped out. He was still watching you, his gaze almost tender, his usual confidence faltering in the face of your sleepy vulnerability.

You felt an odd sensation bloom in your chest. Something soft and unsteady, and you weren’t sure if it was the early hour, his deep, sleep-rough voice, or the way he couldn’t seem to look away from you. You fumbled to roll up the too-long sleeves, your fingers barely managing to fold the fabric back, and Ben’s gaze followed the movement, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite name.

He hesitated, then stepped closer, his movements careful and unhurried, like he was testing the boundaries of whatever this was between you. He lifted his coffee cup, its warmth radiating outwards as he held it just inches from your face. “Here,” he offered his voice still that deep morning rumble that made your stomach twist. “You look like you could use this more than I do.”

Ben handed you the mug, and as you took a sip, your fingers barely brushed his, such a small, fleeting touch that it might as well have been an accident. But the warmth of it lingered, and Ben’s eyes, still sleepy but more awake than yours, didn’t stray from your face. You were too groggy to notice as you took a deep gulp of the warm coffee. It was rich and comforting, exactly what you needed to get moving, and you barely caught the way Ben's gaze softened as you closed your eyes and sighed contentedly.

You held the mug back out to him, half-smiling as you blinked against the morning light spilling through the windows. “Okay, I'll admit, it’s good,” you admitted, handing it over with a sleepy grin.

Ben grinned back, his tone suddenly lighter as he accepted the mug again. “Mhm, damn right,” his drawl thick in the early hour, the kind that always made you feel just a bit more awake than you were ready for. His voice was deep, still rough from sleep, and you felt a strange flutter at the sound of it, so different from his usual light-hearted teasing. He looked like he wanted to add something further, but instead, he raised the mug to his lips, pausing for the briefest moment before taking a sip from the exact spot where your mouth had just been.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, his voice a little rough, almost hesitant, and you nodded, letting him lead the way out into the slowly illuminating streets.

The walk to the café was quiet, but it was a different kind of quiet now, one that felt heavy with things left unsaid, with the strange intimacy of the moment lingering between you like a secret. Your footsteps echoed against the pavement, and you felt more awake with each step, the chilly air biting at your face and the faint light from the rising sun glinting off the windows above. Ben was walking a little too close, his arm brushing yours every now and then, and you noticed the way he kept sneaking glances at you as if he was trying to memorise every detail, the way his hoodie pooled around your hips, the faint shadow of sleep still lingering in your eyes and on your pouted lips, the way you hadn’t bothered to fix your hair or hide the bare honesty of your face.

“Don't think I’ve ever seen you this early before,” he said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence, low and rumbling like distant thunder. “No makeup, no fancy clothes. Just... I don't know, man, just you.”

You looked up at him, squinting a little against the first light of dawn, and tried to muster up some kind of retort, but all you could manage was a half-hearted, sleepy smile. “Disappointed?” you teased, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not even a little,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice hit you like a punch to the gut. He smiled, the edges of his mouth curling up in that familiar way that made your heart skip, and you found yourself smiling back without even realising it, feeling lighter and warmer than you had in a long time.

The two of you arrived at the café, footsteps slowing as you got closer. But when you reached the door, your heart sank. Not a single person lined up. The café was dark, the interior shrouded in shadows, and there, taped to the inside of the window, was a handwritten sign that read: Closed. Opens at 7 AM.

You blinked at it, still half-asleep, your shoulders slumping as disappointment settled in. “Ben,” you dragged a hand over your face before narrowing your eyes at him, “you’re telling me I could’ve slept for two more hours? I thought it'd be open sooner!”

“Hey, who needs sleep?” he said, shrugging without a hint of regret. He gestured to the empty curb across the street with a grin. “C’mon. Let’s sit it out. I’ll make the time fly right by.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Despite the chill in the early-morning air, you settled beside him on the curb, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you rested your chin atop your knees. The street was quiet in the way only early morning can be, just the two of you and the distant hum of a waking city.

Ben stretched his long legs out in front of him like he owned the street. There was something so easy about sitting there with him in the silence, the air crisp and the sky just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. You watched the horizon, focusing on the deepening shades of indigo and pale gold, the familiar comfort of the city awakening inch by inch. It was strange how easy it was to be around him, how your guard dropped without you even noticing. His presence was effortless, and the way his eyes rested on you every now and then, like you were someone worth seeing, made you feel something you didn’t quite want to name yet.

“You know,” he murmured, a hint of his usual humour in his tone, “you’re not half bad at relaxin’ after all.”

You shot him a soft glare, lips twitching. “Are you trying to say I’m fun?”

“Hmm...I’d say a little more than fun,” he replied, his smile widening. “But let’s just leave it at that for now. At least no one’s in line, so we’ll get the best seat in the house when they do open” He glanced over to you as he leaned back on his palms.

You chuckled, glancing at the empty street. The entire street was silent, just the two of you in the quiet stillness of dawn. You relaxed a little, sinking further into the oversized hoodie that smelled like him, comforting and familiar.

After a while, he nudged you with his shoulder, his eyes up to the sky but his voice low. “You ever notice how I always seem to get you roped into these side quests of mine?” he asked, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Errands, random snack runs, you name it.”

You shot him a sideways glance, fighting back a smirk. “Oh, I’ve noticed. You have a knack for it, Ben. You’re lucky I can keep up. You nominated me for laundry duty last week too.”

He let his head back with a laugh. “Well, you’re good at it.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to help the smile that pulled at your lips. “Or maybe you’re just lazy.”

“Nah, it’s ‘cause you’re the only person who’ll actually come along for the ride,” he admitted, his gaze settling on you with a softness that made your heart skip. “Anyway… why don’t you ever bring a boyfriend along on one of these little errands? Not like you're short on admirers.”

His question caught you off guard, and you looked away, staring out at the sunrise as your thoughts turned inward. It was a topic you rarely touched, one you hadn’t even realised you’d been avoiding until now.“I don’t know,” you said softly, your voice distant and hesitant. “I guess, maybe… it’s just easier this way?”

“No one special you’re hiding from me, huh?” Ben’s tone was gentle, almost teasing, but his eyes held a genuine curiosity. He wanted to understand.

You swallowed, feeling a lump form in your throat. This was a part of yourself you rarely shared, a shadow you’d kept hidden for a long time. But the stillness of the morning and the warmth in his gaze tugged at something deep inside. “There was someone,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “A while ago.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched you, the usual teasing gone, replaced by quiet patience.

“He... he liked that I had my life together, y'know? Like I was this 'go-getter,' always calm and composed,” you said, slowly letting the words surface. “Or at least, that’s what he told me. He said he liked that I wasn’t flashy and that I didn’t draw too much attention to myself. I think he appreciated my quiet confidence, and how I could go with the flow. Looking back, I think it was because he thought it made me easier to control...” You let out a short, hollow laugh that didn’t reach your eyes.

“I didn’t even realise when things shifted,” you continued, voice more firm now. “When he went from showing genuine interest to making all the decisions. It must've been gradual, but it felt like it just happened one day; I don’t know when it started. Suddenly, he was calling all the shots, and I thought I was just being a good partner. Compromising. Making space for him. Letting him be himself. But I didn’t see that, bit by bit, I was putting myself away.”

Ben’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his attention urging you to go on.

“He’d ignore my texts for hours, sometimes days, and then act like I was overreacting when I brought it up. But God forbid I missed one of his calls during training or when I was away on tour. If I couldn’t stay up late to talk, he’d make it into a huge deal. We’d set times to call, but he’d never follow through—and always with some lame excuse.”

You paused, drawing a deep breath, eyes fixed on a point in the distance.

“And then there were the arguments,” you said, voice tightening. “About the most impossible things—like how I didn’t spend enough time with him. How could I when I was half a world away? Or how my career always came first. He said I was boring, that I wasn’t spontaneous enough. But whenever I tried to change, there was always something else wrong. No matter what I did, it was never enough.”

Ben’s expression darkened, a flicker of frustration tightening the corners of his mouth. His hand was on the curb next to yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his skin—grounding you.

“Maybe he was jealous,” you said, the words almost to yourself. “That’s what my mom said. Jealous of my success, or of the fact that I had something I loved that wasn’t about him. He knew exactly how to make me feel small. Every victory, every career milestone, he’d twist it, make me feel like I was failing him. Like I was always letting him down. I thought... if I could just balance it all if I could make him happy, he’d love me the way I needed. But honestly? I don’t even know what I needed anymore, not when he was the one telling me how to feel.”

You swallowed, the bitterness of those memories heavy on your tongue.

“No matter how much I shifted or tried to be the girl he wanted, it was never enough. There was always another criticism, another reason why I wasn’t good enough. I was too selfish, too focused on my career, too indecisive, too... everything. And I believed him. I thought I was the problem. That I just couldn’t make him happy.”

A light breeze swept through the street, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, pulling your knees close as if to shield yourself from the weight of those memories.

“He was... God, Ben, you should've heard him. He was so relentless when he wanted to be. It felt like every part of my life was under a microscope, every single decision, every single choice; it was all wrong. All the things I loved, the things that made me proud, they just started to fade away, like they’d been drained of colour.”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on, finding strength in the words you’d never fully voiced before.

“I started to lose myself in a spiral. Everything felt so ... grey, so heavy like I was wading through water. I thought... isn’t this what relationships are? Compromise, sacrifice, working through the rough patches? That’s what I kept telling myself. I thought if I just tried harder, if I carried the weight for both of us, then maybe he’d be happy again, like how he was in the beginning. But I started wondering if I was even cut out for love. I mean, what does it even mean to love someone, really? All I knew was that I kept losing myself in the process, and it still wasn’t nearly enough.”

You exhaled, as the quiet of the morning felt almost too peaceful, the faint chirping of birds contrasting with the heaviness of what you were saying.

“And then he cheated,” you continued, your voice flat. “When I found out, he didn’t even try to deny it. He just looked at me, fatigued, and was like, ‘What did you expect with the way you treat me? Don’t be so naive.’ But you know what?”

You paused, a strange light creeping into your voice.

“It was almost a relief. Him cheating... it was my way out. For the first time, I had a solid, undeniable reason to leave. I didn’t have to keep convincing myself that I needed to try harder, or that it was all my fault.”

Your voice softened, carrying vulnerability.

“I don’t even know if I ever really loved him, or maybe, I don't know how to love. Maybe I just loved the idea of being loved or being enough for someone. But the truth is, I don’t think I even know what love is supposed to feel like. I gave everything I had, and it still wasn’t right, I felt so drained like a vampire had me. Maybe I’ve never felt real love, or maybe... maybe I’m just not meant for it.”

Ben’s silence was heavy beside you, his gaze unwavering, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. The shame and rawness of your words made your throat tighten, but you kept going.

“I stayed until I had nothing left to give until I got cheated on, and even then, I couldn’t tell you why. It was like I was trying to win a game I didn’t even understand. And in the end, I realised... I never even had him, not truly. I was always chasing something that wasn’t there. It was always a losing game, and I was the only one playing.”

Ben’s gaze was steady, the weight of your words hanging between you. Then he spoke, his tone warm and sincere. “You don’t deserve someone treating you like that. Not ever. I-"

He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before he continued.

"I can’t even imagine doin' that to you. You’re more than enough, you always have been. You don’t need to change a single thing for anyone. Man, I like you just the way you are because I know you, and I know you’re worth so much more than what you settled for with that dick.”

A tear slid down your cheek, carrying all the hurt you’d kept buried for so long. You weren’t crying, not really, but his words had found their way past all your defences, and something inside you softened and broke open.

“Do you really mean that?” you asked, your voice small, almost scared, your eyes searching his.

Ben’s eyes locked onto yours, and something in his expression shifted. For a moment, he seemed almost stunned, his face softening, his features melting with a tenderness that made it hard to breathe. He reached out slowly to cup your face with his hand, as if afraid you might pull away, and when you didn’t, he gently wiped the tear from your cheek. His fingers lingered, brushing against your skin with a touch so careful it made your heart ache.

“I mean every word,” he said, his voice low and steady, barely more than a whisper. “I see you, Y/N. I’ve always seen you.”

His words hit you like a wave, and the tears came faster, though still silent. Ben’s expression softened even further, and he pulled you into him without hesitation, wrapping a strong arm around you, and holding you close. You pressed your face into his shoulder, feeling the warmth and solid comfort of him, and slowly, you let yourself sink into his embrace. He didn’t speak, just rubbed your back in gentle circles, his chin resting on top of your head.

After minutes had passed when the tightness in your chest had started to fade and the early morning warmth grew warmer, you felt him smile against your hair. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, and he said with a playful grin, “If this is all it takes to get a hug outta you, I should’ve asked sooner.”

You couldn’t help it, you let out a small, breathy laugh, rolling your eyes even as you stayed close to him, nestling your head before you lifted it up.

“Oh, shut up,” you said, smacking his shoulder lightly. “If I knew you were gonna use emotional blackmail for free hugs, I would’ve kept my distance.”

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting, and the warmth of the moment settled between you. You pulled away, wiping your face with the oversized sleeves of his old hoodie, the one that had become yours. The quiet returned, peaceful now, the sun creeping higher in the sky and washing everything in shades of soft orange and pink.

You sat together in silence, shoulder to shoulder, the pain slowly ebbing away as the world woke up around you. There was something different between you now, a shift that neither of you said out loud but both of you felt. For the first time in a long time, you felt a weight lift, and you let yourself relax against him, the silence and small conversation comfortable as you felt relief and warmth flow through you.

By the time the café finally opened, you and Ben had spent two hours huddled together as the sun began to bathe you two, and sharing quiet laughter as the world slowly woke up around you. The anticipation of the legendary breakfast had both of you giddy and a little loopy from the early start, making the time fly by.

But when the doors swung open and you finally got your hands on the much-hyped breakfast sandwiches, reality hit. The sandwiches were mediocre, wayyy too salty and the coffee was disappointingly weak. The "famous" breakfast sandwiches that Ben’s TikTok video had promised would be life-changing were, frankly, a letdown. Yet, it didn’t matter at all.

The two of you slid into a corner booth, expecting to sit across from each other, but Ben surprised you by scooting in right beside you, his thigh pressing lightly against yours. He stretched his legs out under the table, claiming the whole space as his own. You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into his warmth as you sipped your disappointing coffee.

“This is the most underwhelming breakfast I’ve ever had,” you said, crinkling your nose as you picked at the sandwich.

Ben chuckled, flashing you a mischievous grin. “Guess I owe you a better one, next time” he teased, nudging your shoulder with his.

“Damn right, you do,” you shot back with a smirk.

Ben’s arm rested casually over the back of the booth, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder, sending shivers down your spine. Every small, careless touch, his knee nudging yours, his fingers grazing your hoodie, made it harder to ignore the fluttering in your chest. With each laugh and shared smile, you felt something shifting between you, something that made it impossible to see him as just a friend, especially after being so vulnerable earlier.

As the café started to fill with the morning crowd, you remained on the same side of the booth, your legs tangled comfortably under the table. There was an easy closeness between you now, a kind of unspoken understanding like you were sharing a secret that only the two of you knew. When he reached over to brush a crumb from your lip as you talked, his fingertips barely grazing your skin, you felt your cheeks heat and words stutter, but you didn’t pull away. The sun rose higher, streaming golden light through the café windows, and the warmth between you felt softer and more real than any disappointment over a bad breakfast. Ben’s presence was grounding, and for the first time in a very long time, you felt genuinely at ease, like the weight of your earlier conversation and all your own personal baggage had lessened, transformed into something lighter by his easy smile and gentle touch.

By the time you both decided to leave, you were still laughing over the overhyped “legendary” breakfast. As you stepped out onto the sun-drenched street, Ben’s hand slipped into yours with a light squeeze, like always, as if to say, I’m still here. I’ve got you. The simple gesture left your skin tingling, and your heart racing just a little faster.

You walked together down the slowly waking street back to the hotel, shoulder to shoulder, arms looped together, a warmth lingering between you that had nothing to do with the sunrise. The world around you was coming alive, but it felt like you were still living in that quiet, private space you'd created in the early morning hours, a small bubble of warmth and closeness that was just yours. Of course, it couldn't last long, not with training and matches coming up alongside personal commitments and whatever else, but having this quiet time together was more than rewarding.

As the café faded into the past, so did the warmth of those golden moments, but the echoes lingered. It wasn’t just the memory of his hand brushing yours or the way his laugh had chased away the lingering shadows of your conversation. It was the way he lingered, so effortlessly, so relentlessly, in the quiet spaces of your life.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him as your tour carried you to different cities. The way his hand had slipped into yours so naturally that morning replayed in your mind at the oddest times: during practice serves, mid-flight naps creeping into your peaceful dreams, even while unpacking yet another suitcase in yet another hotel room. It wasn’t like you wanted to be distracted, but Ben was everywhere, his presence stamped into your routine as if he’d always been part of it. And it seemed as though he had no intention of loosening that grip he had on your mind. Calls and messages were frequent as days blurred into one another, conversations that felt simultaneously too much and not nearly enough. Ones that'd have you squealing in bed as you reread over the texts or have you clutching your phone tight minutes after hanging up, savouring the small moments. The banter was still there, as effortless as it was grounding, but now it came with an undercurrent you couldn’t name, something unspoken threading its way through the pauses between your words. Ben became a comforting constant amid the chaos. He was always just a call or a text away, his presence a steady anchor even when everything else felt transient. And while you were grateful for the familiarity, it didn’t stop the butterflies that erupted every time his name lit up your phone.

Like tonight.

After a gruelling match and a hurried dinner that barely counted as a meal, you finally collapsed onto the hotel bed. The quiet of the room felt foreign after the noise of the day, but it was a relief until your phone buzzed on the nightstand. The call started with Ben’s face filling the screen, eyebrows raised and a smirk already in place.

“Hey, stranger,” he smiled in a sing-song tone.

“Oh, spare me,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself.

" 'Spare me?' ” Ben scoffed, kicking back and grinning at the screen. “Girl, you’re acting like you’re the only one with a rough schedule. What’ve you been up to? Post-match feast, or just a sad granola bar?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Neither. Quick and quiet dinner after the match, some bland pasta with a wilted salad, the usual. Real glamorous stuff.You already back to your hotel?”

“Hours ago,” he said. “Caught the highlights of your match, though. That backhand winner down the line? Chef’s kiss.” He mimed a dramatic kiss to the camera. “You’re out here stealing the show.”

“Please,” you said, rolling your eyes, and shrugging. “It wasn’t even my best match. I’ll take a win, though.”

“Don’t be modest,” Ben teased. “Meanwhile, my highlights reel was probably just me sweating buckets with my shirt clinging to me and yelling after missing a forehand.”

You smirked. “Nah, you’re too busy being ‘America’s tennis heartthrob.’ I’m sure your fangirls don’t even notice the double faults.”

Ben groaned, throwing his head back. “Not this again.”

“Oh, come on,” you grinned, teasing him. “Tall, built, All-American golden boy? I’m shocked they haven’t made you into a wax figure yet! ATP should get on that, the more I think about it.”

He leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “Is the golden boy charm working on you?”

You blinked, caught off guard, furrowing your brows. “What..? No. Shut up!”

Ben chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, I was just checking. You're the one who brought it up.”

“Yeah, well…” you said, flustered, fumbling for a comeback. “I mean, I guess it’s a little funny. The way they’re all obsessed with you, I mean.”

He smirked. “Smooth save.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, looking away. “At least you’re not lonely on tour. You’ve got Bryan. Built-in travel buddy.”

Ben scrunched his face up. “Oh yeah, great idea! Let me just grab dinner with my dad after a match so he can spend two hours lecturing me about footwork and his ‘good ol’ days.’ ”

You laughed, before breaking into a pout. “Poor, poor Bryan. He just wants to hang out with his son, and you’re out here running from him.”

“I’m not running,” Ben said defensively. “I’m…um, strategically avoiding.”

“Sure you are.”

“And anyway, no one here’s like you,” he added, his tone casual but his gaze steady.

That caught you off guard. “Yeah-w-what?”

Ben’s smirk deepened. “Don’t choke now. Where’s that quick wit of yours?”

“Shut it,” you groaned, your face heating up as you pressed your face into the mattress.

“Aw, you’re blushing,” he teased, leaning closer to the camera. “Cat really got your tongue this time, huh?”

“Ben, I swear to God,” you said, groaning and burying your face in your hands and dropping the phone.

He laughed, clearly triumphant. “It’s okay, you’ll get me back at the charity doubles event in a few months. I’m counting on you to carry me.”

“Carry you?” you said, grateful for the change in topic. “I thought you were the unstoppable Ben Shelton. 'Big serves, big shots.’ "

“Yeah, yeah, but doubles is different,” he said with a shrug. “Doubles is all about teamwork. I’ll take your instructions. Like Federer and Mirka, except, y’know, cooler.”

You laughed. “Cooler? That’s a bold claim.”

“Why not?” he said, spreading his arms wide. “They’re classy, they’re unstoppable, and they look good doing it. That’s us, right? Total power couple energy.”

“Power couple?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“On the court,” he clarified with a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep it professional.”

“You’d better,” you muttered, shaking your head, though you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling.

As the call ended and the screen faded to black, you lingered in the quiet of your room, your pulse still racing in the aftermath of his teasing grin. Your fingers traced the necklace at your throat, the metal cool under your touch, but the memory it carried, the warmth of his hands, the way his eyes had softened when he fastened it, made your chest feel full and tight all at once.

You had to admit, Ben Shelton was infuriatingly good at leaving you in this liminal space, caught somewhere between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to let yourself fall completely into whatever this was becoming.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed and rifled through your suitcase, finding his hoodie tucked neatly inside. It was a lifeline, an anchor to him when the distance felt like too much. The fabric was soft against your cheek as you hugged it to your chest, his scent faint but unmistakable, as if he were still there, filling the room with his easy laughter and ridiculous charm. It was almost maddening how easily he got under your skin, how his words lingered long after the call had ended, tangling themselves with your thoughts and leaving you guessing.

Was he just being Ben? The not-knowing was intoxicating in its own way, a thrill and torment that made your stomach flutter and your mind race long into the night until you could fall asleep, and even then, he graced your dreams with his warmth that you could never get enough of.

For Ben, the feelings weren’t any simpler. He leaned back against his hotel bed, the phone still warm in his hand, the smile he’d worn during the call refusing to fade. You always had this way of leaving him grinning like an idiot, proud of his one-liners that caught you off guard but tonight felt different. He loved catching you off guard, how you’d try to fire back some clever retort only to stammer and fall silent, just like the first time he met you. It wasn’t just funny to him; it was endearing, that quiet vulnerability you didn’t even seem to notice. And God, you were beautiful, even in that post-match haze, hair damp and face free of makeup, exhaustion softening your edges in a way that only made you look more real, more you. He wished he could've seen you in person; he could stare at you like that for hours and still turn back for a second glimpse, never getting enough.

He sighed, rolling onto his side as his fingers hovered over a photo on his camera roll, the one where you weren’t looking, too focused on a menu, brow furrowed like the decision was life or death, another one of you in his car, casually on your phone, followed by another photo and another. He couldn’t help it; his chest tightened at the memory of moments like that, the way you made the chaos of his life feel lighter. Then there were the little things: the protein bar with your teasing note that you threw in his bag during a practice one time, or the way you seemed to know exactly when to check in when you could read how he honestly was.

It scared him sometimes, how easily you crept into his thoughts, how much he wanted to be the reason you smiled the way you had tonight. And yet, even as the thought tightened in his chest, Ben smiled again, already counting down the days until he’d see you at the charity event, knowing it just couldn't come sooner.

The atmosphere at the event was electric, a blend of effortless fun and star-studded tennis. Neon lights pulsed along the edges of the court, casting playful shadows on the buzzing crowd as a DJ spun upbeat tracks that thrummed in your chest and made the ground pulse. It was far from a serious tournament, more like a party on a tennis court, where fans and players mingled, indulging in casual games and champagne-laced banter.

You smoothed down your navy skirt, the silky white bow in your hair fluttering lightly as you stepped into the tunnel, the buzz of conversation growing louder. A little blush, a sweep of mascara, and a touch of concealer made you look radiant but understated; the only jewellery you wore was the rose-gold necklace Ben had gotten you, gleaming softly against your collarbones under the venue’s lights.

“Ready to dazzle?” another player teased as she passed by, her racket slung lazily over her shoulder. You shot her a grin, zipping up your bag as you mentally prepared for the night ahead. But before you could take another step with your bag now slung over your arm, a hand wrapped gently around your wrist, tugging you back into the shadowed corner of the tunnel.

You turned quickly, your startled expression melting into a mixture of exasperation and amusement when you saw Ben. He was leaning against the wall, grinning like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“Subtle as always,” you teased, arching a brow, even as your chest tightened slightly at the sight of him. It had been months, and somehow, he looked the same but different, more confident, more composed, yet just as unmistakably Ben.

He tilted his head, his grin spreading slowly. “What can I say? I like to make an entrance.”

“By sneaking up on me?” you quipped, folding your arms but unable to stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Better than yelling, don’t you think?” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his presence filling the space between you. For a moment, the noise of the crowd outside felt distant, the thrum of music fading into the background.

He let his eyes roam, taking in the bow in your hair and the soft gleam of the necklace he’d picked out weeks ago. “You look…” He trailed off, his voice softer now, tinged with something he wasn’t saying. “I mean, wow.”

You felt your cheeks flush, the warmth crawling up your neck as you shifted on your feet. “Don’t start, Shelton,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any conviction.

“What? It’s a compliment.” His tone dipped, quiet but teasing, as he leaned just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne. “Guess I forgot how good you clean up...y'know while still bein' all proper.”

You tried for a quick, witty comeback, but the words stumbled and caught in your throat when his eyes met yours again, warm and intent. It was like he saw through the polished image you’d carefully put together for tonight, straight to the version of you he knew best: messy hair, sweat-soaked, exhausted after a match.

“Ben...” you started, voice faltering as he smiled.

“Missed this,” he murmured, stepping even closer as he studied your face, his gaze lingering on your lips. “Missed you.”

The simplicity of it hit harder than you expected, your breath catching as he pulled you into a tight hug without hesitation. His arms wrapped around you with a sure, steady strength that made your chest ache, one hand splayed against your upper back, the other resting lightly at your waist, rubbing up and down with his thumb. Your cheek pressed into his shoulder as you let yourself lean in, your arms slipping around him.

You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach him properly, your nose brushing the soft skin of his neck. He smelled faintly of cologne and something clean, and when he bent slightly to press his face against your hair, the warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine.

Neither of you said anything at first; the hug lingered just long enough to toe the line between friendly and something more.

“Alright, lovebirds,” a voice called from behind, breaking the moment. You glanced over to see Tommy Paul strolling by with a smirk, holding a tennis racket slung over one shoulder. “Save it for the courts.”

You pulled back quickly, a small laugh spilling out despite yourself. Ben groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Ignore him,” he muttered, his other hand still resting lightly on your waist.

You shook your head, biting back a smile as you looked up at him. “Guess I should’ve known you’d bring your fan club with you.”

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing against your side before he let his hand drop. “They’re just jealous,” he teased. Then, his grin turned sharper, more mischievous. “Besides, you’re Mirka tonight, remember? That makes me Federer.”

You rolled your eyes, already turning back toward the tunnel’s exit. “Then let’s hope you’re half as good on the court as he is.”

His laugh followed you, rich and unbothered. “Careful, Mirka, I might just have to prove it to you out there.”

You smirked, stepping forward toward the light of the court. “Right. I'll see you out there, Federer.”

Ben chuckled low behind you, the sound carrying as he followed. “Better bring your A-game, Mirka.”

You both stepped into the event space, the pulse of music and hum of voices a vibrant backdrop. A waiter with a tray of champagne flutes passed by, and Ben grabbed two, handing you one. “For courage?” he teased, raising a brow.

“Or patience,” you countered with a cheeky smile, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip. The bubbles tickled your throat, a pleasant warmth settling in your chest.

The two of you drifted toward the edge of the court, lingering for a moment to take in the scene. Fans were scattered around, some waving excitedly as they noticed you both, others engrossed in their own games. The energy in the air was contagious.

“You nervous?” Ben asked, glancing down at you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned closer.

You scoffed lightly, tilting your head toward him. “Pfft, not even a little. You?”

“Only about carrying you,” he shot back with a teasing grin.

You laughed, a genuine, carefree sound that had him grinning even wider. “Big talk for someone who hasn’t even warmed up yet.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said, taking a sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving yours. “Trust, I’m plenty warm now.”

The look he gave you was so direct, so warm, it sent a shiver down your spine. For a second, you almost forgot where you were, his gaze holding you in place. Then, with a soft laugh, you shook your head. “Careful, Shelton. I might start to think you’re flirting with me.”

“And if I am?” he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

You didn’t answer, the sudden heat in your cheeks making you glance away. But Ben stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken. “You’re kinda cute when you’re quiet, you know that?”

“I’m not quiet,” you retorted, though the slight stumble in your voice only made his grin deepen.

He shook his head before he got pulled into some conversation, the night stretching out with laughs. It wasn't long before it was your turn on the courts with Ben for mixed doubles with fans. The game was as lighthearted as the crowd’s energy, every point a mix of banter, champagne-fueled laughter, and effortless coordination between you and Ben. You didn’t know if it was the bubbly coursing through your veins or just the sheer ease of being around him, but the nerves that usually gripped you on a court had dissolved into something bolder, something exhilarating.

“Hey! Didn’t know you could slice like that,” Ben teased, coming up beside you after you returned a tricky serve with a clean, low shot. His grin was wide, boyish, and entirely too charming.

“Didn’t know you cared enough to notice,” you quipped back, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

His laugh was low, his eyes sparkling under the court lights. “Oh, I notice. Don’t worry about that.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away as he moved to stand closer, his shoulder brushing yours. A fan on the opposite side sent the ball flying long, and you let out a small cheer, reaching up for a high five. His palm smacked yours, but instead of letting go, his fingers lingered, curling slightly against yours to hold your hand in his big one as he leaned down just enough for only you to hear.

“Careful now,” he murmured, his voice dipping, his thumb grazing your palm. “Don’t make me think I need to keep you around full-time.”

Your stomach flipped, and you blinked up at him, thrown off by the sudden softness in his tone. “Keep up the compliments, Shelton, and I might start thinking you’re sweet.”

“I can be sweet,” he said, his grin turning a little cocky as he finally released your hand. “But only when you’re around.”

You were saved from having to respond by the start of the next point, though your heart was far too distracted to focus properly. Ben, however, didn’t seem fazed, his energy casual and relaxed as he sent a gentle lob to the next fan on the rotation. Between rallies, he wandered back to your side of the court, resting his hand briefly on the small of your back, rubbing it softly. The touch was fleeting, but it left a trail of warmth in its wake.

As you finished another easy point, Ben jogged toward you. “So, is this your strategy? Win them over with that slice and then charm me into doing all the work?”

You laughed, spinning your racket in your hand. “Oh, puh-lease. I’m doing most of the carrying here, Ben. Admit it, you’d be lost without me.”

“Lost? Nah.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping just a fraction. “Distracted? Definitely.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his gaze lingering longer than it should have. But before you could respond, another cheer from the crowd broke the moment. He stepped back, grinning as though he hadn’t just thrown your heart into overdrive.

By the end of the set, the champagne had smoothed the edges of your usual reserve, and the energy between you both crackled with something unspoken but undeniable. When you reached for another high-five after the final point, he caught your hand and tugged gently, pulling you just a step closer this time.

“We got a nice win,” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to yours.

“Mhm, and I got a nice partner,” you replied, the words falling out before you could think better of them.

His grin softened, his hand brushing lightly against your lower back again. “Careful. I might start thinking you’re trying to charm me.”

“And if I am?” you shot back, your eyes coy and big as your newfound confidence was fueled by the buzz in your veins and the way he was looking at you as if no one else in the world mattered.

Ben’s laughter was warm and rich, a blush spreading across his cheeks that wasn't just from the game. The way his eyes stayed locked on yours said everything. “Then I’d say it’s working.”

As the event wound down, you and Ben exchanged a few last high-fives with the fans. The laughter and excitement of the crowd hung in the air, but as the noise began to settle, there was a familiar, charged silence between you two. The playful teasing, the flirty glances, it was all still there, but now it had a weight to it as if the evening had somehow shifted to a different gear.

Ben caught up to you as you started to make your way toward the exit, his smile flashing as he fell into step beside you. "So, what do you think?" he asked, voice low and teasing. "Pizza? Just us? The rest are going to a restaurant downtown, but I thought we could hang out n' catch up."

You raised an eyebrow, the suggestion making your heart skip a beat. There was something about the idea of more time with him, just the two of you, that sent a rush through your chest. “Pizza?” you repeated, the buzz from the champagne still swirling inside you, but now mixing with a touch of curiosity. “After all that, you want to drag me to some random pizza joint?”

Ben grinned, his eyes full of mischief. "It's not random. It’s a little hidden gem, just a few blocks away. Trust me, it's worth it. You won’t find better pizza around here, Ben approved.”

You glanced at him, your internal struggle between teasing him and playing it cool warring inside you. There was something in the way he said it, an undeniable charm in his voice that made you want to go. The idea of quiet, easy conversation with him, without the crowd, the friends and the noise, felt too good to pass up.

"Alright, fine," you said, rolling your eyes but giving in. "But if this place turns out to be some dive with soggy crust, I’m blaming you.”

Ben laughed, his grin widening. “Deal. You’ll love it, though. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

The two of you began walking down the street, and the air between you seemed to settle into something new, something more intimate. The world around you felt quieter now, each step taking you farther from the noise of the event and closer to something more personal. With every step, the liquid courage from the champagne seemed to melt away, leaving behind a fluttery, almost nervous feeling in your chest. Maybe it was the lingering heat from the flirting, or maybe it was just that you were walking with him, alone.

“So,” you asked, trying to keep it light, but your curiosity bubbled through, “how many people do you drag to these random pizza spots, Ben?”

He chuckled at that, his eyes flicking over to you for a brief moment, amused. “Honestly? Not many. You’re the first one, I think.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Really? I’m the first person you’ve brought here?”

Ben shrugged casually, his grin widening with the playfulness that was so typical of him. “I don’t usually do this kind of thing. But when I find a place this good, I kinda want to share it with someone who'd 'ppreciate it, someone who's... worth it.”

His words hung in the air, and for a split second, everything between you seemed to be still. You could feel the warmth in your chest, the closeness between you suddenly feeling charged. You fought the urge to let it show, instead meeting his gaze with a playful grin.

“Well, lucky me, huh?”

“Lucky you,” Ben echoed, and his voice softened just enough that you noticed. He turned slightly toward you, his pace matching yours, steady and relaxed.

By the time you reached the pizza place, the small talk had faded into a comfortable silence, both of you still trying to make sense of whatever was happening between you. You hadn’t crossed any line yet, but with every moment, it felt more inevitable that something was to change. As you walked inside the tiny pizzeria, the smell of fresh baked goods hit you immediately. The cozy, intimate atmosphere felt like a world away from the high-energy chaos of the event. Ben led you to the counter, and even though the tension between you was still palpable, it had shifted. It was no longer the playful, teasing kind of tension, it was something else. Something unspoken, but undeniable.

You had no idea where this was heading, but with Ben by your side, you were curious to find out.

You walk back toward the venue, the buzz of the event now a distant memory, stomachs full from the pizza that somehow tasted better than it had any right to. The tiny pizzeria, tucked away in a quiet corner, had been the perfect escape. The laughter that had flowed freely while you ate had washed away the tension and the drunken buzz that had clung to you both all night. It had been easy, lighthearted, comfortable, like nothing had changed, even though everything had.

As the two of you strolled back under the glow of the streetlights, a comfortable silence settled between you. The air was cool, a light breeze weaving through the night. The only sound was the rhythm of your shoes on the pavement. Yet, inside, you both felt the weight of what hadn’t been said.

Ben’s hands were stuffed in his pockets as he kept pace with you, his easy stride matching yours. But something had shifted in him, his smile softer, his eyes more attentive as he glanced at you. “You look really good tonight, you know that?”

You laughed lightly, rolling your eyes as you shook your head. “Ben, you keep saying that,” you teased, “What’s the deal with you tonight? You want something?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners, genuine and unguarded. “Nah, I'm just sayin' 'cause it’s true,” he said, a slight shrug of his shoulders. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

Your stomach fluttered, the compliment hitting you harder than you expected. You’d heard him say things like that before, but tonight? There was something different in the way he said it. Something quieter, more sincere.

“Okay, okay,” you said with a grin, trying to mask the effect his words had on you. “I get it, I look good. Thank you.” You laughed at yourself, but Ben’s gaze never wavered from you.

Ben chuckled, his tone light but steady. “I mean it,” he repeated softly, then added, “And that necklace we got... It’s perfect for you, made for you. Looks really good on you.”

You touched the pendant on the necklace, the one he had picked out for you earlier, and it felt foreign now. Warmer, more meaningful, like it was holding a piece of the night with it. “I think you’re just saying that to flatter me,” you teased.

“I’m not,” he said seriously, his voice dropping slightly. “You really do look good. I mean you’ve always looked good, but tonight... I dunno, it’s sumn' else.”

You caught the sincerity in his words, and your heart thumped a little harder. Ben, usually the jokester, was being serious now. “Well,” you said, your voice almost breathless, “Thank you. I’ll take it.”

He smiled, a playful glint in his eyes still there, but it was softer. “Of course.”

There was a long pause as you walked side by side. The city’s lights flickered around you, the hum of the night settling into a comfortable silence. But then, something shifted. You couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“So, Ben…” you started, your voice tentative. “Are you like this with every girl you meet?”

His stride faltered for just a second, and he turned to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean, like ‘this’?”

“Flirty,” you let out a breath at your boldness, a teasing edge in your voice. “Like making everyone feel like they’re the only one. Are you always so... charming?” You paused, gathering your courage. “You do this with every girl?”

Ben stopped walking, his hands sliding out of his pockets as he processed your words. He tilted his head, studying your face before shaking his head.

“What girl do I have around me or talk to, besides you, Emma and my mom?” His voice was calm, but there was an honesty in it that made your chest tighten. “You’re the only girl I ever talk to like this, spend time with. So no, not every girl.”

You blinked, surprised. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really.” He looked at you like you were asking the most obvious question. “You think I’m like this with every girl I meet? I only talk to you like this.”

