Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Suguru’s already waiting by the rock wall when you arrive, sipping that green abomination of a drink he insists to love. He lifts the cup in a little wave, smiling warm and slightly crooked.

“There she is,” he calls. “My fearless climbing partner.”

Fearless.

Right.

You try to return the smile, letting your mouth tug into something passable. Though, it’s stretched too tight, like it might snap if you breathe wrong.

“Yeah… sorry to keep you. Were you waiting long?”

“Hm? Nah,” he waves a hand, easy as ever. “Just got here. Was about to get set up.”

“Perfect!” you chirp, clapping your hands together. “I’ll, uh… get set up too, then!”

Setting his drink down, Suguru reaches for his harness, adjusting straps and dusting chalk on his hands like he’s done this a hundred times.

(Probably because he has…)

And you’re just fumbling with your own gear, pretending you’re totally, one-hundred-percent-sure how all these buckles are supposed to sit. You’ve just managed to wrangle one leg into the harness when—

“Hey…”

Your head jerks up.

Shit.

Does he know?

Fuck.

He can tell. He can totally tell you’re clueless, can’t he?

“I um… just wanted you to know…” he murmurs, voice softening. “I’m really glad you came today,” his lips curl into a smile. “Like, seriously… I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to this—to climbing with you.”

You blink.

At this man, standing here, looking at you so fondly. He’s hot. He’s sincere. And his eyes are sweeping over you like you’re his fucking dream come true. So naturally, a nervous laugh slips out.

“Oh… um. Sure!” your eyes flick away. And tucking a strand of hand behind your ear, you mumble. “Me too.”

…

That’s the truth.

Right?

Maybe it is, because the words slip out like a stone skipping across the surface. And hopefully this smile you’ve got plastered will sink beneath your skin too, allowing you to become the girl he wants.

After all, this is the man you wanted. The man you used to daydream about, late at night with your phone glowing against your pillow. The man you swiped right on with a hopeful little flutter in your chest.

But he wants a cool girl. A confident girl.

And hopefully… a girl who doesn’t unravel halfway up the goddamn wall.

Maybe that’s why, when Suguru turns to speak with the instructor, your hand moves on instinct — rifling through your bag for your headphones. Music is a distraction; you need a distraction. You try to be quick, though inevitably, he glances back as you’re slipping one bud into your ear and—

“Got a go-to playlist for climbing?”

He’s tilting his head at you, and you blink. Caught.

“O-Oh! Um—yeah. Is that okay?” your voice hitches into something casual, trying to play it off. “It just… helps me focus. I don’t wanna slow you down or anything.”

His grin widens. “Nahh… I don’t mind,” he drawls, tugging on the straps of his harness with a sigh. “Though, I seriously doubt that’ll be a problem. I’ve got a good feeling about you, pretty.”

Pretty.

His eyes flick to yours with a smirk, and you force a laugh.

“Cool… yeah.”

And now, fumbling with your buckles again, something creeps in – clinking into place right alongside your harness. Something close to regret. Or perhaps, guilt?

Because…

Waitwaitwait.

You do want to talk to him.

Right?!

Ugh! Of course, you do! He’s kind. Gentle. And undeniably hot. But talking means holding eye contact. Staying interesting. Staying shiny. Staying… intact.

And that feels harder than the wall itself.

So, once the climbing begins, you let the music carry you – one grip at a time, one foothold after the next. You’re focusing on your breath, your hands, the noise. And there’s a lot of noise, mind you. Noise of Suguru chatting beside you, matching your pace with a bright grin and animated commentary.

What is he even saying? The hell if you know. But you’re nodding when he laughs, smiling when he gestures, and pretending you’re not counting how many feet of air sit between you and the ground below.

Somehow, miraculously — you make it to the top. Your limbs are trembling, your heart is racing, but by god, you did it. You survived this date.

“Wow.” Suguru plops down beside you with a laugh, brushing sweat from his brow. “You’re amazing.” He exhales, smiling wide. “Seriously… you crushed it.”

His encouragement is a relief. Though even after pulling yourself up, why does the view only remind you of who you wish was waiting here instead.

You glance at him, trying to soften your face.

“Thanks… you did too.”

And as Suguru’s gaze gentles further, you’re not sure why it continues to pull your heart in an unsettling way. It shouldn’t. Because he’s looking at you like you matter. You belong here.

“Don’t feel obligated to say yes, but…” he chuckles, scratching the back of his head, eyes flicking to yours. “Um. Are you… free again? Sometime this week? Was thinkin’ we could grab dinner or somethin’?”

Oh.

Maybe it’s unsettling because… this is what it feels like to finally be chosen back.

♡

“Daaamn,” comes a low whistle from the kitchen. “Look who finally came back to us.”

You’re barely through the front door, fingers tugging at your coat sleeves when you hear Sukuna. He’s propped against the counter, shirtless (for whatever reason), holding a half-finished smoothie in hand.

“Thought you dipped back to America without lettin’ me celebrate. Fuckin’ rude.”

His sweatpants are low, with tattoos winding up the carved lines of his body. And his grin is crooked. Smug. Like the poster child for chaos incarnate.

You try not to feed into it.

“Oh… hey Sukuna,” you say, toeing off your shoes. “What’s up? No work today?”

“Nope,” he drawls, gaze sliding down your sweat-damp skin like it’s a buffet. He smirks. “But someone’s puttin’ in work. I mean, shit. What’d ya do, princess—fuckin’ wrestle a bear?”

You blink.

Oh.

That’s right. You hadn’t thought this part through. What excuse do you give for being out all morning – on a date with someone who isn’t your fake boyfriend.

“Oh—uh. Gym!” you blurt, too fast. “I mean, I go. I totally go. All the time, actually. It’s like—a thing. My thing. Y’know? Just… love those endorphins. Gotta sweat the demons out somehow, right?” You force a laugh. “Heh…”

Ugh.

At least it’s a… half-truth?

Well, more like a quarter-truth (if we’re being generous).

But Sukuna’s gaze lingers; eyes narrowing while he takes a slow sip. Like he’s tasting your bullshit, one ridiculous lie at a time.

“Interesting…” he hums, tilting his head. “And… lemme get this straight. Pretty boy just slept through your morning pump? Even let you go alone?”

The moment his smoothie straw clicks between his teeth, you realize he’s loving this. Your cheeks burn, your brain buffers, scrambling for another excuse until—

“Yeah? What about it?”

Satoru’s voice cuts through the doorway — sharp, deliberate. And he’s already there, like he sprang up the second Sukuna opened his mouth. His sleeves are shoved up, his snowy hair’s a mess.

But those eyes?

Piercing behind thick frames.

Laser-locked on Sukuna. Sharp enough to cut glass.

“She’s a grown woman, Sukuna” he says evenly. “Doesn’t need my permission. And she’s not your concern. Unless you’re trying to make her one—in which case, we’ve got a different problem.”

There’s a chill in his voice, buried beneath the casual veneer.

Sukuna smirks. “Problem?” he echoes, mock innocent. “Pffft. Nah. No need to get frosty now, Snowflake. Christ. You’re sure wound up today, huh?”

Satoru’s jaw clenches while Sukuna drains another long sip, tauntingly. Those ruby eyes flick back to you, cataloging every detail. Making his smile grow.

“Damn shame, really,” he sighs, thumbing sweat from the glass before setting it down with a thud. “If I had a girl like you? Fuck. I’d be losin’ sleep, seein’ you come home all sweaty. Especially if it wasn’t with me?” His grin sharpens. “Or should I say… from me—”

“Alright enough,” Satoru snaps, fingers curling between yours. He shoots Sukuna a glare. “Guess it’s a good thing she’s not your girl then, huh? So fuck off.”

And with a tug of the hand, you’re being steered out of the kitchen, stumbling over the tatami while Sukuna’s wolf-whistle echoes behind you. That tingle returns – blooming in your palm – and you hate how much you like it. The way he pulls you. The way it feels…

Real.

But it isn’t.

Because the moment you step into his room, the shoji slides shut — sealing the air tight with everything you wish this was.

“Shit… sorry,” Satoru mutters, pulling away. He scrubs a palm down his face. “I just… got caught up again. He just—he pisses me off.”

“Yeah. No, I get it.” You nod quickly. “He’s… a lot. Um…”

Trailing off, your chest tightens, and the space between you begins to stretch with this unspoken weight. Like, one wrong move could suddenly snap – whatever this is – in two. His stance shifts; you glance at the floor.

Both of you reach for something to say and—

“So—”

“—how’d your date go?”

The words collide midair. Hanging there. Still and stupid.

