justanotherasiangirl

[justanotherasiangirl]

blank canvas. (2)

after offering a painful ultimatum to finally be enough for him, things ultimately get worse as he decides between keeping you or losing you as the only resolution.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. strong language, defloration (kinda), explicit smut, undertones of manipulation and gaslighting, toxic relationship, undertones of cheating

notes. 11.2k wc! thanks for the love on bc1, i didn't expect it to gain traction at all but tyty. last part will come soon, but that will be the final chapter to this mini-series.

part 1 | part 3

The ride back home was uncomfortable. 

It wasn’t because you had promised to give yourself to him that night, but rather because his uncharacteristic silence was not what you had expected after delivering your ultimatum. You already proposed a wonderful solution to his needs, so why was he acting like you were the one being ridiculous? This was why you hated it whenever Sukuna chose silence over open communication, as it left you a hard time guessing about what was running through his mind. His expression didn’t offer any clues either, because he did pretty well at concealing his emotions behind a facade of indifference.

When you said you would do it with him, you meant it. But what did he think of it? 

The sharp wind cut through your skin, the roar of his motorbike deafening your ears as your boyfriend accelerated his vehicle upon entering the tunnel. The vibrant yellow lights offered a cinematic view, tempting you to imagine yourself embracing the wind with open arms, though you knew better than to do so. Instead, you held onto him tightly, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning forward as he sped through the empty lane.

It was nearing midnight, and the sparse traffic allowed Sukuna to indulge in one of his habits: riding his bike in the late hours of the night through this particular tunnel and onto the highway. You knew this ritual helped him clear his mind since it offered a rush of danger that sharpened his focus on the road. His choice to take this route tonight also only confirmed to you that he was grappling with internal thoughts. The last time he rode this fast was when your parents made you choose between them and him, slapping it in his face that he was and would never be welcomed in your family. 

To be honest, it frightened you. The speed at which he was riding was dangerous for both of you. Moreover, his bike was a YZF-R1, although street-legal, it was still a high-performance sport bike more suited for the track. It required agile and precise handling with its 1000cc engine. Yet, no other vehicle seemed more fitting for Sukuna than this. 

Whatever was on his mind, he didn’t care to let you know. You two didn’t really speak throughout the ride while you clung to him like a backpack, praying in your head that you two wouldn’t get into an accident. Thankfully enough, he did safely take you home as you arrived at your shared apartment at exactly midnight. 

“Please don’t ride like that again,” you muttered as he helped you out of his motorbike. “You could’ve gotten us killed.” 

His fingers then reached to unclasp your helmet, pulling it up to reveal your face. “Well, we’re still alive.” 

You looked at his face despite his best effort to avoid yours, standing centimeters apart while he switched off the engine. He didn’t return your gaze as though he was drowned by guilt. Should you speak at this? Or should you let him do it first? 

“Baby.” After a minute or so, it was your boyfriend who sighed and finally gave in, pulling you close and resting his forehead against yours. He kept his eyes closed even when he was cupping your cheeks. “You don’t have to do this.” 

Yes, you certainly shouldn’t. You didn’t have to do things unwillingly, but that wouldn’t change the fact that this on-going issue was putting a strain on your relationship and this would be your last shot at trying to salvage it. And you couldn’t have him looking for sensual gratification from anyone else other than you, so what other option did you have, really? 

“I want to do it.” 

“Not if you’re forcing yourself like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who said I’m forcing myself?”

“Your face tells me you are,” replied he, staring at your face in defeat. “So, let’s not—”

“What, and let this issue haunt us over and over?” You smiled bitterly, shaking your head adamantly. “This has to be done. I need to experience it so I’ll finally understand.”

Understand what? His face almost spelled out those words, but he chose not to say anything of the sort and instead leaned in to kiss your forehead. “Alright. I’ll make it memorable.” 

— —

Easier said than done, of course. You kept overthinking about whether your performance would be satisfactory to him given that you didn’t have enough experience to learn anything at all, aside from the make out sessions that you did once in a blue moon. Around thirty minutes of your time was spent hyperanalyzing your situation in the shower, while the other half of it was spent doing a little more than your nightly routines. Since Sukuna liked powdery scents, you placed a good effort in applying lavender-scented oil and perfume on every inch of your body. You also shaved any unwanted hair, especially on all the intimate places you knew he would be seeing. And by the time you were done, you stepped out of the bathroom blooming like a fresh flower, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel that hugged your womanly figure. 

It didn’t feel right at all. It didn’t feel good knowing that you were preparing yourself like that, when these things should only happen on the first night after your wedding. It didn’t feel great that you were going to lose your virginity to a man who had not even proposed to you. This wasn’t even your honeymoon, but you had to pretend like it was. 

Did Sukuna feel the same? 

He wasn’t lying in bed when you walked out of the bathroom. Instead, he had just returned from outside—shirtless, wearing his favorite gray sweatpants, and holding a box of condoms and a tube of lube in his hand. It was clear he had made a quick visit to the convenience store nearby and got the essentials for your first night.

Immediately, he eyed your towel-wrapped body with restrained lust, clearing his throat as he walked towards the nightstand. “You look nice.” 

Really? Did he really have to make this more awkward than it already was? 