That honesty hit you harder than you expected, your breath catching. You hadn’t realized how much you’d assumed about him until now. His words made your heart race.

You glanced up at him, trying to make sense of it all. But his expression said everything you needed to know.

“Yeah, duh, c'mon, Y/N” he grinned, a sincere, slightly confused smile spreading across his face. “What makes you think I’d mess around like that? It’s only you.”

You stopped walking, your mind racing as his words sank in. “Wait,” you said, a disbelieving smile spreading across your face, though your brow furrowed. “You’re telling me, you don’t talk to anyone else like this? You don’t hang out with other girls?”

Ben chuckled softly, his hands back in his pockets, but his eyes serious as he looked at you. “Nah, you’re the only one I ask to hang with. You’re the only one I text first when I’m on tour. You’re the one I call to mess around with.” He smiled like he was telling you the simplest truth in the world. “So yeah, it’s just you.”

You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding in your chest. Every word Ben had said felt like it was pulling you under, a current that you could no longer fight. You hadn’t realised how much you needed to hear him say those things until the weight of them hit you, until his words finally opened the floodgates in your chest, making your heart pound. Could it be that he valued you just as much as you did him? You let out a slow breath, the air feeling heavier now like you were standing on the edge of something monumental.

“Ben…” you whispered as you halted in your tracks, your voice unsteady but determined, a sigh escaping your lips.

It didn’t make sense. You’d always assumed Ben had people around him, always figured he was surrounded by fans or other girls, but hearing him say that you were the one, the only one, hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to try to verbalise the swirling thoughts in your head, but the words stuck, so instead, you let the silence sit between you. Then, Ben took a slow step closer, his tone shifting from casual to something more serious.

“Can I be honest with you?” His voice was lower now, the playful edge that usually made everything feel light gone.

You nodded before you could even stop yourself, feeling your heartbeat thud in your chest. There was no going back now, not with the way he looked at you.

He took a deep breath before he began, looking down the street before turning to face you.

“I like you,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Like, I really like you.” His gaze held yours, unwavering. “I know it’s probably not the best time to say it with everything going on, with our tours and us barely seein’ each other, but I can’t just let this hang on. I can’t just let it pass and regret not saying somethin’ later. I’m not that dumb.”

He exhaled like he was trying to shake off the weight of what he had just confessed, looking at you like he was unsure whether you would run or stay.

“You’ve got this way of, like... pullin’ me in, y’know? I don’t even know what to do with myself most of the time. I try to act like it's all cool like I’m just messin' around, but I can’t stop thinkin' about you, ever. And I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who gets wrapped up in somethin' like this. But here I am.”

You blinked, not sure if your heart was beating too fast or too slow. His confession hung in the air, heavier than anything either of you had said before. It was raw, and it made your chest tighten.

“I know we got months apart, and I know you probably think I’m crazy for sayin’ this now, but I had to say it.” He took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just... It’s just you.”

You stood still for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. The weight of his confession settled over you, his words still hanging in the air, thick with meaning. Your heart raced, and you could feel your pulse at your fingertips as you tried to process everything he had just shared. Ben took another step closer, inches away from you, his eyes never leaving yours. There was an intensity in his gaze that made everything feel surreal like you were the only two people in the world. His voice softened as he spoke again, this time with more emotion than before, his words raw and unguarded.

“You know,” he started, his drawl even more pronounced now, “ever since we first met, I wanted to be in your circle. I wanted to be around you, be close to you. But when I saw you with that necklace, and my hoodie, laughin’ and lookin’ up at me like that, God, Y/N, swear I could feel my heart meltin’ right then. I don’t even know how to explain it. It just felt like... I dunno, like everything clicked.” He paused, his breath catching as if he was just now realizing how much those little moments had meant to him.

“And when you told me about your ex, Jesus, I wanted to-” He cut himself off, a flash of anger flickering in his eyes, but he quickly controlled it. “I wanted to kill that son of a-” He stopped himself again, shaking his head as if shaking off the anger.

“Not that it matters. But what matters is that I want to show you what real love is. What real care feels like. What a real man’s like, y’know?” His voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper. “What you deserve, and then some.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand instinctively reaching for yours, fingers brushing lightly, but lingering longer than necessary.

“Hell, if you gave me a chance, even, just, like, 20 minutes?” He let out a breath, a slight chuckle escaping his lips, but there was no humour behind it, only sincerity. “I’d give you the world, and more, in that short time. Until you told me enough. But I need you to know that... it’s real. It’s all real, Y/N. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t.”

You stood frozen, your mouth slightly parted, trying to catch your breath. His words hit you like a wave, each sentence making your heart race faster, your chest tightening as the weight of everything he said settled into your bones. You couldn’t speak for a second, lost in the gravity of what he had just revealed. The vulnerability, the truth in his eyes, the way his words laid bare a side of him you hadn’t seen before, it was all too much, and yet everything you hadn’t realized you wanted.

A sigh escaped your lips as the words came tumbling out of you.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping you, but it was one of relief, one of release. “You drive me insane, Ben. Every time you’re around, every time you look at me like that, like I’m the only one in the room, it makes me feel things I’m not sure I know how to handle. I can’t even explain it to myself, let alone to you. It’s like I’m constantly trying to push it down, but every time you smile, or, God, when you do that thing with your eyes when you look at me like you’re the only one who really sees me…” You trailed off, the words too big to say all at once. You exhaled, shaking your head, but the relief was already washing over you. “I’ve never felt like this before. Not even close.”

Ben was quiet for a moment, his gaze softening as he listened. You could see the understanding in his eyes, the way he was holding back, yet completely tuned in to every word. It was different now. You felt his grip on your fingers tighten just slightly as if grounding both of you at this moment, a silent assurance that you weren’t alone in this confession.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and gentle. “You don’t have to hold back with me.” He stepped closer, his other hand lifting to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a slow, deliberate motion that made your breath hitch. “I’ve felt it too. All of it. Every damn time I’m with you, I can’t stop thinkin’ about how much I want this. Want you.”

Before you could respond, before you could even process the depth of his words, Ben pulled you in, unable to hold back anymore. His lips found yours with a sudden, overwhelming intensity that took the air from your lungs. His kiss was deep, full of everything that had been unspoken between you two for so long, full of everything you needed and more. His hand at the back of your neck held you steady as his other arm wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, the warmth of his body sending a wave of heat through you.

The late night wrapped around you like a blanket, the streetlights casting soft pools of light across the footpath, but it was the brick wall behind you that grounded you. Your back pressed against it, your hands instinctively finding his shirt, tugging him closer as if you couldn’t get enough. You felt his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, in sync with the way your pulse quickened in response to him. Ben’s lips moved against yours with a kind of desperate gentleness, his kiss unhurried but passionate and purposeful, as if he was trying to pour everything he hadn’t said into this single moment. The world felt far away, all that existed was him and you, the weight of his confession still settling in the space between you, the understanding, the desire.

When he finally pulled back, it was only enough for your lips to part, breaths mingling between you, your chest rising and falling as if you had just run a marathon. His forehead rested against yours, and his hands slid from your face to the small of your back, holding you steady as you both tried to catch your breath.

You were still tangled up in the magic of his kiss, in the rawness of this moment, where everything finally made sense. The world seemed to slow down as you both stood there, foreheads pressed together. The air between you was thick with something unspoken, your breaths were still heavy, your heart racing, but there was also a quiet sense of relief as if you’d both been holding your breath for the longest time.

Ben leaned in slightly, his smile playful yet soft, his gaze locking with yours as the quiet of the night settled around you. "You know," he said, his voice low and teasing, "for the first time, you’ve got me completely speechless."

You couldn’t help but giggle at the silliness of it all, the way he always knew just how to make you laugh, how to make everything feel lighter. The sound of your laugh made his gummy smile widen, and before he could say anything else, you pressed a soft kiss to his lips, your heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the night or the streetlights around you. It was just him.

Everything felt right at that moment, the electricity in the air, the warmth of his touch, and the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world. Maybe you and Ben didn't make much sense together to everyone else, but to the two of you, it was clear as day.

[willestears]

"too in love to think straight,all alone or so it seemed, but there was strangers watching, and whispers turned to talking, and talking turned to screams"

Wonderland - taylor swift

[pass3ra]

cressida's storyline was genuinely shameful tbhhh it's like they started rewriting it in the first half of the season then completely forgot about the changes they'd made to make it fit the book plot and it just ends up making everyone else look bad😐 every character in the second half got a "penelope did nothing wrong" lobotomy so we ended up with eloise completely ignoring cressida being sold off to an horrible man (when she made every effort to support her in the first half of the season) and for some reason resenting her for pretending to be lady whistledown? Then they somehow frame her ignoring colin's offensively bad pleas as it being her turning away from redemption when all she's trying to do is escape being trapped in the country with her likely abusive aunt... and it ends with her meeting her horrible fate and it still being framed as tragic only to immediately juxtapose it with the bridgerton family winning the idgaf war while gleefully seeing off francesca and her future dead husband. The bridgertons were the villains of the season frfr

[himalayaan-flowers]

.

[nkogneatho]

Toji has never once shown his vulnerability towards the scar he has on his lips. He never even talks about them. But you know he is somewhere insecure about it when he stops and stares in the mirror while shaving, green eyes scanning the scar. Or when he purposely rests the right side of his face in his hand so the palm hides it. He thought he was being subtle with it, but you noticed. You noticed how deep down he was scared to even talk about it, let alone wear it with pride. That scar was a nightmare and he hated how it was visible to him, to everyone in the most obvious place.

"Toji?" you cooed from behind, walking into the hall while he was watching TV.

"Yes, baby?"

"I bought a new gloss, and i want to test if it's transfer proof."

"Don't know what that is but c'mere, lovie. Sit on my lap while you do it." You smiled and plopped yourself on his lap. Before he could finally look at you, you pressed your tinted glossy lips at the end of his lips where the scar settled.

he tried opening his lips to catch yours but you didn't really kiss his lips. he was so confused why you were pecking one spot.

*one peck. two peck. three peck. smooches tightly*

"D'ya know? I love this." You ran your thumb over the skin. "It makes me realize how strong you are, Toji. Sooo strong. Please don't hide it. It makes you look more handsome." He couldn't form words. The sudden love bomb opened a can of bad memories. Yet, oddly, he was comforted by your words. For a man so big, he was still weak over you and your love. Because you determined his vulnerability. Which is why your relationship was perfect. He is not the kind of man to be vocal about his issues but you read him like an open book. You understand him before he even has to spell it out.

Toji rested his forehead against yours, inhaling and exhaling with his eyes closed. God. He feels so in love, it kills him. What would he do without you? Everyone picked his flesh till it was just his heart exposed in the dirt, still struggling to beat. But you found it. Not to pick anymore flesh(there was none left). But to rip open your ribs and keep that heart locked in you forever. Safe and sound.

[cryptictongues]

The Thrill of the Chase

pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Mutant!Reader rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI; 18+) word count: 7.1K summary: Logan ate part of your sandwich, so you stole his cigars. Things turn out differently from what you were expecting.

warnings: fluff and smut, teasing, slight predator/prey trope, banter, making out, dirty talk, oral (f and m receiving), vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, squirting, soft!dom Logan

Author's Note: My first Logan fic! X-Men used to be my world and the fact it is making a comeback has rejuvenated me. Also, I was picturing Logan from the first three trilogies but DOFP!Logan also crossed my mind so :)

Please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 link]

It was getting close to evening, everyone doing their own thing to unwind after a long day of classes and teaching. You had planned to do the same thing, planning to grab a quick bite in the kitchen before getting ready to relax in your room. You were whipping up a quick and easy sandwich, assembling it onto a plate before moving it to the island in the middle of the kitchen. You went to get a soda from the cupboard, only for your skin to raise as you sense something is about to happen: a certain someone was about to come take your sandwich. 

“If you take one bite out of my sandwich Logan, I will kick your ass.”

You turn to see him, eyes wide along with his mouth, about to chomp into your dinner. He closes his mouth, only for him to keep the sandwich in his hands and an “innocent” smile on his face. 

“Oh, you mean this sandwich?” 

You shut the cupboard door, walking over to him with a stern, playful look. You know he is messing with you. That has been the dynamic of your relationship with him. Ever since he decided to stay here at the school and join the X-Men, you two have grown closer and closer, enjoying each other’s company over anyone else. It didn’t matter what either of you did. You both thrived in the presence of one another. 

But something that has become common practice as of late was playful in nature. You both have always teased, but it has recently ramped up. If one of you started it, the other would find a way to end it before starting again. It was the push and pull between the two of you that you loved, and it has only made you long for him. You want to believe he feels the same, but even your mutation of precognition can’t fully confirm that. 

“Yes, that is my sandwich. I worked very hard on it. I'll have you know.” You are standing in front of him now, having to look up at him slightly as you wait for his next move. 

“I’m sure you did. It looks delicious.” He says, but rather than looking at the food, he is looking right at you. Cheeky bastard.

“Y-yeah, which is why I am asking you to put it down so I may enjoy it.” 

“I don’t know. I think I wanna have a taste first.” 

His hazel eyes are staring you down, almost begging for you to make a move. In reality, you really didn’t care if he ate it. You could easily make another and enjoy dinner with him. But you know that isn’t what he is doing right now. He is playing with you, wanting to rile you up. Well, it takes two to play that game.

“That sandwich is very precious to me. I’d think before you act.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, bringing his face closer to yours. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ll take something precious of yours.” 

He chuckles, turning his face to the sandwich. “I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”

He takes a huge bite out of your sandwich, his eyes closing as he chews. You purse your lips, watching him savor your meal with gusto. You know he is overexaggerating to truly get at you, but little does he know you have a trick up your sleeve.

“Enjoying my meal?” 

He turns back to you, swallowing before licking his lips. “Very much. I may have to take another bite.”

You get up in his space, settling onto your tippy toes so your face is by his ear. You let your breath waft against his skin, causing a shiver to shake his core. You can tell he is anticipating what you will do, always highly enjoying your responses to his antics. Oh, he is so in for it.

“That’s okay. You can have it.” You let your pointer finger trace his collarbone that is very much on display from his white, fitted tank. “And you want to know why that is, Logan?”

He takes a deep breath, very apparent that your actions are doing something to him. His left hand lets go of the sandwich to settle on your hip, squeezing the flesh slightly to ground himself. It is actions like that that make you believe you do something to him. Like you drive him just as insane as he does to you. You bring your left hand to his head, pulling him down so you can really get into his ear. 

“That’s because I know where you keep your special cigars from Cuba, and I am going to take them.”

You couldn’t have run fast enough. You are already shooting for the stairs, taking two steps at a time as you speed to his room. You knew it had taken him a second to realize what had happened because by the time you got to his floor, you heard him yelling your name. 

You burst into his room, locking it quickly. It was only to buy some time, for you knew he had a key. You were giggling as you went to his bookcase, plucking out the blue, hardcover history book. You open it, and smile as you see the unopened cigars there in the deep hole where text used to be. Just as you close the book, you hear heavy footsteps reach the door and a jingle of keys.

You panic, needing to find a way out before he opens the door. You could run around him, but you needed a head start. You could hide and wait for him to leave but you knew he’d sniff you out. There was only one option left, and that was to go out his bedroom window. You hear the key enter the lock, and with a quickness you didn’t think you had, you unlocked his window and flung it open. Just as the door busted open, you crawled out. You grasped onto the ivy that clung to the school’s exterior and began to climb down. 

“Oh, when I get my hands on you, you are in for it!”

You look up to see Logan’s head popping out the window. He has a scowl on his face, but you could see the wild look in his eyes. You knew he was enjoying this, for he loves the chase.

“This is for taking my sandwich!” You yell, and continue making your descent. 

You hear the window close, which makes you go faster, knowing he is rushing down those stairs to meet you at the bottom. You could sense that he would go to the front door, so once your feet touch the grassy floor you run to the back door. Opening it quickly, you determine your next move. He is probably at the front, ready to intercept you, giving you the opportunity to hide somewhere. 

You rush to the hallway where many of the classes are held. You run into the first classroom you see, its door already open. You see the large oak desk at the back of the classroom, and quietly walk up to it. It has a space for leg room, so with haste you crawl in it, pulling the chair in carefully to not make any sound. 

Your heart was racing, adrenaline thrashing as you hid. You try to steady your breath, trying to keep quiet. The atmosphere has become eerie, the silence defying as you try to keep it that way. You try to listen for any other sounds over your pounding heart, when another wave of cognition hits you. You can see it clearly, where he finds you under the desk, hands on either side to block you in. You know you need to move on, so you go to move the chair, but you suddenly halt when you hear his voice boom nearby.

“Where is she?” 

You cover your mouth, trying to hold in your breathing as well as the gasp that almost shot from your mouth. His voice was coated in gravel, and absolutely primal. Even from afar, it was clear he was worked up, and it made you embarrassingly wet. 

You hear footsteps enter the hallway, heavy boots against the shiny wooden floor. At first, you think you may have a way out, hearing him pass the room you were in, but you aren’t so lucky because you hear him stop. You grip onto the book and your mouth, even though you know it will do absolutely nothing. You know he senses you, and it is confirmed when you hear footsteps enter the room. You hear him inhale deeply, exhaling with sigh only to turn into a deep rumble. 

“I know you are here.” He is slow in taking his steps, and each step gets closer and closer to your hiding place. 

He sniffs deeply again, growling this time around like he was a wild animal. “No point in denying it. I could smell you the second I walked into the hall.”

You know he will find you, and he will block you in. So you decide to take a risk before he closes in on you. You push the chair out far enough to crawl out, before standing up behind the desk. You put your hands up with the book in your left one, trying to show off a sign of surrender. 

“You have nowhere to go, dollface. No point in trying’ to run for I’ll snatch you up real quick.” 

“You must really want your cigars back to block me in like this.” 

He steps even closer, with him now standing right in reach of the book. He could easily grab it and take it, for he is much stronger than you. But he doesn’t make a move, staying glued to his new spot. You don’t know what’s running through his head, his eyes trained on you. It isn’t until he places his hands onto the desk that you take a step back and drop your hands. 

“You’re wrong.”

You raise a brow, not sure what he is getting at. “What do you mean?”

He smirks, leaning his body over the desk. “It isn’t the cigars I’m after. Not anymore.”

Your heart is in overdrive. You know the answer, it is becoming obvious. But you ask anyway. “Then what are you after, Lo?”

“I think you know the answer. Now it is a matter of will you let me take what’s mine.”

You want to give in. You are becoming more aroused by the second, but you are starting to really enjoy the chase. Seeing how much it gets him going, to see this side of him, only makes you want to push him more. You want to see what he will do, especially when he gets his hands on you.

You walk around the desk, book of cigars still in hand, getting closer to him until you are toe to toe with him. “What’s the fun in surrendering?”

He quickly blocks you in, the desk pressed against your back. He has the most seductive, but feral grin upon his lips, like he thinks he has won his prize. His head leans down to yours, forehead against forehead, before he whispers his next sentence against your lips.

“The fun is in what follows.”

His lips are on yours, desperate and needy. You can’t help the moan that leaves your throat, mind going hazy as his lips devour. You have craved him for so long, you want this to last forever. However, you cannot give into him like this. You will not make this easy for him.

One of your hands goes to the hem of his tank, fingers lingering before going under. He feels so solid, the coarse hairs on his tummy spread thick as you go to his left side. You can feel him shudder over you, and you try to hold back the smirk that wants to curve onto your lips. You move your fingers sporadically over the left side of his ribcage, causing him to jump back. This gives you the chance to run like hell.

“Hey! That’s unfair!” You hear him yell and it makes you giggle profusely. You must thank Jean later for letting you in on that little secret; that the broody, grumpy man with the metal bones was insanely ticklish. You wish you could turn to see his full reaction, but you are too determined.

You can hear him running right behind you, and you have never been more aroused. You shouldn’t feel so turned on by Logan chasing you around, but the thrill of the chase was seeping into your loins and you were addicted. 

More people had shown up around the school, meeting with friends to study or hang out for the evening. You were dodging people left and right, and everyone looked perplexed as they saw Logan charging his way towards you. Many of them probably assumed it had to do with the book you were holding, and while they would have been originally right, they are no longer even close. 

You don’t have time to hide again, not with him so close behind. You make it back to the stairs, hauling ass as you try to make it to your room. You can hear him right behind you, breathing heavily and grunting with each step. Your room is at the end of the hall, and you are basically flying with how fast you are running. The second you reach the door, you swing it open and throw yourself in before slamming it. You had gotten it shut, mentally pumping your fist in victory, but by the time you went to turn the lock, it was too late. The door flies open, sending you back a couple feet back as Logan stands at the door's entrance. 

“I have you right where I want you. No more running.”

If looks could kill, you’d be ash. He enters your room, closing the door behind him with his eyes staying on you. He takes one step forward, with him now hovering over your smaller form. The way he is looking at you makes your knees faint, for you felt you could hear what he was revealing with his stare. 

“I still know your weakness, Logan.” You smirk, holding the book up to your face to dodge any attack he was planning. It is pointless, you know, but it is the best defense you’ve got. 

“Do you now?” He walks towards you, in step with you as you go backwards. The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed, telling you that you truly have nowhere else to go. He is right on you, grinning now that he has the upper hand. 

“I’m afraid that book won’t save you from me.” He snatches the book, tossing it to the side of the bed. 

You are in for it. You don’t know what he is planning, and the element of surprise has overcome you. However, with the way he is looking at you, you guarantee that what is about to happen will be just as exhilarating as when he was hunting you down. 

“What do you plan to do with me, hm?” You let your fingertips walk along his chest, dancing all the way down to his side like you did earlier. 

He is quick to grab your hand, bending down to lift you up in his arm before tossing you onto the bed, following swiftly as he pins both hands above your head. 

“Don’t even think about it. I know you all too well.” He growls through his teeth. “As for what I plan on doing, what’s the fun in telling when I can just show you. Would you like that?”

You simply nod, breathless at how he is handling you. However, that wasn’t good enough for him, as he takes hold of your wrists in one hand so his other one can grip your chin.

“I wanna hear you say it, pretty girl.”

You huff, getting frustrated already that he is dragging this out. With your legs still free, you wrap them around his hips, your heels digging into his back causing him to grunt. Your lips are practically on his, faint contact making you antsy. “Show me what you’ve been wanting to do with me.”

Your lips are squashed by his instantly, hunger and desperation clear. His hands go to your thighs, grabbing at the flesh. With your hands free, they go straight to his hair, gripping and tugging on it which causes him to moan hotly into your mouth. 

His hands travel up to the hem of your blouse, pushing the fabric up past your stomach before his hands go under. You moan at the contrast, rough hands, that have been through so much running along your unmarred body. He swallows what you give him, groaning happily at the effects he was causing.

You are in heaven. You never thought you would be here like this with Logan. You never thought you would be under him at his complete mercy. It makes a shiver travel down your spine, traveling right to your core that is a heated mess because of the man before you. To be with the man you have pined for is riveting, and you could cry that he seems to return those feelings.

You don’t know what triggers your mutation, but it is sudden. Your vision goes blurry, a strong aura surrounding you. It is overwhelming, a whimper bubbling from your throat as you see what is about to happen. Logan releases your lips with a grunt, looking at you intensely as you start to shake. You feel his rough hands cup your soft cheeks, stroking them gently. 

Your cheeks feel hot, your vision turning you into a horny mess. Your hands grip onto Logan’s chest trying to ground yourself to reality. It’s too much. Your visions rarely last long for they are just snippets of future events, but this was different. It was as if you were in a trance, and could feel everything he was doing to you. You don’t know if it is your heightened emotions, especially with him right on you. All you knew is that pleasure was present, and you were starting to fall apart. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You can hear his demeanor change, worry laced in his tone.

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but moan, unable to control yourself. “I can feel everything, Logan.”

There is a pause, hands still touching your face. A few beats later, he lets his right hand go down, only to stop at your thigh squeezing tightly. 

“Tell me what you see, baby.” 

The rumble in his voice intensifies everything, causing you to grip onto him tighter. “Oh God please don’t make me say it out loud.”

You try to look away, but his left hand shifts so it is grabbing your chin. He forces your head back up, bringing his face down to yours like he had in the classroom. His breath fans over your lips, taking in the way they move as sounds leave them. 

“I’m fucking you, aren’t I? Making you lose yourself on my cock? Is that what you are seeing?”

You can barely talk, too enthralled in your vision. You grab the hand that is on your thigh and bring it to the top of your black pants. Logan gets the idea and angles it so he can slide his hand into them. His fingers brush over the fabric, feeling the damp spot that has formed drastically. You hear him curse under his breath, the vibrations hitting your lips as they brush against one another without full pressure. 

“Oh sweetheart, you are so wet.” He murmurs, pulling his hand out to bring it up to his nose, inhaling deeply before releasing a sound so feral that you could sob. “And you smell so fucking good.” 

You can’t help but nod, not knowing how to respond. All you know is that you need him. Need him to take you on your bed and do whatever he wants to you. You’ll take anything he is willing to give you, for all you want is for him to make himself known to you. 

His hand had gone back down to your crotch, cupping your pussy through the material. “Does she want more attention?”

“Logan, please do something.” You choke, your mind steadily coming back to reality, but still not fully letting go. You start to grind down on his palm, desperate for anything he will give you, but he removes his hand, going to the back of your head to grip tightly.

Damn him!

“I know she deserves something, but do you? Do you deserve me after getting me so worked up like that?”

“Logan, I am begging.” You cry out in frustration, your nails digging into his chest causing him to groan lowly. “I want you. God, I’ve always wanted you so please take what’s yours!”

He is back on you, kissing you till the air in your lungs dissipates. He starts to kiss away from your swollen lips, kissing down to your neck. He nips at your pulse point, going up to your ear to give it a light lick before going back down. With every kiss, he takes a deep breath in, which only makes him get more aggressive. Soft kisses turn to an open mouth lather to nips that could have easily broken the skin.

“I don’t think you know what your scent does to me. It draws me in every time.” He bites down particularly hard at your collar bone, and you wouldn’t be surprised if blood had come to the surface. 

His hands come back up to the front of your blouse, carefully unbuttoning the garment before revealing your breasts that are almost spilling out of your bra. His hands mold over the cups, squeezing hard and slow as he makes his way to your sternum. 

He is being so gentle with you, a complete 180 from how you thought this was going to go. He was so rough with you in your head, fucking you until you couldn’t even say a word. This side of him was endearing, but you crave more from him.

“For someone so feral for me, you sure are taking your time.”

He bites the top of your left breast, making you gasp at the sudden pain. “I don’t think you are ready for that side of me, dollface.”

Your right hand goes to his head, taking a handful of his hair and yanking his head up. You know he wants to absolutely ravish you, and if it’s some convincing he needs, some convincing he is going to get. 

“When I said to take what’s yours, I meant it. I want you to make me beg until I’m dumb, so fucking do it.”

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, Princess.”

His hands go under your top from the back, unclipping your bra before letting them resurface. He starts to yank your top off from the shoulders, only to smack your thigh that causes a light sting.

“Arch that back for me.”

You do as he says, allowing him to take the rest of your top off along with your bra. He flings them both across the room, only to do the same with his tank. You’ve seen his upper body plenty of times, as there would be instances in which he disregards it for a training session. But this? This was very different. It’s a different atmosphere, and rather than everyone getting an eye full of his muscular, hairy body, it is now for your eyes only. 

He’s looking down at you, pupils flared as he takes you in. You shiver as his palms stroke your tummy, slowly going up until they encompass your breasts. Your nipples pebble from the rough texture of his skin, and you can see it excites him. So much so that he takes the opportunity to take your nipples between his fingers and pulls them gently with a pinch. Your back bows off the mattress, adoring the pain he is providing, and let out a mewl as he lets go to run his thumbs over the tender peaks.

“You sound so good,” Logan murmurs. “I need to hear more.”

His right arm goes under your back to keep you up, holding you there as his mouth goes to your left breast. He takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking with his eyes still on you. Your cheeks flush, head tilting to the side to avoid looking at him. It’s too much. It’s too fucking much. 

Whimpers slip from your mouth, his treatment of your breasts making you want to rub your thighs together to soothe the ache, but he keeps your legs open. He eventually does the same to your other breast, working to match the work he left on your other nipple: hard, and tainted red.

He lets up, sitting on his knees as he unbuttons your pants, hands sliding the material down your legs in earnest. He tosses your heels off before stripping away your bottoms, and he hums as he admires the black, lacy thong you adorn. 

“Fuck,” he snaps the elastic, eyes entranced. “You sure you didn’t see this coming earlier? Wearing something sexy like this?”

“They work better with my pants.” You huff, his fingers lightly running along your covered slit.

“Hmm, no wonder your ass looked so good today.” He grins. “But this pussy? I could play with her all day.”

He lowers himself, sliding off the bed only to bring you with him, your body gliding across the comforter with ease. He clutches onto your thighs, letting your legs rest in the crook of his elbows. He keeps his hold tight, bringing his lips down to kiss and suck on your thighs. You gasp at the aggressiveness, swearing you will see dark purple marks on you later. You moan at the idea, as it feels like he is finally claiming you; like are his to mark, to claim, to fuck, to love. 

He makes his way to your center, sniffing deeply before releasing a feral growl. He lets the tip of his tongue lightly drag from the bottom to the top of your heat, still fully covered by the damned thong. He flicks at your clit, a ghost of a touch that has you bucking your hips. And he draws back every single time. His self-control is impressive but frustrating all the same.

He starts to suck on it through the material, creating a bigger wet spot with his spit. The more he pushed his tongue against your folds, the more the material would rub just right against you. It made you clench, panting at how much he is teasing you. He pulls away, blowing on your sensitive spot which only makes you whine.

“Awe what is it?” He chuckles, the vibrations barely hitting where you need him. “You want my tongue to play with you?”

His hand lets go of your thigh, fingers tracing the fabric before pulling it to the side. “Lucky for you, I love to play.”

He goes right in, mouth over your bud as he consumes your very being. Your hands shoot to his hair, not prepared for the onslaught of pleasure he is delivering. The swirls he is landing on his target is mind numbing, a tangible pressure that makes you want to curl in on yourself. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, the sound vibrating right on your clit. It makes you buck your hips up, but his left arm presses you down to keep you secure. 

“I know you want more, but you are going to have to be patient. I’m not done tasting this sweet pussy. Fuck, you are so sweet.”

You feel one of his fingers near your hole, circling it teasingly before pushing in. His tongue is back on your nerves, mouthing covering it to add slight suction. Even with his big fingers, it’s not nearly enough. 

“Logan, please add another.” You say, emphasizing as you clench down on his single digit. 

He sucks a little harder, ripping a yelp from your throat. Still, he listens and inserts a second finger with the first. He goes in and out, drawing sighs from your lips as he builds you up. His mouth is going crazy, moving his lips with a vengeance. Your blood is hot, traveling down as your release starts to come to the surface.

You can’t stop clamping down on his fingers, your pussy having a mind of its own. He is pistoning them now, causing your fluids to make its way down your ass onto the comforter. The sounds coming from his handiwork edge you further, your release imminent. 

“Oh God, Logan! I’m cumming!” 

Big mistake on your part.

He pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A smug look appears on his face, and you have the urge to shove his face back into your aching cunt.

“Your first time cumming with me will be on my cock, sweetheart.”

He pulls your thong down your legs and moves you back to the front of the bed. He stands before you, making light work of removing his belt from the loops of his jeans. His jeans are next, pulling them down with his briefs. 

You don’t know what you expected. You weren’t surprised with how well endowed he was, not with the way he is built. But to see it in person is so much different from your imagination. The details that your mind didn’t conjure up, especially the vein that starts from his lower stomach to the tip of his cock. It makes you salivate, wanting to run your tongue along it. 

“You like what you see, darlin’?” He noticed you staring, but you have no shame. Not anymore.

“Yeah, want it in my mouth so bad.”

He walks over to you, his cock in your face. His hand goes to your head, stroking the baby hairs that are starting to stick to your temple. “As much as I would love that, I am dying to give you the fucking you deserve, sweetheart. However…” he brings your head up closer to his cock, your lips not even an inch away. “How about you get it nice and wet for me.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You work up a good amount of spit, letting it drip from your mouth onto his hard cock. You start to lick at the sides, spreading your saliva all over until he is covered. You are basically making out with his dick, your lips and tongue moving like you had when you were kissing him earlier. It isn’t until you get to that vein of his that you start to go wild, licking it up and down. 

Logan is groaning deeply, and pulls your head back, a string of saliva connecting before breaking apart. You hear him curse under his breath before crawling back onto the bed, his hands holding your face as he brings his lips to you. His kisses are slow this time, letting it sink in that this is happening; that you two are about to be connected. 

“You did such a good job. You are such a good girl.” He murmurs against your lips before sitting up. 

His dick is now sitting heavy on your mound, and the weight of it feels delicious. He taps it against your clit a few times, your hips thrusting up in kind. 

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” He lets his cock rut into your folds, thrusting up into your clit. “I think that sweet thing of yours is.”

“Give it to me, Lo. I need you so bad it hurts.” 

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take that pain away.” He promises.

And as promised, he places the tip right at your aching hole and pushes in slowly. Your jaw slacks, the pressure as he continues his descent much more intense than you anticipated. It’s been so long since you’ve given yourself to someone. It all feels new, and you are thankful; thankful that it's with him.

He is fully seated in you, and you can only describe it as euphoric. With the way he sits heavy in your cunt, filling you up completely, you can honestly say that this was meant to happen. Logan was meant to be with you in every single possible way imaginable. It’s the only explanation.

“How does it feel, baby?” Logan asks, hands rubbing up and down your thighs soothingly. 

“It feels,” you whimper, gripping down on him. “It feels so good, Lo.”

“Yeah? My cock makin’ you feel good, doll?” He groans, clearly being affected by your behavior. 

Before you can mutter a pathetic answer, your brain turning to mush, he shifts back. His cock slides out until the mushroom head is at your entrance, and then he slams back in; hard and slow. 

The constant back and forth of his cock has you shaking, his hard thrust knocking the air out of your lungs and the slow thrusts feeling oh so good. And with the way he is watching you, his face mimicking yours as he receives his own pleasure, is sending zaps of electricity to your cunt. It makes you grasp onto him hard as he gets you more worked up.

Logan sits up straighter, grabbing your right leg and bringing it up to his shoulder. His left hand keeps it steady as he speeds up slightly and presses gentle kisses to your ankle in the process. It lets him go deeper, kissing your cervix every time it goes in. The pressure feels incredible, and the more he speeds up, the more your cunt starts to spasm out of control. 

“That’s it, baby. You are taking me so well, like you were fucking made for me.” He growls out, biting your ankle. 

“God yes, Logan! I’m yours!” You cry out, him and his cock making you utterly delirious. “You were made for my pussy!”

“Fuck, you got a mouth on you.” He chides, his right hand going to your right breast.

He is squeezing your tit so tight; his hips are on autopilot with how fast he is taking you. Your hands don’t know where to go, going from gripping the fabric below to holding onto his wrist. He is putting you into a completely fucked out state, and you can’t get enough of that treatment. 

You can tell you are on the precipice of cumming. You are clenching on and off rapidly, no longer in control of your muscles. The sounds coming from your coupling, wet smacking echoes that are music to your ears. You can feel the telltale sensation of being overwhelmed, and you know you are now on the track of no return. 

“Logan, baby, I’m gonna cum!”

He snarls at you, a crazed look in his eyes as he slams into you. He lets go of your tit to grab your chin, keeping your eyes on his. “Do it, darlin’. Cum around my cock.”

You are over the edge in seconds, a silent scream taking over as you tremble and quake. Your pussy is convulsing like crazy, small gushes of liquid coming out. You see Logan look down at where you two are connected, and he is grinning like crazy.

“What a fucking sight. There isn’t one thing about you that isn’t pretty.”

You could sob at his words, especially with how overstimulated you are becoming. You work his cock, wanting him to cum inside of you. 

“Give me your cum, Logan. Fill me until I’m dripping.”

Your words must have triggered something because next thing you know he has let go of your leg and face and is falling onto his forearms with his mouth landing on yours. You hear the sound of his claws, completely unsheathed from his skin, causing him to bellow into your mouth, rutting like a madman which causes cum to leak out from your hole onto the bedding. 

He slows down, milking out the rest of his spend before stopping all together. He lets go of your lips gasping, face buried in your shoulder as he tries to calm down. Your hands go to his back, massaging the taut muscles as he shakes. 

“Fuck, Logan,” you sigh, catching your breath as you come back to earth. You feel so relaxed, even with your guts feeling completely rearranged.

You hear his claws sink back into his skin, and it is then that he pulls out, falling to the other side of the bed. His chest is going up and down with every heavy breath, and you can’t help but admire him like this. 

He turns his head over to you, his hand coming to grab the hand by your side. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

You make it over into his side, head laying on his chest as you both bask in the post-sex glow. You can’t help but smile at this turn of events, not expecting to have been in this position with Logan. But here you are, laying on his chest with his arms around you. 

You notice something in your peripherals and see splintering from the headboard of your bed. There are six holes in the wood, and it sends you into a laughing fit, a euphoric glaze covering your entire body. 

“What’s so funny?” He asks gruffly, pulling you into side as you continue to laugh.

“Your claws pierced my headboard.”

You see him glance back, and you see him sigh, relaxing more into the mattress. “I’ll fix it up for you, darlin’. I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to say sorry.” You snuggle your face into his skin, breathing in his natural musk as you relax more into him. “I just can’t believe we did that, but I’m glad it did.”

“I can say the same.” He murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “Seriously, I gotta know, did you see this coming?”

You shift up, going to lay your arms across his chest only for you to rest on them. You look into his eyes and the need in them is still there, but not in the way they were before. They were searching, looking for any confirmation that what you both just did truly meant more. It makes him look vulnerable, something he rarely shows. It makes you smile at the prospect of him opening up even more. 

“Not until today. It’s strange now that I think about it.”

“And why is that?”

“I never saw you coming, I guess. Even when it is clear as day how you felt about me, I never got anything that told me it was real. I didn’t want to potentially screw anything up between us.”

He hums, a look of contemplation on his face before taking a hand and rubbing his face, a long sigh coming out in the process. “I suppose that’s my fault.”

You can’t help but look confused. His fault? “Why do you say that?”