You blink. “Oh,” and fiddling with your sleeve you offer. “It was… good? I mean—yeah. I had fun. Suguru’s nice.”

Nodding, a clipped smile tugs at Satoru’s lips. And the silence settles again; a silence so drastically heavy, so incredibly uncomfortable, it’s almost…

Unbearable.

You want to reach for something. To say something that makes this easier — or at least makes it make sense. But his gaze is on the floor, like he’s already decided not to meet you halfway.

“That’s… cool,” he says.

“Yup…” you nod. “Super cool.”

And that’s it. You’re left standing where you always are.

Close enough to touch him… but somehow still a world away.

♡

You keep seeing Suguru.

And at this point?

You’ve gotten a little too good at pretending.

Coffee turns into ramen. Ramen becomes late-night drinks. Drinks stretch into hours at his place, where you sit cross-legged on the tatami, nodding along like you’re totally enthralled by his tangents on tide patterns and the healing properties of sunlight.

(Spoiler: you’re not).

Ironically, he’s become a parody of every California man who’s ever cornered you at a party with a kombucha in one hand and a GoPro in the other.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe this was never about him. Maybe it’s spite. Or grief. Or that dumb, bone-deep ache that still twists whenever you remember what wasn’t real.

So? You keep showing up.

For Mei. For the story. For the tiny, bruised part of you that still wants to believe that the love you had will return — the kind where you poured your heart into a stranger’s inbox at 3a.m. Perhaps if you lean in hard enough with Suguru, something will click back into place.

And you’ve learned a lot about Suguru, actually.

(…mostly because he doesn’t stop talking).

He’s the kind of man who treats every choice like a manifesto — like ordering an oak milk latte isn’t just ordering an oak milk latte — it’s a lifestyle.

(And a fucking personality trait, apparently).

But don’t get it twisted. You don’t… dislike him. He’s not boring. In fact, he’s always chasing something. Adrenaline. Purpose.

Even… love.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he murmurs, eyes far away. “It’s weird… like—you already understand me. Even when I don’t say anything. Like maybe—maybe our souls already knew each other before we ever met. Is that crazy? I dunno… I’ve always wanted that. Been searching for it my whole damn life, actually. It’s so hard to find.”

Your throat tightens.

Because the words pull at your own heart. Something you’ve been searching for too. Something you’ve always wanted as well.

Real love.

So maybe… you’re not so different after all?

“Hey… tonight?” he continues, smiling now, like fate has handed him a script, “There’s something in the sky. Stars, alignment—I read about it earlier. Like a sign.” He reaches for your hand. “So… meet me at the beach. Okay? After midnight. Just us, and the waves.”

…the beach? After midnight?

You blink. Nod. And smile like that doesn’t sound like your own personal hell.

Because it’s the middle of fucking winter!!

It’s cold. It’s windy. It’s wet. The last place you want to be is shivering beside the ocean like some moody Pinterest couple while the tide erases your will to live and the sand fuses with your lip-gloss.

But you say yes anyway.

Because apparently…

that’s who you are now.

♡

“Ahhh… this is the best,” Suguru sighs, stretching his arms wide like he summoned the tide himself. “I’m tellin’ you—winter beaches? So underrated.”

The beach is empty. Dark. Wind-polished and salt-bitten, half-forgotten by the world. You trail after him down a narrow dune path, sand beneath your boots, cold slicing straight through your coat. And he glances back with that easy, crooked grin.

“Wanna know what the best part about goin’ to the beach in winter is?”

“…hm?”

He spins around, arms out, walking backwards like a showman.

“No tourists~”

Gee, you wonder why.

Probably because it’s fucking freezing. Your thighs are numb, your nose is dripping, and your ears feel like they’re about to crack off. But instead, you say—

“Oh… yeah,” smiling thinly. “It’s… uh, magical for sure!”

When Suguru finds a patch of sand that he’s content with, he drops a blanket like he’s rolling out a red carpet, plopping onto it like he’s sinking into luxury.

“C’mon pretty girl,” he hums, patting the spot beside him.

You fold your legs next to him, and before you can brace for anything, he’s leaning in – no hesitation, no buildup – just his mouth on yours. It’s eager. Too eager. Like he’s been waiting for the cue all night and finally got the green light.

You kiss him back, and his hands cradle your jaw, lips moving with practiced rhythm while the ocean hisses somewhere behind you. And you can’t help but wonder if this is why he dragged you to the beach.

…if he just wanted to shove his tongue down your throat, you could’ve stayed at his place. Hell, at least the heater worked.

But then he pulls back, breathless. “This is perfect,” he murmurs with a grin, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just the two of us. No tourists… and no cops.”

Your brows knit. “…huh?”

No cops?

But he’s already rummaging through his coat, and when he pulls his hand out, you stare. Because… is that—

Oh. Yup. That’s a blunt. Neatly rolled. Smugly held. Like he brought you a bouquet made of poor decisions.

“Brought us somethin’ special,” he mutters, already lifting it to his lips. And a spark flickers as he shields the flame with his palm, inhaling deep.

“Haaah…” he exhales, smoke blowing up. “Now this? This is the life. Cold wind, clear sky… and somethin’ to take the edge off. Nothin’ better than a high and a view, am I right?”

You just… stare.

And suddenly? Pretending feels harder. You’re not sure what to think – what to say. Something about your silence must tip him off, because his eyes narrow as he lets out a half-laugh, like he’s caught you being randomly uptight for no goddamn reason.

“Pfft… c’mon, what’s with that look?” he scowls, grinning. “Don’t tell me you don’t smoke? Loosen up a little. It’s legal in California, right?”

Uh…

Right. Sure. It is. But that’s not the problem.

The problem is, you don’t smoke. You don’t want to be here. Don’t want sand in your shoes, don’t want salt in your hair, and really don’t want to smile on cue while your fingers are going numb; on top of being guilted into smoking illegal weed on a beach in a foreign country, with someone who doesn’t actually know you.

You try to reach for an excuse.

“It’s just…” you start. “I… I mean—” you falter. “I’m just…”

But words can’t seem to take shape, and you can barely hold his gaze. That is, until your eyes briefly flick back to his and—

Oh.

Is that… disappointment? He’s not even trying to hide it. Suddenly, he’s looking at you like you’re the one being unreasonable. You’re the one ruining the moment.

Fuck.

“I mean. I’m just—wow,” a laugh slips out, thin and bright, reaching for the blunt. “I’m just blown away. Seriously. This is like… a perfect night!”

That’s all it takes. Suguru’s grin snaps right back into place, crooked and satisfied, like you finally said the right line in your script.

“Perfect night?” he hums. “I dunno pretty girl, I think you’re the perfect one.”

Your throat tightens, and as you bring the blunt to your lips, you tell yourself it’s no big deal – because maybe this will make everything feel easier. Maybe it’ll blur the sharp edges. Maybe it’ll finally soften the ache that’s sitting in your chest.

Maybe… it’ll make you stop comparing him to the version of him you fell for on a glowing screen.

So?

You inhale.

♡

The high comes in gentle waves. It starts in your chest, loosens your jaw. The air suddenly feels a little warmer. Your thoughts feel a little softer too. Not dulled, exactly — just padded. Like they’re wrapped in cotton and tucked in for the night.

You and Suguru continue to pass the blunt, and silence laps between you like the waves — not heavy, not awkward. Just… easy — for the first time all night, actually.

In… and out…

“Aw maaan…” Suguru sighs, voice lazy as he tips his head back towards the stars. “This kind of night makes me wish I brought my speaker. Fuck… damn shame. Ya can’t feel anything properly without the right soundtrack, y’know?”

At that, you flop onto your back, and before you can stop it, a giggle bubbles up.

Light. Unfiltered.

Real.

And not because Suguru said anything funny, but because your mind is doing its own thing. It randomly replayed one of those late-night conversations with Satoru. The dumb kind. The kind that would make everything feel stupidly perfect.

“Y’know what? Sometimes I think real life needs background music,” he’d said, dead serious. “Like… I should hear the Final Fantasy victory theme every time I parallel park on the first try. That’s a fucking accomplishment.”

God, you talked for hours that night. You remember hearing his pout through the phone, while you teased him, saying you’d make it his ringtone and—

“Whatcha laughing at, pretty?”

Oh. Fuck.

You’re high. Like… high-high.

Too high to come up with something flirty or mysterious. Too high to redirect. Too high to be anything but honest. So? You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow, and ask—

“You and Satoru used to be friends, right?”

The question leaves your mouth like a passing thought, but it lands with much more weight than you intended. You watch Suguru blink, brows furrowing with an uncomfortable grin, before shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it.