“I haven’t been fully honest, but ever since I came here, no matter how welcomed and appreciated I am here, I have contemplated leaving.” His hand leaves his face to go behind your neck, lightly scratching the skin at the nape before continuing. “I’ve been alone for a long time. Having a family has never been in the books for me. It is easier to not let people in.”

“So, that’s why I couldn’t see you coming. You hadn’t made up your mind?”

“It’s possible, but it’s just a theory.”

“But, if that’s the case, have you made your mind up?” You start rubbing his chest with your palm, feeling his heart pulse slowly. You are confident you know the answer now, but you want to hear him say it.

He grunts in laughter, shaking his head slightly before letting his fingers curl around the back of your neck. “I think you know the answer, princess. But if you really want to know, come up here.”

You push yourself from him, moving so you are straddling his torso. He brings his hands to your face once more, pulling you down so you are face to face with him. He kisses you, slowly initiating intimacy with his lips. He isn’t saying anything, but you can feel what he is saying through the act alone. 

“I can’t close myself off from you,” he says between kisses. “And I don’t want to. Especially if you’ll have me.”

“I think you already know the answer to that, Lo.”

“Still, I wanna hear you say it.”

You pull away so you can look into his eyes, giving him all the sincerity you can muster. “I love you, and I want you to stand by me.”

He smiles teeth and all, and pulls you back down, kissing all over your face causing you to squeal. “Hmm I love you too, sweetheart. Always have.”

You both stay like that for a while, basking in each other's company in post-coital ecstasy by continuing to taste one another. Another thought came over you, and you can’t help but laugh again.

“If I had known sex would make you like this, I would have made a move a long time ago.” Logan jokes, breathing them in. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m laughing because it took me taking your cigars hostage to do it.”

Logan throws his head back, chuckling at what you presume is the same thing you are laughing about.

“Speaking of those cigars, can you grab them for me?”

You perk up, pushing away from him to lean over to your side of the bed. Your fingers stretch for the book, getting a grasp on it before getting settled back with Logan. He pulls you in quickly, hurdling you into his side. You see he has his lighter ready, which he must have grabbed while you were getting his cigars.

“You gonna smoke one?”

He hums, taking one out. “I only smoke these on special occasions. I think this qualifies.”

He carefully unsheathes a claw, cutting the end before it sinks back under his skin. He flickers the lighter, letting the bright flame linger on the end to get a good burn going. He then lays back, pulling you even closer into his side, before taking his first puff. 

You smile, laying your head against him as you let your eyes drift closed. You feel yourself drifting away, the smell of his cigar and the sound of his pulse lulling you to a deep sleep; a sleep with dreams that you hope feel like déjà vu in the near future.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

how do you sleep?

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

warnings: 18+ MDNI, jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

word count: 3.3k

“Whas’wrong?”

You didn't mean to end up here again. It's the third night this week you swiped Joel's key from under the doormat and found yourself standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Can't sleep," you reply, barely above a whisper. Exhaustion seeps into your voice, permeating your limbs the longer you remain standing.

He already knows why you're here. Ever since you, Joel, and Ellie arrived in Jackson and were offered homes of your own, rest evades you more than it ever did on the road. It's too quiet here, and your racing mind fills the silence with the horrors of a life lived in constant fear.

You know you're safe now. You know that, but it's not enough to convince your body or quell the ever-present tightness in your chest telling you to run, to hide. Your fears are more potent in the dark, and the shadows creeping from wall to wall have sharper edges. Teeth that threaten to tear you apart and rip away everything and everyone you've fought so hard to protect.

The walls and floorboards creak with life that shouldn't be present in an empty, two-story home—too big for a single person, and yet still yours—and quickly begin to sound like impending death.

Nowadays, more often than not, you seek out a different kind of shelter. The familiar, comforting embrace of the man who kept you warm and protected through harsh winters and from monsters prowling in the night. That's where you belong.

Crisp bedsheets rustle in the dark and then you hear Joel pat the mattress twice—an invitation to occupy the space beside him, the one he always leaves empty just in case.

"Well, c'mon then. Hurry up," he grumbles, still half-asleep. But he isn’t frustrated. He's tired, just like you, and he'll probably sleep a lot better knowing both of his girls are resting soundly under his roof.

You trudge over and waste no time burying your face in his bare chest, breathing in pine and cedar wood shavings before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. Throwing a leg over his thighs, you mold into him, rubbing your cheek into coarse curls and marveling at the calm, steady rhythm beneath you.

It feels good to be home. You're not sure why you let Maria give you an entire house to yourself when everything you could ever want or need was right across the street. Every time you end up back here, you wonder. And every time you leave, you wish you'd stayed.

He wraps you up in his arms and tugs you into his side, murmuring your name with soft lips that tenderly caress your forehead. They're so warm, just like the rest of him, and you find yourself aching to feel them on yours. It's a line neither of you have ever crossed, but tonight's been rough.

For what felt like days, you were forced to watch as your worst nightmares came to bloody fruition. You were dragged through the most brutal outcomes of events you already survived and could do nothing more than pray you'd wake up soon. When you finally came to and checked the clock, it had only been an hour and a half since you'd passed out. The moon was still high in the sky, taunting you with the promise of more. More dread, endless brutality.

Joel can make all of that go away, if only for a few hours. He always does, but tonight...you don't want to talk about it tonight. You don't want to think about it, about anything at all. You just want him.

You'd feel selfish asking for more if there wasn't already something between you. Something nurtured and gradual that's been building for months, beginning on your travels across the country and coming to an unignorable head here in Jackson.

Back then, it was stolen glances while you bathed together in streams and fleeting touches in your shared sleeping bag under star-filled skies. It's more intimate these days. He holds your hand when you're anxious, and you kiss away the frown lines and frustrated wrinkles that mar his skin.

Every day, you skirt the line between platonic companionship and whatever's starting to simmer below the surface. You're scared to hope he feels it too, but the thought of remaining in this undefined middle ground scares you even more.

The furnace drifting in and out of consciousness next to you radiates with an addictive heat you've told yourself to ignore for a long time, but it's quickly becoming an impossible feat. Pressed into his side, you're trying and failing not to writhe against him. But he's starting to notice.

His hips jerk every time your core drags against his bare thigh, a slow, repetitive grind you really shouldn't continue, but feels so fucking good combined with the slick pooling between your legs. You should stop—really, you should—but his breathing's changing and hitching, catching in his throat every time the growing tent in his boxers meets the friction of your inner thigh.

Then, he gasps something cognizant and urgent, and you know you've been caught. His hand snakes down to your ass and traps you against his side with a grip so firm, plush skin spills between his fingers.

“Woah, hold on there," he breathes out heavily, and his gaze drops to yours curiously. His eyes are wide open and alert, shining with the faint reflection of moonlight streaming through an adjacent window. Bright and yet pitch black as his sleep-addled brain struggles to catch up with his body. "What's goin' on with you tonight?"

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, debating whether or not to ask for his help. His expression is gentle but otherwise unreadable, and there's a chance this could go very, very badly. Maybe you'd be better off apologizing, but you don't want to. You're not sorry for needing him.

And the longer he waits for an answer, the more his body convinces you that he wants the same things you do. His hand is still on your ass, kneading as he urges you to rock into him, but he doesn't seem to realize he's doing it. Then, his thigh flexes and a rush of wetness coats your already soaked underwear. His expression falters, and you know he can feel it.

His voice is tighter when he speaks again, but that tinge of concern is still there. He wants to make it all better, but he can't unless you tell him how. Your hand tenses where it lies on his chest, and he covers it with his own.

"What can I do? Just tell me how to help you—whatever it is, I'll do it," he murmurs, brushing his thumb reassuringly across your skin. You tilt your chin up and suddenly you're close enough to breathe his air. Closer than you've ever been and yet still not close enough.

"I need you to...," Fuck me. But it sounds too crude. A quick fuck isn't what you need right now. You need to be full of him, to hold him deep inside you and keep him there for as long as this night will allow. "...make me feel safe again."

"Tell me how," he repeats as you struggle to bite back a moan. He's working you against him intentionally now, encouraging you up and down his leg, and it's making your brain go a little haywire. "What do you need, baby?"

"Joel," you whine at the endearment, an intense heat building at the apex of your thighs. That's new. You want to hear him say it again, to devour every word as he buries himself inside you over and over. You will him to understand. "I need you."

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, steeling himself before nosing into the hairs at your temple. The gesture is so tender and affectionate even as he bucks into your thigh, and it's painfully obvious how hard you're making him. He nods slowly and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than before.

"Okay, baby. I got you," he murmurs, his lips trailing down to your eyelids, then the apple of your cheek. "I'll make it all go away, alright? M'gonna take care of you."

And you believe him. He rolls you onto your back and you gasp as his entire weight presses you into the mattress. It's more than just comforting. You feel protected. He's shielding you from this horrible, broken world, somehow managing to prove that there's still goodness to be found. And it's on top of you, broad and strong, and wanting you just as badly as you want him.

Big hands cup your cheeks and his lips meet yours, so much different than the familiar press against your forehead or the top of your head. You're in unknown territory, but he guides you carefully and moves slowly, taking the time to explore and savor. The taste of spearmint begins to overwhelm your senses as the kiss deepens, and you lick into his mouth impatiently, already craving more.

But after years of quiet observation, Joel knows better than anyone how to temper you. Ducking down to bury his face in your neck, he kisses along the underside of your jaw, regaining control of the pace with a sharp, halting suck. And while he refuses to let your urgency rush him, he still allows your hands to roam his skin and tug at his boxers, letting you take what you want—like his only goal is to make sure this lasts long enough for him to fulfill his promise.

A disgruntled groan bubbles in your throat, and you feel him chuckle. "Y'know, patience is supposed to be a virtue," he mumbles, amused, his beard scratchy and grounding against your skin. You huff in response.

Tonight doesn't feel like a night for virtues. Not when things are finally changing in your favor. After so much time, so much running, you actually have somewhere to go—and stay. You're not running away anymore. You're moving towards something that feels real, and dependable, and safe, and you're doing it together. And now that you're so close you can taste it, you're done waiting.

"You're really gonna start caring about virtues now?" you ask skeptically, slipping your hands past the waistband of his boxers to grab his ass.

He hesitates, then huffs out a quiet laugh. "Fair enough."

And with that, you both know the time for talking is over. Something shifts and you're on the same page, ready to take as much as the other is willing to give.

Joel begins to drag your shirt up to reveal more, but suddenly feeling stifled, you take over and remove it completely. The look on his face makes it more than worth it. It's not the first time he's seen you naked, but as his eyes rake over your bare curves, it feels like it could be. Reverently, he returns his lips to yours, kissing you deeply before charting a path lower.

His mouth feels hot as he laves and nips across your collarbone, and he shimmies further down the bed until he's just barely ghosting the swell of your breasts. You gasp, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a bruise below your nipple and soothes the sting with his tongue. Licking a wide stripe past the darkening mark, he captures the bud between his teeth, another hand sliding up your stomach to cup your other breast while he alternates between swirling and sucking.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire. The ache between your thighs worsens the longer he continues, but instead of squeezing them together for relief, you wrap your legs around his waist and tug him onto you. By now, you're so wet, there's no way you're not soaking right through your underwear and into his boxers, and you hope he can feel it. If your increasing volume isn't enough of an indication that you need him inside you, then maybe this will be.

He lets out a pained groan into your chest, and you clench in satisfaction. He immediately grinds down, thrusting into you like he's forgotten about the layers of clothing still separating you. You don't bother to remind him.

Bucking him off, you quickly wrench down your underwear then reach for his, yanking them off while he sheds his t-shirt. Your fingers close around his cock before his shirt hits the floor and he startles before melting into your grip, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting around a cross between a sigh and the neediest whine you've ever heard.

You feel that telltale whoosh between your legs again, and after pumping him a few times, you guide him toward your entrance. In the back of your mind, you know you're taking a risk without a condom. You should be safer, more responsible. But it's Joel. It's always been Joel.

His eyes shoot open once he realizes where you're leading him, but you only bite your lip and nod, your expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. An unspoken agreement passes between you, a quiet understanding cultivated through years of friendship and now something more. Then, he presses inside and your mind goes blissfully blank.

No more horrors, no more fear. Just Joel keeping his promise and doing exactly what you trusted him to do. He encompasses you entirely, pressing the length of his body flush against yours as he works himself into you. The stretch was nothing you ever could've anticipated, but it grounds you in the present moment. It's everything you told yourself not to hope for when you showed up on his doorstep tonight.

His movements are slow but powerful, and he rests his forehead on yours, eyes alert and acutely aware of every change in expression. The intensity of his gaze and the slick sound of him burying himself to the hilt should make you self-conscious—it's all you can see and hear, but that's the point, isn't it? To get lost in the way he drags so perfectly against your walls and grinds his hips into yours on every thrust, slow and steady.

He's attentive, cataloging whenever he makes you moan a little louder or your eyes roll, and repeats it again and again until you're writhing underneath him. Your nails rake down his back and scratch at his scalp, and he jerks forward whenever you're a little too rough, hitting so deep, it feels like he's grazing your cervix. But the longer he continues to give you everything you want, the more his body trembles with the effort of holding himself back.

You know Joel, and you can tell when he's resisting an urge. His biceps tense where he's propped on his forearms, bracketing your head, and there's so little space between you, you can feel his abs flexing every time he plunges back inside you. He needs more and you want to give it to him.

Lifting your head, you bridge the tiny gap to meet his lips. "Joel, c'mon. You can fuck me harder than that, I'm not gonna break," you mumble between open-mouthed kisses. That catches him off guard.

He accidentally lets himself go for a thrust or two, and you're cut off by a moan, your walls squeezing him so hard, it's painful. Somehow, you manage to recover just long enough to gasp out the rest. "It's okay if you need something from me, too. Just take it. I trust you."

For an agonizing moment, Joel pauses to observe you, waiting for something in your eyes to contradict the permission you just gave him. But when he doesn't find it, he shakily exhales the breath he'd been holding and his head drops to your shoulder. The groan that follows rumbles so deeply in his chest, it makes your stomach drop. Then, without warning, his hands are gripping your thighs and he's rutting into you like a caged animal finally set free.

There he is. The man who never hesitated to gun down anyone who threatened the safety of his loved ones and did whatever it took to bring his girls home.

Recognition washes over you and fills you with a familiar feeling of security. It's something only Joel has ever been able to give you. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his hair, hoping to return even a fraction of that feeling.

As he gives into his body, he starts to ramble, his words muffled and lost to your delicate skin. But you don't need to hear him to know what he's saying. With every thrust, the bed frame rattles and gets the message across loud and clear. Your heels dig into his back, encouraging him forward, begging him to keep going, and he obliges, quickly reduced to helpless grunts and curses.

The room gets increasingly hotter and more humid, and the cool air flowing through the window isn't nearly enough to provide relief, but neither of you seems to care. You're a little in love with the way your bodies slip together, sweat and slick intermingling seamlessly.

Everything is so wet, and it feels incredible—your skin against his, your walls pulsing around his cock. He's molding into you, so close that you can't do much more than swivel your hips into his, and it's sending you hurtling toward the edge faster than you can fully process. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubs your clit just right, and when he adjusts the angle to fuck you deeper than before, you hit your peak.

You dissolve into a whimpering mess beneath him, desperately riding out your orgasm as he groans and abruptly bites down on your shoulder. Releasing your legs to grab your waist, he forces himself impossibly further inside you and grinds into your spasming walls until he's coming with you. He gasps his way through it, stilling while he lets you milk him dry, then collapses on top of you and gathers you in his arms.

For a while, you both struggle to catch your breath. The mattress is bare save for the fitted sheet, your clothes, pillows, and blankets having been kicked or tossed onto the floor. It feels nice like this—to savor the winter air cooling your bodies and to just be held. Without letting you go, Joel lifts his head to kiss the teeth marks he left on your shoulder apologetically and then shifts higher to press his lips against the underside of your jaw.

"You alright?" he asks gently, his voice a little gruffer than usual from the exertion.

"Mhm," you hum, nosing into his temple. "More than." He sighs and almost sounds relieved.

The thought makes your heart ache. If he's worried he crossed a line, well. He did. You both did, but it was a long time coming and you don't regret a thing. You squeeze him a little tighter as if to tell him, and he allows himself to melt into you briefly. Then, he draws back to cup your cheek and guide your lips to his.

He kisses you slowly, taking the time to appreciate the sensation of your mouth against his without any urgency. "Feel better?" he murmurs after reluctantly parting from you. You keep him close.

"I don't think we have to worry about any more nightmares tonight," you reply with a small smile. He returns it, eyes crinkling fondly, then rolls you onto your sides to settle in for a good night's sleep.

As you start to drift off, you hear him chuckle and mutter something under his breath that you don't quite catch. But it sounds a lot like, "Might be time for you to finally move in."

thanks for reading!

[sceletaflores]

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent. 

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts. 

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more. 

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you. 

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved. 

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure. 

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist. 

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain. 

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer. 

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours. 

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow. 

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest. 

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt. 

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

[tteokdoroki]

IF IT’S ONLY A TOUCH…AITA? - satoru gojo.

✩ — about. “but one day, she just grew up…and i haven’t been able to look at her the same.” satoru gojo never meant to fuck his best friend’s little sister. he never meant to make her fall in love him. he never meant to fall in love with her. satoru doesn’t want anyone to know, suguru has no idea and she wants to tell the whole world…does that make him the asshole? … ( 46.5K )

✩ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, angst with a bittersweet ending. college!au, age gaps ( reader is 22, satoru gojo is 27 ), forbidden romance, toxic relationships, situationships, co-dependency ( on suguru geto ), controlling older brother, panic attacks, violence, fight scenes, arguments, alcohol mentions, smoking weed, manipulation, gaslighting, three smut scenes, spit, praise, dumbification, fingering (f!receiving), hand jobs (m!receiving), pussy jobs, dry humping, hold the moan, light!choking, light!oral-fixation, public sex, bathroom sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m!receiving), overstimulation, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, creampies, adopted geto!reader, fem!reader.

✩ — things to note. my entry for @ohkento ‘s reddit collab ! i’d like to thank everyone for their patience with this labour of love. it was first a silly idea that blossomed into something more complex and beautiful. i love this fic so much and i hope you do too!! special thanks to @todorosie for beta reading n all your encouragement!! and to @rinhaler for the sukuna reference hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ playlist ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

AITA (27M) FOR FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND'S (26M) LITTLE SISTER (22F)? hey reddit. i’ll get straight into it. i met my best friend, we’ll call him S, when we were kids, as young as five i guess, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. he was there for me at my lowest, and right by my side at my highest. i’ve never been the greatest person…but there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for me and vice versa. that’s why i feel so bad. he’s got this younger sister, i used to find her so annoying, but one day… she just grew up and i haven’t been able to look at her the same. we started fooling around two years ago around the time she’d settled into college but decided to keep it a secret from her brother. now she’s graduated from college and wants to take the next step… TLDR: we’ve been fucking around for two years but now she’s graduated and is ready to be more serious with our relationship. she wants to tell her brother — i’m unsure. AITA?

coming back home after four years of brutal education, late nights studying and heavy textbooks feels… almost comforting. 

sure, you’ve been home for the holidays before, and sometimes between semesters when things got a little bit rough. but this time around, being home feels more like a relief — an aura of permanency surrounding the occasion. at home, there’s home cooked meals instead of stale take-out and the house you’ve been raised in smells of warm spices rather than the unpleasant combination of old beer and dorm parties. 

there’s peace in being at home instead of college after four long years. it’s rewarding almost, to know that you’re welcomed back into the arms of the people who love you most after years of blood, sweat and tears. you’ve made it. you’re on the other side. you’ve got a degree under your belt and a bright, prosperous future ahead of you. 

letting out a determined huff, you throw your suitcases down onto the end of your bed — pushed up against the window of your childhood bedroom. the walls are a colour you no longer like (lime green… what were you thinking?) plastered with posters from groups you no longer listen to and movies you would only watch for comfort now that you’re a little bit older. nostalgia is warm under your skin as you look around at your teenage safe space, until your big doe eyes land on your sticker covered closet. 

being home for just the weekend, you thought you’d kill two birds with one stone. unpack the clothes you no longer need at your college dorm whilst joining your parents for a celebration. they had wanted you to come down from your university town in order to commemorate the end of your degree, since they’ll be abroad on business for your graduation ceremony in a few months time. not to mention, the outstanding job offer you’d received not long after being awarded  your final marks. 

your brother, suguru, would be joining you for the weekend as well. temporarily taking up space in his own childhood bedroom just across the hall — the keep out sign with black and yellow restricted tape still hanging from the white wooden door. geto had long since moved out of your parents place, what with him being five years older than you. he now had a job in the city as a big shot lawyer with hardly any time for his little sister anymore. so the fact that he was making the trip down just to celebrate you meant more than you could put into words.

he hadn’t arrived yet, however, and your parents were busy downstairs sorting out your favourite home cooked dinner (oxtail, a favourite) to care about what you were up to — leaving you to unpack in comfortable solitude. you decide to start with your night clothes, the darkness of the winter’s evening starting to bleed into the purple painted sky. you’ll be sleepy soon, no doubt. 

turning your back on the window, you move to set your toiletries and a fresh pair of pyjamas on the back of your desk chair — hardly noticing the way the window panes creak open, accompanied by the chill of a light december breeze. the gentle tread of footsteps across your carpeted floor go without attention as well, you’re too occupied with sorting through your things to pay attention to anything. not until it’s too late. 

“boo!”

large and possessive hands on your hips make you jump in fright, relaxing only when you hear the familiar teasing baritone against the shell of your ear. “did you miss me?” gojo purrs, using his hold on the flesh at your waist to spin you around to face him. your palms settle on the broad spread of his sturdy shoulders while his fingers dip into the back pocket of your low-waist jeans — leaving very little room between your bodies.

“satoru!” you exhale sincerely with the wisps of a smile spreading across your lips and twitching at the corner of your mouth. “what are you doing here? when did you get back?” like butter in a heated pan, you melt into the man’s arms, those same arms wrapping around your waist fully to pull you further into him. you feel dumb and lovestruck, tucked into the plushness of gojo’s chest as if you’d never left. 

“i couldn't miss my special girl’s special weekend, now could i?” the toothy smirk satoru gives you is enough to make your knees knock and you’re reminded that you’re lucky enough to be held up in his arms. happiness simmers hotly through your veins at the thought. a million and one girls would kill to be in your position, to have a man as handsome as the satoru gojo in their bedroom, all alone, sapphire blue eyes honed in on you and only you. 

he’s unlike any man you’ve ever met before. he’s so beautiful, not just anyone will do if it ever came to replacing him. he’s tall enough to tower over you, and make you feel small in a way that isn’t terrible at all. his hair is as white as winter frosts and unfairly soft for someone who probably doesn’t take as much care for it as he should. his lashes flutter against your forehead, long and to die for. satoru gojo is a beauty if you ever saw one — and you find yourself grateful to keep him all to yourself. in this moment. of course.

the look he gives you itself is enough to keep you alive, make your cheeks tingle with heat just under the skin, make you feel like a schoolgirl about to give a note to her crush. but a million and one girls don’t have to hide their crushes or keep them secret, their relationships probably aren’t as complex or confusing as your own with the man before you.

things with gojo have always been weird…ever since you were young. he found you annoying and whiny, back then, he along with your adoptive brother would pick on you until your eyes were big and shiny and your nose a little snotty. in those times, suguru (who babied you too much for your own good on occasion) often followed his best friend’s lead, maybe because satoru was older (despite them both being five years ahead of you in age) and the more dominating personality of the two best friends. it was easy to think that he might have even despised you then, or to imagine that suguru would grow up adoring you. yet, for satoru, it all changed one summer after your eighteenth birthday, when you just… shot up. you filled out, your demeanour changed, you became everything that he ever wanted. 

satoru was spoilt. he always had been, even from childhood. the gojo clan had built an empire and he was right at the heart of it as soon as he left college. the white haired man with the dazzling rows of perfect teeth had all the money and power in the world — right in the palm of his dangerous hands. obtaining what he wanted was as easy as snapping his fingers, and in an instant he could have all the booze and babes he desired. whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. the issue with being a man of satoru gojo’s calibre is the difficulty in drawing a line in the sand and knowing when to stop. men like him have everything, but only desire what they can’t have. 

he only desires you.

see, early on in his friendship with your brother, suguru had given satoru one plain and simple rule. one that he could never break so long as he walked god’s green earth and breathed fresh air into his lungs. 

suguru had made him promise never to go near you, sexually or romantically. 

they’d known one another their entire lives, been together through thick and thin, ups and downs. if anyone knew what the real satoru gojo was really like… it would be your brother. he had seen every arc of gojo like the phases of the moon up above. satoru was a partier, he drank until his veins were 50% alcohol and poured the bourbon until all of his organs were burned black. he smoked away his burdens, numbing his brain with whatever he could get his hands on. people, back in college, were just as disposable to gojo as his father’s income and even now, with his position at the heart of Gojo Corporations — satoru was no more stable than a drowning child, struggling to keep his head above the water and air in his scarred lungs. 

he was in no position to look out for you like suguru did. to the older geto, you were a prized possession and a treasure to be cherished. his innocent baby sister who was too sweet for the hard liquor gojo drank by the gallons and the papers that knew to tear him apart by name. you needed someone to rely on, someone to look out for you when the world gets tough and the rose tinted glass ceiling shatters down on you. suguru had tried his hardest to shield to growing up, becoming partly responsible for your dependence on him. 

he learned how to braid your hair and cook the foods you liked before moving to japan for your adoption. when he wasn’t being mean to you along with satoru, suguru cared for you deeply. he was a good adoptive brother.

so, it was a wonder how you even managed to get into and go to university all on your own — without your older brother’s watchful eye to keep you safe from the dangers of men, sex and money.

and gojo, being gojo, was never a stickler for the rules. he’d innocently reached out to you once you’d settled into college, under the guise of checking on his best friend’s little sister. much to his amusement, you’d already broken out of the safety net your brother had cast over you — you were more brazen and adventurous, sleeping around between study sessions and partying when you’d told your family you were tired from the week’s work. 

before anyone knew it, you’d become the college girl who liked to be wined and dined by older men — presenting the perfect opportunity for satoru to sweep you off your feet. 

texts to check on you every once in a while became calls to ask about your day and wish each other good morning and good night. these little things, as sweet as they might have seemed, snowballed into something bigger. something more. at least to you. you were falling in love with satoru gojo, and fast. it was the first time you’d ever felt like that towards someone, and he’d gotten you right where he wanted you. 

it wasn’t long before you were paying off your dorm mates to keep quiet about having an older man over, no less gojo. you were naive but not stupid, it wouldn’t take an idiot to know that geto had people keeping an eye on you nor that money was what made the world go round — people would do anything for a hefty price or designer bag. they kept their lips sealed each and every time gojo swung by your dorm to pin your knees to your ears and fuck you raw until your voice was hoarse and there was a dent in your wall from the force of his thrusts against the bed frame. 

satoru had been the one to take your virginity, of course. suguru would have had an aneurism if he ever found out.

and while you loved the thrill of sneaking around with someone older, someone who seemed to know the world better than you ever could, someone who excited you — there were times where you wished your heart hadn’t chosen the enigma that is satoru gojo. your relationship with him ruined the little time you had to explore yourself in college. he knew all of your friends, he knew all of the boys in your classes and the ones that dared to hang out with you outside of them. he sometimes paid them off to break your heart or cheat on you just so that you’d go running back into his arms — bleary eyed and emotionally drained.

satoru knew about your every move — the parties you went to and the socials you attended. you were never able to mess around with people, not with the tabs he had on you. silly little you, don’t you know? you’re satoru’s property. 

the worst thing he could have done to you is fail to put a label on your relationship. you were never his girlfriend and he would always dance around the question like he was avoiding a bullet to the chest. ‘what are we?’ you would ask, and like always, satoru would grin lazily and slowly — in the way that brews a hazy fog over your mind and respond with. ‘whatever you want me to be.’

what you wanted was something official. not to be satoru’s little pet, hidden away from the rest of the world while in private he promises you that you’re the only girl he’s ever loved. it hit hardest whenever you would go to visit him, noting another’s car in the driveway that wasn’t yours or satoru’s. you knew that you never meant much…but in actuality it was slowly killing you now. he gave you comfort, gave you warmth but whenever you woke, he was gone by the morning. that’s how it always was. 

a piece of you threatened to crumble each and every time your lover was plastered over the tabloids and gossip magazines with another heiress. you wanted to tell the world that you were his and he was yours. you wanted suguru to know too. 

oftentimes, satoru would ease your worries with a simple toe curling and mind numbing kiss to your butter-glossed lips, uttering the words ‘but, wouldn’t that ruin our little secret?’ 

the very secret made you feel dirty and used. 

if satoru didn’t let you, then you could never bring yourself to tell suguru. it would break his heart, his entire soul to know that his angelic little sister was taking her eyes off of the very expensive prize of her university degree. and so, the track of your fragmented relationship (situationship?) with your mischievous white haired lover replays over and over again like a broken record — scratched and scathed. 

satoru comes over, you fight or cry, and he ends up balls deep inside of you — creaming your little cunt in a hotel off campus or paying off your friends to spend your night in your dorm again. 

when you finally graduated, you remember one of said friends asking. ‘will you ever go public with that… guy you’re always fucking? i mean… he practically lives with you.’

at the time, you’d pressed your lips into a thin and telling line. you couldn’t. you wouldn’t. they’d laughed about it then and you knew what conclusions were running through their minds. what a dumb, naive little rich girl, for thinking she was anything more than a sidechick. 

if only you could just show them the lengths satoru would go to be with you in the secrecy of your own little bubble. 

like right now.

“sweetheart, where’d you go?” cocking his head down at you, satoru’s sugarcoated, sickly sweet coo runs through your ears like molten sugar and drags you from the depths of deep thought. he clicks his teeth, using a thumb and forefinger to tilt your head up in order to face him — positioning you like his own marionette doll. “came all this way to see you, only for you to get lost in that pretty little head of yours.”

it’s patronising, the way he speaks to you as if you’re a child — but it’s all you’ve ever known. being babied by your lover and even your brother. “s-sorry! i was just… thinking…” you supply as a meek excuse, shuddering when gojo slips a thumb over the slightly cracked skin of your bottom lip. the impending winter’s cold had been nipping at it in his place.

“about me?”

you scoff playfully, begrudgingly pulling yourself from satoru’s grip before he makes your brain too overcast to even focus about unpacking. “about graduation. i can’t believe it’s all over.” 

returning to unfolding some casual wear left in your bag, your mind begins to wander if satoru misses you as much as you miss him whenever you’re not touching. your skin feels alive, teaming with life, whenever he’s nearby — as if two magnets that couldn’t be more different have attracted one another instead of repelling. it’s like you need to be near him in order to breathe, to feel, to exist. 

your…boyfriend? makes himself comfortable on your bed, trailing his index finger over the pink patterned sheets.  you realise then, that you’ll never truly understand what’s going on in his head. 

“i am proud of you, yanno.” gojo comments casually. he man-spreads across the edge of your bed, leaning back against his elbows as if to draw your eyes to the treasure between his thick jean-clad thighs. “not every day my pretty baby graduates with honours. such a smart little girl, hm?” it’s cruel really, how dumb he makes you out to be — but in a way, it makes your insides twist and a flutter make its way up to your chest.

you shrug as if it’s nothing, hanging your clothes up in the closet before you return to the bedside. “it’s a wonder i managed, ‘toru. you were always distracting me,” memories of your illicit activities on nights before papers were due or exams were to be taken flash behind his vibrant azure eyes, and satoru grins mischievously as his strong arms snake around your waist — his head pressed against your smooth tummy. “i have to unpack.” you remind him gently.

but then he looks up at you, like a sweet pet that begs for food, dragging you into the shining blue pools of his eyes that you can never seem to escape. and before you know it, you’re drowning in gojo’s attention once again. 

“did you miss me?”

satoru let’s his fingers slide under your loose top and gives your hips a possessive squeeze, watching you with baited breath. 

“‘toru, you’ve asked me that already.” 

he squeezes again, harder, the rough pads of his fingers sinking into your mid-section, all needy like. he’s desperate to know that you haven’t found anyone else. “i missed you,” satoru quips in place of your silence. “i hate being away from you for so long, work sucks.”

as if he ever did any real work. satoru was just the pretty poster boy for his dad’s company — it worked out well though, you’d seen the amount of zeros in his bank account yourself. “i’ll be getting a job too, did you know that? at that big fashion editorial. you know the one, Heavenly Pact magazine. it’ll be in the city too so we can be closer together. it’s why suguru is taking us to dinner.” 

satoru finds your gushing adorable, pulling you to stand between his legs as you go on and on.

“and where d’ya think suguru got that idea from?”  he coos. “i had him set up a reservation at that place you like… yanno, the one where we spent our two years. something about the sushi there. you liked it.” 

satoru talks about the day as if you were really dating. two years. seven hundred and thirty days spent fawning over him and chasing the white haired male like a lost puppy. you couldn’t even call it an anniversary, not when you weren’t official. though, he’d taken the time to spoil you — he dressed you in diamonds and designer, picked you up in a fancy car that probably cost more than your rent, booked out the whole restaurant and filled it with your favourite flowers. gojo had made you feel like you were special, something special to him, and as usual you fell for the smoke screens and mirrors that masked how he truly felt. 

how he wanted to own every part of you. 

you’d wanted to celebrate two years being tied to one another and he let you, because in order to take — you have to give a little. 

gojo somehow feels closer than before, his lips treading lightly over your supple stomach while his thumbs trace circles over your hips. you preen into his touch, love bristling in your chest and replacing the heaviness that weighs it down. “you’re coming?” 

“wouldn’t miss it for the world, baby.” comes his husky, breathy whisper — uttered against your warm skin like a promise of love and support. satoru presses a wet kiss just above your navel all while slyly tugging your shirt further up, distracting you from the task at hand (folding clothes).

something stirs within your lower tummy, a blistering hot sensation spreads from your core to your chest, your mind and all four of your limbs as if someone’s thrown gasoline onto a fire. gojo’s curious silver tongue travels further — tracing over the saltine droplets of sweat on your skin while he licks up to your rib cage. every twist of his pink muscle against you makes your breath catch in the ridges of your throat and your entire body wrack with a case of the shakes. 

still, you continue to unpack, struggling with the items in your grip as large palms claw up your back and force you down into satoru’s widespread lap, not that you mind — being pressed up all against him. “oooh, that’s cute,” satoru taunts you playfully, pulling back from the love marks he’s painted where your breasts meet your ribs. he blinks over at the article of clothing between your nimble fingers, white flashes tickling your skin as he does so.

his scent is so overwhelming you can’t even think, not at all what one would expect. it’s fresh, almost cold to inhale, like peppermint, pine and cool air from the highest peak of the mountain. 

you look down at gojo dumbly, earning yourself the sound of his melodious laughter. in response,  he juts his head in the direction of your hand. “your bra, you gonna wear that for me?”

shifting your gaze over to the baby blue lace, you grin and toss it aside — using your free hands to push satoru back against your sheets. 

“maybe, if you’re lucky.” 

he growls in reply, predatory and playful all at once, lifting his head, with his pool of silver-moon hair rising from your bed, to capture your lips in a slow, spit-swapping kiss. he allows you to pin his wrists above his head, barely putting up a fight as you swallow him down and devour him whole — your tongues clash for dominance, slipping and sliding over one another while your hands do the same to the silver roots of his hair. 

one of your hands travel down to cup his cheek, tilting gojo’s head up just a tad more so that you can pour more of your passion into him. the kiss becomes, in the only way that you can describe it, hurried and hungry — the more of yourself you give to him, the more satoru becomes filled with your love and innermost parts of your soul. you give and give and give until his glass is full to the brim.

you grow weaker by the second, falling victim to the predatory, hot mouth of your lover and your grip on his wrists loosen just enough for his calloused fingertips to fluidly cascade down your body — finding purchase in the loops of your pesky jeans, tugging them away from your marred flesh and soft ass. once he’s bored with toying with your clothes, the silver haired man uses his reach on your ass to push you closer, kiss you harder, grind his swelling erection into the gap between your plush thighs.

the two of you can’t be closer, noses knocking against one another clumsily and breath becoming scarce as your lungs ache and burn for a fresh in-take of oxygen between drooly lip locks. it’s messy, you’re both messy — your relationship always has been. but in this very moment, you can’t find it in yourself to care, addicted to the weight of gojo’s tongue in your mouth and the way his smooth, glossy lips feel against your own. both of your chests heave, your bodies growing hotter and tenser each time you swirl your hips down onto him or he bucks up into you.

“baby,” satoru sighs airily, twitching underneath you — all restless and impatient. “you’re so pretty like this, on’top’a me,” his crystal blue eyes have darkened to a midnight blue, almost black with a list that makes his pupils blow wide. you’ve seen this change too many times to be unfamiliar with what satoru wants. that very thing being you. “smoke with me a little?” his plea barely covers up the low moan that escapes him as your hips jerk against him. his touch scorches through the all-too-tight denim hugging your waist, leaving burn marks at your tail bone. he’s desperate for this, desperate for you. 

how can you say no.

your face splits into an angelic, agreeable grin. just what satoru likes to see. “c’mon then, where’s your stash?” in reply, he lifts his hips higher from the bed — nudging the thick outline of his cock against your sensitive clothed pussy. 

“sorry.” he lies easily. “back pocket.” 

moving to dig around in said pocket, you pull out gojo’s tiny baggy of weed — noting the joints he’d probably rolled up prior to coming here. sometimes, you had the nagging thought that your man always loved you better when you were a little bit high. you gloss over the idea, however, reaching into your nightstand nearby for your sanrio lighter while you toss gojo the bag. he picks out a blunt for you to share and you trigger the flame.

you take the joint between your lips, plumped up from all the kissing you’ve been doing, and let satoru wrap a bulky arm around your middle — pinning you to his larger-than-yours frame. his chest is plush, warm, and you can feel your heartbeats beginning to sync up beneath your clothes. you hold the lighter to one end, bambi eyes reflecting the orange yellow flame that sets the wrapper alight and hum in content whilst you inhale. 

you hold. exhale. and when the smoke clears, gojo is looking up at you as if you hold the entire universe in your gaze.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty.” 

that sweet giggle of yours rings out into the night air. you take a hit before you press your mouth to satoru’s — breathing the smoke into his lungs. 

you’re spoiling him. he knows you don’t really like to smoke, but you’re always sweetest when he gets you a little fucked up. 

“so you’ve said, ‘toru.”

he swipes the blunt from your grip and takes a drag for himself, tapping the ashes out against your sheets as he picks up the salacious motions of his hips again. and like the obedient little thing you are, you grind against him, mewling into his milky skin that’s illuminated by the shy slither of moonlight that peeks on you both through your curtains. 

“i mean it, sweet thing,” another hit, his voice even huskier from the aromatic fumes — even as he gripes lowly into the shell of your ear. “fuck, you’re so perfect like this. grinding on my lap like a needy little girl, hm?” 

whining out for him, you let satoru stick the blunt back in your mouth and sit up — bucking down on his hard, heavy erection as if you’re riding his cock like you usually do. “satoru,” you purr while the weed begins to take residence over your brain, take its effect. you recognise that the supply is from sukuna, the older brother of a boy you knew from college. yuuji itadori, was it? you’d always found him cute but he had a girlfriend and gojo told you to stop worrying about him a long time ago. the very thought sparks something in the back of your mind — at war with giving into satoru’s touch and how it makes its way underneath your clothes to thumb at your pebbling nipples. “‘toru…when are you going to tell sugu about us?” 

the mention of your brother should be enough to kill the mood, but you’ve been away from gojo far too long. he’s already got his sights set on ruining you for some fun tonight, pushing his luck by slipping his fingers past your tight waistband in order to mess with your slick pussy folds against your panties. 

“do i need to?” he drawls, laughs a little, voice breaking through the thick barrier of ardour built up in his throat. “s’not that important. telling him. we’re having fun, right? things are good the way they are.” gojo sticks his tongue out in concentration, fumbling between layers of clothes for your cute little clit and grinning ear to ear when he finds it — watching you quiver and fail to hold yourself up above him as he presses down on the nub, hard. “what good would it do, telling him?”

you could think of a million reasons why, but all of them fail to rush to the forefront of your mind — blocked by desire and the lingering weed in your system. “i…i want to mean somethin’ to you,” comes your babyish voice, hurt and whiny through your pout. satoru takes the blunt from you, rubbing your cunt through your words as they catch in your throat. “wanna be serious with you. want something more. i-i’m a proper adult now… i deserve — oh fuck!” 

you don’t even know why you bring the fact up. that you’re an adult, that you’re grown now. because you’re still a naive little thing who wants so much more from someone older and more experienced. because you’re still suguru’s younger sister to satoru, not his girlfriend. just his forbidden plaything. 

satoru smiles wickedly again as you fail to express yourself, becoming a pliant sticky mess all over his fingers while their tips graze your clit over and over again in rough circles. “‘m sure you are, my big girl yeah?” he’s so cruel to you, talking down on you while he plays your sopping mound like a fiddle. pinching and pulling at your folds and your poor little clit. “you’re so close, aren’t you? think you might cum from a couple’a fingers ‘n a bit of weed…” 

heat brews under the surface of your skin, most hot at the centre of your face where you start to feel humiliated and embarrassed. even more so because you like it, when the silver haired man is mean to you like this. “satoru…t-that’s not what i meant—“ you try, gushing and crying. “s-satoru i’m g-gonna—!” 

knock, knock, knock.

“hey little one, i’m home!” 

the pair of you jump apart at the smooth sound of suguru’s calm and timbre voice. 

it’s like a shock to your system, like being doused with cold water or waking up from a hangover after one too many shots. with wild eyes you look from your half-hard boyfriend to the open window — immediately shoving up and pulling his hands from your pants. “g-get up!”  you seethe, teeth and tongue, all of your syllables rushed. 

“was that suguru?” gojo asks, voice elevated with panic while he puts the blunt out against your windowsill. 

you nod vigorously, using your shaky limbs to push satoru back out the way he came. “yes! now go!” 

“hey, little one? it’s me, suguru..”

he scrambles to climb back out the window and you lean over the edge to watch him go — accepting the chaste kiss he gives you on the way out. the second that gojo is out of view, you chuck the half-smoked joint into your trash can and kick the rest of sukuna’s supply underneath your bed to cover up the evidence.

“c-come in!” you finally squeak, putting on your best smile for your adoptive older brother. 

your bedroom door swings open, revealing a tired suguru with tousled clothes and sleepy dark eyes. he looks older, maturer, but he’s still the same brother you love and grew up with. “there’s my little princess,” he cheers, tying back the dark tresses of his (much) longer hair before he opens his arms wide to give you a hug. 

you quickly accept, nuzzling your cheek against suguru’s firm shoulder (also wiping your tears on him). “sugu! when did you get back?” 

“not too long ago. i tried calling, but you didn’t pick up.” his voice is laced with suspicion and you swear you hear him sniff the air from above your head — close to catching the traces of weed on you. 

“i was… unpacking!” stepping back, you stumble over to your toiletries that you’d begun to unpack earlier and eagerly (a little too eagerly) spritz some of your expensive perfume into the air. “s-sorry! i’m the thinking of wearing this scent to dinner on sunday…any thoughts?”

you swear you hear gojo groan from outside, no doubt listening in on your conversation with his best friend and your older brother — no doubt finding your excuse flimsily and unbelievable. suguru, despite it all, takes the bait or chooses not to bite any further — his eyes no longer narrowed and his face relaxed. 

“speaking of things to wear for sunday night…” he begins, digging deep into his left pocket for a small red velvet box. “i got you a little something, as…congrats for all of your hard work recently.” 

suguru reaches forward to take your hand in his, turning it over so that he can place the box in the centre of your palm. you glance up at your older brother hesitantly, but he only gives you a warm reassuring smile — gesturing for you to open it.

you do we told, the box creaking open at his hinges to reveal a real diamond necklace with a beautiful, dazzling sapphire pendant at its centre. just by looking it at it, you know that the sapphire and silver combination will contrast decadently against the deep, sun-kissed tones of your skin.

“o-oh sugu, you shouldn’t have!”

“but i did, think of it as my parting gift to you.” the older geto sibling explains kindly. “you’re going out into the world to do something special, to help people. you deserve to be spoiled before you get there.” his gentle hands close the box for you, setting it aside on your dresser before suguru links your fingers — staring down at you wistfully. “everything out there is dangerous. people will try to take advantage of you and your kindness. but like gem stone in hard shell rock, you must preserve that little shine of yours…” you let him brush at a dry tear mark on your cheek, your fingers slipping down to his wrist to hold them tight. “i will always be here to look out for you, no matter what. but i won’t always be able to be by your side.” 

the seriousness of the conversation overwhelms you with a weighty guilt. suguru has always looked after you and done his best to keep you away from any harm. you imagine that satoru would be right in how destroyed your brother would feel after finding out you ran into the arms of the biggest danger of all. 

his best friend. 

so you suck it up, mask your guilt and press a kiss to your brother’s cheek — hoping that he’ll forgive you if the truth ever surfaces. 

“i know, thank you sugu,” comes your simple, appreciative reply. “i’ll always have you, and satoru too.”

he laughs and kisses your forehead “that you will. but don’t get too close to him okay? he’s trouble. i wouldn’t want him to mess things up for you.” 

“i know, suguru.” 

the exchange is left at that, with suguru patting your shoulder as he bids you a goodnight. your entire body sags with relief once he’s gone, similar to that of a snake shedding its skin. you can’t keep lying to him like this but you don’t want to break his heart. maybe satoru was right. maybe you were wrong. either way, you feel conflicted and torn between two.

when you go to close the window, satoru is still waiting for you — safely on the ground below. his blue eyes beg to come back inside, to be with you, but you’ve danced with the devil too much tonight. gojo won’t take you seriously. he might ruin things for you, just like your brother said. 

“call me when you get home safe, okay?” you murmur to him in order to make sure you don’t get caught. 

you latch your window closed right after, not even bothering to wait for gojo’s reply. 

either you’ll keep sneaking around with him or you’ll eventually give him up, but for tonight — you decide that you’ll just shut the silver snake out.

“i’ve never known you to like the colour blue so much.” 

the day before your fancy and celebratory dinner — suguru geto decided that his spoiled little sister isn't quite spoiled enough. growing up, he’d bring you toys from his shitty part time job at the department store on weekends or food from the chef’s at satoru’s place after hanging out with that loser all day. 

in college, it would be magnets or posters or big, surprisingly well-made hoodies from the campus gift shop because suguru would always tell you that his little one would be going to university too — that you’d do him proud and achieve big things. you were destined for so much more and had every ounce of support in your corner. from your brother, your parents…there’s always been a pressure on your shoulder to make something of yourself, become someone worthy of their support. 

by the time suguru had graduated and landed his own job — the little gifts he’d gotten you became pricier and more luxurious. your brother had called them items of encouragement, a taste of what was to come once you made it out into the real world. not that he would actually ever let you spend a dime of your own, big brothers were supposed to be there for sweet little sisters like you to fall back on. he wanted you to know that he would always have you covered, have you spoiled with everything you’d ever wanted — mostly to keep your standards high, ensuring that you never settled for anything less than what your older sibling could provide you with. 

that’s how days like today first came about — you called it sibling bonding time. 

first on the agenda was breakfast at the humble little bakery your parents often treated you both to after a batch of good grades at school. it wasn’t too far from the house and you use the walk to catch up, bouncing excitedly by your brother’s side while he gushed to you about highly classified information from his line of work. there was always something to admire about suguru, how dedicated he was to keeping you safe and making a name for himself outside of the shelter of your home. 

in some ways, you wanted to be just like him. it could've been that you admired suguru too much or leaned on him even more. interdependency as some would call it. 

that didn’t matter to you though, your relationship with your brother has always been precious to you and that’s all that matters. 

the rest of your early morning was spent with a pampering session, manicures, and pedicures and makeup testing — even a trip to the hair stylist who happily braided your bountiful curls into your favourite look. 

next, was a late afternoon shopping spree. suguru drives you into the fanciest mall he can think of to spend the day. the elitist of the elite. designer stores were plotted at every corner, stocked to the brim with luxury goods that wouldn’t even put a dent in your brother’s salary nowadays. if you wanted it, you got it — without a word or question against you. suguru let you fill your basket with a purse and bag for the evening ahead, and right now, the last thing on your agenda would be the perfect dress to wear to your dinner.

that’s what had brought you to this very moment, the one where you completely blank on your brother because he’s noticed something different about you. 

something akin to a nuisance of a crush on gojo satoru.

blinking once, you turn on your heel to face suguru and snap out of your distant thoughts. “i-i’m sorry, what was that?”

the older, raven haired man smiles at you as if you’re being silly — as though there aren’t any thoughts up in that pretty little head of yours. “i said, you’ve grown awfully fond of the colour blue recently.” he keeps his voice soft and comforting while speaking to you, avoiding any accusatory tones that might set his sensitive younger sister off. “it’s not even your favourite colour.” geto adds, approaching you by the clothes rack in what seems to be your fifth designer fashion store. 

you may be spoilt but at least you have taste — the number of zeroes on the price tag was never an issue for your brother anyway.

he gestures down at the items folded over your crossed arms — the ones you wanted to take to the back and try on. heat flashes under the surface of your skin when you realise suguru is in fact right. there’s a plethora of fabric bundled in your arms with only one thing in common. 

they all share the shade of a baby powder blue. 

it’s the type of blue that reminds you of the sky on days where the weather is just right — when the sun is able to pierce through the veil of fluffy white clouds and shine down on you. the type of blue that hides behind lilac and orange when the sun rises at dawn. the type of blue that sometimes reminds you of clear winter skies after snowfall and drawing shapes in your condensed breath on the glass. 

it’s the type of blue akin to satoru gojo’s brilliant eyes — the ones that look as though they hold unseen stars or undiscovered galaxies, the secrets of the universe yet to be known by mankind. oh those eyes, they’re so dreamy that you could get lost in them for a milenia and never be bored. 

to anyone who knows about the two of you — it would make sense for blue to have become one of your favourite colours. it is the embodiment of satoru, everything down to loving him is blue, and bleak and beautiful all at once. 

yet, suguru could never know that. it would ruin everything. 

“i just…i just think it’s pretty!” internally, you feel yourself cringe and the weak excuse — threading your fingers through the dresses in your hold. “don’t you think the colour would like nice on me, sugu? if not, i can put them back—“

your older brother grabs at your wrist before you can even think to commit such an action — stopping you from putting anything back onto the clothes rack. “you’d look pretty in anything you wore, little one.” he lets out a nervous chuckle, moving to pet your head softly. “i just imagined you in something a little more—“

“blue. it’s perfect — isn’t it? it matches my pendant too…” spinning around to face your brother, you hold a beautiful cupcake styled tulle dress to suguru’s gaze, and dawn over its gemstone sweetheart necklace that has a twinkle bright enough to rival satoru’s eyes. you wonder how he’ll look at you once he sees it on you, contrasting perfectly with your warm complexion. a secret, not so innocent part of you hopes that satoru will just rip it off of you. the other, wishes you’d calm down and behave.

suguru offers you a wavering smile, before relenting. “if that’s what you want, sweetheart.” he hums, gesturing towards the fitting rooms. “how about you try it on, see how it looks?” 

nodding your head, you shove your discarded choices into his arms and disappear into a booth — excited to see how the article of clothing looks on you. you strip easily, kicking off your jeans while suguru wanders around impatiently outside. 

“so…is it a boy that you’re wearing this for?” comes his deep voice through the curtains, lifted in tone only by its teasing lilt. 

when you were younger, you would always gush to suguru about your crushes — whether he cared or not, your excited and love-struck musings always struck his ear. you remember being in his room while he studied or gamed, tucked into his side or braiding his luscious black hair while telling him all about how much you loved this one boy in your class. suguru would tell you to mind your heart and keep her safe, a boy who couldn’t buy you diamonds and make you laugh wasn’t the right boy for you.

you would hate to hear what he thinks about gojo then. a man who buys you diamonds, makes you laugh, fucks you good and breaks your heart all at once.

hugging your discarded t-shirt to your chest as if to protect the beating organ, you frown. “it isn’t! why would i dress pretty for some boy?”

“good. boys are dangerous,” clothing ruffles over the sound of suguru’s voice as he reminds you of the lesson he’s taught you many times over the years. trust no man, except for your brother. “i won’t always be here to keep an eye on you or keep you out of said danger. so just…focus on making a name for yourself. especially after you’ve worked so hard to graduate from uni.”

you scoff and grab the dress — debating whether or not you should step into it or pull it over your head. “i’m not a child anymore, sugu. i don’t need you to watch out for me… i’m old enough to make my own choices. i’m responsible too.” 

he watches your feet peek out from under the curtains as you mess with the dress and attempt to pull it on. geto’s senses jump to high alert listening to you struggle and shuffle to pull it over your head, resisting the urge to jump in and help you. “don’t pull it over your head when you’ve just gotten your hair done,” he grumbles in light annoyance. “step into it, little one.” 

“yeah, i got it!” comes your snappy voice in return while you readjust and try again. 

suguru leans against the nearest wall, crossing his arms over his chest — he slips into silence as you slip into your dress. “i know you do, you’re a smart girl.” you get the feeling he’s not talking about how you try it on anymore, and your stomach turns as you adjust the skirts. “but that doesn’t mean i don’t worry. once you lose your focus, everything comes crashing down. that’s what happened to satoru. i wouldn’t want you to end up like him.” 

again, your tummy lurches in the worst of ways at the mention of gojo and how much geto hates the idea of the two of you ever getting together. sure, satoru was childish and irresponsible — refuting the orders of the higher ups in his family… he could be disappointing at times too, with questionable loyalty. yet sometimes… sometimes satoru could be so good and stable, oftentimes reminding you of why you wanted to be with him in the first place. 

he is special to you, in so many ways that is beyond the web of human comprehension. you love satoru gojo so much that your lungs burn with the need for air whenever he’s not around for you to breathe in. 

the idea of not having him around often because of your brother is like oxygen deprivation itself.

“satoru isn’t that bad.” you counter, toying with the beading at your neckline while you inspect yourself in the mirror. he would love it on you. “don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on him? he is your best friend after all.” it takes your all not to bust out and tell your brother all about your relationship with said best friend, even if it kills him and ruins the rose tinted glass above his head.

pushing the curtains open you step out just as geto starts to scold you again. “satoru gojo is lazy and hardly competent, he wouldn’t be right for you and you know that— oh.”

he stops speaking when you step out to show him the dress, your eye bright and doe-like, almost pleading — while the fabric sticks to all the right curves, making you look stunning. making you appear more mature. “help me do the zip f’me, suguru? i can’t reach.” 

“come here, i’ve got you,” suguru whispers in quiet awe, turning you gently by the shoulders to do the honours of zipping you in at the low back of the dress. “you look perfect, give me a twirl, hm, little one?”

twirling as told, suguru watches proudly as your skirts flail about the place — it’s sparkle catching on the UV light up above. you’re the perfect angelic picture of his little sister…he doesn’t know how he’ll ever let you go. 

there’s still a pout on your lips undoubtedly from what he’s said about gojo and as much as suguru finds your defensiveness for him weird — he hates seeing you upset just as much. “hey, how about we go pay for your dress…” he calls your name and you tilt your head up just a touch, giving your brother your attention unwillingly. “and since we’re here at the shopping centre, we might as well get dinner. my treat? i’ll get you some of your favourites. perhaps boba and we’ll stop by the stuffed animal store on the way out—“ suguru trails off to see if you’ve taken his snare and got stuck in his trap, he knows you can’t resist being spoiled at the end of the day. 

you nod faster than your pretty little head can catch up. “sounds like a plan, sugu!” 

“i knew you’d say yes,” he snickers proudly, petting your head softly for the second time that late afternoon. then, geto carefully nudges you back into the changing room, patiently waiting for you to remove the dress so he can pay for it while you switch clothes. “i think you made a good choice today. with the dress,” he adds, drawing the curtains for you kindly. “who knows, maybe satoru will even take his head out of his ass to pay you a compliment, admire the colour. he’ll like it for sure.” 

you flinch behind the curtains when they close, trying to keep your voice even. “i-i can’t say i’m hoping for it!” to which suguru laughs heartily, accepting the dress as you chuck it out to him. 

but what you’re really hoping for, is for him to not connect the dots. 

to not find out about yourself and gojo until you’re ready for him too.

the first rule of a situationship, is to never answer the phone after the first ring. that's rule number one for satoru gojo.

it gives the girl the impression that you’re interested in something more than just fooling around, that you want more than the benefits of a relationship while sticking to the talking stage.

but gojo has never been one to follow the rules, not even ones he sets for himself…because when you call, he answers in a heartbeat — just to hear your sweet little voice relaying his name over your tongue and the way you giggle like a darling when he compliments you. 

satoru gojo likes you a lot more than he lets on, he misses you even more so. that’s why he answers on the first ring, practically kicking his feet in his king sized bed  — he hasn’t heard you say his name since the night you kicked him out, and for good reasons too. 

hiding his presence from suguru. 

“hi ‘toru.”

“hi gorgeous,” you can practically hear your lover’s smile through the crackling static over the line. “missed you,” gojo slurs lightly, of course, is high by no means other than sukuna’s supply of the good stuff — inhaling it leisurely through a nicely rolled joint while he listens to you call out for him. your voice is so inviting… so angelic… and if satoru shuts his pretty eyes and tries hard enough, he can just about imagine the way you’d sigh for him as his fingers slip right inside of your sweet little pussy—

“i almost told sugu about us today.” 

that makes satoru jump upright, choking on a deep inhale of cannabis tainted smoke. his lungs ache from trying to recover and the pain spreads to his toned thighs when he’s realised that he’s dropped the roll up in shock, the lit end burning through the grey sweatpants he wears. “fuck. shit… that hurts. idiot.” the silver haired man curses to himself, forgetting you’re still on the line.

“who me?” you simper a little on the sad side, seemingly shifting in your own bed.

satoru instantly picks up on the pouty twinge to your voice and if he hadn’t been burning to death (dramatic much?) he knows that his cock would have twitched to life between his legs at the dulcet sound. “fuck baby, no not you,” he says, words rushing from his mouth as he reassures you. “why would you tell him? did he figure us out?”

you hesitate with your next words. “w-well, um…not exactly…”

“come on baby, you can say it. s’just me, satoru,” gojo goads you with a condescending echo to each of his words, not putting too much pressure on your sweet and empty little head. “don’t think too much. just be good and tell me.” 

while he waits, the man fumbles his way out of bed and stands — somehow managing to tuck his splif between slightly chapped and pale pink lips. he tugs off his shirt, suddenly feeling too hot under the collar, and stalks his way over to his large, wide windows — looking down onto the bustling city below. 

it’s kind of funny, how noisy it is down there, creating almost as much of a ruckus as the racing thoughts in satoru’s brain. 

“i wanted to tell him…because suguru doesn’t think that you deserve me.” you finally say, submissively telling gojo what’s on your mind. it hurts like a bitch to hear, it stings at every unresolved trauma and open wound that he has — not because it’s a lie, but because gojo doesn’t want to accept that reality. 

a reality where he can’t have you, because he could never be someone who meets his best friend’s standards and expectations for you. 

be someone that you deserve. 

gojo exhales the smoke through his nose, letting it sting at his nostrils while he decays from the inside out. if this were any other drug he’d have smokers lungs by age twenty-seven. “well ain’t that the truth.” he mumbles, grim. 

“now satoru, why would you say that?” you sound like you’re about to cry.

“because, it’s not far off is it?” gojo really doesn’t mean to snap. after all, he is high, and this topic could have him spiralling into a really bad trip — but it’s not your fault that you love him, that you want him so bad you’d deny all of your brother’s wishes. that’s on him — he made you that way, and these are simply the consequences of his own action. “fuck… baby. sweetheart, you know you shouldn’t even be with me,” he starts, tucking his blunt between two fingers while running the same hand through his moonlight-kissed hair. “i’m way older than you, i’m hardly ever serious about you when i should be like you want…and hell, your brother sure as fuck doesn’t want me near you. you deserve better, and that’s the truth.” 

he hates saying all that shit to you, projecting his insecurities and inability to properly love someone onto the girl he loves…but gojo does it anyway, as if he can’t control the acid in his stomach — throwing it up everywhere or otherwise it’ll burn him from the inside out. 

“but i don’t want better…i want you.” comes your quiet sob, so tiny and pathetic. satoru resents himself for making you that way — pale white lashes fluttering shut and locking away his murky ocean blue eyes. he tries to picture you happier, instead of crying over the call like you are right now. 

“i want… i want you too.” 

“then…then let’s tell him! together! he’s my brother… and you’re his best best friend. he might understand, if you prove to him that this is what you want. that i’m what you want.” you're perkier when you speak again, and satoru (still high as a kite) wonders if he’d said that just to appease you or if he really meant it. 

a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. 

except gojo isn’t drunk. 

he will admit, he’s pictured the day where you both come clean to the older geto sibling almost a million times. in his mind, satoru’s seen every reaction and emotion possible play out of his best friend’s face — he’s seen them in real life too. yet, the only prevalent expression on suguru geto’s face when anyone ever spoke of you in a nasty manner.. was red hot rage. 

suguru would become another man, one who wasn’t afraid of murder, whenever it came down to you. countless individuals over the years had tried and failed at winning your favour from suguru — as if you were a princess in a castle. each one of them would regret trying for the rest of their lives. 

and each time you remained none the wiser to how bad suguru really was and the lengths he’d go to keep you his innocent little sister. 

gojo didn’t want that for himself, to face the wrath of his best friend. 

but maybe he could try to withstand it, for you. 

the girl he might actually love, after all. 

“we can try…i’ll try for you.” he mutters quietly over the line after sometime. satoru sounds neither hopeful or hopeless, but either way it does the trick for you. you laugh for him, airily and bubbly, it makes the man smile around the blunt resting between his rows of perfect teeth. your happiness is enough to be his happiness. 

he wished he allowed himself to feel that way about you more. 

“and i for you, ‘toru. we’ll be together openly someday.” you gush. 

the two of you chat for a little while longer until you adorably fall asleep on gojo and his blunt finally ends…but by the end of it, he can’t help but get this sinking feeling. where anxiety fills the cavity in satoru’s chest and drowns his optimistic heart in worry — slowing down its steady beat.

things won’t be as happy as he wants them to be. 

and he doesn’t quite have the heart or guts to tell you that. 

satoru gojo has always been afraid of love. 

it’s not an emotion that comes easy to him — like the second nature of most human beings. there’s no innate need to love someone for satoru, there’s no urge to be tender or to hold someone in high regard because of the way he feels about them. love is not something that’s bound to his DNA or feeling he’s known since his very conception. or perhaps it was the environment in which he was raised, the way that his father was never home and his mother was always crying — her choked sobs only increasing in severity when she cast her gaze upon her only child. 

that white hair and those blue eyes reminded her way too much of the man who couldn’t love her back. 

perhaps that’s why he’s afraid to open up his heart, bordering up with layers of concrete and brick to protect it from the harsh reality of the world. the organ beats, it pumps blood around his body and keeps satoru alive — but it doesn’t carry an ounce of love. it’s as if he’s incapable. all he feels is resentment, towards his father and towards his mother — towards the people who did nothing but try to show him that he was worthy of warmth and intimacy. 

he hates them because he doesn’t deserve it. satoru is nothing but a cold husk of a human being, a shell long since abandoned by its owner or inhabitant. there’s nothing to care for behind the walls of human flesh and tissue, no open heart to hold between one’s fingers with the promise of keeping it safe. satoru gojo doesn’t love because he’s afraid and it makes him feel like he can’t. 

the people who love you always leave. to gojo, that’s a proven fact. his memories tied the emotion are never fond — his mother left him for a better life and better family with another man. his father left him for the company and late nights at work, a glass of brandy in his right hand. all satoru knew growing up was the cold, empty silence of his childhood home that should have been filled with happiness, laughter and warmth. 

the people who love you are supposed to come back. for gojo, no one ever did. no one cradled him when he cried, no one held his hand through the scariest moments of his life. no one came back for him. 

how could a man like that ever learn to love someone outside of himself? 

how could a man like him make anyone happy? 

satoru thinks that he would be a miserable addition to anyone’s life, a thick smog that hides the brightness from the world and blocks out any sunshine. no one around him deserves to be happy, it’s why he so selfishly and recklessly tears them apart in front of the media or acts rebellious to tarnish his family’s infamous reputation. his actions have no consequences, he hurts no one he loves because he loves no one. 

no one except for… 

“master satoru,” the matured voice of his personal driver interrupts the deep pool of thoughts gojo drowns in. “we may be slightly late for dinner with the getos. with your permission, perhaps i can make a detour? it’s not the safest route in town but it would get us there faster—“ 

no one except for you.

satoru sits up straight in the back seat of his expensive, sleek black car as if he’s been hit with the realisation that you exist. that you’re still here and still made to be loved. the man doesn’t believe in soulmates, or red strings of fate or happily ever after’s, yet — in the short two years that he’s been fooling around with you, satoru has somehow managed to fall deeply and irrevocably in love with you. 

by all means, it doesn’t show — hell, you probably don’t even know how satoru really feels about you. he’s terrible at being genuine and hides behind a porcelain mask that only shows you the worst parts of him, that the entire world takes pleasure in seeing…but it’s true. he loves you. against all odds, the very feeling has managed to take root in the white haired rich boy’s chest, like the smallest flower blooming in the harshest of tundras. there’s something satoru didn’t know, that love has resistance, and no matter how hard he tries to act like he doesn’t — it will always find a way to thrive.

satoru might love you so much it makes him physically sick — one look at you and he’s rendered weak in the knees and short of breath. you’ve got a smile full of sunshine that warms satoru even with the bone chilling air outside. your eyes are enticing, deep pools of chocolate and hazel notes that drag him in like a fish on a line. your lashes are always soft against his skin, long enough to rival his even though you comment about how much you adore his every time you’re together. 

you’ve got the man under a fucking spell and he’s not sure he ever wants it to be broken. at first, you were just something sweet to snack on, someone that gojo couldn’t have which only made him want you more. you’d be his pet — nothing more. he’d keep you at arms length until he was bored and could toss you away. however, over time, gojo’s want grew to love and even now, you’ve no clue how much you affect him, he regrets not showing that to you more.

he still treats you like you’re a child, a naive little thing because he’s terrified of opening up to you, frightened by the mere thought of you running for the high hills once you see what the man who loves you is really like. 

satoru takes to adjusting his tie as the car switches lanes into a less polluted route — avoiding the evening traffic so that he can get to the destination faster. for some reason, anxiety spikes gojo’s blood stream with nervous hormones clinging to each red cell. the car becomes too enclosed, too compacted and the dark night outside doesn’t help him much either — it’s as if he’s lost in the void of space trapped with his own feelings. 

his tongue darts out to wet the seal of his pink lips and his twitching fingers pull at the stupid necktie his PA had picked out for him tonight. there’s one thing that he’s forgetting, one thing that’s worse than loving you — a guilt that sneaks up on gojo when he’s truly alone with his riveting thoughts.

the man lets out a shuddering breath. “fuck. me.” he says quietly, the two words colourful on his tongue.

there’s suguru too.

and the betrayal he’ll feel when he finally realises that satoru gojo is fucking his little sister.

gojo loves getou. though it’s a different kind of love in comparison to what he wants to share with you. it’s brotherly. friendly. and it goes back years beyond the situationship the white haired man has trapped you in. it would absolutely kill your brother if he ever found out, ruining the supposedly unbreakable bond they’ve developed over the time that they’ve known each other. 

a flash of pain flashes across gojo’s chest as if he’s been slashed with a knife — he grips the car handle tight, his knuckles turning white with how forceful his grip is. you and suguru are all that he has. the only family who ever truly cared for him and treated him like their own. of course his selfish actions and self-centred mindset would find a way to come between you both. he would be sure to kill the delicate sibling bond you have, satoru is an asshole like that.

it’s why he can never tell suguru about the fooling around you’ve done over the last two years — he would lose his one and only best friend. in the same breath, he could lose you too. you’re a smart girl, you’ll learn to leave him eventually and spread your own wings with pride.

the both of you were better off without him. 

satoru was nothing but a chaotic storm that left nothing but wreck and destruction in its wake. it was an absolute guarantee that he would tear the two of you apart, create more than surface level crack in the crust of the world you two have created together. he’s just no good, nothing good ever comes of him. 

but the love he has for you, building in slow stacks between the gaps in his rib cage, is addictive — much like that buzz from weed or the stale taste of a cigarette on his tongue. he’ll never have enough of you, and that very fact is what makes satoru gojo the most vile human he’s ever known. 

he’d rather die than give you up. rather tear you apart from your brother than let you go.

the admission to himself makes the play boy’s stomach turn and twist wrongly, the air in his lungs turning bitter and clogging up his throat. gojo’s hand slams against the door of his car, fumbling to wind down the window and feel the cool bite of cold against his skin. 

“p-pull over,”  satoru whispers, more so to himself in the back of the vehicle than to anyone else. his nails dig into the rough skin on his palms, and the blood rushes through his ears — louder and louder. painfully so. 

the driver looks to his master in the rear view mirror — concern sketched upon his features. “but master satoru, we’re just a few minutes away—“ 

“i said, fucking pull over!” gojo damn near screams in reply, throwing a piercing blue gaze at his poor driver. his head throbs heavily with guilt so by the time the car comes to a screeching halt, satoru’s close to throwing up on the sidewalk. “s-shit.”

the bile tastes like soured guilt in his mouth — but nothing comes. he’s sure he looks like a fool, half hanging out of his mercedes, pale as the silvering moon with the indication that  he’s going to be sick. 

“satoru,” his driver speaks to him tenderly, like a loving father would to his child. a comfort gojo never had the luxury of. “it’s not too late to go back home, i can have one of the maids ring suguru to let him know you won’t be in attendance. you don’t look your best.” 

the white haired man’s ragged breaths as he stands hands on knees in the middle of the road accompany the late night ambience — rushing cars and sirens, heels clattering against concrete pavement and groups of people laughing away. the sounds ring loud in his ear, overloading gojo and his guilty conscience until there’s a warm hand on his shoulder. 

his driver, reassuring him once again. 

“it’s okay, satoru. just breathe.” 

the statement somehow brings him back to present day, along with a heavy breath of frosty air. his driver rubs his back in smooth circles until satoru is able to stand to his full height — less queasy looking than he was before. 

“i’d like to go,” he clears his throat, replacing his woozy expression with his signature bright eyed, sparkly-white toothy grin. “i made a promise, to the people i love.” 

with a firm nod and gentle smile, satoru’s driver gives his employer one last firm pat on the back before returning to his position behind the wheel — ready to make the rest of the commute to the restaurant. 

it takes a moment for satoru to slip back into the car — and during that time, he reflects. he may be selfish, he may be an asshole, he may be sick and twisted right down to the core. but at the centre of all that, is his compassionate love for you and he would do anything to prove it. 

even if it means losing it all, just to be with you in the way you’ve always wanted.

satoru gojo is not as brave as he thought. 

the rest of his car ride to the restaurant is uneventful — aside from the silver haired playboy’s random musings. the pep talk he gives to himself while tugging at the tight loop of his neck tie. everything will be okay.

it’s just dinner with you, and dinner with the getos. an event that he’s attended dozens of times over the years because suguru is his best friend and your parents love him. 

except this isn’t just dinner. 

this is make or break. 

should he choose to make things official with you, it would shatter the very foundation of his relationship with suguru. the same if satoru chooses to ignore what you’re asking of him. 

the nerves unload on satoru as he jogs up the smooth marbled steps at the forefront of the restaurant — hesitating when the concierge on duty holds open the mahogany framed and glass panelled door. he can’t bring himself to go inside and face the consequences of his own actions over the last two years. 

just as he spins on his heels to run away, chelsea boots clicking against with every step — the sky starts to rumble and unleashes its heavenly tears upon the land below. rain.

gojo’s car has long since vacated the fancy premises — leaving him with no true escape home. he could just call a cab, call his driver, but duty and respect for his family away from family, for you, roots him to his spot outside of the restaurant. 

he spends the next twenty minutes with a rolled up joint between his ever glossy, plush pink lips.

the weed does nothing to mollify gale force winds and torrential downpour set heavy over gojo’s mind. his entire body is tense with apprehension, spreading cold from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. the weather itself causes gojo’s fingers to go stiff as he inhales the addictive fumes, a burnt amber crowning the other end of his blunt.

“since when did you smoke, satoru?”

satoru coughs and the smoke goes down wrong, he looks up at his intruder with bleary eyes that soften once his gaze lands. “started two years ago,” he says to suguru as his smile turns wistful. “couldn’t find a real reason to quit.” 

the reality of his words are masked by the sound of heavy rain hitting the ground, the tops of cars and the restaurant’s outer steps. it’s you, that satoru can’t seem to quit. 

if he dares to stop, he’ll go mad with withdrawals and a nicotine patch won’t fix him. 

“you really should stop getting addicted to the things that are bad for you.” suguru scolds his best friend, sidling up beside him. 

like you, his sister? 

satoru doesn’t deserve the aura of his warmth as they stand with one another. “yeah? no shit.” 

the younger of the pair holds his hand out for the joint, which gojo passes easily. the city bustle fills up the silence between them — occupying every particle of air that buzzes with kinetic energy in that very same space. silences shared between gojo and geto were not uncommon, they were the type of friends who could communicate a million words to one another in a blink of an eye. but tonight’s soundlessness feels tense, thick with an uncomfortable awkwardness that neither of them know the source of. 

be that as it may, satoru has always been able to mask his true feelings from the world and so he turns to his old friend slyly, giving him a casual punch to the shoulder while they smoke their worries away. 

“what’s got you so wound up, suguru?” satoru asks, playing coy and covering up. 

beady, blackened and tired eyes settle on his taller frame — trying to read the small print that codes each and every one of satoru gojo’s actions and behaviours. to the untrained eye (or anyone who hadn’t been practically raised by his side) gojo’s being his normal and cocky, maybe even obnoxious, self. though, to suguru — a man who’s been beside gojo through it all… there’s something missing. 

a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit.

suguru plays along, moving his chess piece along the board of the game satoru is playing. he’ll figure it out eventually. 

letting out a puff of glacier grey fumes — the older geto sibling shrugs and taps the ashes onto the floor. narrowly missing gojo’s expensive patent boots.

“she’s grown up so fast,” he admits slowly, with a husky chuckle — probably from the smoke. “i’m scared she won’t need me anymore.” suguru’s voice is usually so full of endearment and pride when he speaks of you but this time, all dazzling and pure emotion seems to be lost on him. 

the very notion scares satoru. 

he swipes the splif back to relieve the queasy feeling stirring deep in his gut once again. “she can take care of herself.” gojo mutters, coolly.

“i know that.” suguru replies, smoothly and icily. “but if she doesn’t need me anymore, she won’t listen to me anymore. there’ll be no one to warn her of the people who’ll take advantage of that. her ability to care for herself. i set a high standard for her, i don’t want anyone to claim they can do a better job than me.”

your brother is protective above all things, he’d rather kill a man than let you get hurt. satoru finds the sentiment both admirable and terrifying all at once. 

“you’ve done enough, man, how about you let her go?”

suguru turns snarky in response, teeth bared like a wild animal protecting its young. “maybe you’ll never understand the fickle connections of love…but adopted or not she is my little sister.” he asserts, glaring daggers into satoru’s skull as he smokes with a hand covering his mouth nonchalantly. hiding the quiver of his lip that shows how much he cares about this. about possibly screwing your life up. “i’d rip the heavens apart for her if she asked, i love her that much. i often wonder if any person would do the same for her.”

little does suguru know…satoru would do the absolute same for you and more. he would kill, he would die, he would destroy all for you. until he was bloody and raw. anything it took for you to keep on smiling up at him like that, he would do. and suguru would never know, because he’d end the world if he knew it was satoru that had defiled you. 

satoru is such a coward. 

neither of the men most important in your life speak after that, though, they continue sharing the joint until it’s nothing but burt orange ashes and fumes laying across their minds. the concierge does butt in at some point, kindly (and with a tight lipped smile) pointing out that the restaurant is three michelin stars and that smoking isn’t preferred. 

satoru hates rules, so he spits on the steps and chucks the blunt to the floor — stomping it out.

suguru only chuckles at his best friend’s antics, smacking him upside the head as he jogs up to the grand entrance — gojo’s hands in his pockets, his once crisp tuxedo messy with burnt ash and rain water. gojo stops just shy at of the sleek, pearlescent moulded handles and throws his mop of silver hair back over his shoulder.