“Oh, uh… yeah? I mean—”

“—so what happened then?” you blurt, rolling onto your stomach now. You allow the blunt to hang between your fingers, cradling your chin in your palm. “Why aren’t you friends anymore?”

Cool.

Way to go. Your mouth, apparently, has no fucking guardrails.

Suguru’s quiet, and the ocean gets incredibly loud all of a sudden — like it knows you said something you weren’t supposed to.

“Well… the thing is, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice calm but with a bite. “Some friendships burn out. While others rot from the inside out.”

You blink, and something about the way he says it – the bluntness, the bitterness – sobers you up for half a second.

(…but only for half a second).

“Uhhh… kay then,” you snort, giggling. “Wow,” you snicker, biting your lip, trying to hide your grin. “That’s like… really dramatic.”

You don’t mean it cruelly, not at all. Your mouth just doesn’t have a filter. You’re being… you. But Suguru stiffens, eyes flicking to yours before they roll back to the floor, annoyed.

“Dramatic?” he scoffs, laying back on the blanket, crossing his hands behind his head. “Yeah fuckin’ right. Satoru’s the dramatic ass. That fuckin’ idiot.”

His tone is flat. Final. Like he’s holding up a firm hand and saying:

That’s enough. Drop it.

And you should know better – really, you should. But the part of you that knows when to stop? Well, she’s currently face-down in the sand somewhere.

“Sooooo then…” you drawl, kicking your feet against your back like you’re eager for the drama. “Did you guys, just—grow apart?”

The glare Suguru shoots you?

Fierce.

“Look,” he snaps, yanking the blunt from your fingers with a sharpness. “We didn’t grow apart. I grew up. Got it?”

The tip of the blunt burns as he inhales, longer this time — like he’s trying to smoke the edge off his own bitterness. He tilts his head back to the stars, exhaling through his nose. Not looking at you. Not saying anything else.

And the silence that follows is not peaceful like before. No. It prickles. And suddenly, every single thing in your body is buzzing in the wrong way.

Your skin feels… wrong.

Your mouth? Dry. Your heartbeat? Way too high for someone just sitting still. And wait… when the fuck did your legs begin to feel so stupidly heavy?? The sand below feels like quicksand, trying to pull you under.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Your mind is in panic mode, but you can’t freak out. Not here. Not now. And definitely not with him. He’d probably laugh if you spiral, or roll his eyes and tell you to “relax.”

So, you’re searching for something – anything – to say. Anything to defuse this. Something nonchalant. Something safe. Something that makes you look like you’re fine – you’re chill. Absolutely not losing it on the inside.

But of course, your high-ass brain lands on:

“Okay. So… like, hear me out…” you mumble, rolling toward him again with a lopsided smile. “If he’s dramatic, and you’re dramatic… doesn’t that like, cancel out?”

He lets out an aggravated groan, and is turning to you fully now. Snapping.

“Jesus fucking Christ, will you quit it?” he barks, scolding you. “Can we just fuckin’ drop this? The world’s had enough of Satoru Gojo. I’ve had enough of Satoru Gojo. I really don’t want to ruin this night by talking about that fuckin’ pretentious ass nerd, understood?”

The smile you wore evaporates before you can even stop it, and suddenly, your body is shrinking in on itself.

“Oh. Yeah. Sure… I’m sorry.”

The words are quiet, delicate. Like it took everything in you to mutter them out. But he doesn’t seem to give a fuck. He plops back on the blanket again, taking another hit while his eyes stay up on the stars, like you’re no longer part of the scenery.

Silence holds steady the rest of the night. While you’re lying beside him, blinking at the sky, trying not to cry. But the stars keep shining, the waves keep crashing, the wind keeps howling.

So loud. So bright. So cold.

And being high?

…doesn’t seem very fun.

♡

When Suguru drops you off at Satoru’s place, you’re praying to every god you’ve ever heard of, that he’s asleep.

After all, you’re high. So naturally, the only thing you want to do is crawl into bed and pretend this disaster of a night never fucking happened. You’re easing the front door open, trying to stay as quiet as possible; like maybe, if you’re gentle enough, the universe will spare you. But of course—

“Phew… there you are.”

Shit. You’re never that lucky.

His voice floats in from the living room, and when you look up, the soft flicker of TV light spills across his face. He’s sprawled out on the futon couch, with soft blues painting his pale skin and snowy hair. One leg’s propped up, one arm’s slung behind his head, and the other holds a remote loosely in hand.

God...

How does he look that good in this lighting? And for what? Watching Digimon, of all things.

Your high-ass brain is short-circuiting. All it wants to do is crawl into his lap and nuzzle into the crook of his neck like some sleepy woodland creature. He looks so cozy.

“…sweetheart?” he hums, tilting his head. “Where were you?”

You blink, snapping back to reality.

Shit.

This is real life. He’s here. Why is he here?! What do you say? What do you do?

Okay. No biggie. You’re totally normal. You can do this. Just channel your breezy, definitely-not-falling apart chill-girl energy.

(She’s in there somewhere).

“Oh! Heyyy,” you chirp, voice too bright, too fast, cringing the second it leaves your mouth. “Y’know how it is! Was just—out. With Suguru. Uh, sorry. But you didn’t have to wait up for me, y’know.”

Averting his gaze, Satoru sighs. “Yeah, well…” he mumbles, lowering the volume before looking over at you again. “I guess I just, couldn’t sleep. I was… um—kinda worried about you, actually.”

He’s rubbing the back of his neck, and you try not to wobble as you kick off your shoes – while also trying not to melt. Because what the hell is your heart doing right now, hearing that admission from him?

“Worried?” you drawl, reaching for casual but landing on sarcasm. “Pffffft… that’s silly. You’re silly. Why?”

He blinks. Deadpan.

“Maybe ‘cause it’s 4:27am. You do realize that… right?”

Your head jerks up.

Oh shit. It is?!

Blinking hard, you try to play it off. But he’s already sighing, eyes drifting away again, like he’s reeling something back in.

“And, um… sorry. But—you didn’t answer any of my texts?”

Texts?!

Fumbling for your phone like it might prove him wrong, you thumb the screen — and yup. There they are. Four unread messages. All from him. Spaced out like a countdown clock.

“Shit. I’m sor—”

But the words die on your tongue. Because now? He’s looking at you. Really looking; with his brow arched, his head tilted – like, he’s running a full diagnostic scan on your behavior and isn’t loving the results.

Oh god.

Is he onto you?

You laugh nervously. “Wow, I’m sooooo bad at responding,” you say, waving it off like it’ll clear the air. “Jeez, my bad. Was just busy. Suguru, like… wanted to show me the ocean or whatever.”

Tugging your coat off, you feel a stare as blue as the ocean itself, holding you. “The ocean?” he repeats, sitting up, brows pulling together. “Wait… but. Isn’t it winter?”

At that, your face lights up like a Christmas tree, and a giggle bubbles out before you can stop it. It’s perfect. You could kiss him right now. That confusion? Gold. Pure gold. Because finally, someone else thinks this night makes no fucking sense.

That is, until – he’s giving you that look again. Tilting his head not in suspicion, but in study. Like he’s measuring the pitch of your laugh, or tuning into the slur behind your rhythm and—

Fuck.

“Yup! Uh… anyways!” you blurt, breezing past him. “God, I’m starving. Do we have snacks? Snacks sound good! I swear I haven’t eaten since, like… last year.”

The words tumble out, and you don’t wait for a response. You flee; bee-lining right for the kitchen while all you can think is: momentum. Momentum will save you. Momentum means he can’t look too hard. Momentum means you don’t have to explain tonight and—

Oh look!

Chips?

Perfect.

Something to chew? Something to do. Something to keep your mouth busy so it doesn’t confess anything else stupid. So, you grab the bag like it’s your salvation, fumbling with the clip until—

Why is this suddenly an IQ test?

“What the fuck…” you mutter, the plastic crinkling loud, echoing in the dark pantry while your fingers betray you. “C’monnn,” you whine quietly under your breath. “Who fuckin’ designed this? NASA? Ugh… just—"

“Hey—”

You jump so hard you nearly drop the damn thing.

Whipping around, your heart is in your throat and Satoru’s right there. Materialized behind you like he fucking teleported. Arms crossed; head tipped. There’s something carefully watchful in the set of his shoulders, with concern sharpening his features into something almost serene.

Especially with that blue.

You’re blinking into it like a deer-in-headlights — a blue that shouldn’t even exist in nature. It’s too vivid, too vibrant; the kind of blue they warn you about in poetry. Like moonlight frozen into glass, backlit by some distant, dying star.

…pretty.