“are we doing this thing or what, suguru?”

they share a familiar, all knowing smile. 

“yeah, satoru. let’s do this.” 

without even knowing, that everything is about to change.

you’ve always been a little nervous, especially without a grounding presence beside you.

for many years… your brother, suguru, was that presence. he knew all the best ways to keep you calm — like that little tune he taught you to tap onto your desk during quiet exam hauls, or that method of breathing so your lungs were so full of air and you stopped holding it before public speaking. suguru always knew best. 

but nowadays, you don’t find yourself seeking serenity in him. as if you were at a crossroads, your head always turns in the direction of someone you love with almost every corner of your heart. that someone being satoru. he may use you, he may fuck you and fling you to the side when he’s done but he grounds you. even when he isn’t trying to. in the subtle way that he toys with the beads braided into the ends of your hair while you sleep over at his place, or grabs at your waist in public spaces so that you don’t get lost or bullied by paparazzi. in the way that gojo makes you breakfast after bruising you and breaking your back beyond belief the night before — just to make it up to you.

satoru cares, even if it doesn’t look like it, he does.

and it almost makes you sick to your stomach — the thought of you craving his attention to that level.

your dainty fingers and blush-tone acrylic nails toy with the heavy pendant draped around your neck — the one that suguru gifted you. he had told you it shines under every light at every angle possible and you’re sure with the crystal chandeliers above, it’s blinding. 

“stop that,” your mother scolds you warmly, in her own charming way of easing your nerves. “you’ll break that big expensive gift from your brother.” you cast a glance upwards from its fixation on the pearl white tablecloths and glinting silver table settings to focus on your parents. as per usual, your father is too engrossed in reading every detail of the menu to notice your discomfort and nerves, while your mother can’t seem to look away. reading you to filth, much like suguru does. 

her efforts do nothing to help calm you down. 

your hand shifts, taking to twirling the cutlery instead. she sighs, and you shrink in on yourself — trying to take up as little space as possible. “‘m sorry,” comes your hushed little bleat.

“never you mind.” she comments, giving you a once over before digging through her purse for a napkin — no doubt to dab at the corner of your mouth like a mother usually does. “i don’t know why you’re so skittish. your exams are over and you’ve graduated! tonight is about celebrating you! it’s just your brother, his friend, and us.” 

that’s just it. it’s your brother and his friend. neither of them are aware of what might go down tonight. 

you wished you hadn’t told satoru that you want his commitment — maybe then you wouldn’t be scared shitless in a tight dress at an upscale restaurant downtown. maybe then you wouldn’t be dreading satoru’s decision or suguru’s reaction to that decision. 

you only wished you weren’t so selfish, to crave love from more than one person in two completely different ways. 

the love from your brother should be enough, he’s only gone and done so much for you. 

but it isn’t. and that makes you feel sick. 

you want to be loved in the way that plays out in movies. where the guy chases the girl through an airport just to confess how much he needs her. or stands in the thunderous rain to tell her how sorry he is. 

you want that from satoru. deep down, you know he wants it too. 

the only thing that stands in your way is the affection that radiates so strongly off of your brother — like an umbrella protecting you from heaven’s downpours. 

it’s been almost twenty minutes since your brother left his seat at your side to retrieve satoru from…well, wherever he is — like a stray cat picked up by a caring and kind-hearted stranger. you don’t know how’ll act when you see them together, side by side but you do know that ever second ticks by has you angstier and angstier. 

the waiter has come by at least four times, asking if you’re ready to order, ready for drinks, ready to be served. “no,” you mumble politely on his fifth return — anxious to the point where your grip on your sterling silver fork has your knuckles turning white. “we’re waiting for two others, we’re waiting for—“

“there you two are! we were starting to think the wind had swept you up!” your mother coos as she always does whenever she sets her sights on her favourite two boys. she stands, immediately moving to wrap her arms around suguru’s taller, broad frame as if she hasn’t seen him in a millennia. “suguru! you had your poor family worried sick.” 

your father doesn’t look up from the menu and you’re sure that you look a frazzled mess — but all your brother does is offer up his signature, delightful closed-eye smile, squeezing your mother back in reply. “sorry, ma. i got caught up with looking for this one.” he says warmly, jabbing a thumb into satoru’s side. 

satoru hasn’t looked away from you since he’d arrived at the table. his gaze even follows you as you stand.

he can’t help it, you’re beautiful. 

the dress that you wear hugs every dip and curve of your body, the satin material of your corset and tulle of your skirt in a shade of baby blue to rival his eyes contrasting perfectly against your deep skin. you’ve done your hair in the way that he likes, curled the ends of your braids with loose ones framing the roundness of your youthful face. if you were the last thing satoru gojo ever saw, surrounded by angelic light, he would be happy. he would be content. 

for you, satoru looks like a god amongst mankind. even though his clothes are askew and lightly washed with rain, he’s still perfect to you. pearlescent droplets coat is luxurious white lashes as they flutter against his pale ivory cheeks. his air, all the same, is pushed back from his forehead — exposing those dreamy eyes to you. they hold so much love, interwoven between each greyish-navy fleck dotted against his pupils. love that is all saved up for you.

a bright and angelic grin breaks out across your hot chocolate fenty glossed lips — almost blinding to the regular man but the most beautiful thing to satoru. the waiter prompts you, asking if you’re ready to order once more, to which you respond without looking “yes, thank you.” in a breathy, wispy tone.

jumping between both yours and gojo’s line of sight, your mother pops the bubble that you’re both in. “satoru gojo! is that you?” she squeals with a fond tone. “why do you look so skinny? have you been eating properly?”

your lover squirms like a child being picked apart as your mother reaches up to pinch his cheeks. 

“leave the boy alone, dear, i’m sure he’s been eating just fine.” comes your dad’s uninterested quip. “satoru my boy, how have you been?” 

you sink back into your seat patiently while satoru greets your parents — the charm rolling off of him in radiating heat waves. “i’ve been eating ma, though i think you’d have a fit if you saw what i was eating,” he kisses your mother’s cheek softly while she laughs so hard you think she might pop, and sets a firm hand on your father’s shoulder. “i’m good old man, thanks for askin’! hope you’re cutting back on the liquor.” 

“oh son, you know i don’t do any of that anymore!”

satoru scoffs kittenishly, gesturing between your dad and himself. “yeah, and i’ve stopped being the family disappointment!”

your parents love satoru. you can tell by the way they helplessly fall for his bravado and charisma. he’s magnetising — it’s hard not to fall for satoru in all of the ways possible to mankind. if he wasn’t so afraid of taking you seriously, you can’t help but think that he’d fit right into your family unit of four. it would be perfect, he would be perfect…as your boyfriend. your man. always by your side without hiding in and calling for you from the shadows. 

if only you weren’t such a coward. 

if only he weren’t so afraid.

if only…

suguru clears his throat in faux annoyance, pushing his best friend down by his wide-spanning into an unoccupied seat at the round table so that he’ll stop making a scene — despite how cheery it is. “behave yourself satoru! at least until i order the drinks.” your brother laughs, ruffling the moonlight locs on gojo’s head. he turns to you, face so bright and full of love. “any preferences, little sister?”

“moscato!” you nod without hesitation. you like things on the sweeter side.

“i knew you’d say that,” suguru affirms, taking his leave from the table. “i’ll see if the staff have anything special for you in the back.”

if only suguru wasn’t your older brother. 

maybe then you wouldn’t feel such nauseating levels of guilt as gojo swaps chairs to be one closer to you. maybe then you wouldn’t have to keep your face plain and your body rigid as familiar, pale and slender fingers danced up the inner thigh of your dress — beneath the cupcake skirt, to settle comfortingly and dangerously on it’s apex. maybe then you wouldn’t have to try so hard to control yourself around satoru and especially in front of your parents — who have taken to digging through the fancy menu together while the buzz of the table dies down in suguru’s absence.

you’re so nervous that you fear someone might hear the loud thump of your heart against its cage and the blood rushing through your ears — you don’t even want to look at satoru because you know that with how close he is, you’ll fall apart the minute that you do.

but then he squeezes your thigh, in a tender and affectionate gesture — tracing a heart over the blistering hot patch of your beautiful brown skin just to calm you down. because satoru gojo knows you like no other man. better than anyone, better than your brother even.

“you look…” he starts, his usually husky voice barely above a whisper. the words coagulate in his throat — held back by tethers of spinelessness and debilitating fear. “you’re stunning, sweetheart.” gojo compliments you quietly, the sweet string of words nipping at your ears softly — his long, lavish lashes tickling at the crown of your head from how close he’s gotten by leaning down.

if you turn your head now, you might even kiss him and every fibre of your being prickles with anticipation — desperate to do so. “you’re not so bad yourself, satoru.” 

his laugh fills your lower tummy with warmth. your heart rate picks up too.

“i mean it,” gojo reiterates. he’s desperate for you to look at him, for you to touch him. instead you bury your nose in an à la cart menu that you’re not even truly reading because the circumstances don’t allow for kissing, and holding and touching. not until satoru grows a pair and tells suguru the truth about your relationship and his feelings for you. “i’ve never seen anyone more beautiful.”

you can feel the heat from his breath coast across the surface of your cheek like a condensed mist over the warmed layer of seawater. it caresses you softly, sending shivers down your spine. “you look rather handsome too, satoru.” you joke, poking the hungry bear in its den by tilting your head ever so slightly in his direction. 

he smiles like he always does right before he kisses you, slow and sexy, but the sweet moment is interrupted by the sound of heavy glass borderline slammed on the table — right into the crevice between yourself and gojo. 

you dart apart, hearts racing and mind frazzled, only to find that suguru has returned with the wine he requested specifically for you. his face is hard set when you look up at him, his obsidian eyes darkened with suspicion and fear strikes you in the chest — he knows something, he suspects even more.

“sugu what are you—!”

your older brother lifts his chin with narrowed, cat like eyes. “i want to make a toast.” he announces, slicing through your words with a butcher's knife so sharp it makes both you and gojo squirm uncontrollably. like children being scolded for breaking the rules.

both of your parents put down their menus, excited, happy to be with the children they raised (including gojo) — they mistake your brother’s interruption for enthusiasm to celebrate your achievements. 

“suguru, we’ve hardly ordered anything!” 

“it’s never too late to start the festivities, ma.” he responds with a sly tone and slips into gojo’s previously empty seat to open the bottle of pink moscato. the cork popping makes you jump skittishly, and gojo’s hand slips away from your thigh underneath the table. 

the loss of his touch reminds you that as long as your brother is around, you’ll never be anything more than a little secret to satoru.

liquid gold in the shade of dusted rose pink is passed around the table in crystal glasses — raised in honour of you. suguru says your name, the bulk of his voice full of pride.

“a toast to you, my little sister.” 

you smile, tight lipped but warm — the guilt rushing back you. 

but then gojo’s hand returns to the apex of your thigh, smoothing over the skin under your dress to calm you down once more.

“and everything that you have achieved. congrats on graduating, squirt.” satoru finishes suguru’s toast lovingly, approved by your parents who break out into a round of applause before flagging down a waiter to get the real celebrations underway. they tell you to order whatever you would like, but you take to downing the crisp, sweet flavours of your wine first.

you chug the beverage like it’s cheaply made beer from the college parties you’d been to — the ones satoru stopped you from going to, the ones that you avoided out of loyalty to him where you sought out the commitment he wasn’t ready to give you, a light buzz simmers over your brain, dulling down your high-alert senses and you hope that the alcohol makes you feel anything but present in the moment so that you miss the tense look that gojo and geto share beside you. 

suguru is politely seething and satoru is playing pretend — acting as if there’s nothing wrong or nothing between you. your lover swirls his wine around in his glass, the pink tinted elixir sloshing over its edges before he takes a casual slip, ignoring your brother’s obvious dissatisfaction with satoru’s little addition to his toast.

“satoru.”

you gulp and fixate your gaze on other happenings deeper into the restaurant. your parents make their order. satoru squeezes your thigh once more.

“suguru.” 

could this be it? the moment that gojo tells the truth and the moment that your eldest sibling accepts what you have with his best friend? you twitch in your seat as the confrontation brews and the thunder of their clashing personalities and morals begin to strike. all suguru has to do is ask if he suspects something, and all satoru has to do is confirm the truth. say that he loves you, that you’re his girlfriend while your brother accepts it and is happy for you. 

you wish. that would be an ideal world. 

“you’re in my seat, satoru,”  is what geto settles on, the crescendo of their confrontation falling flat — missing a key note. “you’re sitting next to my sister. i was supposed to sit there.”

“really?” all satoru does is grin, and if you looked close enough, you could see the mischief dancing between the navy flecks in his stunning eyes. 

the waiter comes to take yours, your brother’s and your lover’s orders (after tending to your parents for most of the interaction) — not giving suguru any time to protest his best friend’s faux confusion.

gojo takes to swirling his moscato once more — daring to look your brother in his eye over the rim of his crystal glass. 

“i hadn’t even noticed.” 

the rest of the actual dinner seems to go smoothly after that.

your boys tone down their bickering in favour for scaring down tiny Michelin star starters — micro herbs and all. they’re still so childish, even as they sit either side of you, picking from one another’s plates in the same way that they did back when you were kids. you find yourself relaxing as the night progresses too — maybe this isn’t so bad and things could work out between the three of you. suguru and satoru have been joined at the hip for as long as you can remember, a girl (one that they both knew), let alone suguru’s sister wouldn’t come between the bond that they had. 

by the time the main dishes are served, you have enough alcohol in your system to feel nothing but a pleasant buzz in place of the nerves that once contaminated your bloodstream. you had nothing to be worried about, everyone was getting along, laughing and smiling while your parents indulged the three of you in drunken repeats of famed moments from your childhood. 

you do your best to listen in, though the story about how suguru and satoru pulled out one of your wobbly teeth in third grade is one that you’ve heard too many times to count. it’s sweet though, that your parents are able to reminisce like this while you’re all together…especially since suguru works long hours so far from home and you’ll be off to a new city by the time the month ends. 

even just having satoru there makes the night feel complete. there’s so much love to go around. 

there would be even more love if suguru knew about how you and satoru truly felt for one another. 

you’re only sucked back into the bustling conversation when geto pinches your side — jutting his head in the direction of your mother so that you can give your attention to her next story. “oh honey!” she coos and you cringe, chugging back your latest glass of wine in order to prepare yourself for whatever embarrassment is about to come next. “do you remember when your poor brother threw his white laundry in with those cute red undies you brought — suguru was wearing pink for months!” 

the whole table bursts into obnoxious laughter, and you sink down into your seat. 

“mom! oh my god!” 

“i remember that,” your brother comments casually, gaze slinking over to his best friend in amusement. “satoru wouldn’t let me hear the end of it, told me i looked like a barbie doll. what were you even doing with underwear like that anyways.” 

“sugu, not you too!”

“now i remember the pink shirts but… the underwear? i would have loved to see the culprit.” safely says with a voice as sultry as it is silky smooth — sending a jolt of electricity down your spine until it fizzles out at your tailbone. he gets scolded by your parents (more so by mom) and earns himself a harmless glare from geto who’s been loosened up by alcohol but from you — you’re furiously humiliated. 

under the table, you lift a foot to stamp down hard on his own with your heel, but gojo is quick to react — instead dragging his foot up the length of your calf, inciting you to join him in an enticing game of footsie.

you slam your hands down on the table in surprise causing everyone to look your way before you sheepishly wave them off. “stop it, gojo.” you snarl through the cage of your gritted teeth. 

he clicks his tongue, delighted by how flustered you are. “i’m not doing anything, pretty girl,” he purrs shallowly into your ear. “c’mon now, pay attention to the story.” 

“it was a frilly little thing, far too inappropriate for someone her age.” your dad chimes in and gojo nods — lifting his foot higher and higher until you’re shuddering all over. you don’t even think to stop him. 

“mom, dad. please stop before i end it all.” you struggle to place your words in the correct order, distracted by gojo’s touch. you place your hands under your thighs, keen on controlling your squirming as they squish together ever so slightly. you just know that satoru is enjoying this and if you looked at him you’d see satisfaction evident all over his stupidly handsome face. he likes knowing how much of an effect he has on you, that it’s easy to make you writhe all for him. 

“sorry sweetheart, but they really were cute! i know you were just trying out new things. starting to act mature for your age.” 

satoru chimes in again, leaning in a little closer so that his breath just tickles the shell of your ear. “bet they looked even cuter on her.” 

squeaking in embarrassment, you kick your chair back until it screeches loudly across the floor in a weak attempt to put some distance between yourself and the man who’s practically torturing you. of course, your escape plan doesn’t work, because satoru keeps a strong grip on the bottom of your seat — dragging it forward, back under the table, and closer to him, that same hand now resting on the wooden frame beneath your locked knees. 

coughing to cut up the tension growing between the two of you, suguru cuts in. “not as cute as her diaper phase!” from there, everyone is distracted by gushing over even more embarrassing childhood memories of you as a baby. obviously, leading to some tears from your parents’ end — you’ve grown so much, come so far. it’s only natural that they’d be emotional on a night like this, one meant to celebrate your achievements.

what isn’t natural, is the fact that you’re three seconds away from jumping satoru gojo’s bones right in front of them. 

god, he drives you fucking insane. just from messing with you under expensive linen tablecloths too — his thumbs brush over your knees, your feet tangled together and if he leans over you anymore you might just turn your head and kiss him. 

you fight that urge to do so by grasping at the cool silver pendant around your neck — tapping your acrylic jelly nails against the fat sapphire gem at its centre. the jewellery feels like ice against the temperate surface of your skin, a dirty need starting to bubble and brew beneath it hotly. one that can only be satisfied by satoru gojo. 

the heat spreads to the back of your neck and under the collar of your dress, even warming the chain that hangs loosely around it. it could just be the alcohol, but you know it’s something more. it’s an itch you can’t scratch on your own and a fire you can’t put out without help. suddenly the metal of your pendent is warm to the touch and slippery between your fingers whilst you continue to play with it in newfound sweaty hands. 

a subtle gasp slips past your chocolate glossed lips when the chain snaps somewhere and the rest of the metal slides between your buttery fingers, your pendant gathers at your bosom before dropping to the floor with a clatter. feeling around your neck for your precious gift, you let out a louder whine upon realising where it’s gone. suguru spares you a moment of his attention, concern drawn against the gentle slopes of his features. 

“you okay, little one?” 

“y-yeah,” you exhale slowly, trying to calm the anxiety that fires across your neurons. “i think i um… i dropped my necklace under the table.” 

an award winning beam slots itself perfectly on your brother’s lips as he chuckles under his breath. “you’re so clumsy, need my help?”

“just keep mom and dad distracted for me? it’s just under the table, i’ll be back for their next story before anyone notices.” you attempt to joke in order to appease him, you don’t need suguru to get a closer look at how wildly turned on you are nor the fact that gojo is sitting comfortably with his hand between your knees — inches away from where you need him most, where he’s been so many times behind your brother’s back. 

not to mention the fact that you’re still fucking playing footsie.

suguru shrugs and drops the subject, tuning back into your father’s rendition of your first skatepark experience. the one where you’d tried to copy satoru and suguru and attempted a trick on your chunky bratz scooter and went flying off the ramp. ouch.

you dip beneath the table cloth like you’re diving back under the surface of water, fishing around for your lost and precious pirate’s treasure. you can’t tell if satoru’s moved his hand, you don’t feel it slyly ghosting over the insides of your thighs while you lean forward and search for your necklace… not that it should matter, it’d be far from appropriate to have his long, slender fingers brushing up against your panties from under your skirts. it wouldn’t be right for that to escalate, for said fingers to push past your entrance and brush up against the spot satoru knows is guaranteed to make you scream. it would be immoral for you to even think about him sliding his cock into your wet, needy cunt too. somewhere secret, somewhere—

oh!

you giggle with triumph when your fingertips graze the cold metal decor of your necklace… however, when you move to grab it, you touch something else. something warmer. you touch him. 

with baited breath, you let your bambi eyes carefully trail up to gojo’s face — drinking in the hazy look that he gives you, the swirl of desire taking a flame in his brilliant, cerulean eyes. just by being under his gaze you feel as though you’re drowning and burning alive all at once. satoru is the one who moves first, taking your smaller hand in his large one before he turns it over — palm facing the sky and places your sapphire pendant inside of it. 

then, one by one, he closes your fingers around your brother’s gift and then brings your closed fist up to his plush lips, pressing a wet kiss to your knuckles as you gasp. “quiet, baby. wouldn’t want anyone to know what you’re up to down here…” 

his words die off, licking his lips slowly, stare predatory while it trails all over your body. “but ‘toru,” you mewl enticingly, keeping your tones hushed under the table. the sweet, dulcet sound makes his eyes flutter shut and body quiver with a wave of hunger, his sexual appetite for you growing by a tenth fold . “i need you.” you never make this easy for him. if someone were to take a peek beneath the table cloth, they would see the tension brewing between you both and put two and two together. 

you’d be discovered before having the chance to tell everyone yourself. 

time is ticking, your guests might start to grow suspicious if you don’t make a move and goad satoru into solving the ache between your thighs. so you jump the gun, grabbing his collar and tug him forward for a sly, sloppy yet quick kiss. “i won’t say it again after this, ‘toru,” comes your cheeky pant. “i need you.”

satoru chokes.

with that, you withdraw from your scared little bubble below the table and stand straight up — a dazzling and guiltless gin on display for your entire family to see. “i’m going to the bathroom,” you explain sweetly. “need to fix my pendant ‘n powder my nose. i’ll be back.” 

your family stops chattering briefly to acknowledge your wish, but as you leave — suguru stands too and grabs your wrist. “need me to help? i know the clasp can be finicky. i should have gotten you something easier to use—“

god bless suguru, your loveable brother, ever the cockblock. 

“that’s alright man, i’ve got her covered,” satoru suddenly appears behind you, the sweltering heat of his heaving chest singeing through the fabric of your dress. he places a hand on the small of your back, grinning with a charming spark to his eyes — deliberately masking “you should keep an eye on your parents, you know how they get when they’ve had too much to drink.” 

now, it’s not that geto doesn’t trust his best friend… after all, gojo has been a constant presence in your life ever since the three of you were kids. it’s just that sometimes, a feeling of unease stirs within suguru at the mere thought of you being alone together — it’s like one of those gut feelings you get before something goes terribly wrong. 

yet, as usual, satoru is right. if no one keeps an eye on geto’s parents, who knows what trouble they’ll get into on their own. 

“alright, fine. just don’t take too long, there’s only so many stories they can tell before dessert.” suguru reminds you plainly, as if not to assume the worst. he gives you both an approving nod, before letting you go. “and satoru, wait outside for her?” 

the white haired man snickers, a languid and jeering smirk slowly tugging on the corners of his mouth. “you got it, suguru!” 

he even adds a salute for effect, allowing you to lead him away from the table and towards your gateway of sin.

the uneasy feeling in suguru’s stomach intensifies as he watches you both walk further and further away. 

they say that a mirror is the window to your soul, reflecting how you truly feel on the inside. 

the girl staring back at you in the squeaky clean glass looks nothing like the little girl suguru helped to raise. her soul is impure, blackened by sin and the dark desire for human contact — the salacious dance and ritual between scorching hot bodies and saliva tainted tongues. she laughs at you over rushing tap water from the bathroom sink and calls to you like a siren’s song, inviting you to give into her — let her take the lead on the temptations plaguing your mind. 

why did you even suggest this? 

you’d been bold, hinted to satoru that you wanted him to devour you, ruin you in the bathroom of the restaurant your loving, kind older brother had picked especially to celebrate you. you knew better than this, you wanted better than this. you no longer wanted to be just a quick fuck to satoru gojo. 

you wanted to be his girlfriend. 

that’s what you’d asked him to do tonight. to make you his in front of everyone who loved you. but here you were, slutting yourself out for him like you always do. 

over the water pouring down the drain, you pick up on the sound of knocking at the bathroom door — prompting you to twist the tap and cut off the flow of water. unlike the flow of lustful hormones that shoot through your bloodstream and straight to your clit.

a new kind of excitement blossoms in your chest once you turn around to unlock the door — suguru would hate to see you so thrilled at the concept of doing something so wrong. you return to your position in front of the bathroom sink before your lover enters, toying with the silver chain on your pendant again — ignoring the burning feeling you get as it weighs down your palm.

the burn of underlying guilt.

“i can help with that.”

satoru purrs seductively as he enters the bathroom, gesturing to your pendant. you don’t turn to look at him but keep your eyes trained in his movements in the mirror. even when he isn’t touching you, you feel like you can’t breathe. his presence overshadows your own, shrinking you down into a tiny toy that sings oh so pretty for him whenever he wants.

you hear the lock click shut behind you. anticipation hums through the air like an electric current.

“the clasp is a little tricky,” comes your dreamy sigh, high pitched and needy — earning you a choked groan from your lover. “i can’t do it on my own, not without help.”

the next time gojo speaks, he’s right behind you — chest pressed to your back, arms either side of your hips and large hands on the bathroom counter, his head practically nestled into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. wisps of snowfall like hair tickle at your bare skin while warm breath causes goosebumps to rise across its surface. 

“then let me fix it for you,” satoru suggests enticingly — keeping up this little act, pretending to be raunchy strangers, while your fingers brush against one another and he takes the jewellery from you. you straighten your back, hold your breath and nod cautiously as he brings it up to your neck from behind. your eyes catch each other’s in the mirror, his darkened with devoir all while he offers you a enthralling, toothy smirk. “relax, pretty girl. i don’t bite…”

except he does. if satoru is a hunter, a lion, then you are nothing but a sacrificial lamb that serves to be his prey. if he really wanted you, he could take your dainty neck between his vicious jaws and snap it — you wouldn’t even mind…because you’d let satoru do anything to you so long as it meant having all his focus be on you. 

“lift your chin for me.” he commands you huskily, nipping at the shell of your ear. “good girl.” satoru continues to drawl, extending the ‘o’ sound in his words when you follow his instructions obediently — tilting your head back so that he can adjust your necklace to sit perfectly in place. “such a good girl f’me.” 

when his fingers fix the clasp and touch teasingly at the nape of your neck — you find yourself instinctively pushing back against gojo’s lap, the curve of your fleshy ass sweeping over the slight tent beginning to form in his expensive designer slacks. slacks that you know you’re going to destroy before the night meets its end. 

“t-there we go,” gojo doesn’t dare step back after finishing up with your necklace, enjoying the sight of you slightly bent over the counter as you grind your hips back on him painfully slow — testing the waters. “fuck lil’ lady…what’s this all about, hm? tryna thank me for doin’ such a good job, helpin’ you out?” his hands slip over your own as they rest by the sink, lacing your fingers together while satoru puts some weight on you — looming over you as he starts to rut forward and meet you in the middle of this raunchy bump and grind. “s-shit…keep…keep throwin’ it back on me like that.”

“we don’t…we don’t have long, satoru. hah, fuck!” you sigh breathlessly, rocking back and forth on your man eagerly and clenching around nothing when his erection catches on your budding clit. satoru’s lips ascend on your neck with careful thought, using their plumpness to shift the strap of your dress to the side and reveal more of you to his greedy, deep blue eyes. they’re wet on your skin, perhaps he’s been licking them in anticipation, hot at the very tip of your cervical spine — but he can’t leave marks, not unless he wants your brother to see.

satoru trembles behind you, lazily dragging his tongue to the sweet spot just behind your ear — leaving a shimmering trail of possession across your skin. “i know baby, i know,” he says almost instantly, delayed by tasting you on his tongue. suddenly, you feel a wetness against your cunt that isn’t your own — you’re already so wet that the seat of your panties are practically glued to your fonts, but this… this is satoru. his dick dribbles pathetically with precum, gearing up to fuck. to breed. satoru grows angstier by the second, one hand letting go of yours to manhandle you back onto his stiff hard on, his breath much heavier against you than before. “but it feels so good doesn’t it? just wanna keep…my cock…nestled against you like this.” 

pride flutters through all four chambers of your heart simply because you know that you’re the only one who can get satoru gojo to act like such a slut. he’s so desperate for your pussy it doesn’t even matter how he takes it, just as long as it’s his. 

only you get to reduce gojo to a needy mess, soft pink fanning across his nose and cheeks as he humps you from behind like a wet, mangy dog in rut. he circles his hips, pushing them forward so that his throbbing length meets your sticky, fat panty clad folds in a constant motion — his needy moans like music to your ears. 

“i wanna fuck you,” you huff impatiently, using your strength to push gojo away from you just long enough to turn around. he follows your lead, hiking you up to sit on the bathroom counter before you wrap your legs around his tiny waist and squeeze him close. “gonna fuck me, ‘toru? or do i have to — fuck…do it myself.”

now that you’re facing each other, you can see just how wrecked the man is. his eyelids grow heavy, long and lavish white lashes weighed down by mirth. gojo pants, his tongue doused with spit lolled over his bottom lip with a hankering urge to kiss you. “jeez,” he simpers in awe, impressed with how controlling you’re being this time around — squeezing your hips to control the flow of you grinding back and forth on him. “at least kiss a guy first.” 

grinning, your fingers surge upwards from the counter and into the depths of white rooted hair. you tug gojo down to meet you halfway and before he can even register it — your lips are roughly slotted together, bruisingly close and your tongue laps tracks into the hot cavern of his mouth. the kiss quickly turns sloppy, needy, spit is easily exchanged between synchronised moving lips while your noses become neighbours and your lungs burn from how desperately they need oxygen.

you don’t want it, you think. you don’t need it, you say to yourself — hardly pulling away from gojo as you both suck in a much needed breath. you’re back on one another in a heartbeat, drowning in one another while his practised hands traverse up the curves and dips of your body. they settle at your throat, a thumb gently pushing against its centre just to test you. a dark chuckle reverberates in satoru’s chest when you whine, back arching up to meet him and your eyes growing misty.

“how’s that for a kiss?” you whine against his wet mouth, yanking at gojo’s roots again. the action earns you a grunt in response — blissful, low and predatory. his hips jump up too, tucking his swelling cock into the snug pocket of your puffy folds.

“think i want another,” he muses out loud, the chocolaty octaves of satoru’s voice making you shudder — liquid gold beginning to gather between your ravaged pussy lips. using his grip on your throat, the silver haired man pulls you closer — his perfect white teeth sinking into the delicious swell of your bottom lip before he tugs it away from you salaciously. it’s barely enough to quell the spark of hunger spreading throughout all four limbs of his body, hardly calming down the blood that rushes to his achingly hard dick as he rubs it against your increasingly soaked mound.

when your lips find each other again, they’re swollen, cherry red and raw — smacking against one another loudly over the sound of rustling clothes while you buck into one another. everything is so hot and heavy, you’re so wet and so sticky for satoru and your little rendezvous has barely begun. the way he sucks on your tongue, let’s you push it down his throat while his clothed seedy tip nudges your clit over and over again has you bouncing off the walls in your mind. you can’t think without thinking of all the ways to fuck satoru gojo. 

he’s on your mind all the time and you’re not sure if you want that to change. 

“can…oh man—can feel how wet you are through your fuckin’ clothes…” satoru hums in astonishment, releasing you from the prison of his lip lock with pretty pink swollen lips, allowing his head to drop to your shoulder in favour for sucking on it to pacify himself. he keeps his tip on your pleasure bud, revelling in the way you keenly pulse at the sensation. “oh fuck…so sticky.”  

your pussy flutters at his observation, even more so with how cute satoru sounds when he’s so needy for you. “satoru…” you mewl, stroking back tufts of his sweaty pale hair — though it hardly distracts him from feverishly fucking you over layers of fabric. “wanna suck you off, gojo. can i? wanna have you in my mouth.” 

satoru pauses, his breathing uneven and pulls away from his safe spot in your neck. “fuck…really? now?” 

you nod, tiny hands forcing their way between your heated bodies to toy with his belt, unbuckling it with practised ease. “right now.” 

“okay…fuck, okay.” satoru steps back and uses a grip on your hips to help you down onto your feet, watching with pride as you slowly descend to your knees in front of him. “oh baby. you’re so dirty. such a dirty little girl, mmm?” he grins, a little twisted. “show me how pretty you look on your knees for me.” 

you sit back on your haunches as satoru adjusts himself to lean back on the counter — looking up at him with sweet shiny eyes which occasionally shoot down to his throbbing hard cock as he manspreads in place. the sight makes your mouth water and 

“you’re staring, baby. go ahead and open your present.” he tilts his head with an air of condescension about him — teasing and taunting you through a faux pout, making you simper out for satoru. “come on now, what happened to my brave little girl? you wanted to suck me off so bad, where’s all that big talk now, huh?” satoru continues to leer down at you, his eyes darkening malignantly — the sapphire shine within them dimming with a raging storm cloud as if to block out the sun. “open that cute little mouth, lemme see it. don’t disappoint.” he cups your cheek, entire body bristling with joy and underlying pleasure when you keen into satoru’s touch like a good girl.

obediently, your lips part and mouth falls open — revealing ropes of saliva that tie your tongue to the roof of your mouth. it does something to satoru, it’s like a power trip to have you on your knees for him. you’ve got love in your eyes taking the form of heart-shaped pupils, as you admire him like he’s your god. and you want that god’s cock stuffed into your waiting, drooling mouth. 

you shouldn’t adore satoru, treat him as if he’s your lifeline. he’s the whole reason your family might fall apart, he keeps you hidden as if you’re a treasure only he is worthy of seeing. he doesn’t show you off, he chooses to use you for his own gain, he chooses you when there’s no one else left to turn to. your relationship with satoru has never been stable, but even now when he’s hanging above you — rosy cheeked and starry eyed about to fuck you in some bathroom, you still want him. you still love him. 

“don’t get lost in that pretty little head of yours baby,” gojo leans forward and brushes his thumb under the well of your wet lips and over your Cupid’s bow — smudging what's left of your gloss. “‘m gonna need you to think for a little while. only ‘bout me ‘n my cock. yeah?” his free hand that once had been abandoned on the countertop takes yours — guiding it over the bulge in his crisp dress pants, hissing when you start to rub at it on your own, your mouth still wide open for him. “you’re so pretty. feel that? you make me so hard that it hurts.”

you find yourself dazed and enchanted — panting, chest heaving as your hunger for him grows. “feel it, want you, ‘toru.” satoru thinks you’re so cute, cupcake dress poofing up against the cold floor as your tiny hand paws at him back and forth, back and forth and the little smile you give him when he pulsates beneath your talented little fingertips would be nearly enough to make him explode. 

“of course you do, baby. you want your reward.” gojo relents, giving in to you. he swoops down to give you one last kiss, barely ghosting his lips over your swollen ones to keep you on the edge — craving just a little bit more. he dangles the static pleasure of a kiss that you get over your brain in front of you like a carrot in front of a horse. he knows that if he keeps you that way, you’ll stay desperately in love with him, malleable into the perfect girl for him. 

it’s selfish and both of you know that.

you rub harder and harder at the outline of satoru’s shaft and scoot closer to rest your chubby cheek on his firm thigh. he sees the way your own squeeze together from under your dress, probably in an attempt to keep your arousal at bay while your hole slicks itself up — but he can smell you, sweet and potent like a flower in bloom. if he were to pull you up to his height and take you now, satoru is sure your panties would be soiled, ass cheeks and pussy lips coated in a layer of your opaque, honey-like arousal while it oozes directly from you.

that’s just how you are, a candied little mess for satoru gojo. it’s almost a fact and the very notion should be humiliating for you, should be shameful to you. if your brother were to ever find out how weak your resolve is when it comes to satoru, how you fall to your knees so easily for him  — then you might never be able to look him in the eye again. 

but isn’t that what you want? 

to have suguru know just how badly you’d fallen for his best friend? 

how you might fail to live without him? 

all night all you’ve been thinking about is satoru telling your brother the truth — but here you are, locked in a bathroom ready to worship this man while you hide from your entire family. from reality. 

because you’re happiest in this bubble with gojo and you’re sure he is too — he can have you in all the ways he’s ever wanted and you’d let him do it all to you too. yet again, you remain entirely unaware that from gojo’s point of view, you’re more than a pretty girl about to suck his pretty cock. you’re everything to him.

“come on baby, stop playin’ with me. baby please.” satoru whines petulantly into the sex tainted air that fizzles with suspense. his skin buzzes with every touch you give and a wicked chuckle resonates deep within his chest when you scoot closer on your knees — dragging the tip of your tongue over his dick print hesitantly. though the sound is cut short when you give his hard-on a tentative squeeze to text the waters, opaque and runny white smearing against the inside of satoru’s underwear. 

you adore how much he trembles, gripping your shoulder to steady himself since knows that you don’t like the idea of your head being pushed down on. even if it’s torture for him to be so patient — he’d never do anything you didn’t like. 

but it really is killing him, and you’re fully aware. he deserves to be punished like this, after everything he’s put you through — it doesn’t mean you’re not suffering yourself. circling your hips into the cold bathroom floor to get some friction yourself, beyond turned on at the sight of a breathless satoru gojo above you. 

“say that again.” you moan.

gojo’s head drops and he lets out a shaky breath as if he’s about to cry. “w-what?” 

“beg me again, then i’ll suck your cock.” you sneer up at your silver haired lover evilly just as your mouth meets his sticky clothed cockhead, the spit and heat from your mouth seeping through the layers of fabric in your way. “i wanna hear you moan for me, ‘toru. like you love me.” you press, switching to taking the man’s zipper between the rows of your teeth. 

satoru gojo has never been a stickler for the rules, whatever he does is usually for his own personal gain…but when you command him like that, he can’t help but to blindly stumble after you, hanging onto your every sugar-coated word. “fucking hell, please baby. need to feel your mouth on me…fuck, your tongue,” gojo rambles on weakly. “please, please, want it so bad i might fucking die.” he does some of the work for you, shedding his belt and causing it’s buckle to clink satisfyingly against your ears. 

satoru’s eagerness sends a shockwave of pleasure straight to your clit. your patience seems to be wearing thinner than his, for you jump forward like a cat on the prowl and peel back the remaining layers of satoru’s clothes without mercy for any of the fabrics. his gasps and muttered pleas coax you into the dark, addictive enigma that is satoru gojo — clouding your mind whilst setting your body on fire with hell flames.

you kiss at satoru’s slender hips the more his pants and boxers come down, twirling your tongue into the tufts of silver hair that form his happy trail too. a soft, honeysuckle chuckle from you resounds in the bathroom’s echoing chamber when you finally reveal enough of gojo’s cock for it to spring free — twitching as it’s exposed to fresh air. satoru is longer where he might lack thickness, though he’s chubby enough to keep you plugged full of his cum usually. his balls are plump and pink, heavy with a load that’s just waiting to be spent on you — evidence of his arousal taking the form of opaque pearls set at the tip of his dick.

speaking of, gojo’s cockhead burns bright red and shines as if it’s glossed and sticky like your lips — blue pulsating veins spiral around his flushed shaft, rivalling the shade of his eyes as he observes your next moves. you’re sure to make your touch tender as you take his entire length between your fingers, smoothing the supple pad of your thumb over his sensitive tip and rubbing the precum into it sweetly.

he smells so good, the musky scent of satoru’s cock and his arousal act like the fumes of a drug you know all too well — it takes over your consciousness and stream of thought, controlling your actions from then on. you feel everything all at once, your tongue writhing in place at the bottom of your mouth, satoru’s thighs trembling lightly and his cock throbbing while blood rushes through it. a haughty moan scratches at the ridges in his throat when you finally grip him properly — soft little hands dwarfed by his sheer length, palm brushing over the flushed forked veins that separate at the base. “j-jesus, beautiful,” satoru hisses, lips between his sharp white teeth. “you gotta give a little…drivin’ me insane with these little touches. please just suck it…please i’m beggin’ you—“ 

the air in his lungs grows thin like that at the peak of a mountain when you finally give in, dragging your lips over the cream gathering at his mushroomed cockhead before kitten-licking through its seedy slit in order to tease him a little more. opening up your mouth, you prepare to swallow satoru down, just as you have done many times before. you know everything he likes, what makes him tick, what has him cumming in seconds…however, just as your warm breath coasts along his shaft — he pulls back from your hold. 

“wait,” he says through a shudder. “you wanna smoke?” satoru pulls a joint from his crumpled pocket, licking his lips as he searches for its partner in crime — a lighter.

you frown, choosing to palm him instead of taking him into your mouth just yet. his cock jumps at the simple movement, leaking milky white against your knuckles, tainting your skin. “we’ll get into trouble, ‘toru.” you state like it’s obvious, speaking over the slick sound of your hand gently pumping satoru. your movements are aided by just how wet his cock is, fingers slipping and sliding up and down his girth whilst being guided by the thick globs of precum beading at his tip.

“s-since when did you care about the rules? you’re fucking me here, aren’t you?” his breathing falters as he shakily attempts to set the end of his joint alight. you don’t dare stop pleasuring your brother's best friend, even if there’s a nagging voice at the back of your head telling you that this is bad, that it’s all too much. “help me out for a sec, beautiful? hold this in your mouth while i light it.” satoru’s voice drops an octave as he shoves the splif between your arousal glossed lips (replacing the fenty that once spread their shine across them)  — he stares you down through his long, white lashes as he flicks the lighter at the end, setting fire to the rizzler. “thank you, little one.” 

the pet name makes your skin crawl and the weed in your mouth only amplifies that voice in your head. you should quit while you still can, you might be able to cope with the withdrawals then, and spend the rest of your life making it up to suguru for leading him astray. little one. the nickname he’d so fondly called you quickly becomes something you hate. it’s meaning changed easily by none other than satoru gojo. 

his power over you is still so strong despite his cock being at the mercy of your feather light grip and plush lips. once you set a steady rhythm to jerking gojo off and the joint burns dangerously close to your nose, he takes it from you and lovingly pats your cheek — placing it between his own lips before blowing a ring of smoke into the humid air.

satoru’s head collapses back against the mirror, his moonshine hair perfectly tousled despite being out of place. his locks stick to the icy surface of the glass, brought on by the cold sweat from your temperate mouth. the pair of you share a harmonious tune of wet whimpers and gargled gripes when you take your lover down your throat, sinking down on him until your nose nudges the prickliness of his happy trail. 

you flex your tongue, letting it swirl around satoru’s girth from the base to the tip. “o-oh fuck, baby!” he exclaims through a hybrid sound, a cross mix between a raspy chuckle and high pitched moan. shakily; satoru takes a puff of his joint as if to calm himself down. he looks down at you with a lustful, love laden gaze, dropping a hand to the top of your head — careful not to push on it as you work your mouth down on him. “don’t worry… ‘m not gonna fuck your mouth. know you don’t like that, just wanna…touch you.” it nearly kills him as well, the way you look up, with shiny eyes and full cheeks. “god, you take it so well, huh?”

of course, satoru had been the one to teach you how to suck dick back when you first started messing around two years ago. he’d coaxed you through it, teaching you step by step so you could get him off just how he liked. he made it so that you wouldn’t ever want to please a man the same way you pleased him — rewiring all the nerves in your brain to make sure it was only gojo that you wanted to deep throat. 

so you nod diligently in reply, swallowing down on gojo and letting out a gentle hum that causes dopamine to crackle along the insides of his skull.  hollowing your cheeks, your throat contracts around his thick length until you feel his bulbous tip dragging over your uvula — testing your own talented mouth. he’s so glad that he taught you how to do that, you down on your knees, entrapping him in the searing heat of your hellfire mouth. if suguru could see you now, he’d only be able to picture the spawn of the devil and it’s cruel how you don’t even care. after everything he’s done for you. 

your eyes flutter shut at the heaviness of satoru’s dick on your tongue, forcing you to taste the viscous precum that oozes down your throat in slow waves. the flavour is just as addictive as the scent of weed tangling with sex in the air — you don’t see yourself going to rehab either. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru with a lewd pop, filling your lungs with the oxygen they so dearly missed. you find yourself light headed for deep-throating him for that long but you also find it to be completely worth it — especially because of the look of pride satoru gives you. “such a pretty little cockslut,” he sucks his teeth, petting your head and brushing his hand over the square partings of your braids. “you look so happy sucking on my cock, baby. didn’t think you were gonna come up for air.”

in place of your mouth, your palm starts to stroke satoru at a steady pace — slickening up the centre of your hand. he’s so big between your hands you can only imagine how he’ll feel stretching you out later tonight, causing drool to pool in your mouth like a hot flash flood as you catch your breath. vivid azure eyes flutter at the salacious mix of pain and pleasure when you give satoru’s shaft a teasing squeeze, using your other hand to give the same treatment to his plump, sore balls.

somehow, he manages to continue on muttering taunting you. “cause i’m the only thing you need, right? who needs air to breathe when you have me feeding my cock into that hot, wet open mouth.” he drags a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down as he looms over you — breathing a cloud of cannabis smoke into you. shot-gunning you while you continue to jerk him off, it tastes of him and the alcohol in his breath and the weed on his tongue. he looks so good above you like this, hooded eyes and rose tinted cheeks. satoru is the perfect picture of god’s work and you’d be foolish to pretend that the sight of him didn’t make your cunt throb and a familiar feeling begin to stem in the pit of your stomach. “good fucking girl.”

he thrusts shallowly through your closed fist matching his rhythm to the tune in which you flick your wrist. you waste no time in working up a pace fast enough to have your lover melting like putty in your hands — literally. you miss his cock in your mouth, how heavy it makes your tongue feel and paw at his spit slicked erection like a puppy begging for treats. 

“when you t-touch me like that…” satoru drawls, notes of praise layered over his whiny voice makes your own juices gather at the crotch of your panties, makes your head spin but that might just be the weed. “i could fucking cum, baby.”

sweat beads in large, fat droplets at gojo’s hairline, darkening the bright colour of his hair. the liquid soaks through his white shirt too, showcasing how fucked out he truly is. he thrusts again, and again, and again, chasing the high your hand gives his creamy aching cock. “then let me make you cum,” you giggle, dropping your head slightly to make out with the sloppy tip of satoru’s dick, lapping happily at whatever he gives you. “let me taste you.” 

a dirty laugh rings in the buzzing air and gojo throws the burly arm that holds his joint over his wet face, wiping it clean of all the sweat. in the next moment, he cups the youthful roundness to your pretty face — calloused fingertips digging into your baby fat cheeks and sun-kissed skin. “that’s cute, but i’m not quite done with you yet, gorgeous.” still hunched over you, gojo finds the milky trail his cock has left over the seam of your lips and kisses you — dangerously slow. he simpers at the taste of himself on your lips, tangling with the plastic-like taste from the remainders of your gloss. he licks the sweat from your Cupid’s bow as well. 

he sucks the precum from your tongue and licks harsh stripes into your mouth — reaching further back to cup the back of your head, keeping you pressed against him. the both of you moan like idiots into one another’s mouths, drinking down the song of blissful laments and greedy gripes. the kiss seems to last forever, going on and on until you wince at the slight burn of satoru’s joint against your cheek, but you never stop jerking him off — slick and dewy sounds of skin meeting skin providing the adlibs to your nasty, sex song. 

only then does satoru let you go, though, his hips continue to dart forward and ram into your closed fist — they contradict with his words. while gojo wants so much more, they chase his innate desire to cum. paint your pretty face or your talented tongue. their rhythm is assaulting and aberrant. 

“but you’re so close…” you tempt him with your silky voice, dipping your head and bobbing it once more to encompass his lengthy girth into your heated mouth again. dopamine sparks like explosions across the synapses in his brain when he witnesses your cheek bulge from the force of taking his tip in, his slit rubbing deliciously against the soft epithelium there. gojo doesn’t know how he’ll survive after tonight, when you force him to confess to your family and everything blows up in his face. 

oh how he’ll miss your cute little mouth sucking down his cock like your life depends on it.

“you’re right, shit…you’re right, princess,” satoru pants avidly, taking another drag of the joint nestled between his shaky fingers — he throws his head back as the grey smoke hits the fresh hair, tainting it with the scents and flavours from the kiss he’d given to your sinful mouth. “i think i might…ohhhh ohhh. i really wanna—“ he throws his head back and you can tell that your lover is really trying to stave off his orgasm to make this last forever. 

you still in surprise when he jams a boot between your soaked thighs from underneath your dress. “‘toru!” comes your little gasp, grinding down on the cold leather if his shoe instinctively. he used the toe of his chelsea boot to pull back the hood of your clit, pressing down on the swollen bud to stimulate you. w-what are you doing?”

“g-gotta make you cum before i do,” he offers as a weak explanation all while spreading your puffy pussy lips apart. 

you lavishly run your tongue through the opening of satoru’s cockhead, moaning at the taste and texture but continuing to hump his foot happily. “s’a bit late for that, baby.” you say with a sultry voice, low and sexy. “you can just eat me out afterwards.” 

“do we even…? o-oh, okay. ‘m there… i-i’m close,” he trips and stumbles through his words, losing control of his taut hips that batter your poor, dripping fist while you spit down onto him. the frothy mix slides down and catches on the prominent veins spiralling around his dick to the base. which you give a squeeze. “do we even have time for that?” gojo asks, struggling to breathe through the smoke from his joint.

“i guess you’ll just have to hurry up ‘n cum for me. be quick, and we’ll see.” you glance up at him, so debauched yet so innocent. like a pretty flower tended to and cared for (by suguru) except you have prickly, threatening thorns. 

gojo’s release starts to sneak up on him, senses heightened by the recreational drug coursing through the healthy blood in his veins. “y-you’re so bad. h-how the fuck did i get involved with you?” he laughs loud and menacingly, whilst looking completely and utterly deranged. gojo doesn’t let up on stimulating your pussy, humming around the spliff tucked between his perfect lips when you gush in response to him. dirty, depraved little girl. “g’na cum. g’na cum! let me cum. fuck, where do you want it?” 

“i can swallow, satoru. give it to me.” your mouth and wrist begin to hurt — but you find it all worth it to have satoru collapse above you, lose to the snap of the thin thread of his sanity. he grabs ahold of his own dick, taking over from you, and smiles brilliantly when you stick out your tongue just for him. it rolls over your pretty lower lip, cherry red from your ministrations and slightly swollen from it all. 

one. two. three. 

he taps his soiled cockhead against the slobbery palette of your tongue — feeding you the last stream of his precum right before his big release. you press a hand to gojo’s tummy, feeling it fight and contact against your touch. he can’t hold back anymore, everything is too hot and too tight and too much. the roll up of weed between his teeth is gone, his beautiful eyes are hidden away from the world and before either of you know it — his high is hitting him like a tonne of bricks. 

just like that, gojo loses the steady stream of his hips and his orgasm rips through him, warm and viscous seed floods your mouth — even seeping out at the corner of your bruised lips. it spurts copiously from his ravaged cock, painting your throat a shade of white too. 

“h-holy shit!” satoru cries out loudly, tears springing to his eyes and gathering in his lashes. you don’t stop pumping at his dick until he’s done cumming, catching any misfires of his arousal with your tongue. you swallow in satisfaction and take to leaving small kisses against his tummy and hip bones until he stops trembling and returns to earth from the bright, silver moon that blessed his hair. 

he quickly abandons his joint.

even though his legs are shaky and he can hardly breathe, static ringing loudly in his ears — satoru finds the strength within himself to pick you up from the floor and manhandles you against the bathroom door. a streak of excitement courses through you while you set your palms flat on the surface, allowing satoru to squish your left cheek against it too. 

you’re barely able to turn your head back to look at him, a shy and coy smile spreading across your lips when you catch a glimpse of the dark expression coasting over satoru’s handsome features. “oh? what’s gotten into you?”

“you think i’m just gonna let you make me cum like that, and i’m not gonna get you off?” he answers your question with a question, growling out the syllables of each word impatiently. “i wish i could just rip this damn dress off’a you. it’s such a shame we have to go out there and say hi to your family afterwards.” using his foot, gojo kicks your ankles apart so that you’re nice and spread open for him — he inhales nastily while pushing your skirts up to sit at your hips, breathing in the scent of your gooey cunt as it cries for him. cries to be filled up by him. if asked, he could recognise the sweet aroma from your sex like a bloodhound chasing after a target. he’s got you committed to memory, he loves you that much.

the tulle of your dress rivals the colour of his eyes even when darkened with debauchery — it turns him on to know you wear his colour so proudly even in front of suguru. his hands shake as he messes with the fabric and you can just tell he’s fighting off the urge to tear it away from your body. if only you had the time. if only you were the only two people in the world. 

without suguru, he could love up on you for hours with no issues. without suguru, you could perhaps be together without having to hide. without suguru — well, you hate yourself for even thinking that way. he’s your brother… and you need him. but clearly not as much as you need satoru to fill you up with something — tongue, fingers, cock. you’d take it all right now. take all of him. 

you’re distracted by the feel of your lover’s searing lips against your naked shoulders, swooping down to place kisses on them tenderly. they’re more fluid, softer as satoru’s fingertips trickle over your breasts and pinch your pebbling nipples from over the bust of your dress. they cascade down to your waist next and suddenly your dress feels all too tight around your hips. your panties too sticky between your folds. you want them both off, and fast. 

“s-satoru,” you murmur needily, arching your back into his broad chest — shivering at the roughness of his shirt on your skin. “satoru, please.” you add, hissing when his curious fingers delve beneath your skirts to press into the seam of your underwear, getting a feel for your wetness and how ready you are for him.

he shifts his fingers upwards, working them up to massage your clit in warm and rough circles — distracting you from giving gojo a proper answer so he can play with you a little more. “hmm?” comes gojo’s lazy reply. his head drops to your neck again and his tongue leaves a snails trail of saliva over the path of kisses he’s left on your skin “what’s the matter, baby? what do you need?” he mumbles in a lower octave right into your ear, tufts of white hair tickle your skin, only causing goosebumps to rise across it in a ripple effect.  

pouting, your hips rise enough for him to possibly stick his hands down your panties to touch you properly — but satoru chooses to be mean, moving up to rub your tummy teasingly. “for you to… mph, please.” 

“come on now little one. what is it that you’re after?” he scolds you playfully, toying with the little ribbon on the scalloped edge of your panties. you hate that him teasing you only serves to make you hush and turn you on more, a small trickle of your arousal running down your inner thigh. “use your words, be my good little girl,” pinging your waistband against your stomach, satoru adds to the seed of desire growing there — helping it to grow and nurturing it. “my fingers? my tongue?” 

“t-tongue!” you squeal at the painful sting, not in pain — because you like it when gojo hurts you a little bit. it’s like a punishment for betraying your older brother. 

“thank you for telling me, baby, your wish is my command.” at first, satoru doesn’t make a move to eat you out — instead, forces his hand deep into your panties to touch your clit, nice and raw. the silver haired man grins at the way you clench around nothing as he circles your tight little entrance and squirt small dribbles of your juices for him. “fuck, you’re so fucking wet for me, even now. even after sucking my cock and grinding on my shoe. if only suguru could see how nasty you are right now.” he could, at any moment geto could knock on that door and see you dripping on his best friend’s hand. the sentiment shouldn’t make you more aroused, you should make you feel horrified. 

but as gojo dips a finger into your greedy little pussy, you realise that you’re just as depraved as him and that in the moment — you really don’t care. 

because all you feel is ecstasy. 

pushing back onto the sole finger squirming about against your squishy insides, you decide that you’ll deal with geto and the consequences of fucking his best friend later — rather, choosing to focus on how satoru immediately finds your g-spot because he knows your gummy, rippling walls like the backs of his masterful hands. the same hands and digits that skilfully trace the letters of his name into your pulsating clit.

“mmph… oh fuck. f-fuck you!” reaching between your soiled thighs and underneath a plethora of tulle, you grip gojo’s wrist to keep him in place, locked between your legs with his fingers stuffed in your cunt.

“fuck me, baby?” he coos to you in a patronising tone. “oh, sweetheart. i’m about to fuck you. gonna make you cum so hard. make you see stars…no, galaxies.” satoru pulls his finger out and nudges your sticky thighs apart again just to make sure that he has the space, enough room to cup the entirety of your sopping mound from over the fabric. so hot and filthy and sappy for him. satoru laments in satisfaction, yanking your panties down in one fail swoop and watching with perverted cobalt eyes as strings of your slick tie your honeyed sex to the material. 

sniffling, you turn your head back as far as it’ll go to stare down your boyfriend with big, wet eyes and a blubbering voice. “please... i can’t wait anymore…” you hiccup like a petulant child who had their favourite toy stolen. pleading for something, anything to alleviate the unbearable yearning twisting in your gut.

your lover tsks in response, slowly descending to his knees behind you while his fingers coated in your succulent nectar grasp and knead at your fleshy ass — streaking it with clear marks. “okay, okay…poor baby.” gojo says airly in an attempt to console you like a mother would her crying infant. “you’re so needy, pretty girl. if anyone walking by could hear you, they’d think i weren’t fucking you right.” that’s far from true and the both of you know it, satoru is the only one who could appease you, take care of all your sexual needs — outside of that…you’re not so sure. you’re then reminded that suguru wouldn’t want satoru taking care of you ever. it makes your stomach flip with a confusing mix of lust and guilt. 

“you want it that bad, don’t ya? you wanna feel good.” the man purrs from behind you, salacious voice a breath’s width away from your cunt while he licks a trail up your inner thigh. the vibrations reverberate through your skin, dancing right up to your swollen, unattended clit. “promise i’ll make you feel so, so good.” you’re almost embarrassed at how much you throb against gojo’s lips when he shoves his face into your pussy from behind, nudging his nose over your pleasure bud in circles until you open up for him like a flower in bloom. 

you grind back against him passionately, rubbing your luscious and drenched folds all over his handsome face in an attempt to tame the itch of bliss that spreads through each and every one of your limbs. you’re tempting him but your sweet little whimpers and circling hips hardly coax satoru away from what he’s planning. his tongue doesn’t fuck it’s way past your quivering entrance like he’d said, but instead is replaced by a heavy hand smacking down hard on your pussy. 

“satoru!” you cry out in an awful mix of delight and shock, sounding a little unhinged. “y-you promised!”

“yeah, yeah. i know… couldn’t help it. i just love it when you cry for me.” juices run down his forearm as if he’s bitten into a ripened peach and satoru gets the perfect view of your juicy ass jiggling for him too. he amorously slurps up the trail, leaning forward with an appetite to eat you out for real this time and nestled his tongue between your twitching, titillating folds. 

he repeats the process again and again and again, smacking your poor pussy until you really are crying — chest heaving while you sob from both ends, tears ruining your perfect baby blue eyeshadow for the night. not having gojo’s mouth on you is like hell on earth, being spanked until you’re raw is torture too, especially when you’ve been holding back an orgasm for at least fifteen minutes. nevertheless, it all feels so fucking heavenly. 

you search for a vice, something you can ground yourself with and settle for scraping your nails along the doors. satoru chuckles, tapping your sticky ass lovingly and even going as far as to kiss you there. “alright, i’ve had my fun and i’m done messing with you baby,” he hums sweetly, “lean back for me, put it on me baby. let your man eat you out.” 

wrapping a strong arm around your middle, gojo pulls you back onto his awaiting, eager mouth. the first thing he does is slot his mouth against the entirety of your soaked slit, moaning loud and tugging at your heartstrings while the vibrations send you spiralling. the very tip of his tongue slips past your entrance with slight resistance from how thick it is, wriggling about in order to search for that special spot that makes you see stars. he press kisses, wet and sloppy, miscalculated, between your swollen folds and slurps up whatever you leak as if you’re drooling valuable liquid gold. 

not a drop can be or will be wasted on satoru gojo. 

keenly, your hips canter back onto gojo’s face — your plush ass cheeks jiggle with each thrust onto his tongue as though you’re reverse riding his cock. it fills you up just as nice too, warm and slippery against ecstasy inducing pinpoints along the ridges of your sluice walls. he can’t help but whine loudly at every roll of your pussy over his face, you taste so fucking good and he’ll drink you in as though you’re a tall glass of water. between sucks and slurps, your lover kitten licks at your core animalistically — lascivious sounds from between your thighs topping off the air in the bathroom.

your cute little clit, prominent and hard because of blood rush and it’s burning desire, is next on satoru’s bucket list. the sharpness of his teeth latch onto it, rolling it between their two sets roughly until you’re clawing at your own throat for air — trying your hardest not to scream and frighten the poor passers by. you’ve become such a mess and it pleases the white haired man, to see you gushing like a fruitful stream straight into his thirsty mouth, down his chin and cheeks — even over his bobbing adam’s apple.

your hands leave a track of sweat as they slip down the door you’re plastered on and your chest rises and falls rapidly while you’re tongue fucked by your boyfriend. there’s no room to breathe or to cope, satoru’s tongue pinned to your clit like a moth to candle flame — drawing rough shapes on your clit before sweeping downwards just beneath your clenching hole to catch what oozes from it before it can hit the ground. oh, if only you could see him, his bright blue eyes just as watery and lovesick as your own and his face pink with a sun-burn type of blush from how hot he is for you.

if you tried hard enough, to listen in over the sounds of your wet pussy being sucked on for dear life as well as satoru’s content gripes and laments — you can just about make out the vehement and delectable noises of him avariciously jerking off his pre-cum flowing cock while he prepares it to fuck you later on.

“y-yeah…oh my god, satoru. satoru don’t stop!” the words feel tacky in your mouth as you try to get them out, communicate to gojo how good he makes you feel. he likes it when you’re vocal with him, and you the same, it makes you both feel heard and happy to know that you’re pleasing your partner. though, it’s a little difficult for you, when you’re so dizzy you don’t know what’s up or down  and you can’t help but to cream around the base of gojo’s tongue while it twists against your lush and gushy inner walls.  

briefly, your brother’s best friend pulls away from your cunt — remaining connected to you by a rope of clear elixir leaked from your tight hole. “wouldn’t dream of it, pretty girl. god… i just wanna fuck you up. make you scream a little more…” he snarls like a beast, his big hands roughly grabbing your ass as he spreads them — watching the webs of arousal form while he peels each cheek away from one another. “fucking hell… you’re drenched. but we can’t be too loud, don’t want someone to hear.” there’s a higher pitched lilt to gojo’s sacchariferous mithers as he delves back under your skirts, bobbing his entire head to drag his tongue between your fat pussy folds. 

jolting at the sensation, which provides a welcome distraction from the fact that your family…your brother, are waiting obviously just metres away, your hips begin to chase the high you’ve been holding back for what seems like hours now. viciously, you ride satoru’s tongue like it’s a perfectly plump cock made to plug you full. “uhuh, oh…fuck yeah. ride it for me, pretty girl, ride my t-tongue. m-make yourself feel good. fuck my face…please, please, please.” gojo begs you, even though most of his speech is muffled and you’re the one at his mercy. 

shame should be running through you, not hunger for gojo, you shouldn’t want to drive your hips down onto his face so hard that his nose prods your clit over and over again. you’re so dirty, filthy and nasty for doing this…here of all places. but you can’t help the way gojo fucks you nor the way gojo feels. you don’t think you want to give that up for your brother. even if it costs you.

you can’t imagine a life without hearing satoru’s needy groans between your legs, the ones that set fireworks off at your tailbone — where all of that unreleased pleasure builds up. 

“you’re gonna cum…” he sighs dreamily. “want you to cum for me. let it go, let it all out f’me.” gojo adds and from then on — his mouth stays married to your needy cunt, focused on working you right to the edge and pushing you over. he licks you up and down, anchors you to his face with that same arm snaking its way around your waist again — mostly to hold you up because you’re so shaky from the ecstasy in your veins that you can’t do it on your own.  

the whole ordeal is sickening and beautiful all at the same time — no one knows your body like satoru does. no other man has any idea how to please you in the way that he does. they don’t know that you like it when he flicks his tongue against your sluice and sweet sex with an open mouth just so you can hear him eat you out. they have no idea about how sensitive you are when you’re close, that brushing up against your g-spot with the tip of gojo’s tongue is enough to have you spewing a fresh wave of your essence from your pathetic hole.

the delirium and rapture that mounts within you, like bricks stacked in bricks, becomes too much for you to bear — some of your release already starting to trickle out of you in clear streams. “‘m cumming, ‘toru!” you warn him in a high pitched squeal before it’s too late, white noise filling your ears as you succumb to a powerful orgasm. 

satoru gojo thinks that if he died right here, right now, he would be happy — he wouldn’t even care. what, with the way you gush into his mouth like tidal waves of a wild tsunami, guilt flushed out of your system by tonnes of arousal. you clamp down on his tongue and practically suffocate the man, humping weakly at gojo’s face until your entire body is limp and you have absolutely nothing left to give. 

once you’ve made it through the aftershocks of your high, satoru slowly retreats from between your thighs and makes his way to your body, spinning you around and capturing your lips in a delicately placed kiss before your brain has the sense to wake up. the night should end here, you should push him away and fix yourself up in a good enough state to return to suguru and the rest of your family to enjoy dinner…stop the guilt from bubbling up. 

but satoru has always had a way about charming you. 

“we’re not finished yet…” he whispers to you passionately, his own hips pinning you to the bathroom door so you can feel his second erection rub against your tummy. “there’s more of you to ruin.” he continued to lament, his lips stained with your arousal grazing your own before he licks into your mouth so you can taste what he tastes too. automatically, your body bows into his — ready to have what he’s got waiting for you. 

perhaps your mind is still lagging, because you feel it before you see it — the tacky love taps of your lover’s cock against your stimulated sex, the lewd squelch that comes from gojo’s cockhead poised and ready to jut forward past your fluttering entrance. “i want you so fucking badly, i gotta… need to be inside you…” he moves to hike your thigh up against his slender hips — preparing to bottom out inside of you, but you stop him just before then with your nails digging into his sweat laden dress shirt. 

“can i ride you?” you ask him hazily.

“what?” gojo bleats, confused and enamoured all at once.

swallowing thickly, you repeat your words — leisurely rolling your hips back and forth in a premature pussy job. being sure to rub yourself back and forth against the length of satoru. “can i ride you?” 

“fuck me,” he sniggers breathlessly and says your name. “aren’t you just full of surprises tonight? you can do whatever you want to me, baby. i can take it.” 

with his permission, you undo the last of gojo’s buttons and smooth over the expanse of his place flesh, thumb at his budding pink nipples and then, form a necklace around his unmarred throat with your hands. he coughs and splutters in surprise but allows you to walk him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the toilet and he topples onto its seat in a sitting position. 

your hand moves swiftly to cup gojo’s jaw as you look above him and stand between his thighs that instantly manspread to make room for his pretty little baby between them. one of your perfectly manicured nails drags down his bottom lip, then becomes a finger that delves deep into the heat of his mouth. “you’re… you’re beautiful,” he gargles around the digit, staring deep into your soulful brown eyes. “and i adore you.”  it’s true. you’re the most perfect thing he’s ever seen even if your braids are askew and your dress is ruffled and your makeup is almost entirely gone. 

even when you have satoru gojo in a choke hold like this you’re still stunning to him. not one thing could tarnish such rare beauty that you posses. if the end of his life came in this moment, he wouldn’t even mind. he wonders if you’re aware of that fact or still believe the little voice in your mind telling you that he’s just using you.

gojo was bad with words, he knows that. he often got timings wrong and said things at the wrong time (like now when he tries to tell you that he loves you but in his own words, hence ‘adore’) but he always means them. he can tell that you’re getting in your head right now, standing above him — trying to decipher if he’s telling the truth. if he wanted you, you wished he’d say he wanted you. explicitly. 

he wished that he could tell you explicitly, but he’s so fucked up in the head that he struggles. 

so instead, satoru takes your hand in his (the one in his mouth) and moves it far back enough so that he can kiss your knuckles sweetly. a gesture to prove his truth to you. one to prove how much he loves you. 

the hard expression on your face softens and you drop to satoru’s lap — straddling him so that his girth presses directly against your juicy cunt like before and your thighs are either side of his. “then make love to me,” you goad him, circling your hips and chasing the delicious burn of his dick pressing into you — a feeling that you miss all the time but can never get used to. “love me like you mean it.” 

it’s not long before satoru is at your neck again, leaving a trail of gentle kisses along its plaines. “i can do that. i can give that to you. do you think you’ll be able to take it?” he questions lightly, a large hand splaying across your back — prepared to guide your movements.

“y-yeah… ‘m ready.” you exhale carefully, your mind pleasantly fuzzy as gojo grabs onto your ass and encourages you to raise your hips for him. the other hand now holds onto his dripping dick to position it at your entrance — he runs it through your soaked folds a couple times and dips in and out of your hole. you make such a cute little noise when satoru starts to push into you, sucking him in so well and clenching around the circumference of his bulbous tip as if to trap him inside before you’ve managed to sink down on him. it continues like that for a little while, satoru holding you up by your ass or your thighs while he patiently waits for you to take him the rest of the way. 

he fucks you gently with the tip at first, getting you used to the delicious stretch to your pussy — despite the resistance he meets from how tight you are.

“there you go baby…you can take over now. sink down on me when you’re able to, kay?” satoru peppers your face in amusement while he watches you try to stabilise your breathing. there’s a long way to go and you’re still so sensitive from your last orgasm. “hm, you’re so fuckin’ cute.” he muses, nipping at your cheek without any real bite.

“s-shut up,” you state through a pout, controlling your tears which only make your love snort affectionately. crescent moons from your nails take their shape in satoru’s milky shoulders, leaving pink indents in place as you slide further down his cock, taking inch by inch until you’re comfortably nestled at his balls. “satoru…why’s there so much of you?” in reality, you’re not actually complaining  — content with your ribbed walls kissing the prominent veins on his shaft. you clench around him experimentally, sending a ripple of desire through the man at your mercy and finally let him bottom out inside of you as your juices run down him. 

he does nothing but smile lazily up at you, taking your wrists and coordinating them to rest on his chest for you to use as more comfortable leverage. as much as you like the way he’s pressed up against your insides — you find the strength to peel your hips away from satoru’s clothed thighs and thrust back down with a resounding, wet slap that echoes throughout the restaurant bathroom. 

it should be criminal, maybe even illegal, how warm, tight and wet you are — as if you’re a virgin who’s never been fucked before. he splutters and stammers as his overstimulated cockhead nudges against your silken walls and they quiver around him feverishly. he could charge you with a life sentence, keeping him jailed in your pretty pussy for life. “i know i said i’d let you ride me but god,” he whispers, trailing his fingers up the front of your dress. just as ice cold and ringed fingers circle your areolas from over the fabric, satoru thrusts up into you — driven insane by lust and desire, his eyes disappear onto the dark night of his skull. “cant help it… i wanna make you feel good. wanna fuck you.” 

there’s no time for you to respond, no chance to wrack your brain for a witty comeback because you’re too busy focusing on trying to keep yourself seated in gojo’s lap. your eyes become misty and satoru’s voice becomes murky, breaths of exertion coasting over your lips and your skin as he sets a constant, almost bullying, pace to his slender hips as they barrage into your sex. it’s hard enough to pull squelching sounds from your messy pussy, and enough for the sound of his breeder’s balls to reverberate between your working bodies.

in this position, satoru is able to hit deep — churn your gummy insides up and hit every pleasure spot your tiny fingers can’t reach. you’re a slumped and helpless mess in his lap, pathetic, since you were the one who wanted to be on top in the first place. but neither of you mind it, satoru likes being able to take care of you like this, watch every contortion of your angelic face and twitch of your lips and flutter of your lashes as he pounds into you from below. 

“that’s it… that’s it pretty girl,” he coos to you so softly, glancing up at you with massive silvery-blue eyes holding pure fixation for you. “you want it so bad, letting me have you like this. i love it, i love yo—” he cuts himself off with a deep growl and reaches around the meat at your waist, your soft tummy as well as your plentiful skirts to graze your clit as arousal pearls over it — each brush at the swelling nub is calculated and catered exactly how you like, especially after falling into sheets with him so many times over the last two years. his touch treads softly on your body while he takes it slow, passionately ruining your insides. 

you hiccup and a light sparks behind the sapphire frame of your lover’s eyes. he repeats the action, only this time pinching your clit before he carefully pulls you close and angles his hips into your g-spot a little more — worshipping your body like a queen on her throne. “listen to that baby, your pussy sounds so pretty taking all of me.” gojo punctuates his words with deep, purposeful movements that have his achingly hot cock repeatedly jamming against that one particular spot. “you need it like this, need me to always take the lead, hm? you act like you’re such a big girl, but really you’re just my needy little one.” 

satoru feeds you a mix of praise and light condescending remarks, keeping you under his spell just like always has. as if he were a pied piper using his darling moans to draw you in. he keeps you pacified like a baby with languid thrusts and sloppy kisses all over — barely giving you a moment to think independently. the hand wrapped around your waist keeps you anchored to gojo, teaching you dance in a sensual sticky grind that only lovers know how to do.

dropping your forehead to rest against his, you let out a blissful whimper. “s’not fair, you always… ah f-fuck! you always take control from me,” you’re supposed to be the one using satoru. using him to take your mind off of suguru while you remind the man of all the reasons he should love you openly and publicly. but, like always, you fall victim to the touch which causes you to blossom above satoru and the candied voice he uses that make sweet nectar pour from your abused little hole.

“it’s cause you adore me,” gojo tells you in a rough voice. states it like it’s fact written in a history book for lovers. you can’t and don’t have time to deny him — managing a weak whine of annoyance when his lips attach to the cliffs of your collar bones. his tongue rolls saliva over the area where he can’t leave a physical mark, knowing that the white hot sensation will stick with you all night — making it just as good as any other forbidden hickey or stolen love bite. “you love me, don’t you?” 

“g-god yes!” neither of you have any idea what exactly it is you’re saying yes to — whether it be the way he pounds at your puffy, swollen mound or saying that you love him, it doesn’t really matter. you’re both too far gone. you finally start to grind down on him again, using all of your strength to push past your overstimulation and match satoru’s toe-curling stream of thrusts, syncing up your cantering hips. every stroke of his cock within the depths of your silken, pulsating cunt earns you a muffled whine from him. 

a fresh red tint begins to glow under the surface of your lover’s pale skin, the blood coursing through his veins and coagulating at his cheeks is dotted with love and lust hormones just like your own. the fact that he’s barely able to pull out of your selfish pussy means that there’s a shine to his polyester clad thighs from your juices — the glisten barely catching under the artificial light in the bathroom. 

everything overwhelms you, you feel like you’re drowning. fat beads of precum between your sore thighs begin to form because you’re clenching down on gojo so hard, his cock even fights it’s way to pull out of your addictive heat. you can’t let him go, your body won’t let him go, dragging him into the routine of crazy intense and creamy sex — bulbous and purpling cockhead consistently digging into your g-spot. everything is so wrong but it feels so right — it doesn’t make any sense but you feel so nice. 

“yanno…” satoru slurs over the heavy weight of saliva spreading through his mouth while he runs it. “‘m so fucking lucky… to be the only man who gets to see you like this. whining so sweetly, legs all shaky, pussy so fucking wet.” appreciatively, his cruel cerulean gaze drops to where his milky cock disappears into your fat pussy and his digits move from your clit to spread your netherlips apart, putting the glaze of your essence that coats his rock hard girth on display. 

gojo truly is so very lucky, to be the only man with the pleasure of jackhammering into you to his hearts content. he’s so lucky that there isn’t anyone else you want aside from him, that all you want his for him to be better for you. he really should work on that. especially if he wants to be the only one who lives and breathes you for the rest of forever. on the contrary, you hate that he only sees your worth to him while fucking you — it makes bitterness simmer underneath the absolute depraved ecstasy you feel. 

but you’re not giving satoru gojo up. not in this lifetime. 

taking advantage of your hands planted firmly against gojo’s broad chest — you peel your sweaty thighs away from gojo’s trembling ones, his cock being tugged away from the snugness of your oozing, sopping mound. an incredulous gasp lays wet on the seam of the silver haired man’s lips. he misses you. he wants you so bad and there’s no greater relief than when you slam back down onto his cock, hips cantering down so fast that he easily hits your womb. the force makes you both drool and you throw yourself forward to capture gojo in a messianic kiss between two lovers. 

euphoria chillingly slips into your veins while you rock yourself against gojo feverishly, both of your chests heaving erratically from your love making. “you…you talk too much,” you mumble into his mouth, tongue rolling over his as if to swipe the words from his tongue. if he says anymore you won’t last any longer. you lick the salt from his lips, an obsessive glint in your eye — because satoru gojo is all that you want. “talk way too much…just love me, just fuck me.” 

satoru wants to love you, it’s like he’s genetically coded to. he can’t imagine being this in love with anyone else aside from you — but there’s a selfish mental block on his mind that stops him from giving you the commitment you need. right now, in this moment, he’ll give you the pieces of himself that he can. he’ll make love to you, he’ll make you see stars and galaxies, he’ll do whatever he can to make you happy right here, right now. 

sweat from the exertion of rutting into you pins his silvering locks to his forehead — it drips down the side of gojo’s face which you lovingly lick. your lover wraps both of his arms around your waist and pulls you in so that you nestle on his chest — giving you the leverage you need to pound yourself on curve of his cock, seeping viscous honey down his shaft. the scene is obscene, but there’s love and adoration buzzing between your tangled limbs. 

hearts sprinkle themselves amongst the flecks in your eyes as you look up at gojo and your pupils dilate at the chorus of skin slapping on skin, the pap pap pap of your swollen mound while your lover buries himself deep in your warmth — pulling unholy sounds from your angelic body. the toilet he sits on creaks beneath the force of your ministrations, threatening to break just like you might on top of your lover. 