Pretty enough to drown in. Pretty enough to make you forget he’s the guy who broke your heart. Pretty enough to make you want to crawl into his lap right now… and not feel like such a mess of a person.

It’s criminally unfair.

“Um,” you mumble. “Hi?”

You’re standing there at the base of the pantry, like a child caught sneaking candy, and he shoves his hands into his pockets, cautiously stepping closer.

“Hey…” a breath pushes through his nose, lips pursing. “Are you… good?” he asks quietly. And the tone isn’t… judgmental, exactly. But something about it feels dangerous. Like you need to overcorrect it.

“Me?” you blurt, shoving a chip into your mouth like it’ll make you look normal. “Yeah. Totally. Peachy keen!” His eyes only narrow. “…that so?” And you nod hard. “Mhm!!”

The crunch echoes, while you’re stuffing another handful of chips into your mouth, like if you eat fast enough, you can swallow the panic whole. It’s a mindless movement until—

“Holy shit…” you’re moaning, licking your fingers like they’re laced with gold. Because why are these chips so fucking good?!“Have you had these? They’re sooo good. Mnh—!”

Satoru blinks, deadpan, while you shovel another bite into your mouth – blinking like you’ve just had a spiritual awakening.

“This salt is magic,” you drawl, digging through the bag for more. “These chips kinda remind me of those Maui onion ones—” you ramble. “You know, with the purple bag? Wait—do you have those here? Oh my god. If you’ve been holding out on me—if you’re hoarding the good snacks—that’s rude as fu—

“—are you high?”

Blinking with a chip halfway to your mouth, it’s like the universe just paused mid-cutscene and forgot to load your next line of dialogue. Your stomach drops, and you’d think you’d learn not to lie again but—

“Pffft. No?” you force a laugh, rolling your eyes. “That’s crazy. You’re crazy.”

He frowns. “You’re acting… weird.”

“Weird how?” you mumble, still chewing. Because if you stop chewing? You might start crying. Or confess your whole soul. Or both.

Tilting his head, he sighs. “How?” and scoffs. “Well, let's see—” His hand shoots out from his pocket, ticking off your bullshit with his fingers.

“Your eyes are glassy—and not in the cute, dreamy way. Nah. I mean full-on aquarium mode. Like, blink-twice-if-you’re-conscious—kinda way.” You blink twice. “Plus, your voice is all soft and slurry. Like when I’d call you at 4 a.m. and you’d pick up sounding all sleepy and cute like an angel, and—”

Face flushing, your jaw snaps shut as he barrels on.

“Oh—! Let’s not forget that you’re randomly inhaling shrimp chips like they’re oxygen on Christmas Day… but yeah. Weird. Did I miss anything?”

Blinking, you look down at the bag clutched to your chest like it betrayed you.

Damn shrimp chips.

“…okay, well,” you scoff, pouting as you shovel in another bite. “That last part is just because they’re good.”

Rolling his eyes, he huffs. “Look… sweetheart. Don’t—”

“Stop overthinking it!” you snap. “I’m not high, okay?”

And he stills, eyes blinking with plea – begging you to give in and be honest. But your emotionally high-ass keeps digging your own grave. A breath pushes out his nose, and he closes his eyes; slow, exasperated – like he’s counting to ten in his head.

He’s trying. God, he’s trying. Trying not to be that guy; the one who lectures, who controls, who dictates what you can and can’t do – who you can or can’t be. No. Satoru’s known what it’s like to choke on someone else’s expectations, he’s dealt with that his whole damn life.

He’s not that guy.

He’s the guy who made excuses to his friends so you and Suguru could have another night out. The guy who stayed up staring at his phone, waiting for it to buzz with your name. Who left the porch light on because something felt… off. And the guy who looked sick with worry when you finally showed up.

“…why are you lying to me?”

The words aren’t angry, they’re… hurt. It lands in your gut, making your throat burn.

“Wow. That’s rich coming from you.”

It slips out unintentionally, because it’s impossible to filter your messy feelings; especially when you’ve already been peeled apart once tonight – stripped down raw by Suguru’s disappointment.

Satoru stiffens. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Crossing your arms, you scowl. “Don’t play dumb. You know what it means,” you gesture bitterly. “You’re allowed to lie. But me? Oho…” you scoff, blinking back tears. “God forbid I smoke some weed. Like me having fun is a goddamn crime—"

“—because it IS a crime!”

You flinch, stunned. Not just at the volume, but the bite behind it. It’s a bite he’s never given you. And the moment Satoru hears it too, he stills, trying to reel it back.

“Shit. Sorry. I just—!” guilt flares his expression. “What I mean is. You’re wrong—or rather—” his eyes squeeze shut, tugging at his hair. “Fuck—you can’t just do that! Don’t do dumb sh—”

Groaning in frustration, it’s like he’s unable to find how to say it without sounding like an asshole.

“Look—this is not California,” he pleas. “You know that, right? It’s not some dorm room party. It’s fucking illegal. You can get arrested. Or deported. Christ, what were you thinking?”

The words only humiliate you further.

Because all you hear is: reckless. dumb. wrong.

Maybe he’s not seeing it. Not seeing the most fragile, exhausted, strung-out version of you, hiding behind this fake persona. The version who tried not to have a fucking mental breakdown on the beach a few hours ago. The version who’s spent the last week building a house of fucking lies, just to keep up with this circus.

Or maybe you’re getting too good at lying.

But now? Now you’re fucking done.

“Kay then. Cool,” you snap, brittle, slamming the chip bag into his chest. “Thanks for the info. Seriously. Super helpful. Clearly I’m just—” your voice cracks, pitching higher, uglier, “—I’m just some dumb fucking American girl who doesn’t know anything—”

“Wait, hey—” He stumbles after you, blinking as you shoulder past him down the hall. “That’s not—”

“No, it’s fine!” you fire back over your shoulder, not slowing down. “Appreciate the lecture. I love getting lectured! Like, truly. It’s kinda my thing now.” A bitter laugh bursts out, sharp and miserable. “I mean, Suguru did it earlier, so honestly? Thanks for completing the set.”

That makes him stumble. “Wait—he what?” His pace stutters, a beat behind yours. “Sweetheart—shit. I’m not trying to—fuck, just—can you slow down for a second?”

But you don’t. Not until you reach his room and shove the door open, not until he grabs your arm and pulls you to a stop and you whirl around so fast you nearly lose your balance.

And now the tears are falling.

“H-Hey—” Satoru’s eyes widen. “What—what’s going on?”

You choke. “I get it, okay?” voice cracking as you tremble. “I’m reckless. I’m irresponsible. I make dumb ass decisions like—” your laugh is wet and mean. “Like flying across the world for a guy who doesn’t even want me here.”

His face tightens. “Stop. That’s not—”

“It is!” you swallow down a sob. “Don’t act like you give a shit about me. I know you’re lying! That’s your thing. You’re good at it. You’re like…” you hiccup, eyes squeezing shut, “…I don’t know. Professional. Like fucking… Olympic level.”

He huffs. “Baby, no. I—”

“But I’m NOT!” you shout, sniffling, scrubbing your face with your sleeve. “And I’m tired. Tired of acting normal. Tired of trying to be—” you gesture helplessly at your whole stupid body. “—cool about any of this when I’m not cool. I’m not.”

“Sweetheart,” he braces both hands on your arms. “Seriously. Stop. It’s—”

You laugh again. “And now I’m here, embarrassing myself. Again. Because clearly, I don’t know when to stop. I never fucking do! God, I’m so stupid.” You whisper, voice wobbling. “B-Because I came all the way here and I fell in love with a man who’s not even real—”

Blinking, Satoru’s hold loosens as he stands, stunned.

“I just—hate you,” you gasp, shaking your head like you can’t believe yourself. “I hate that I love you. I hate that you lied to me—” your chest heaves, breath stuttering, “—I hate that I still love you, I hate that I s-still—”

Before the words can finish, he’s crashing his lips to yours, thumbing away your tears and swallowing your pain. It’s a dizzying, breathless rhythm, and you melt into it – into him. He’s all you feel, all you know. Your knees buckle, and his hands slip lower.

“Will you shut up already?” he mutters between kisses. “You’re so—fuck—” he moans, kissing you harder, pulling you into him. “Stupid. And reckless and—"

“Mnh—” you whimper. And he groans, hands palming your ass, hauling you up around his waist. “Do you even hear yourself?” he scoffs, hoisting you higher as he strides towards the bed. “You really think I don’t want you here?”

The moment your bodies hit the mattress, you gasp. He cages you in with both arms, muscles trembling as he exhales through gritted teeth.

“Okay—first of all…” he huffs, trying to play it cool even though his heart is about to explode. “You don’t get to say I don’t exist… not when I’m literally right fucking here.”

You’re breathless beneath him, blinking up at that stupidly beautiful face. His glasses are crooked. His hair’s a mess, falling in his eyes. And he’s looking at you like your body is the only language he’s ever been fluent in.

“I-I…” you whisper. “I didn’t mean it like—”

“It’s whatever…” he grits, fists curling in the sheets. “Probably deserve that. Maybe worse. But my point is—you really think I lied about everything?” he breathes, shaking his head. “C’mon now… all those late-night calls… you think I’d fake that?”

You can’t speak. Your chest is rising too fast — buzzing from the weed, from the kiss, from him. From how he feels above you, solid and real and goddamn burning.

“I-I… I dunno what I thought…” you whisper.

He huffs a broken laugh. “Yeah? No shit…”

For a moment, his gaze flicks to your mouth – your swollen lips, damp and plump from him. He swallows, adam apple bobbing as his eyes snap back up.

“…oh, fuck me,” he whispers, trying to regain himself. “Look—I lied about my face. But that’s it, okay? Everything else was me. Every stupid text. Every late-night call. Every time I made you laugh just to hear it again. That was me.”

A breath stutters out of him.

“And I love you, you idiot.”

Something in your chest detonates, and maybe it’s the weed, or maybe it’s the intensity but—“Satoru…” you breathe, reaching for his collar. “…y-yeah? Mnh—!”

The noise is half gasp, half moan as you yank him down — your legs parting on instinct, hooking around his hips to pull him flush. When his cock presses right up against your warm cunt, his breath hitches.

He groans. “Baby—” and his hands fly to your thighs, trembling, torn between pulling away or ripping your clothes off. “Mnh… w-wait—” But you grind up against him, shameless and aching, and the choice is made for him.

“Oh fuck,” he rasps, dick twitching hard against you, growing thick and desperate. “Ahn… ‘toru, you’re so hard,” you whimper, rocking your hips against the line of his cock, devouring him.

He’s shuddering with restraint, and you whine, breaking the kiss. “Want you to fuck me,” you pant, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Want you so bad… want you filling me up and—”

He gasps. “You can’t just—unngh…” groaning, his head drops to your shoulder as you grind your clothed cunt against his dick. “Don’t—fuck, don’t say that,” he chokes, kissing you again, messier. “You’re high and—haaa…”

But your nails curls behind his neck and now he’s rutting instinctively, nudging your sweet little cunt against his cock like it knows exactly where it belongs.

“Yes! Yes please—” you whimper. His mouth begins moving down your neck, teeth grazing skin before sucking a mark into your pulse. “M-More—” you gasp, and he groans, hands sliding to your ass, hauling you into the rhythm of his hips.

“Ah—Satoru—”

“Shit,” he pants, losing rhythm. “Fuck. Okay—okay, okay, just—”

It looks like he’s going to lose it. His hands tighten on your thighs like he’s about to rip you in two, to bury himself inside you, to disappear.

But then he rips himself away. Wrenching himself back with a gasp, he drops back on the bed, dragging a hand over his face.

“I can’t,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “Not like this. You’re high, and I’m…” throat bobbing, he huffs. “Fuck—I’m too fucking in love with you to do this wrong.”

You’re left panting, trembling — aching and wet and burning where his cock was just pressing. Turning to face him, your lips part, your chest heaves. And it’s hard to hide it — the rejection hurts.

When his eyes flutter to yours, he groans, dragging a palm down his face and blindly reaching for your hand.

“No… nonono, please don’t give me that look,” he mutters, lacing your fingers with his. “Don’t think I don’t want you, okay? Because I do. I want you so bad it’s making me fucking stupid.”

You swallow, lips twitching into a wry smile. “Oh… You do?” And he huffs. “Uh… duh?!” His thumb rubbing over your knuckles. “Like… did you miss the part where I nearly blacked out trying not to fuck you into next week?”

Biting your lip, you grin.

“Oh…” And he huffs, rolling onto his side to face you. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’” He mumbles.

Your breaths mingle, and his gaze drops again – dragging down your body, lingering like he’s memorizing you. Or maybe punishing himself. They flick back up, molten. “God, I hope you know…” he murmurs, low and wrecked. “The second you’re sober, I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

Your thighs press together, a shiver rippling down your spine. And even with the ache still pulsing between your thighs — even after all the lies and chaos of this trip — you know, with total clarity:

That?

Was the truest thing you’ve ever heard.

♡

As you stir awake, Satoru’s sleepy hum vibrates against your back. His palm slides over your stomach, and his thighs are warm between yours, grounding you in a reality sweeter than any dream.

“Morning…” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, lips brushing the nape of your neck. “You’re… still here?” he breathes, relieved. “I’m not—dreaming, right?”

Your heart tugs, and your lips curve into a slow, drowsy smile.

“Nope… still here,” you whisper, lacing your fingers over his hand. “You’re stuck with me.”

Exhaling a shaky laugh, he buries his face into your neck.

“Fine by me…” he mumbles, grinning against your skin. “Best present I could’ve asked for. Merry Christmas, angel.”

Something tight in your chest finally loosens. You’d come all this way hoping for something like this — warmth, connection, proof you hadn’t imagined it all — and here he is, holding you like you belong.

Rolling towards him, your breath hitches as those pale lashes flutter open; with soft blue eyes, warm and careful, shimmering like you’re something holy.

Like you’re his.

“Yeah…” you whisper, leaning in. “Merry Christmas, ‘toru.” And as your nose brushes his, breaths mingling, you close the distance, allowing your lips to chase his.

It’s a slow rhythm, tender. You feel his fingers tense at your waist, like he’s holding back. But remembering his words last night, you pull him closer, kissing him deeper.

‘I’ll fucking ruin you.’

“Mnh… ‘toru…” you whine. “P-Please…”

And that does it. His mouth opens beneath yours with a quiet, shaky sound. His grip tightens, and the kiss deepens — hungrier now, messier.

“God…” he rasps against your lips. “You’re killing me… mnh,” and as he tugs you against his twitching dick, you grin against his mouth, thrilled by the tension thrumming through him.

It’s electric; a dominant side of him you’re hungry for. He exhales a groan while you fist your hand into the fabric of his shirt and—

Swoosh!

The shoji slams open.

“Okay—enough!” Sukuna barks, crossing his arms with a scowl. “The fuck is takin’ so long, are you two dead? It’s noon. We gonna celebrate Christmas or wha—”

Freezing mid-rant, his eyes narrow at your tangled bodies, making you scramble apart like teenagers caught. Footsteps echo down the hallway and—

“Dude, DUDE!” Yuji hisses, skidding into the doorway, nearly tripping over his socks. “C’mon bro. What did we say about boundaries, huh? Knock before you enter? Remember that one?” Sukuna’s rolling his eyes, and Yuji is grabbing him by the shoulders, steering him out. “Merry Christmas you two!” he calls brightly. “Breakfast is ready whenever—uh—you’re done!”

With the door slamming shut, you’re left blinking up at the ceiling, heat blooming across your cheeks. Satoru groans into the pillow beside you, dramatic and muffled. You peek over at him. He peeks back. And then you both start laughing.

“Well…” you sigh, brushing a finger along his wrist. “Um… on the bright side? At least we don’t have to keep pretending in front of them?”

Exhaling, he flops back with a huff, draping an arm over his eyes.

“Yeah… true.”

You watch his chest rise and fall. He’s trying to collect himself, his breathing, his desire, the moment that slipped through your fingers. Gone. And you try so hard not to pout.

Damnit…

Your thighs are still slick and your body is still humming from the promise he made you last night. He’s supposed to be yours.

“Um… hey,” You turn to him, eyes soft. He hums. “Hm?” Those blue eyes flutter open, still heavy with affection. And pouting, despite yourself, you trace your fingers over the slope of his jaw as your filthy admission slips out.

“Um… I was kinda hoping to spend all of Christmas morning with you between my legs?” you whisper, voice small and teasing.

Satoru chokes on a laugh, face going pink.

“O-Oh. Oh my god,” he mutters, glancing at the door like he half-expects Yuji to kick it in again. Then he looks back at you, lips twitching. “Shit. Didn’t realize you were on the naughty list, sweetheart.”

Heat prickles your cheeks. “I-I just—” You pout again, turning your face into the pillow. “Ugh. It’s not fair. I want you…”

After a beat of silence, you hear him sigh, along with the soft rustle of sheets as his hand finds your waist.