“i’d do anything for you, a-anything you wanted,” gojo counters, quivering beneath you with his hair sticking to your sweltering skin. it’s true, he’d rip stars from the sky and skyscrapers to the ground. his heart chases after your every desire. between frenzied bucks and mismatched smooches, the man swipes his fingertips over your pulsating clit — rubbing fat droplets of creamy precum into your folds and the sensitive nub. the whole time, he keeps you stuffed full of his cock, hardly pulling out each time you lift and drop yourself on his dick. 

mewling like a pornstar, your hands shoot upwards and wring themselves in moonlight hair — a tell tale sign that you’re getting closer and closer to reaching cloud nine. “y-yeah? then make me cum, l-let me make a mess on your cock. please.” you plead, the back and forth of your cunt over gojo’s lap tampering with your system by sending orgasmic shockwaves through you. 

“i gotcha, anything for you, beautiful. s-shit!” using his free hand, gojo grabs at the fat of your ass and pulls you up and down on his girth — giving him the room to pummel your pussy hard and fast. “you squeeze me real tight when i act all desperate for you.” 

“a-aren’t you? o-oh ‘toru, right there!” you exclaim and ask all at once in one high pitched moan, failing to press for an answer while gojo bullies his way through your walls and right up to your womb. your clit smears over his hipbone, painting him with tube dulcet juices. 

gojo builds up momentum inside of you, dragging his seedy tip along your ravaged walls from how deep he’s able to get inside of you. “i am… only god knows that i am. fuck, i wanna be yours, want this to last forever,” white starts to froth at the base of his dick, streaking all over your soiled folds as your cunt squirts copious amounts of essence each time his balls clap against you. “think i’m gonna fuckin’ cum, might be inside.” 

“satoru please…” your hips stutter above his, choking out gojo’s cock for fear life in an attempt to get him to fill you up to the brim with his seed. you tear up and he barely lets you off his twitching erection. 

“i know baby, i fucking know — i’m right there with you. hold onto me. my fucking baby.” with the last of his energy, satoru assaults your pussy with a barrage of desperate thrusts, jerking you about in his lap. that’s all either of you need before you’re thrown over the edge, rendering you limp, cum soaked messes in one another’s arms. the ropes in your lower tummy, that have been burning this entire time, finally begins to unravel.

the world around you blurs, your brain fucking lags and you actually fucking squirt. a scream rips through you and burns at the edges of your voice, following through your uncontrollable shakes. clear streams of arousal shoot from your sloppy, dirty cunt and pool in satoru’s dress pants — soaking him to the bone. 

“that’s it baby, give it to me. all of it, make a mess — want it all over me.” satoru goads hoarsely, losing control of his thrusts until they become uncoordinated and lackadaisical. “a-ah! oh! holy shit, mmm ‘m cumming baby. f-for you…” the aftershocks of your high and little twitches from your heavenly hole trigger the white haired man’s orgasm. right before his release, his hand reaches up from toying with your sex to grab at your sapphire pendant — using the chain to yank you up into a sensual lip lock that seals his fate, practically pulling it off of you while you make out through his high.

hot, sticky and thick ropes of white seed spill into you — there’s even so much of it that it overflows from your tiny entrance and oozes against your raw mound. you’re still cumming, forcing satoru out of you while he continues to flood your womb — what doesn’t make it is left to smear over your thighs and poofy dress, glazing you in viscous cum. 

still releasing in spurts, satoru carefully pulls out of you and leans back against the cool tile of the bathroom wall so that you slump against his chest — relaxed. warm content simmers in the air between your maze of limbs and you leak against one another sweetly. 

“so much for fixing your necklace,” satoru jests over the static itching at your brain while you come down from your earth-shattering high.

you offer him up a dopey smile, all of the tension from earlier on in the night melting away when you look at him. “we’ll have to hide it from suguru, so he doesn’t notice. we’ve been gone for a while too.” no matter what gojo puts you through, it’s always worth it for the way he makes you feel after sex. 

warm, cherished and cared for. 

just like suguru would want you to be. 

“well, whose fault is that, little one?” a chaste kiss is pressed against your hairline as satoru helps you to sit up in his lap — drawing back slightly to give you a once over and mirroring the way you grin at him with a toothy smirk. “little miss ‘we don’t have time.’ — i’ll have to fix your make up, can’t have you walking back out there like i’ve just rocked your shit.” 

despite his crude words, satoru’s gesture makes your chest bristle with happiness. “you’re an idiot, satoru gojo.” 

“an idiot that you adore. an idiot who you like way too much,”  he fires back childishly. “c’mere, let me get rid of the mess i made of you.” 

you do, like him too much, a little too much for your own good. 

it’s twisted, the mere fact that satoru has such a hold on your heart that you can’t seem to escape no matter how hard you try— and it only worsens when he’s good to you like this. so good with the way he helps you clean up, tends to your ruffled dress, redoes your smudged makeup and jokes with you while he dries his sex stained pants under the hand drier before you go back out to meet your family. 

you’re a love sick fool when it comes to him. 

and you have no idea how much that’s going to change. 

suguru geto was not an idiot. 

his numerous academic accolades are enough evidence of that. in highschol he graduated with a GPA of 4.0% which only escalated by the time he got to college — which was like a breeze to him.  by the time he’d finished his four year degree, there was an industry opportunity waiting for geto on the other side of all of his hard work and efforts. 

it pleased him to know that people thought highly of his skills, appreciated the knit and grit and blood, sweat and tears he put into his work. he had a passion for seeking the truth, discovering the reasons and meanings for people’s actions — it was suguru’s calling. that’s why he became a criminal defence lawyer. 

why do people do what they do? why do people lie? why do people run and hide? 

with all of suguru geto’s smarts and analytical skills — his ability it to think critically, you would think he’d have it all figured out by now. 

suguru geto was not stupid.

so why is it that he can’t figure out what’s wrong with you? why you’ve been so skittish and why this entire night? he knows you, his baby sister, like you were his own flesh and blood. like you were the back of his slightly calloused and hard working hand. you may have been adopted, you may not share the same DNA but suguru has lived with you and been raised with you long enough to know how your genetic code reacts to certain pressures and scenarios and situations.

you’re his little sister for christ’s sake. 

as you make your way back to your family’s designated table, weaving between pedigree bred children and their families, waiters and waitresses working tired on their feet — he notices how the tension you’d been experiencing the whole night has suddenly dissipated from your body as if it were never there. your shoulders have dropped, your movements flow as loosely as your baby blue cupcake dress does, your eyes are bright and full of an energy suguru has only seen once in someone else. 

another soul he’s grown up with. 

the very idea makes him feel ill, the food on his plate suddenly becoming unappealing and bitter against the insides of his mouth. you’re not… you would never… 

“hi,” you greet the table tentatively, the corners of your cocoa painted lips quirking up into a small smile. “did i miss anything?” 

suguru forgoes answering you to ask his own question. “where have you been?” 

the chatter at your table dies down only just as your parents register your presence with the group once more — joining in on your conversation with your brother like a car merging lanes. 

“oh! i was just in the bathroom… you know, girl stuff. powdering my nose.” you offer up as an excuse, twirling the end of your curled braids between your gentle fingers. a habit your brother knows you’ve picked up when you’re shy, yet, content. “you know how it goes.” 

his dark eyes sweep over your face. suguru doesn’t know much about make-up, just that you like doing it. he had been the one to get you your first eyeshadow palette in your teen years but that’s as far as he goes. everything seems to be in place, perfect, you’re beautiful as you always have been.

but there’s a slight smudge to your lip combo that bleeds just past the curve of your cupid’s bow — out of place enough for geto to notice. the colour is different too. black instead of brown, as if you’ve mixed up the lipsticks in a rush.

suguru tries not to dwell. he really does. dropping the topic and retreating to his dinner plate while you idly chat to your parents about your new job but something in his gut stirs — he remembers something. 

gojo is nowhere to be seen and your pendent is missing.

you can’t. you’d never…

as if on cue, the moonlight man returns to the party, loudly pulling out his seat and taking his place next to you once again. gojo’s hair is a mess, much messier than it was before… as if someone had roughed it up with desperate fingers. your chocolaty lip colour is smeared along his neck in deconstructed lip prints as if he’d tried to wash them away, dotted along the collar of his crisp white shirt too. the contrast of the colours make it blatantly obvious what’s been going on too. the silver chain of your necklace hangs freely from his pocket.

“did i miss anything?” he asks casually, despite how not-put-together he looks — much less in comparison to you, who’d returned to dinner first. 

it makes geto’s skin itch and crawl, the similarity between your words and gojo’s. he can’t even think to reply, yet the words come tumbling out before he can stop them.

“wouldn’t you like to know,” suguru snaps callously. “where have you been?”

“wanted to see if the little miss made it back to the table alright.” gojo lies smoothly, resting a large hand on your shoulder. geto notes the way he strokes your neck with his thumb. “you know how she is, clueless without suguru, right?” 

your parents and gojo burst out into charmed laughter, adding to the bustle and ambience of the restaurant. suguru’s face only sours as your father chime’s in next. “this one probably raised her better than i did. he was so excited to have a little sister, wouldn’t go anywhere without her.” it’s the alcohol that causes your father to blurt out the embarrassing memory — it’s sweet and cherished, but does nothing to help ease your brother’s boiling fury as he’s patted on the back by his dad.

pet like a dog getting a treat.

a reward for taking care of you all these years.

“yeah, raised her to be smart and proper. that’s why she’s a graduate and not mooching off of us anymore.” geto seethes from your left.

from your right, satoru reaches for his crystal glass for a drink — only to realise that it’s empty. he next reaches for the bottle of moscato ordered for the table, and pours some for himself until it levels out at the rim of his glass. “ouch suguru, way to hit a man where it hurts,” your ‘boyfriend’ whines petulantly, sipping the surface of his drink. “you know i work for dad now, you’d be so proud. still making money, not mooching off of his.” 

you fiddle with your cutlery, the silverware awkwardly clattering against your plate while you finish off the steak you’d ordered. then, your mother breaks the tension.

“does anybody want to order dessert?”

satoru is quick to jump on her distraction train — enthusiastically nodding his head with silver locks flying about the place. “oh you know me, ma. i love a sweet lil’ thing, got a huge sweet tooth.” satoru chirps excitedly — as chipper as can be.

“that you do dear boy, pick out anything you’d like.” your dad says in turn.

the silver haired stray at your table pretends to ponder before clapping his hands together — causing both you and geto to jerk at the sound. 

“daifuku!” 

“oh, that’s been a recent favourite of our little girl’s, hasn't it darling?” mum gushes proudly. “reminds me so much of her.”

the anxiety in the back of your mind spikes to an all time high as your dragged into the conversation once more — suguru hot on your trail, close to uncovering it all. you shrink under the burning gazes of everyone at the table — your lover, your parents and your brother. satoru, of course, takes amusement in knowing you crave his favourite sweet even when you’re apart. geto is less than impressed. 

you nod and gojo lets out a laugh that sets your soul alight and sends a shiver down your spine. “that’s right, our girl is just the sweetest little thing.” he praises you, resting his cheek on a closed fist, gojo’s elbow sitting comfortably on the table while he stares over at you dreamily.

suguru geto was not a fool.

he could see right through the happenings before his very eyes. the way you looked up at satoru, your expression docile and pure, dark eyes glimmering and brimming with so much idolisation and worship for satoru, it was a look suguru had seen many times before. it was a look previously saved only for him — from little sister to older brother. 

you stare up at gojo like he holds all of the world’s secrets, like he could keep you safe from any and all types of harm, like you love him.

“i’ll have what he’s having,” geto hears you murmuring airily, but there’s static ringing in his ears and red flashing before his eyes — he’s that pissed off at his sudden realisation. 

it’s only when his gaze flits to his best friend, his one and only, satoru gojo that the dam breaks and all of suguru’s emotions and epiphanies from the night come bursting out in shades of white hot fury. because satoru matches your expression, his blue ocean eyes drown you in love and he looks as though he’s won the fucking lottery. hazily and smugly grinning at you while the table discusses desserts.

the final puzzle piece that suguru has been looking for clicks into place. 

it all hits him like a truck.

“oh you slick motherfucker…” suguru growls slowly, his words fighting through their prison of his gritted pearly white teeth. the syllables and their sound contrast heavily with the abrupt way in which your darker haired sibling stands from his chair — almost sending it flying to the floor as he slams a fist down onto the table. his other hand points accusingly towards your lover, and everyone’s attention falls on him. 

“suguru what are you—?”

“you fucked her. didn’t you?”

expressions of incredulousness morph on the faces of your dinner guests ( yourself included ), shocked by geto’s bellowing voice and stone cold glare. not to mention the callousness of his words. he knows. and it’s like you’ve been doused in a bucket of ice water. he knows what you and satoru have been up to, the smoke has cleared and you can no longer hide from him. 

“suguru geto, mind your manners!” one of your parents snaps, but you can’t quite place the voice — every sound in the restaurant blurs into one and your head swims with a dangerous mix of panic and alcohol. he knows. your mind screams, the pink and squishy organ dully thumping against it’s calcium cage — your skull. 

“fuck manners,” he barks, suguru’s mouth beginning to froth like a dog rabid with rabies. his face hardens as if it’s been set in stone, while a storm clouds geto’s previously welcoming eyes. “answer my question, satoru.”

innocently, yet with an air of confidence and patronisation, gojo tilts his head to the side like that of a puppy — his bright white teeth put on display as he smiles slow and softly as if to diffuse the situation with his charm. “i don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“bullshit!” suguru fires back, his wrath beginning to boil over the edge like the restaurant’s signature slow cooked stew. he begins to roll up the white sleeves of his dress shirt — as if he’s preparing for a fight. one with his best friend. once the material is snug around the bulge in his bicep, your brother slams his hands down on the table once again, causing heads to turn and cutlery to clatter about the place. “that’s fucking bullshit satoru and you know it. i can see it on you. i can smell it on you.”

in all your years of living with the geto family, becoming a part of it and finding your sense of belonging with them — you’ve never seen your brother this angry, let alone see such red hot rage directed at someone he cares about. someone you care about too. 

“sugu,” you whimper and stand, trying to direct his attention away from your lover boy. “suguru it’s okay. it’s not what it looks like—!” 

another slam of his hands on the table slices through your meek words — causing you to jump out of your skin. 

swirling black eyes hideous with anger and upset switch their attention to you — tearing you apart underneath their judgemental gaze. suguru has never looked at you like that. he’s always been so good to you, never been mad at you without cause or at least let you seen so. that was until today.

“i wasn’t fucking talking to you. sit down and keep quiet. let your big brother handle this.” geto spits, the pain of his worded venom shooting painfully to your heart — causing tears to sting at your waterline. 

“don’t fucking talk to her like that.” satoru keeps his voice low, in a tone you’ve only ever heard him use with the guys hitting on you at college. it’s dark and threatening, but most of all, protective. protective over you. you never thought it would be thrown at suguru. he stands up too while you sink back down, catching a glimpse of your parents’ worried stares from across the table.

onlookers in the restaurant are no different. 

“so, you think you can speak for her now? since when did you two get so close, hm? did you two fuck? did i hit a sore spot, gojo? ” a rich, sarcastic laugh reverberates from geto’s vocal chords. the whole scenario is…entertaining to him. his best friend, his brother of all people, fucking with his little sister — knowing how it would make him feel. 

there’s a beat of silence across the dinner table, consisting of nothing but death glares and heaving chests.

but then all of a sudden, satoru leans forward with his palms pressed flat against the table’s surface — a sick smile twisting on his ever-soft and glossy pink lips as he jeers back at the younger male, taunting suguru. 

“oh i’ve been hitting her spots alright.”

you feel like you’ve been doused in cold once again, the blood that had been flushing to your face, now freezing in your veins. the fact that satoru would reveal intimate details of your love or sex life to the light of day (let alone your older brother) should make you fall ill. yet, in some sick and twisted way it makes butterflies flap their dainty wings in your lower tummy. 

because he’s admitting it, that he wants to be with you, to suguru’s face. 

“we’ve been closer than you could have ever imagined, suguru. nice and close, she outta have been swallowing me down.” satoru doubles down, because once he starts running his mouth, he can never stop. 

stopping them both now would be futile. but your parents are watching, other guests and staff are watching. it’s humiliating. having the two men you care about most go at each other like this. “satoru!” you squeal, desperate.

“oh you nasty motherfucker. so you did sleep with my sister.” geto growls before turning to you, furious. “how long? and don’t you dare lie to me.” 

“s-sugu, please. not here.” you start with a trembling voice, tears slipping down your cheeks freely while you look between the two men. 

“i said how long!” 

the way your brother raises his voice at you causes you to flinch back into your shell and for satoru to push his way between you both protectively. he would never let you get hurt, he had promised you that. even if he had done so himself. he wasn’t about to let suguru wound you too. 

“y’got cotton between your ears or something, suguru?” satoru makes himself tall and intimidating, towering over suguru. it was something that worked with everyone, scared them off from the person that was his and the one that he loved — you. but suguru wasn’t buying that act. “i said. stop. fucking. talking to her like that.” each of his menacing words are punctuated by a shove to your brother’s chest, each one taking a swing at your heart. you hate to see them hurting each other, you hate being in the middle of it all. suguru takes it all, as if he’s numb from the news, staggering back into another family’s table — causing their glasses and dishes to collide and clatter about until it stops and gojo grabs at the collar of geto’s shirt. “if you’re gonna be mad and yell at someone, be mad at me.” 

satoru adjusts his grip on your brother, but his blue eyes beg for him to let it go. for you to all go home and figure this out somewhere else. 

suguru just can’t. his mind can’t wrap around the idea that you’ve been leaning on someone else this whole time — using someone else. sleeping with his best friend all this time. it’s not in his nature to be violent, geto has been perfect all his life and never veered from the correct path. he would never hit anyone. he’s never felt the urge to put his hands on someone, unlike satoru. but in that moment, looking at his best friend and feeling the blood pour from the open wound in his chest. 

exasperated by the stab wound to the back, from both you and satoru.

“you’re right,” the words taste like acid on suguru’s tongue as he grasps at gojo’s own collar with his green hand. never in a million years did he picture himself hating someone he loved with his whole heart. it physically pains him to even think about resenting you. it makes his vision shake and bleed with a dark red, he feels so irrevocably angry that he might hurt someone.  “it’s you i should be pissed with.”

geto moves without thinking, every fibre of his being reverting back to man’s natural instinct as his fist connects harshly with the underside of gojo’s chin. the taller of the two stumbles back in shock — thick and temperate scarlet coating his pearly white teeth from where he’s bitten down on his tongue along with the force. satoru barely has time to react not before suguru is on him again; landing another punch square in his face — accompanied by a sickening crack.

your brother grabs at your lover, shaking him by the lapels of his now bloodied suit and you scream loud enough to lower the temperature of the dining hall and fill it with chills because suguru has always told you to look away from violence. and this time you couldn’t.

you couldn’t bare to look away from those beautiful blue eyes as they took a hit for you. 

satoru sways backwards and forwards, clearly stunned at the force behind his best friend’s fists. he damn near collapses into the table behind him, causing the onlookers to yelp and cry out at his injured state. he’s got a busted lip, bruised cheeks and nose and he’s still the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

“fuck, suguru!” gojo’s voice wobbles, he sounds wounded. both inside and out. “what the fuck?” eventually, he grounds himself, tongue darting out to lick the patch of crimson at the corner of his lip. he swipes his bloody nose on the back of his hand too — steeling his already hard, azure eyes. 

“you deserved it. pulling this shit with my sister? are you fucking insane? you could have had anyone else—“ suguru cracks his knuckles, shaking them out. 

you feel as though you’re in the middle of a battle — one for your honour. words that leave battle scars are thrown from both gojo and geto on each side, swords of male ego clash at the centre and you’re nothing but a defenceless damsel in distress. what could you possibly do against the both of them? you think to throw yourself in between the two men as gojo stalks his way over to your brother in three scarily short strides…but your mother quickly wraps her arms around your shoulders and hugs you to her chest — keeping you away from the fight. 

your father takes a stance in front of you both — he would interfere, but he’s not as young and as agile as he used to be. he’d get his teeth knocked in if he did. 

“stop it! p-please! satoru don’t—!” you screech and wail to him over the commotion of the gathering crowds. he ignores your calls, acting on his free will as satoru’s throws his own punch — another scream tears through the chamber of your chest just from witnessing suguru’s head snap to the side from its power. “suguru!”

“fuck. you, gojo.” your brother slurs, wiping his own bleeding nose on the sleeve of his white shirt.

“fuck you right back, geto.” 

you did this. you caused this. if you had just heeded your brother’s advice, he wouldn’t be losing a friend. you wouldn’t be losing someone you loved. you should have stayed away, you should have—

“i should have never trusted you!” comes your brother’s vicious snarl, somehow managing to squirm free of satoru’s grip and using the last of his strength to push the silver haired male to the smooth marble.

satoru doesn’t move, just barely managing to protect his head from the fall. he’s still bleeding, light headed but powered by his desire to protect you. kill for you. “i know! but we couldn’t help it! it just happened!” 

suguru turns to you. “did he take advantage of you? ever? how long has this been a thing?”

“n-no! never! s-satoru would never!” you gulp back a choked sob, hoping to put an end to the madness. stop the shattered glass and the people staring and the punches being thrown. you’re a terrible liar, geto knows that. he can see right through your thinly veiled lies — satoru isn’t the type to just want someone. it comes with a price, the pieces of your heart worth more than gold to your brother. of course… at first it had been that way, satoru took what he wanted. but nowadays it feels different. feels like more. 

“t-two years. it was…it was all me. i-im the one who said i liked him first. i always have.” you continue slowly, hoping for the smallest twinkle of mercy in geto’s eyes. “please sugu…please. this… this is enough. just leave him alone. i’ll never talk to him again just…stop.” 

throughout your whole speech, tears and all, suguru remains towering over your boyfriend with both of their chests heaving, both of their shirts ripped and bloody. you think, for a moment, he might leave it at that — suguru will take your hand, lead you out of the restaurant and that’ll be it. satoru will be spared and you’ll have sacrificed your feelings for him to save their friendship. 

however, the tears that drip down the apples if your cheeks and streak through your makeup aren’t enough. they’re not enough to provide a barrier to gojo’s selfishness — even at his lowest, quite literally (lying weakly underneath suguru), he still thinks he can have it all. both you and his friend. 

“t-that shit’s not true. she was a game to me at first—“ he begins to say, causing hurt to flash across your chest and for you to fall to your knees despite being in your mother’s unsteady grip. 

he doesn’t get to finish for geto takes the opportunity to straddle gojo — unleashing hit after hit on him like a meteor shower of pain. you don’t think he’ll stop until his knuckles are split.

“suguru! s-stop it!” you cry. 

people scream just like you but don’t interfere. you don’t even care that they’re staring, you don’t care what they think, all you care about are their well-being. 

to your relief, satoru finds an interval — latching onto his ‘ex’ best friend’s wrists with the last of his energy, effectively stopping him from landing anymore punches. “c-christ suguru, let me fucking finish,” satoru gargles on the blood pooling in his perfect, chatty mouth — using his grasp on suguru to push him into sitting on the floor too. “maybe if you did, you wouldn’t have missed this part,” the older of the two, gojo, spits the nasty mix of spit and blood at the younger’s feet — using a second to regain his breath. he spares a second to look at you, shaking on your knees desperate to touch him and see if he’s okay. you don’t know. you still don’t know just how much satoru gojo is willing to sacrifice for you. you have no idea how much he loves you. so he says it. profoundly and loudly. 

“… missed the part where i fell in love with her. hard and fast. couldn’t even tell i was falling.”

geto slumps back on his knees, dropping his bruised and cut up knuckles between them with defeat. your entire body sags in relief, until you’re a mess of crumpled clothes, bones and tears. 

he’s never told you that before. that he loves you. 

“god, satoru…fuck!” suguru exclaims, clearly exasperated. his rage has simmered to a stop,  with only angst and anguish filling the air in his lungs. he’s realised now what this means. he’ll never look at you or the satoru the same. the two people he loves most on this god forsaken earth. “she’s my little sister!”

he sounds like he’s about to cry.

“i know.” 

“you watched her grow up! we grew up together!”

“i know.” 

“you’re five years older than her!” 

“i know, goddamn it!” satoru finally breaks the loop, his voice heavy with pain and exhaustion. “but i love her and i can’t help that. neither of us can.”

in the moment of silence that passes, where the audience calms down and suguru steps away from a bloody and beaten satoru — you rush to his side, sliding across the marble floor in your pretty dress to help your lover sit up properly. suguru looks down at you in desolation, his brows creased in the centre of his forehead unhappily. the expression makes you hug gojo’s head to your shoulder tightly in your own protective stance — crimson bleeding across blue fabric like ink in water, forming a hollow shade of purple.

“she’s my little sister…” geto repeats solemnly, as if he’s watching your child-like innocence fade away in real time. he’s been looking out for you for so long that he’s failed to see what an adult you’ve become. it doesn’t make the betrayal hurt any less, though. “she’s…she’s still a kid.” he adds, swallowing the lump in his throat. “and now you’re fucking her?”

satoru shakes his head, easing himself from your grip as though to show you that he’s strong. strong enough for the both of you. “it’s not like that, and she’s not a kid anymore. she’s twenty two, suguru! she doesn’t need you watching over her like some fucking hawk anymore. she can fuck me or whoever the fuck she wants.” 

and even though satoru is right — you hate that they both talk about you as if you’re not even there or autonomous enough to defend yourself. 

“but you know better.” geto goes on, his own defence becoming weaker and weaker — disintegrating like paper in water. 

“we both do!” finally finding your voice, you stand up from your position on the floor cradling satoru and move to stand in front of your brother — grabbing his hands with pleading doe eyes and tears on your cheeks. “w-we’re both adults who made the mistake of getting involved with each other behind your back. but we don’t have to fight this out like children…please just give us a chance, sugu. talk to him. talk to me. y-your little sister…”

geto sags again, he looks tired, but accepts your affection without a trace of doubt or hatred. he thumbs the backs of your hands, dark obsidian eyes gazing into your soul like a galaxy of black holes. your deep chocolatey eyes are met with a stare full of trust and admiration — something familiar, something that fills you with temporary relief.

you like to think that you know suguru geto. 

he’s the smartest and most rational man you’ve ever met. your brother has always been kind and tender, takes the time to really listen to people and think things through step by step. he never acts on instinct or brashness. those are all things you know about him. 

you like to think that your older sibling knows you too. 

that he would look at you and see your truth, how much you care for gojo and how you didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt. 

clearly, neither of you know each other as well as you once thought. 

he sees gojo from over your shoulder, and the same sense of white hot betrayal washes over the dark haired man like an acid bath. he rips his hands away from yours as if he’s touched molten lava and you’ve scalded the palms of his hands in which he used to love you, care for you and raise you. 

a pained sound gargles in your throat as geto pulls away from you — his own mature, handsome face, equally as distraught. “i can’t,” he mumbles quietly. “not right now. i’m sorry.” his warmth is gone before you know it and he’s grabbing his belongings from your dinner table, bowing in apology to guests and staff and your parents. 

“suguru!” you gasp, tears stinging at your eyes once again. “suguru wait!”

geto presses his thick, black leather wallet to your mother’s chest as he passes your parents, his suit coat half slung over his shoulder. “use the black card to cover the bill for dinner and pay for the meals of the families who’s tables we destroyed. i’ll take care of any damages too — the owner was a client of mine.” he tells her softly, kissing her forehead. 

“suguru— your sister!”

he doesn’t turn back as he pushes his way through the crowd in order to reach the exit. “she’s old enough to look after herself, right?”

“suguru please.” 

you will yourself to chase after him, every cell in your body screaming at you to move while your heart and mind long for you to stay by satoru’s side. 

you’re conflicted, you don’t know who to choose. 

and maybe it’s satoru’s selfishness, maybe he’s the one to blame for the rift in yours and suguru’s relationship — because when he succumbs to the bleeding and the injuries, and someone aside from you screams for an ambulance, you can’t bring yourself to leave him. 

like a bird in a cage, you’re trapped by satoru’s love.

or perhaps he was just taking advantage of your weak little heart like always. 

being at home is supposed to bring you comfort, there’s nothing like it. 

your home is like a safe, full of precious memories locked away with a key that only you possess. if you push through the door you’re met with a gust of nostalgia — the sounds of childlike laughter as undertones to scolding parental voices. as you drift down the halls there’s works of art made with crayola ink on the walls, and sometimes there’s tears in that one little spot at the top of your stairs. 

spices from your favourite home cooked meal burning on the stove top usually waft throughout the place, calming you down and filling you with warmth. you can’t remember a time where the smells and aromatics of your home have failed to bring you back down to earth. they trigger waves of fondness and flashbulb memories of your father teaching you and suguru as siblings how to cook whenever your mother fell ill.

your home not only hosts heartfelt conversations between four people who love each other, but it speaks too. it would creak and groan and squeak with every step you took deeper inside, with each time you ran through it while being chased by your brother. 

every single one of these moments, these sounds and scents they’re all part of a precious network that make up the foundation of your home. plaster made of love and bricks born from happiness, all glued together by layers of forgiveness in the form of concrete. it’s a house full of happiness, your home is. made by your parents, suguru and you. 

but right now you feel as if the roof of your home has caved in.

you’ve been sitting outside of suguru’s bedroom for hours now. your pretty dress soaked in blood and your face in your own tears. you can hear him on the other side of the door — he’s talking to someone, no doubt looking for last minute flights or begging for one of his client’s private jets. and you’re terrified because if he leaves like this you might never speak to one another again. 

you don’t want that, you can’t have that.  

you wonder where he might go — if it’ll be some place you always planned to visit together when you were old enough. a trip abroad was something geto had promised you if you graduated. now here you were. graduated but without your big brother by your side. Paris, London, New York — all places you were meant to explore with your eldest sibling by your side. 

though at this very moment, he was all the way on the other side of a door he had no intention of opening.

it’s like the entire world has collapsed and caved in on you — there’s a hole starting to form in your heart that only suguru can fill and until today, as he begins to pull away from you, you hadn’t realised how much space in your life he had occupied. you leaned heavily on your brother, he shielded you from experiences like this time and time again, and all you could do in return is fuck his best friend. 

some grateful little sister you are.

your face burns with a fresh set of tears, hot at the centre and underneath the fat of your eye bags. you’re so dependent on him, you wonder how you’ll cope when you move cities and start a real life outside of the shelter your brother had worked so hard to build for you. the very idea makes your insides twist and stomach turn. you’re not even sure if geto will want to keep in touch with you once either of you are gone.

leaning against his door, you paw at your wet face — hoping and praying that he’ll hear you out. that he won’t leave you, because without suguru you have no one. 

wait… that’s not true.

there’s still satoru. if he even wants you after all of this. if you even want him.

why is it that he chose this way to confess his love for you? why is it that he dragged you away from a family dinner to fuck you instead of just being honest? why was satoru so selfish? 

he hurt you over and over again — left mental scars on you and treated them like open wounds, adding salt and citrus and whatever would sting just to make sure you kept on needing him and only him. he hurt you to make sure you loved him back and you’re sure he had no idea. there’s an underlying guilt coursing through the blood in your system — guilt in letting satoru take all of the blame for falling out with suguru. especially when he defended you against your brother’s switch up and acidic, toxic words. especially when he’s posted up in a hospital bed for his battle wounds — split lip, possible concussion, bruised eye sockets. 

your white haired lover had tried to be brave for you when you’d left him at the hospital to come home and change. there was terror evident in each dark blue fleck in his baby blue eyes, anxiety wrapping around his heart at the idea of you just leaving him there. he thought you would be leaving him forever.

fuck. gojo was good to you, in so many bad ways. you wished that you’d never met him, that you’d never fallen for him either. 

before your mind is fully able to slip away to your lover boy, the door to suguru’s bedroom clicks open softly — forcing you to scoot away from him so that he has room to step out. neither of you move — frozen in time like marble statues carved millennia ago. you look a mess and suguru looks like a clean slate. where your dress is blood and snot stained, your makeup smeared and eyes puffy — your older brother has been washed free of tonight’s grime, his cuts are plastered over and his knuckles bandaged. not a single dark, obsidian tendril of his hair is out of place either — perfectly tied back into his signature bun.

most importantly, there’s not a trace of bitterness on his face — almost as if the events of tonight never even happened. 

as if you never ruined his friendship with gojo or ruined his perception of you — his little sister. 

yet, there’s a glum sort of gleam to his dark eyes, he’s tired — he’s been thinking too hard, going through every step over and over again trying to piece together what he missed. why would you hide this from him? you hate how lost suguru looks. that you did this to him too.

he doesn’t want to fight, not with you. not after satoru.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, shifting to sit on your knees in front of him — as if you’re about to bow for geto’s forgiveness. “i should have never… i didn’t mean to—“ you pick at stray pieces of skin by the bed of your nails, flailing for words as you slip under the surface of your painstaking emotions. “i’m…i’m…”

geto crouches down to your height, using one hand to wipe the tears from your big bambi eyes and another to tilt your chin up towards him gently. “sorry.” he finishes for you, flashing you his classic, loving smile. “it’s okay…just give me time.” 

you nod shortly, your features twitching as you fight back the urge to cry again. 

the older male clicks his tongue and shakes his head, the pad of his thumb swiping under your eyes gently. “oh no, none of that, don’t cry for me.” as always, suguru comforts you and tends to you like a flower in need of nurture. “i’m sorry too, little one.” 

“a-are you leaving?” 

“for a little while.”

your face crumples once again. “suguru—“ comes your childish huff as he stands — but before the elder geto can get very far, you latch onto his wrist in one last clingy attempt. 

suguru shakes his head one more time, more vigorously as if he’s trying to get rid of his own tears — knowing that if he lets you continue and beg him to stay, he won’t have the chance he needs to heal.  “i can’t. i need time,” your brother says firmly, almost as if he’s scolding you. “you can’t expect me to get over it just like that. it’s not fair.”

you’re fully aware of that, selfishly choosing to ignore the fact — just like satoru would. life isn’t fair, so you suppose this is life’s own way of punishing you for hurting your brother and causing him grief. 

“sugu, please don’t go.” 

“give me a few weeks, a few months even, and i’ll come back. i promise.” he sighs in response, practically begging you at this point. it kills him to leave his younger sibling just as much as it kills you to see him go. however, every time suguru lays his eyes upon you, all he feels is betrayal and loss. all he can see is his best friend’s hands ruining you. corrupting you. it almost makes suguru resent you, for taking a bite of an apple from the snake he’d warned you about. hating you is the last thing suguru wants. “i can do that for you because you’re my little sister. because i love you and deep down, you’re everything to me. but i just need to get over this first.” 

it’s because you’re his little sister that he’s even able to look at you. if you were anyone else, if you were satoru, dinner would have been it. 

“‘m sorry,” you whimper for the millionth time, in defeat, weakly allowing suguru to help you onto your feet. every fibre of your being tingles with the need to hug him, soothe him in the ways he would do for you — though you know better. that’s not what he needs right now. geto needs you to let him go.

“i know,” geto hums sadly. he tucks your braids behind your ear, thumbing your cheek affectionately “you should go to bed, it’s getting late.” 

he presses a lingering kiss into the baby hairs on the crown of your head as he softly grips your arms — using them to rotate you both until his back is to the door and yours is to the looming hallway. 

“goodnight,” you sniff meaningfully. a nostalgic feeling rushes over you, a sense of déjà vu — reminding you of the time when suguru first left for college. 

suguru smiles again, disappearing into his room with a whispered. “goodnight, little one.” 

and with that, he’s gone. 

you only hope that he’ll make good on his promise, forgive you and come back. 

because as the saying goes — if you love someone let them go. 

and if they come back to you, then they’re yours.  

after a hot shower, you find yourself taking heed of suguru’s advice and retreat back to the confines of your bedroom. 

childlike walls covered in ugly green no longer make you laugh or provide you with an uplifting and evocative solace. instead, you feel more cold and alone, desperate to leave this life behind and move on to bigger and better things. 

things that suguru had helped you to achieve.

while the scalding hot water had washed away any bloody stains from the night, any tears left on your cheeks — it did nothing to get rid of the slimy, gross feeling that you couldn’t seem to reach. it spread underneath the surface of your skin like wildfire through a forest, over each crack and crevice in your mind, slipped through the gaps in your rib cage to target your lungs like a respiratory attack. it was the shame, the guilt and the grief for someone you’d lost who was still alive. all three emotions plagued you. 

once safely behind your own bedroom door, shutting out your feelings about the night (after only half of them had swirled down the drain), you rest against its wooden frame — watching the droplets that were clinging to your supple skin drop to the ground as if they were the tears you didn’t feel like crying anymore. 

the towel around your exhausted frame drops to your ankles as you lethargically search your dresser for your favourite cocoa butter moisturiser. you work in silence, soothing the night’s wounds as you prepare for bed like your bother had said. you slip on a set of pyjamas, tie your braids back with silk scrunchies and just as you hit the lights — there’s a knock at your window.

you don’t move, waiting to see if it’s your imagination or your mind playing tricks on you again. 

but then, there’s another dull thud and you whip around from your dresser to meet a pair of clear-sky blue eyes that catch light under the shining moon does enough to illuminate every curve and slope to his dainty features. gojo looks a little compared to when you left him in the hospital — whatever fluids they’ve given him have helped with the hollow, purple-ish dark circles under his eyes. a few cuts still litter the angelic curve to satoru’s face, 

clutching the centre of your chest from under your sweatshirt (in an attempt to calm your beating heart) — you rush towards the source of the noise, tugging the latches of your window open. “satoru,” you breathe, your entire body going lax once you realise who it is.