“Later… okay?” he murmurs into your ear, kissing your neck. “When no one’s around to kick down the door. I promise. You can have me all to yourself.

“Okay…”

But it seemed like later never came.

Because Satoru’s little found family is loud, and chaotic.

Yuji had somehow gotten his hands on a pair of reindeer antlers and was sprinting through the estate with a karaoke mic in hand. Megumi was pretending to be invisible, avoiding all involvement. And Shoko was three mimosas deep, daring Nanami to take a shot every time someone said Christmas spirit.

And Sukuna?

Well, even you were getting fed up with the asshole, considering how many times he’d managed to cockblock you.

Your first attempt was after breakfast, fingers slipping into Satoru’s hand. “Hey, ‘toru?” you whispered. “I think I left my water in the kitchen, come with me?”

Satoru blinked, then smiled, following without hesitation.

The moment the door shut? You were on him again — hands on his chest, lips chasing his, trying to claw back that burning morning momentum. You manage to get him backed against the counter, your mouth hot and insistent, and your hips nudging his with a whimper.

“Mnh—w-whoa, sweetheart, I—” But the words were swallowed. You kissed him again, and he melted into it with a breathless laugh. “Baby—mm—what’s gotten into you,” he gasps, smiling against your lips, hands gripping at your waist. “Did Santa—mm—spike your drink or someth—”

Breaking into a moan, you began rubbing against his dick, coaxing at the bulge in his pants. It was addicting. “Want you,” you whispered, panting against the corner of his mouth. Your palm pressed firmer against his cock. “You said later, ’toru. It’s later. Please—just—”

SLAM!

The fridge door slammed shut and you both jerked back, bodies going stiff.

Sukuna stood there, totally unfazed, twisting the cap off a half-empty carton of eggnog with a smug little grin. “Hm? Oh. Don’t mind meee,” he drawled, leaning against the counter like he owned it. “Just needed a refill.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you hid your mortified face into Satoru’s chest. His arm came around you instinctively, though his shoulders were tense, and his jaw was clenched. Sukuna took a long sip from the carton, deliberately slow, licking a drop from his lips while Satoru glared.

“Seriously…?” Satoru muttered. And Sukuna just huffed, innocently. “What? I was thirsty.”

That was one of… many, instances.

There was another time you tried pulling Satoru into the hallway, only to find Sukuna strolling out of the bathroom.

“Kinky,” he whistled, laughing as you jolted apart, the moment he walked past you two. “Damn. Don’t I get a turn underneath the mistletoe too?”

Or there was the time you slipped onto Satoru’s lap during whatever dumb Christmas movie Yuji had thrown on, pretending to watch it while whispering filth into his ear. You’d barely gotten through half a sentence before Sukuna appeared over the back of the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

“So,” he said casually, crunching loud as hell. “Do ya think Die Hard is a good Christmas movie? ‘Cause I think it’s the best one. Really puts me in the Christmas spirit.”

Nanami groaned, reaching for another shot. And you wanted to scream.

Because worst of all?

There were the moments that didn’t even involve Sukuna. Moments where you were the one unraveling, while Satoru was the one holding the line. Every time; he’d tense, stopping it, stopping you. Not cruelly, but with gentle care.

“C’mon baby… not yet,” he’d murmur, hands on your hips pulling you back, pleading. “P-Please? Not like this.”

You tried not to take it personally. Because you knew he was trying to be good. Knew he was sweet to his core, terrified of crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. That’s why he stopped last night…

Right?

Ugh. The rejection was breaking your heart. And it was getting harder to breathe around him. Harder to act normal.

You felt like a goddamn slut in heat.

You were tired of pretending you didn’t want him. Tired of the push and pull. Tired of the way your body lit up every time he looked at you like that — soft and hungry and restrained — and then did nothing about it.

It was embarrassing.

It was unfair.

And it was starting to make you bitter.

So? That brings you to now. You, sitting on the couch, knees pulled in as you try not to pout, while Satoru steps off to the bathroom.

“Aww,” Sukuna plops beside you with a satisfied sigh. “Why the long face? Don’t look so heartbroken, sweetheart.”

Glancing over, his lips tug up into a crooked smirk, and you try not to scowl.

Asshole.

“I’m not,” you lied.

He huffs an amused laugh. “Oh, you definitely are,” and tilting his head, he exhales with exaggerated pity. “Mm… lemme guess. Lover boy went to go powder his nose after blue-balling you all day?”

Yeah. Well.

Whose fault is that?!

“Annnnd… I’m jus’ sayin’” Sukuna leans closer, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. “I bet he’s in there jerkin’ off to restraint, huh?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Jesus Christ. You’re vile.”

His grin grows. “Guilty.” And leaning back, he spreads his legs. “Buuuut… who can blame me? I’m only saying what we’re all thinking. I mean, poor thing,” he gestures to you. “You got all dolled up, flew down here, and still no Christmas cheer between your legs? What a fuckin’ shame,” he clicks his tongue.

You look away. He was pissing you off more. But he wasn’t wrong.

“Hey. Y’know what?” he murmurs, “I think that since you’re the star of the night… we oughta let you put the star on the tree.”

Huh?

Frowning, you glance toward the towering evergreen in the corner of the room.

“Uh… the fuck are you talking about?” you mutter.

His ruby eyes gleam. “It’s tradition,” he says, smirking like it isn’t total bullshit. “A Japanese tradition. Big finale and all.” And rising to his feet, he stretches like a lazy cat. “C’mon. You climb, I’ll hold you steady. Don’t want a pretty little thing like you falling and breaking something, right?”

Extending his hand, he winks, giving you that wolfish grin, sharp enough to cut ribbon; like the devil himself, daring you to make things worse.

And suddenly? You’re remembering Satoru’s jealous glare, the one he’d give Sukuna while you were pretending to date. Along with his tightened grip. Or the way he’d snapped before he could stop himself and—

Oh…

Satoru says you’re on the naughty list?

Fine. You’ll show him just how naughty you can be.

♡

“Caaaaareful there, sweetheart,” Sukuna drawls. “Thaaaat’s it… just a little more to the left.”

When Satoru walks out and sees you halfway up the ladder?

He sees fucking red.

You’re stretching for the top of the tree, with that soft strip of skin above your hips, flashing like bait. While Sukuna stands directly beneath you; hands planted on your hips. Not even pretending it’s for balance.

No. His head is tipped back, and his eyes are openly tracking the curve of your ass like he’s admiring fucking art.

“You got it?” Sukuna calls up lazily, biting his lip. “By all means, no rush. I got you. Just—”

“The fuck are you doing?”

As Satoru’s voice cuts through, the room seems to tilt. You pause, eyes flicking to him. And glancing over his shoulder lazily, Sukuna’s grin widens, pure disrespect.

“Oh, hey snowflake.” He hums. “You’re back.”

Satoru doesn’t even blink; he’s crossing the room in three, long, purposeful strides. They’re controlled. Because if he doesn’t keep them controlled? He’ll break Sukuna’s fucking jaw.

“Oh, relax,” Sukuna says, lifting his hands in lazy surrender while Satoru closes the distance. “She wanted to put the star on the tree. I’m just bein’ a gentleman and—”

“NO you’re fucking not!” Hands slam into Sukuna’s chest while Satoru shoves him back – hard enough that he stumbles, knocking himself into the table with a grunt. “Back off. Asshole.”

Sukuna smirks, straightening. “Damn,” he whistles, chucking as he rubs his shoulder. “Touchy-touchy, hm?”

But Satoru’s moved past him. His sharp gaze snaps to you, and your tummy flutters from a new hue of the familiar blue.

Dangerous.

“Hey. Can you come with me?” he mutters, tugging you down carefully, firm but insistent “O-Oh, huh?” you blink, trying to play it off. “Yeah, sure.” But you know damn well that it’s not a request. Because he’s dragging you down the hallway, pulling you behind him, straight towards his bedroom.

The moment the door slides shut, he stands there, holding your hand, his back to you. You see his chest rising and falling, like he fucking ran here. And when his eyes flick to yours, you can feel it. Feel the inner conflict swimming through them.

“Look… I—” he pulls his hand away, dragging it through his hair. “I don’t want you to—I mean I—fuck. I’d appreciate it if you—nothatsoundsweird—ugh!” he groans, pulling at his hair while he begins to pace.

“Why is this so hard?”

You tilt your head innocently.

“Hm? What is?”

Halting, his eyes flick to yours; defeated. And he groans.

“Look…” he begins, voice tight. “I’m… I’m trying. Okay?” he exhales, frustrated. “Like, really fucking trying to be normal about this. To not be an asshole.” His hands gesture vaguely in the air, like he’s searching for the right words.

“A-And I… I know. I know I don’t have a right to ask you what to do,” he adds, quickly, words tumbling out. “But—fuck. I can’t fucking stand him, sweetheart. Can’t stand the way he looks at you!”

Pulling in another shuddering breath, his nostrils flare.

“I mean—he treats everything like a fucking game, like you’re a fucking prize to be won, not a person. And I’m trying not to ruin Christmas, but please—don’t fucking do that. Don’t let him. I mean, for god’s sake—why? Why are you letting him?!”

The words rip out, and the silence that follows hits like a pin drop in a cathedral. Satoru halts, panting, blinking. Surprised by his own sharpness, while you stand there, hands folded together innocently.

“What?” you ask, with a syrupy little lilt. “Let him?” you bat your lashes. “W-Who—me?”

At that, Satoru’s eyes widen; like he finally realized what the fuck you’re doing. The game you’re playing. Blinking, his lips part. Speechless.

Oh.

You little brat.

You wanted him to snap.

“I…” he exhales through his nose, pursing his lips as he tries to contain himself. “Seriously…? I see what you’re doing and… fucking hell,” he mutters. “Don’t—don’t do that.”

Blinking again, you tilt your head. “Do what?” you ask, and he scowls, shaking his head. “That look. Stop. Don’t look at me like that.”

Stepping closer, you bite back a grin. “Hm? Whatever do you mean?” you stand in front of him now while he towers over you, face hardening. “How am I looking at you, ‘toru?”

His jaw ticks. “Like…” he grits, exhaling. “Like you want me to do something about it.”

That devilish grin playing on your lips answers for you. You take another step forward. Then another. Close enough to tilt your chin up and murmur, “Sukuna said it’s Japanese tradition for me to put the star on the tree...”

Satoru’s whole body tenses.

“And he was so sweet,” you add, voice light, “holding me steady while I reached for the top. Said it’d be a shame if I slipped and broke something pretty.” You pretend to ponder. “Maybe I’ll go thank him properly and—"

“Oh, fuck that—”

His mouth is on yours before you can blink. You moan as his tongue slides past your lips with rough, starving insistence, stealing your breath, making your knees wobble.

You feel the hard line of his cock grind against your stomach through his pants, rigid and throbbing. He’s panting into your mouth like he hasn’t been able to breathe for days — and that smug little spark of victory blooms hot in your belly.

Success.

“Satoru—wait—” you try, laughing into his mouth as he backs you up, “What’s wrong? I just—" but the moment the wall slams into your back, you gasp, breathless. His pale lashes are low over glassy eyes, and his plump lips glisten from your kiss.

“Oho? You think you’re so fuckin’ funny, hm?”

His cock strains in his pants, leaking for you. And when his thigh slips between yours, rubbing filthy circles against your soaked cunt, the broken sound that tears out of you is embarrassing; with your hips tipping forward on instinct.

“Ah—yesss,” you gasp out a moan, slick soaking through your panties. He feels it, and his mouth curves. “What’s this?” he huffs tauntingly, pressing harder, fanning your cheek. “Messy little thing… guess I should’ve bent you over sooner.”

Your head falls back with a thud, and your pulse is everywhere, thrumming through your body as he whispers sweet filth into your ear. He’s rutting slow and lazy into your thigh now, shameless while his cock drips along the waistband of his boxers, oozing from the tip.

“You’re desperate for cock, huh?” he chuckles, dragging his thigh up again, firmer this time, making your toes curl, your cunt ache. “Been actin’ naughty all day just to get me like this, hm?”

Biting your lip, you whisper. “M-Maybe… what of it?” trying to hold the power, but you’re cracking. “After all, you said you’d ruin me, Satoru. So fuckin’ do it already.”

“Fine,” he spits, hauling you off the wall and throwing you onto the bed. He follows immediately after, looming over you like he’s snapped. “You want someone to hold you steady…?” he growls, yanking your hips to the edge with rough hands, tugging your pants down your thighs with shaky breaths. “Then I’ll fuckin’ ruin your balance, ruin all of you—brat.”

Cold air hits your glistening slit, and the moment your pants are at your feet, so is he — dropping to his knees like he’s ready to worship. But when you look down at him — jaw clenched, eyes blazing with something far too hungry to be reverence — you realize it’s not mercy he offers.

“Oh, toru—mnh…" His breath fans your cunt, and your touch starved pussy is dripping between your thighs when he spreads them open. “Shit…” he smirks, rubbing firm circles over your puffy clit. “God, look at you. Such a pretty little cunt…”

You’re whining as the wet drag of his tongue joins in, lapping at your slick – with hard, then soft little flicks. He flattens with a slow, filthy drag up your swollen little clit, again and again, until you’re gushing all over his soft, shiny lips.

“Fuck…” your thighs tremble, making him grin, slurring. “Mmm… there she is,” he mumbles into your heat. “That’s my girl, this what you wanted, angel?” Two fingers sink in deep, pumping into your tiny dripping hole, making you gasp.

How are they so long?! And with the dual stimulation, it’s overwhelming.

“Ohmygod—fuck, I can’t—mnh!” But Satoru is unrelenting, curling deep against your spongy walls, grinning wickedly against your folds as those electric blue eyes flick up.

“Shh, yes you can, baby” he coos, tongue flicking quickly at your clit. “Just be a good girl and stay still, yeah?” He pants, scissoring your sopping pussy with loud squelches. “Thought you wanted to be held steady, hm?”

He’s cruel. You’re shaking, squirming, clamping your thighs around your head as he dives deep between your legs.

“Fuckin’ naughty little thing,” he growls, forcing you still. “Drippin’ all over me—actin’ like a slut all day and—mnh—”

Shutting him up, you roll your hips against him, grasping his hair, chasing it. “Fuckfuckfuck, m’gonna cum—" and when Satoru groans encouragingly, you do.

Trembling, falling apart with cries you can barely swallow, your spasming pussy pulses around his lips, with gooey slick gushing as your climax ripples through you. He moans, lapping it up, tonguing every drop, coaxing every last wave from your sensitive little pussy until you’re twitching, shuddering, reeling.

It’s too much, too good, too sweet.

When he lifts his head, he’s easing himself up your body slowly, with a wrecked groan, mouthing kisses from your shaking thighs, to your hips, your stomach – leaving wet trails in his wake while his hands clumsily fumble with his own pants.

“Fuck,” he pants, shoving them down with force. “Baby, I can’t—I need you. Need you right now.”

His cock springs free, flushed pink and dripping, curved thick toward his stomach. A thick vein tracks along the base, up to his weeping tip, and you hold your breath, taking it just how big it is.

God, he was right. He’s going to ruin you.

But he doesn’t even look at it. He’s too focused on you — on the way your breath is stuttering, chest heaving; on the way your hips lift instinctively to meet him, while he’s lining that pretty cock against you, allowing the clear, glossy stream of pre-cum to ooze against your wet little hole.

He exhales. “Fuck, you’re so pretty…” One hand slides up your side, then the other, worshipful, until they frame your face. Pulling you close, his forehead pressed to yours, noses brushing; his breath shaky and warm against your lips.

“So fuckin’ pretty…” he murmurs. “God, I love you so much. You know that, right?”

Pressure swells in your chest, and suddenly, you’re blinking behind a glassy weight, tears building behind your eyes.

Love.

A feeling you can barely describe, something you’ve always chased for. And with him? It feels so right. So true.

You nod. “I love you too,” voice trembling, fingers threading through his hair. “I-I… I love you so much it scares me. I—” swallowing, your arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer. “I want to be yours, Satoru,” you whisper. “Please.”

“Y-You are… unngh…” he sinks in with a breathless groan, and as the ridge of his cock stretches snugly against your sweet silky walls, his forehead falls to your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut. “Mine baby…” he grunts, “All fucking mine… fffuck.”

Holding still, his dick jerks wildly inside your pussy, and you tremble, opening your legs further. You allow your legs to wrap around him, digging your heels into his back.

“You feel so good…” he rasps, pulling out slowly, only to push back in with a devastating thrust. “So warm n’ tight n’… fuck—"

While his hips build a rhythm, he buries his face into your neck, slamming insistently against your center with more assurance than the last. His breath fans your jaw and his hips slap hard, making wet, filthy slaps echo through the room.

“Toru,” you whimper, clawing at his back. “Don’t stop. Please don’t—ahh—”

“Anything for you,” he growls, frantic now, fucking into you like its instinct. “Anything—hah—just keep squeezin’ me like that. Shit—you’re milkin’ me—mnh”

His mouth finds yours, messy and hungry, tongue slick with your taste, moaning into you like he’s pussy drunk while he pounds into you like a toy.