“hey you,” he grins, holding onto the upper body panel of the window while he waits for your permission to come in. even though your room is dark, painted with tendrils of pitch black, the silvering moon does enough to highlight each cut or slash across his pretty face. “missed you.” 

slowly, you reach out to touch him. a single fingertip slides across gojo’s sharp jaw, so sharp that it could cut diamonds, before you angle his head from side to side — inspecting the injuries that hardly do anything to dampen his beauty.

“can i come inside?” gojo asks cautiously. “it’s kinda cold out here.” 

blinking, you snap out of your reverie and shift backwards on your bed to make space for satoru to come through. he crawls into your room quietly like he’s done many times before, sneaking over to see you during your breaks from university, and shuts the window behind him.

the both of you stand still in the dark, hardly able to see each other, hardly able to tell what the other is thinking. satoru wonders if you hate him, if this is it for you and he. should he touch you? would you let him?

and as for you, you’re stuck between a rock and hard place. your body, as always, calls for gojo — yearns to be near him as if you haven’t seen one another in a millennia. you know that he’s right there, you can hear his shallow and ragged breathing (probably from climbing up to your window) just centimetres away. he’s done so much to hurt you, ruin you… and yet you can’t seem to resist him or stay away from him when you know that you should. 

“i figured you’d want this back, that’s why i came.” gojo mumbles, dangling the chain of your necklace in front of you. you reach out to take it and your boyfriend lets go, but the jewellery hits the ground and you ignore it’s metallic clatter.

“satoru gojo…” you whimper, instead, taking a step forward into the void — your hands touch on his tiny waist before travelling upwards over his creased button up shirt to settle at the silver haired man’s broad shoulders. he groans low at the feeling of your nails raking across them from over the fabric, reaching higher to scratch at his scalp through the baby hairs on his neck. even though satoru remains stiff and hesitant at first, it’s an intimate moment, you’re hardly able to see each other while being pressed so close together — desperate and longing. gojo finally relaxes and grabs the fat at your waist, pulling your hips flush against his own. 

you stand on your tiptoes and use your grip on his hair to tug gojo down to your height — your lips a breath’s width away from each other. he’s so close that you can feel his breath coast along the seams of your lips. 

“what have you done to me?” you finish, whispering.

god, satoru wishes that he knew. he has no idea himself, the kind of power and hold that he has over you. “i don’t fucking know,” he finds himself saying, meeting you the rest of the way as he leans down to capture your mouth in a messy, searing hot kiss. “i don’t wanna know. just let me kiss you.” 

“mhm,” you all but whine in reply, wrapping your arms around satoru’s neck as he feverishly licks into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. he feeds you his moans, one by one, pouring his apologies and unspoken words past your lips and into your soul. gojo can’t speak with your tongue in his mouth, he’s spent all night plagued by thoughts of you — wondering if he’d done the right thing by telling suguru, if he should have kept his mouth shut and his hands off you. if he should have done it properly.

he fucks everything up — especially the things that he loves. gojo wouldn’t be surprised if you were done with his bullshit now. he’d make the most of what you’re willing to give him for the moment. 

your lips grow sticky with the layers of spit swapped between you and you can taste him on you. in your mouth, on your tongue. he tastes like cold peppermint and wisps of pink wine. he feels like heaven under your fingers, his hair soft like the feathers of god’s favourite angel. you inhale the hint of his aftershave from his clothes, let it drift over your mind as well. he’s toxic, bad for your lungs like a vape or the chemicals from something else addictive. perhaps you’re smelling gasoline, the kind that satoru uses to start a fire in your lower belly. 

you shouldn’t be doing this, not again, not here, not with suguru across the hall about to leave you. but you can’t help it, satoru’s become your everything and you feel that you might not be able to live without him too. “satoru,” your arm shoots to wrap around his neck, hardly allowing the man to pull away from you and breathe. your movements are so fast that gojo stumbles and holds you tighter to catch his balance. though it might be because he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “satoru, satoru, satoru please…”

you’ve no idea what you’re even begging for, just chanting his name between bruising kisses, his tongue sloppily gliding over yours while he fights to pull away from your intoxicating lip locks. “don’t beg, baby,” he grunts hot and heavy, dragging a thumb over your swollen lips. “god, please don’t fuckin’ beg. you have no idea what it does to me.” 

“but i need you,” closing your lips around the tip of his thumb, you suck gently and it causes satoru to grow weak in the knees — dizzy from the sensation. “and i love you…”

“fuck, i—“ gojo swallows thickly, watching you like a hawk as you suck on him salaciously. “i’m right here…love you too. now jump for me, baby.” comes his loving command, pulling the digit from the prison of your hot mouth. if he could, he’d take a life sentence to stay between your lips. 

following gojo’s lead, you leap upwards into his hold — allowing satoru to grope at your fleshy ass as he hoists you up. a pathetic bleat escapes his saliva laden lips when your thighs wrap securely around his waist, pussy slotting against satoru’s crotch while he carries you to sit on your dresser. 

after setting you down, satoru places a palm on the mirror above your head, steadying himself as lust and love for you and only you overwhelms him until he’s nothing but a shaky mess. a man that could be brought to his knees with just one look from you. his head drops to your neck, breath balmy against the surface of your skin, long white lashes tickling you there too. 

he grows enchanted by your steady pulse, pulled in my each of your little whimpers. a mop of silver hair descends upon your flesh, the taste buds on satoru’s pink, eager tongue mapping out your taste to commit to memory. he wants to remember your flavour forever — treating this as if it’s the last time he’ll ever touch you. 

“you…you asked me what it is that i’ve done to you. ‘n i told you that i… fuck, that i didn’t know,” gojo pants, a rosy blush spreading across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. one “but i can tell you exactly what it is that you do to me...” your lover looks down at you like a man drunk or high, facing an addiction he won’t be able to quit. it does something to you, drags crazed sex hormones from your brain right down to your pulsating clit. 

the temperature in the room rises, boiling and bubbling — the particles in the air teaming with so much desire, buzzing around with an equal amount of kinetic energy. “you’ve ruined me,” he mumbles wistfully, a man charmed. gojo leaves a wet trail over your pulse point, slowly sinking his teeth into the area. there’s a gentleness to the way that he leaves his mark on you — panting like a wet dog as he does so. “you make me want to take care of you. you’ve got me so fucked up that i can’t tell what’s up or down….” he moans into the sweltering ambience of the room.

satoru forces himself against you and you gasp, head hitting the mirror because you can feel how hard he is against the crotch of your night shorts. “i want to be your everything,” his selfish tendencies seep through into his actions, love bites gojo works against your neck become more prominent and harsher — as if to get his point across or through your head. he wants you to know how much he wants you. “just like i know that i’m yours.” 

it’s true. he is. 

the very phrase make your hips buck up into his, a wave of slick pooling between your folds as they catch on the print of gojo’s dick. “f-fuck…” the tail end of your words end in a lost whine, too turned on by gojo’s desperation for you. only you. 

“i love you,” he whispers, voice silky smooth while continuing to ravish your neck and collar bones with shades of deep purple and blue. gojo’s large hands sneak down to your waistband to pull your shorts off and on instinct, you do the same — a nagging craving for more of him taking over you once again. “like no one before. dunno why i didn’t say it earlier, don’t know why i didn’t wanna show you off.” 

satoru tugs your panties to one side, wedging them behind your swollen pussy lips and exposing your quivering mound to the night air. even though the room is dark, he can still see the glisten of your arousal and whines wildly from deep within his chest at the sight — urging you to yank down his boxers too. 

circling your hips up to meet his, the both of you hiss in unison as your leaky, sopping sexes come into contact for the second time that night. it feels right. just having the length of gojo’s heavy shaft nestled between your sticky folds — it’s natural, as if you’re made for one another despite fate not wanting you to be together. his tip spurts early traces of precum against your slit in another form of marking, hot and creamy against you while the scent of sex begins to waft through the air. 

it’ll never matter how much you try to resist satoru, for as long as he’s around, you’ll fall into this twisted little routine — a repeat offence of betraying your brother. your nails come up to dig crescent moons into his milky toned and strong arms, gritting your teeth at the pleasure beginning to wash over and drown you. “s-shit baby—“ gojo mewls through a pout, finally giving up on biting and sucking at your neck to rest his sweaty forehead against your own. “just wanna be good to you…wanna be enough for you. p-promise i’ll give my everything just t’be the one takin’ care of you.” 

satoru slurs his words but the very promise sounds like a dream for you. it’ll be everything you’ve ever wanted out of the man, all you’ve ever asked for in all these two years of fucking around. to be equals, to be his partner for the world to see. although, a tiny seed of doubt begins to sprout in the back of your mind — you’re not even sure if it’s true, if satoru’s just making empty promises to get you like this, to manipulate you into staying after messing everything up with your brother. 

could he take care of you like suguru did? could you trust him to do that? 

your jaw goes slack as gojo drags his hips back and forth, back and forth, the pretty blue veins wrapped around his cock running over your clit — stimulating you into a weakened stupor. milky droplets of pre glaze the length of your dripping cunt, satoru rubbing it in the more he grinds into you. 

the dance of your bodies is toxic and never ending, the way you rock into each other in perfect harmony causing your dresser to delicately thud against your bedroom walls. “d-do you promise, ‘toru?” you gasp, biting down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood, as though to stop yourself from crying out loud from the electric current of pleasure he gives you. “y-you have to promise me.” 

silvery white brows knit together in the centre of satoru’s forehead, making him look pathetic. his hand forces it’s way between both of your tight and tangled limbs to grab hold of his bright red an, bulbous cockhead and circle it against your pulsating clit — dragging it up and down until it grazes your hole.

he damn near chokes on a glob of spit when you unconsciously clench around him — a loud simper bubbling up on the edge of his pretty pink lips. you’re quick to lean forward, practically slamming a hand over satoru’s eager mouth to keep him quiet. 

“p-promise me.” you repeat wetly, panting out the syllables as his dick slots perfectly against your wetness — both of you move with vigour and hushed whimpers and moans, satoru chasing after your soused sex like a hungry animal. you feel like you’re going fucking insane beneath him, watching as his tie to sanity starts to dissolve into thin air just from the way your pissy drips all over him with treacle-like juices.

no one on this earth could make satoru gojo give this up. give you up. not your parents, not his, not your brother. he’d rather die than let another person have you in the way that he does right now, where you rut your hips into his in one fluid motion. even if his heart breaks and his muscles ache — he can’t…he won’t stop giving you his all, won’t stop making you see fucking stars. 

a pressure begins to build just above your pelvis — brought forth by gojo bullying your pleasure nub with his sopping dick. it’s obvious how close you’re getting, your puckered hole gushing all over him and clenching on nothing. but it’s not like the man above you is in a better state — you’ve wrecked gojo, sent the man to high heavens and brought him back down to earth all at once. you’ve shown satoru that he’s worthy of being loved, that he’s capable of doing the same. the realisation only adds to the intensity of your sinful movements underneath the watchful eye of the moon. 

tears spring to his brilliant blue eyes, another clamorous sob breaking free from your hands over his mouth — making you clasp him tighter. everything is so intense and emotional, pleasure mounting like bricks for both of you. you’re shaky in one another’s hold, sticky against each other while your arousals lube everything up and make the whole ordeal wetter. it really does feel like a crescendo, the highest point of an orchestra’s song — where your bodies are the instruments played by one another. 

“satoru,” you repeat his name, warning him, begging him to focus through the thick fog of love, lust and desire clouding his brain. 

“i-i—“ gojo chokes down his feelings, slamming his other hand on the dresser behind you to trap you in underneath him — his hips never let up, however, roughly snapping into yours. “i promise. i promise, baby — always will, fuckin’ swear it.” he mumbles under his breath against the palm of your hand. 

and that’s all either of you need to hear for the dam to break. 

gojo’s rhythm falters, his hips stuttering as he succumbs to you and he hits his high. he lets out a cry of your name so genuine it pulls at your heart strings and you slip under the surface of ecstasy’s ocean — letting it fill your lungs as you cum too. you screw your eyes shut with the white light that blinds you through your orgasm — afraid of what may lie on the other side of this world-ending sensation. you don’t want the reality that awaits you. you don’t want to have to wake up from this little dream you’ve created with satoru. 

speaking of, the white haired man collapses over you in a fit of shakes and shivers — ropes of his white seed coating your aching mound. there’s so much for it, all caused by and for you. he doesn’t stop rutting into you, even though it’s sensitive, but wraps his arms around your head just to comfort you through it. hugging you to him while you both come down. 

he’s good to you, so good in this moment, but you have no idea if this will translate past tonight. 

“can i fuck you?” he asks through ragged breathing. “just a little bit, won’t be long. just wanna make you feel good again, you’re so pretty when you’re moaning and feeling so fucking good on my cock.” 

you wince with overstimulation as satoru starts to rub his shaft against you all over again, working it up to another ripe and pulsating erection just for you. earlier, you had wished the night would last a little longer, so you could love him a little harder and here satoru gojo was — making all but one of your dreams come true. “h-hurry,” you whinge into his shoulder, your teeth sinking into the milky flesh as though to keep yourself quiet. “don’t make me wait.”

“never baby, you’re too pretty for me to be patient,” in one fail swoop, satoru nudges his tip inside of you — instantly filling you to the brim with sticky, sloppy cock and drawing a needy gasp from you. “yanno, you’re so cute when you take my dick, such a beautiful baby. no one compares to you.” 

you know that he might just be running his mouth to fuck you sweet again, telling you all of the things you want to hear — but you can’t help but want gojo closer and wrap your legs around his waist, using the heels of your feet to push him closer to the point where his cum-covered cockhead is brushing against your womb.

with fluttering eyelashes, your mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape and a silent mewl escapes you — it doesn’t take long for your partner to fall into the perfect pace, fuelled by his desire to make you both cum again and his need to chase the stinging, delicious pain he gets from chasing overstimulation. “d-did you get tighter baby? you’re fuckin’ choking me out here,” satoru grunts against your sweaty hairline, ramming his hips into your clenching cunt that practically squirts a crude mix of your remaining orgasms. “you gonna milk me? make me fill you up again?”

“y-yes! please satoru…don’t stop!” you whine in harmony with his moans as they rise in pitch — higher and higher until they’re whistle tone, scratching tigers marks down his muscled back. the touch drives gojo insane, activating something primal in him to the point where you once again have to cover his mouth with wet kisses. if he didn’t love you, then the simple gesture wouldn’t cause him lose his tether to the real world fucking you like this. 

if it was only a touch, why did it ruin him?

juices and thick waves of cum that had once coated your throbbing cunt now slosh over your dresser that dully thuds against your bedroom wall — over and over again the faster gojo’s hips pound into yours. the sound of skin on skin overwhelms all of your senses, you’re stimulated beyond belief and you’re crying from multiple places…it’s almost too much for your poor ravaged body to handle. 

“i’ll n-never stop…fuuuck baby, as long as i’ve got you. ‘m never stoppin’…never stoppin’… n-never—“ your man chants, crying into your mouth and the hot lustful buzzing hair between you when grab his ass so that he can fuck you deeper. the slit at his cockhead is overloaded with viscous precum, smearing it along your inner and gushing ribbed walls — claiming your insides for the second time that night. 

your hips run from the pleasure that you crave and that satoru gives to you — cross eyed and panting from above you like a wet dog. there’s no need for him to run from you though, you won’t let him, not when he needs to be loved by you. someone who cares for satoru gojo despite all of his mistakes.  

a creamy ring begins to form at the base of satoru’s swelling cock, all white and frothy from where he’s been churning your guts up lovingly — pounding his earlier orgasm inside of you as if to make it stick. your clit grinds against his smooth pelvis, dragging you by the ankle to another world-altering orgasm and his balls slap wetly against the curve of your fleshy ass. 

satoru adjusts your body against the dresser so that the curve of your spine rests on the table and he’s able to hike your legs over his shoulders so he can bully that one special spot only he can reach. your knees meet your chest, breasts bouncing beneath them from the force of the white haired man’s chest. “g-god, you’re…you’re fucking me too good,” you gargle, hands in his sweaty mass of silver hair as you tug gojo implausibly closer. “i wanna cum…are you there? c-can i cum, ‘toru?”

pressing his forehead to yours, satoru nods feverishly. “right behind you, baby. where do you want it?” there’s a fluid roll to your man’s hips, his cock dipping in and out of your fluttering entrance so fast and so good that you’re sure you’re about to lose consciousness. “how about inside? how ‘bout you lemme leave somethin’ with you?” clear, thick strings tie your clenching pussy to satoru’s cum glazed shaft — glistening under the night’s natural light. you can’t wait for there to be more of him inside you. “touch your clit for me baby, make yourself cum on my dick.” 

you do as your told, fumbling between your salt-licked entangled limbs for the little nub between your swollen folds. immediately pressing down on it, you find yourself tightening around gojo while he grinds harshly against your g-spot and moans breathily against your Cupid’s bow since your foreheads are still pressed together. 

“s-sa…satoru! ‘m…i’m cumming!” one look at him, completely destroyed by you, is all it takes to send you flying to cloud nine — your stomach lurches and your eyes roll back into the dark depths of your skull as you cum one more time for your lover. clear streams of your essence squirt steadily from your cunt, bathing satoru in your orgasm while you succumb to overstimulation. 

his tummy and thighs are doused in your precious liquid as you quietly scream his name — all of these senses serve to trigger his own orgasm. “c’mon, that’s it little one. give it to me, i gotcha. want it all over me,” gojo smirks against your lips, peppering them with soft kisses while he wrecks and bullies your insides in an attempt to cum himself. “oooh, fuck. i love you, i love you, i love you.”

just like he promised, satoru gives you another hot load — failing to stop fucking you through either of your highs. he loses control of his hips, allowing them to languidly and uncoordinatedly rut into you — pushing his seed further up your silken walls until your cunt is covered in a layer of white. there’s so much of it that white drips his balls and inner thighs, as well as down to your puckered asshole. maybe it’s a little crude if him, but satoru’s lengthy fingers gather what you leak and smears it against your lips — kissing you there, sucking your mixed flavours from your eager mouth.

it’s only while you calm down from your orgasms that things start to change…drastically. 

even as satoru kisses your hairline and whispers praises against it, rocking you back and forth as you twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm — the fear comes rushing back. 

the post-orgasmic clarity hits.

the tears start flowing once more and you realise that you’re so, so tired of it all.

yellow and artificial light from down the hall seeps through the gap underneath your door, accompanied by footsteps. you’ve no doubt that someone in your home is awake, maybe your mum going for her late night glass of water, your dad for the loo or maybe even suguru. for his flight. the light is glaring and illuminates your room — highlighting the night’s mistake. satoru. 

when the footsteps recede and the light dims down, you let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding — your silent tears blooming into quiet hiccups that you have no control over. “h-hey,” he cups your face, wiping at your eyes just like your brother had done before shutting you out. “hey pretty girl, what’s the matter? did i hurt you? was that too much—?”

slicing through gojo’s words, you find the strength to speak even if it hurts to reveal the truth. it’s like ripping off a bandaid, “how do i know that you really mean all this? that you’re going to keep your promise, ‘toru?”

“w-what?” 

“i can’t do this!” you snap as loudly as your voice will allow you to. you don’t want to wake anyone else up nor get caught by your brother with your pants down for the man who betrayed his trust. not to mention, nearly getting him to hate you. “you promised to take care of me. just like suguru would, while we were basically having sex — how am i supposed to trust that?” it sounds crazy coming from your mouth, doubting satoru even after the intimate moments that you’ve just shared. however, you’ve been around this block with him too many times, you know the signs off by heart, you’ve memorised the cracks in his resolve as if they’re those in the pavement. the ones people tell you not to step on to avoid bad luck. 

you feel unlucky, you feel played and naive. you saw all the warnings and wilfully ignored them because you liked the way satoru loved before he knew the weight of the word. “how am i supposed to trust you?” you add, voice wavering.

satoru can’t seem to find an excuse — maybe because his brain is too fucked out or maybe because he’s shocked that you’re not just blindly trusting him anymore. he always thought things would be easy with you, that this nightmare would be over quick… and you’d take him back just like that. perhaps the dinner was your wake up call. “i don’t… i don’t know, i just…” he selfishly expects you to believe him. “you know me. you love me and i love you, can’t that be enough?” 

“you’ve never given me enough, satoru! it’s only now that you’re realising you want me as more than just your… your plaything! when i’m all you have left and suguru is gone with the wind!” you want to push him away but satoru is rooted in front of you, his presence sturdy unlike before. “you say that you love me, and i think i believe it…but it’s so hard to trust you. to not think that this is just an impulse.” 

“i’d wanna be with you even if suguru stayed, i always do. it kills me to be away from you!” satoru fires back, scrambling for something…anything that’ll make you see just how badly he means it when he says he loves you and wants you. that it’s not because he’s afraid of being alone. “i fucked this up, with you and with suguru. but i’ve known for a long time that i’ve wanted you, needed you to be mine and more than just a fling!” 

you look away, face twisting with pain. “i…i don’t believe that.” 

“then let me prove it,” the words rush right out of gojo’s mouth, faster than his brain can catch up — his anxiety spiking at the thought of you abandoning what you have together. abandoning him. “move in with me, come with me. i’ll get us a place in the city where your new job is, i’ll get my dad to transfer me to a closer branch of Gojo Corp… just let me show you how much i want to make this work — even if it means losing suguru.” 

satoru grabs your chin and tilts your gaze back over to him — but you can’t even look him in the eye. 

instead, your face burns, hot as your vision swims with another wave of tears. “i need your honesty, satoru. no more empty promises, no more false hopes.” he can see it in you now, how exhausted you are with the game of cat and mouse you’ve been playing all this time. you just want to be loved without constraint and satoru comes with so much baggage he’ll only weigh you down when you try to fly from the nest. it wouldn’t be fair. “i need you to choose. would you really give it all up for me? your reputation, your lifestyle, your best friend?” 

satoru’s wants to be selfish, desperately so. it’s all he’s ever known. taking and taking until his partner at the time is nothing but a husk of the person they once were. the difference this time is that he actually loves you, cares for you and would kill for you. he’s already taken so much from your youthful bright eyes. 

he would hate to take your spark too.

so satoru gojo decides to weigh up his options. 

either lose it all and keep you as his or lose you while the wounds he’s inflicted on everyone else heal. 

if you love someone, then let them go. if they come back to you, they’re yours. 

“then… then i’m sorry. for not being more honest. you’re right in every sense of the word…i can’t give this up,” gojo says simply, watching the light and hope in your eyes die out. “i think it’s best if we end it here and i let you go.” 

so reddit, AITA? 

UPDATE - AITA (27M) FOR FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND'S (26M) LITTLE SISTER (22F)? hey reddit. long time no see, i got a lot of attention on this post and undoubtedly you all decided that i was the asshole. i’ve done some work on myself and now i see that i was 100% in the wrong. i’ll spare you the boring details, because i know that’s not what you’re here for. i didn't want to leave anyone hanging, so here’s a quick update on where the three of us are at, one year later. i’ll start by saying — we broke up. i made the call so now she’s seeing someone else, and it’s serious. 

in another lifetime, satoru would have chosen to be with you. 

he’s certain that in another wonderfully weird and wacky universe — nothing would have stopped you from being that happy couple you wanted to be so badly. suguru might have even accepted your relationship, or maybe he would have died and his final wish would have been for the white haired man to make you happy. 

that is something satoru will never know. the idea comforts him whenever he’s left alone with his thoughts for a little too long.

however, this isn’t another lifetime. this isn’t a different universe. this is the reality where satoru gojo had broken up with you right after your graduation. 

he did it so that he wouldn’t come off as selfish — so that you had a chance to fix things with his ex best friend (and your brother) before it was too late. it was the least he could do after taking advantage of you, corrupting you against all of suguru’s wishes — but that didn’t make gojo any better of a man nor a knight in shining armour. he was still a shifty guy. 

still selfish, though, the decision was made with satoru still in mind. 

the night he’d broken up with you obviously ended in tears. to you, it was the end of your life — losing your first love, and you couldn’t even be blamed. you were only twenty two, your reaction was justified. suguru had been right in that sense, you were innocent and your heart needed to be protected, satoru had definitely taken advantage of that. 

you were kind enough to let your then ex stay the night — as long as he was back in the hospital and gone by the morning. satoru never knew what transpired the next day, as you were quick to block him on everything, and you had every right. 

he made his choice and his bed, now he had to lie in it too.

geto did leave, gojo knows that much, having seen his best friend take up work at a law firm in the US. geto had since been low contact with him. as did the rest of your family. again, it was for the best — even if it did hurt and cause gojo to bury himself within his father’s company, working himself to the bone every day just as a distraction.

through the grapevine of CEOs and higher ups, satoru learns that you’ve followed in your brother’s footsteps and made your way over to the land of the free. the magazine you worked for, Heavenly Pact, was getting ready to start an american edition and word had travelled that you were going to be the head of their new office on that side of the pond. gojo was proud, excited for you — you were excelling in your career all on your own, he was glad that he hadn’t ruined that for you too.

being in the states from time to time, satoru often wondered if there would ever be a time where he ran into you. would you be happy to see him? would you even want to talk? what would he even say?

‘i’m sorry for fucking you for fun and fumbling the bag — almost destroying your relationship with your brother when i caught feelings’ wouldn’t exactly fly well with you, he was sure.

it didn’t end up mattering anyways, because when gojo does eventually bump into you during business hours — he almost doesn’t recognise you. he’s in New York for some big, fancy corporate meeting about mergers and acquisitions, whatever his father had put into the file gojo was skim reading on his phone at the last minute, right before making his way up to the conference room. 

the elevator taking him there stood about six floors shy of satoru’s destination and a young woman enters like a hurricane — bringing with her a whirlwind of paperwork and notebooks. “i-i’m sorry.” the young woman stutters from behind her pile of belongings, out of breath from seemingly running for the elevator. “could you press the button for my floor? i would do it myself, but…” 

there’s a strain in her voice that makes gojo chuckle to himself, reaching past her so that his fingertips brush over the cool and luminous buttons for each floor. “are you going up?” 

“down actually… you?” 

“up ‘m afraid, but headed to the top floor. so this elevator’s probably going to head straight down to wherever you need to be afterwards.” he offers up apologetically. he swears the tonation to her voice sounds familiar, it’s soft and sugarcoated notes stirring up a warm feeling in gojo’s tummy.

“that’s fine by me, i’m running ahead of schedule anyway. floor eleven for me, please.” 

gojo does as he’s told, pressing the button for the eleventh floor — he has to reach past the woman in order to do so. his vigilant blue eyes catch a glimpse of the fashion photography stacked in her arms amongst sketches and other designs while the scent of her perfume strikes a dizzying recognition within the white haired man. undertones of vanilla with subtle floral scents make gojo’s stomach turn and light bulb memories of those precious two years flash behind tired cerulean eyes. 

he knows you, he thinks, all too well.

he says your name under his breath as though he’s keeping a secret and you freeze — no longer sorting through the papers flying about the place. when you look up and your eyes meet, you feel like the world has stopped spinning and that it’s just the two of you, frozen in time.

“satoru,” you breathe and quite plainly, as if you’re holding back any emotion you feel towards your ex…but then you smile, and it’s so vibrant satoru feels like he might go blind. not a trace of resentment in those big, beautiful brown eyes. “it’s been a while.” 

you’ve changed a lot in only a year. while your face still holds its youthful innocence, except your eyes reflect growth and maturity — perhaps a little bit of exhaustion from how hard you’ve been working on your new job. you’re still as beautiful as the day gojo left you, but perhaps even more so. your light  glows instead of dulls, most likely because you’re free. he’s no longer holding you back with a jail sentence of his selfishness. you’ve been able to live your life properly, just as someone your age should. 

it would be wrong for him to interfere with your newfound happiness.

turning on his heel, satoru faces forward and avoids your gaze — continually repeating the mantra ‘she’d be better off without you.’ to stop himself from reaching out and touching you like he so desperately wants to. he misses you, that much is a fact, but that doesn’t mean he no longer craves to be with you, breathe you in, be by our side.

satoru had let you go three-hundred and sixty-five days ago with the hopes of you coming back to him.  

maybe this was it.

you don’t take kindly to being ignored, leaning forward with your papers and files tucked securely against your chest in order to garner his attention. satoru adjusts his dress shirt, plays with his cuffs, inspects his surroundings — anything to avoid you and make a fool out of himself. or worse, mess everything up for you. his therapist had called his previous and past behaviours a self-destructive tornado — destroying everything in its path without regard.

he couldn’t go back to that.

“gojo, don’t pretend like i don’t exist,” you pout in annoyance — reminding your ex all too much of the times you spent together at your dorms. “i see you and you see me. we’re adults, surely you can handle a conversation.” it’s your teasing tone that finally makes gojo cave, sparing you a starry, blue eyed glance. 

he can’t help the cocky chuckle that escapes him, almost slipping back into his old and familiar ways with you. “you wanna talk to me that bad, huh? did you miss me or somethin’?” it’s a condescending and patronising thing to say — almost as if he’s treating you like a child. 

that makes you stand up right, heat rising to your cheeks at the familiar feeling — you’re not mad though. “i see you’re still as full of yourself as ever.” 

it’s satoru’s turn to pout this time, shifting his focus to a corner of the rising elevator . “h-hey! i’m working on it!” you’ve never seen him so nervous, not in your entire life of knowing him…but you suppose a lot can change in a year. you’re sure he’s different, just like you are. “yanno…therapy ‘n stuff. it helps. helped.” 

“oh yeah?” you hum curiously, knowing that he’s making reference to your break up, losing suguru. you don’t dare to press further, though. “me too.” the pair of you fall silent for a moment, sitting with the unaddressed awkwardness, the tension and unresolved feelings. “how…how are you? how’s things?” 

he’s surprised that you’ve even asked, let alone want to talk to him after everything he’d put you through. it’s weird but also clear that you’d been working on healing too — what’s a conversation between two adults then? “good,” satoru starts, though he’s being far from honest. he misses you. “i’ve been working to finally take over dad’s company. old man’s retiring, so i thought i’d play my part and be responsible for once.” 

you grin warmly at the news. “it sounds like you’re doing well, toru.” he nearly jumps at the familiar nickname, choosing not to respond. “not that you asked, but i’m kind of in the same boat? they’re putting me at a deputy manager’s position for my magazine’s new branch. i’m excited.”

“i’ve heard,” the words rush from satoru’s mouth before he can stop them, feeling sheepish as you raise a brow at him. “not that i’ve been stalking you or anything! you hear things when you’re at the top!” 

“yeah, sure.” you tease, enjoying watching gojo squirm.

a question he’s not sure he’s allowed to ask sits on the tip of his tongue and satoru pushes it around in his mouth hesitantly. “how…how’s suguru?”

you perk up, tentatively choosing what to say next. “o-oh…he’s good? we’re…our relationship is better now. it took a lot of work, but he’s healthy and happy. i… i think he misses you sometimes but, he’s still not ready yet.” 

gojo nods once and chooses not to press about his ex best friend further. “and how are you?” 

“m-me? i thought we’d just went over that—“

your ex turns to face you fully, a pleading look on his face that shocks you out of your casual stance. you can still see how much he adores you and cares for you, as if it never left his nature to want the best for you. 

“are you happy?” 

he asks the loaded question like it’s easy to answer and you do have to think about it. are you happy? you’ve been putting in the work to feel like that again, after breaking it off with satoru you were low. almost rock bottom. it was your first ever break up and it hit hard — not to mention you didn’t have your older brother to fall back on at the time. you knew it was time to stop depending on others, it was time to grow your own spine. you took to therapy, you learned your triggers and icks and red flags. it took time and patience with yourself, but here you were, a year later and a little happier than when you saw satoru last. 

“yeah,” you confirm with a shy nod, taking interest in your feet while you hide your smile. “i’m happy. with myself, my work and my partner—“ 

partner? 

“—you’re dating someone?” gojo quips as the elevator dings for the floor just before his. 

“ahh yes! it’s still new but… he makes me happy. yuuta okkotsu, you might have seen him around? i hear his family’s company and yours have done some work together.” you seem bashful as you talk about yuuta, someone you met through work, someone your age. a sense of pride in being together taking over you. you show him off and boast about him in a way that you wished gojo would have done for you. 

the revelation nearly kills satoru — it’s like a bullet to the chest or a knife to his heart. envy bleeds from the open wound, pours down his front and taints his blood stream. it fucking hurts to know that you’ve moved on to someone who treats you better than he ever could…but you deserve it. you were so good to him and to the world that it would seem like a crime for you to end up with someone who didn’t love and appreciate you in the ways that they should. 

that doesn’t make him feel any better though, it makes him feel as though he might die. 

when the elevator reaches the gojo’s floor  — he falters in stepping out without saying goodbye or replying to you. he would be doing it to hurt you, and to be spiteful or petty. just like back then. 

there’s still so much that he wants to say to you — so many things he wants to fix but he can’t shake the feeling that this was it. this was closure for the both of you. 

as he exits, he whirls around with enough time to spare before the doors close on you, and this chapter of both of your lives — just catching your bewildered expression. “thank you, for everything,” gojo calls to you fondly, watching your previous expressions morph into something soft and appreciative. “i…i really did love you, and if i could go back and do those two years over again. i’d be better, for you. i’d love you, properly.” 

the doors to the elevator slowly begin to close and satoru steps forward at the same time as you — it feels like you’re sharing one last goodbye. 

“i know,” you say without a trace of malice, a wistfulness in your voice. “i’m thankful to have been with you, because you taught me so much in such little time. i’d do it again, if we were better.”

a sad smile tugs at the corner’s of gojo’s pink lips. “in another life?”

“in another life.” you confirm, mirroring his smile as the elevator finally seals itself shut — leaving him with his reflection on it’s cool, metal doors.

it’s a shame that you only have one life, and that there aren’t any do overs. that way, everyone could live a life without regret — because gojo has his regrets, where he wishes that he loved you better, harder, more…so that you’d come back to him and you would be his.

 always.

so redditors and other losers lurking on this thread. that’s my update. i already know a lot of you are going to say that i deserve this — and i do. but i’m happy for her, for both of them and i wish them both all the best. whaddya say, am i still the asshole? 

END.

꒰ thank you for reading. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ FINDERS KEEPERS, LOSERS WEEPERS! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: the user "gojoslittleslut" tries to make a move on your boyfriend, but she doesn't stand a chance

contents: fem!reader. it's not too serious, nobody gets angry/jealous (except the comments lol). if u haven't already read the other streamer!gojo works u probably should so u understand the dynamic between satoru and his commenters !

author's note: reader is actually a mature person who doesn't pick fights with random ppl on the internet and i think we should all be more like her ꨄ︎

satoru leans back in his chair, idly chatting with people who pop up in his comments after he finishes his last round of the co-op game. his viewers are eager to chat, and some even shoot money satoru's way to draw his attention. whenever someone donates money, he gives them a quick shoutout and has a small back-and-forth with them, and he does that for everyone.

that is, until a user with a questionable username donates to his stream.

gojoslittleslut has donated $100.00!

gojoslittleslut: notice me pls

"shit, a hundred dollars?" satoru says, raising his eyebrows in mild surprise. "thanks, gojoslittl— oh, fuck, what is that?"

you look up from your laptop and see the way your boyfriend's cheeks have gone bright red. satoru laughs a bit nervously, so you get up and walk over, making sure to stay out of sight of the camera. you sit on satoru's desk beside his computer and peer at his screen curiously.

gojoslittleslut: im ur number one fan~

satoru's eyes flicker to yours for a second before he looks back at his monitor. "ah, well, thanks for the donation!" he replies, completely ignoring the user's advances.

suguru-geto: he has a gf ...

gojoslittleslut: yeah

gojoslittleslut: me

you cover your mouth to suppress a giggle, scrunching up your nose at satoru to let him know that you really weren't taking it too seriously. after all, it's just some random person on the internet—they don't stand a chance with your boyfriend. 

satoru reaches over and takes your hand, twining his fingers with yours off-camera. he ignores the sudden burst of comments that litter the corner of his screen, instead watching you intently. in response, you roll your eyes playfully and blow him a kiss, snickering when satoru pretends to faint.

eventually, he turns back to his screen, cerulean eyes doing a quick once-over of his new comments.

toji-fushiguro: ill take his gf any day

inumaki: we know gtfo

gojoslittleslut: toji i get gojo and u take his girl. deal?

toji-fushiguro: bet

"alright guys, settle down," satoru huffs, rolling his eyes. "for the record, i still have a girlfriend and i don't plan on changing that anytime soon," he clarifies, addressing the current feud going on in his comments. 

satoru's a good streamer—he does his best to keep things cordial and lighthearted with his audience, but he also knows his limits. one of his limits involves people trying to separate you and him, his one true pairing (of course satoru's otp is his own relationship).

your boyfriend leans closer to the screen and scowls good-naturedly, holding up the hand still wrapped around yours. "this isn't gonna change, so don't even think about it!"

satoru says his goodbyes and then ends the stream, turning to you with a sigh. "how down bad do you have to be to name yourself 'gojo's little slut?'" he grumbles, clicking through his stream analytics and finding the user. he opens gojoslittleslut's profile and studies it for a moment before hovering his mouse over the block button.

he leans back in his chair and tilting his chin up at you. "she just gave me a hundred dollars, so i kinda feel bad about blocking her," satoru muses, tapping his foot on the floor. he looks up at where you still sit on his desk, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. "c'mere," he mumbles, slipping his hands around your waist and hoisting you into his lap with a soft grunt.

satoru rests his chin on your shoulder and nudges his face into your neck, breath tickling your skin. "you know that i'm all yours, right?"

"of course i do," you murmur, settling into his arms. he's warm and comfortable, like always. satoru smiles warmly and kisses the side of your face, letting his lips linger.

"good. 'cause no fan account's ever gonna change that."