“Feels better than I dreamed—” he breaks off, panting, then rolls over, flipping you onto his lap with a grunt, while his cock’s still buried inside. “C’mon. Ride me, baby. Please. Please.”

Sinking down with a shiver, soft little whimpers spill from your lips as you roll your hips sensually. It’s slow and punishing, making those snowy lashes flutter, and his sweet lips part in a filthy ‘O’.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, hands sliding under your shirt, cupping your tits, thumbs circling your nipples as you arch. “That’s it… such pretty sounds—” he rasps, watching you. “Used to get off to your voice e-every night…” he admits, making you choke on a moan, rolling faster. “What?”

His head tips back with a groan. “Y-Yeah… fuck…” he grits, dick jerking at your reaction, while more filthy confessions spill. “I couldn’t even make it through your voicemails sometimes—y-you’d say my name all sweet and… nngh… I’d bust in my hand and—”

“Oh fffuck…” gasping, your dizzy with it now, dizzy with his crude revelations, hips slapping over and over. “That’s naughty ‘toru… you’re the filthy one not me!”

“Unngh… I know—” he growls, gripping your hips, eyes squeezing shut, meeting your hips with thrusts. “God, I was obsessed—and now you’re bouncin’ on my cock like a little slut—takin’ me so good—shit—m’not gonna fuckin’ last I-I—"

But you don’t slow, he’s gripping your hips, bracing for impact, but you’re also close, so so close. Your thighs burn, your core is on fire, slick drooling down his shaft as your clit catches every delicious drag of his cock, every filthy roll of your hips.

“Baby—baby wait—” he pants, trying to pull you back just an inch, hands sliding up your ribs, desperate. “Fuck—don’t—if you keep doin’ that I’m gonna—” You shake your head, forehead dropping to his, noses brushing. “Can’t,” you breathe. “Can’t stop.”

“Oh my god—okay—fuck—fuck—fuck—”

A filthy moan spills from his lips, and as the first hot wave of creamy cum shoots into you, you gasp, mouth falling open in a silent scream as you shatter on his cock, walls fluttering and clenching around him like you’re trying to milk every drop. He buries his face in your neck as his cock pulses deep inside you, hips stuttering uncontrollably while he spills into you, hot and wrecked and shaking.

You collapse into him, and both of you are trembling, sweaty and breathless, stuck together in a delicious tangle of limbs as his cock twitches weakly, with cum dribbling down your thighs.

Once you feel it oozing out of you, there’s a second of stunned silence. Blinking up at him, you look guilty. “…oh,” you murmur softly. Satoru’s chest rises hard against yours. “Yeah… oh,” he echoes faintly.

Biting your lip, you shrug. “…oops?” And he lets out a breath that sounds halfway between a laugh and a groan, forehead dropping to yours. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters, shaking his head with a sigh. “Like… actually insane, making me cum inside you.”

Okay, yeah. Maybe not your brightest idea, not using protection but…

You shrug weakly, still wrapped around him. “You came first.”

He scoffs. “That is not a defense,” but his lips twitch into a grin, and his thumb brushes over your hip. And finally, clicking his tongue he mutters fondly.

“Stupid, reckless girl…”

♡

✨ Swipe Right into Hell✨

My Final Column: The Secret to Love
(Spoiler: It’s Not a Three-Text Rule)

—

People chase love like it’s something cosmic.

A planetary alignment. A glitch in the matrix. Like if you say the right things, wear the right clothes, and angle your Hinge profile just so, the algorithm will spit out a soulmate; curating the perfect playlist of personality traits.

All you have to do is be sweet, but not too sugary. Smart, but never a know-it-all. Sexy, but not a slut. Vulnerable, but not weird about it.

But here’s the real kicker:

The secret to love?

Keep no secrets.

And no, I don’t mean pull out your trauma resume at brunch. I’m not saying you need to confess your childhood abandonment issues over iced coffee or text him your credit score on date three. Okay?

I mean—in the weird way. The loud way. The shy or passionate way. Like how you still rewatch the same comfort show every time you’re sad. Or how you talk to your pets like they understand you. Or how you overthink a text for twenty minutes and then forget to hit send.

Be messy. Be awkward. Be a little cringe. Whatever just—

Be you.

Because love? The kind that stays? The kind that listens to you ramble about your favorite things, the kind that offers you half their fries and holds your hand when your voice gets quiet — well, it can only grow where there’s light. Not in the shadows where we hide the parts of ourselves that we’re scared no one will want.

And trust me, someone will.

Someone out there is going to see your quirks as constellations. They’ll laugh when you snort. Cry when you cry. Look at you on your worst day and still say,

“God… I’m so fucking lucky.”

So… if there’s anything I’ve learned after all these disaster dates?

Don’t shrink. Don’t edit. Don’t crop out the parts of you that feel too much or not enough.

Because the right person won’t just match with you. They’ll meet you.

Exactly as you are.

Beat for beat.

—

Swipe Right Into Hell

xoxo, your favorite hopeless romantic, signing out for good.

♡

Your fingers tap the last few words, and with a small sigh, you hit Post.

The laptop screen glows softly in your lap — black text on a white page, one final entry in Mei’s god-awful column. Your resignation’s already been sent. No take-backs. Done. And leaning back in the stiff terminal chair, you stretch your arms overhead while a melodic chime ripples through the speakers.

“Now boarding: Flight 701, Kyoto to Los Angeles…”

People shuffle towards the attendant, and glancing up, you catch sight of Satoru appearing; carrying two bags of snacks and a bottle of water between his fingers, like a proud scavenger returning from war.

“Oi, salty queen,” he calls, brandishing a bag of shrimp chips like a trophy. “You’re officially prepped for the nine-hour gauntlet.”

Your eyes light up. “Shrimp chips?”

“Duh,” he deadpans, tossing them into your lap.

Grinning, you close your laptop with a soft click and slide it into your carry-on. “Mm… my hero.” He grins. “Damn right,” slinging his backpack over one shoulder and grabbing your suitcase without asking as you rise.

As the two of you silently fall into step towards the gate, his shoulder brushes against yours.

“Soooo,” he drawls, bumping you gently. “Miss Tour Guide — what are you gonna show me first? The California waves? All the magical rocks and boulders? Will there be climbing involved or—”

“Fuck no.” You snort, shooting him a look. “I’m never climbing a wall ever again in my life.”

He chuckles, delighted. “Aww man. I was gonna grow my hair out, embrace nature, maybe start talking about crystals and energy—”

“I will abandon you at TSA.”

“Rude.”

“Necessary.”

The both of you step into a line, pulling out your boarding passes, waiting to show the flight attendant your tickets when—

“Ehhh?! Gojo-sama?!”

A woman walking past gasps like she’s just seen a ghost — or an idol. She bows quickly, hands clasped, giddy with awe. Satoru blinks, then chuckles softly, dipping his head in greeting.

“Ah—konnichiwa.”

As they begin chatting in Japanese, the woman speaks rapidly, words tumbling over one another in a blur of excitement. She gestures to her phone, and Satoru nods politely, leaning in while raising a playful peace sign. She snaps the photo, squeals like a teenager, and bows three times before disappearing into the crowd.

You watch her go — still clinging to her phone like it’s a priceless artifact. And Satoru, meanwhile, strolls back into line like nothing happened.

“…Sooo,” you say slowly, stepping forward, “that’s normal for you?”

“Huh?” He glances over, then waves a hand. “Nah, she probably thought I was someone else. Happens all the time.”

“…but she said your name.”

He fumbles. “O-oh… well,” clearing his throat. “It’s a common name, sweetheart.”

You squint at him. At the soft curl of his snowy hair, the crooked angle of his glasses. The eyes — that impossible shade of sea-glass blue, luminous and unmistakably…

Beautiful.

So maybe that’s it. Maybe he’s just hot. But… people don’t react like that to hot. They don’t smile like they just saw God, for a randomly nobody at the airport…

Right?

Gears turn.

“…hey,” you murmur, suspicion dawning. “Are you, like… famous or something?”

Satoru stiffens. His mouth twitches — a smile trying and failing to form. He looks at you with the panicked guilt of a man caught mid-heist.

“W-What? No. Pfft. That’s… ridiculous.”

But when he scans his ticket, he promptly bolts toward the gate. You follow, eyebrow climbing.

“You’re not lying to me again, are you?”

“…no?” he calls back over his shoulder.

And after all your late-night calls and voice notes and sleepy confessions, you know that sound. You hear that grin.

Because that little lilt at the end?

Yeah. It doesn’t help his case.