“Thank you,” was all you could softly reply. It was funny how he pretended to be busy placing the box and tube above the bedside table instead of lunging at you like a desperate man. But because you wanted to get this over with, you were the one who approached him from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, and touching the firmness of his abs. For someone who had zero experience, you were definitely trying hard enough and that should please him. “You have to help me out here, my love. Guide me.” 

When Sukuna turned around, your heart started racing. Of excitement? Maybe. Of anxiety? Perhaps. He made it better though when he finally caved in and looked straight into your eyes, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear before lifting your chin with his hand. “You smell extra nice, too,” he added, leaning close enough that you could feel his warm breath fanning your face. 

You were feeling it now. The equal lust. The carnal desire. The feeling of his sweet kisses, which he made true as soon as he crashed his lips onto yours. His kisses usually ranged from tender to rough, but this time, it was an altogether different type of kiss. It was passionate and demonstrative, as if showing you exactly what he had been wanting to do to you the first time you got together. This must be the result of being celibate in over a year. He was clearly a man deprived of sexual pleasure, and you were responsible for it. You actually turned him into a monk. 

Now, he wasn’t holding anything back anymore. With his hand on your nape, he deepened the kiss to the point where you could feel his tongue exploring your mouth. You followed whatever he was doing like a good girl, like a very good girl, as he completely devoured your mouth with his. It didn’t take long for him to advance his kisses in other places too, being your jawline his next target, and then your neck as he feathered kisses around the soft flesh, leaving marks that would need a few days to be concealed. 

Because his arms were tight around your waist, yours were locked around his neck. Where else should you be putting them? What does the girl usually do in this situation? You tried not to think much of it and listened to your own body while your boyfriend was sucking the skin around your collarbone. At first, your hand traced his toned chest, then it moved southwards to feel his abs, and further down to his…

“Y-You’re hard.” Your eyes widened as you felt his growing erection behind the fabric of his sweatpants. It wasn’t your first time seeing his boner, but it was the first time you touched it with your own hand. It was the first time you had your palm stroking his length, swallowing hard as you realized just how hard and thick he was. 

“It wants to be inside you,” he whispered through your mouth, kissing you back again, “so bad, baby.” 

Gosh. Your knees felt weak and you two hadn’t even really started yet. How much more when he starts putting that thing of his inside you? You were breathing hard, trying to catch air as your boyfriend continued to lap his tongue with yours, guiding your hand to continue fondling his wood while it grew bigger the more stimulated it got. By letting you touch his hardened crotch together with his own, you realized that you had just unlocked a newfound fetish of yours. “D-Do you… do you think about doing it with me often?”

He bit your lower lip before pulling away, animalistic eyes sending you into an orbit of pleasure. “Do you mean if I touch myself to the thought of you a lot?” he teased, chuckling darkly at the obvious heat on your cheeks. You couldn’t help but feel excited at how vulgar he could be with his words. “I do jack off a lot, angel. And it’s always you in my mind.” 

You didn’t even have the time to melt from his words, because before you knew it, he was already peeling the towel off your body to reveal your completely naked figure. Obviously, your first reaction was to get shy—with your heated cheeks, your inability to look him in the eyes, your little efforts in covering your breasts and crotch, but he made sure to pull your hands away while keeping his eyes on you. “…Don’t stare.” 

Sukuna, however, didn’t listen. His dark eyes scanned every curve of your body, particularly around your chest area before he sighed and threw his head back. “Fuck,” he cussed under his breath. “You’re so fucking sexy. I can’t believe no other punk has seen you like this.” 

Your confidence grew little by little because of his praises. “But isn’t that a good thing?” 

“For sure.” He almost laughed at his own words, more so in disbelief, before he reached out to touch your bosom. “No one can touch you like this, either, baby.” 

“That’s—”

“Hmm?” Your boyfriend smirked at your reaction. While his other hand went to squeeze your breast, the other traveled to your bum, squeezing the cheek with equal fervor. “Can I have a taste of you, baby?”

He fondled your breasts with both hands now, massaging the rounded mass like they were his property. You had to admit to yourself that the feeling of being touched actually transcended your expectations. Or maybe it was only because of how erotic it was, but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were as his veiny, manly hands cupped your bosom. 

And as soon as you nodded and permitted him to ‘taste’ you, he took no time in gently pushing you down the mattress, allowing you to lay at a comfortable position under him and his wanton stare. Taste you? He was more like eating you, when he pinned you against the mattress and sucked the skin on your chest. At first, his tongue rolled along your cleavage, inching closer and closer to your right breast while he had his hand squeezing the left. Your body naturally gravitated towards him as you arched your back so he could have better access to your chest. Not only your chest, but also your crotch as he started grinding his clothed manhood in between your folds. 

“Mm…”

Sukuna’s mouth was on your breast now, suckling on your flesh and playing his tongue around your nipple. You couldn’t tell if it was pleasurable or painful because his tongue felt ticklish on your skin, but the suction definitely was an entirely different feeling. Both weren’t bad, anyway. They were just new to you. But even if they were foreign, you were curious and all the more interested, studying every little thing he was doing with your body and trying to make mental notes out of it. 

Maybe you should have watched porn. That way, you could have been more aware of the step-by-step process of having sex. Who knew there were steps to follow at all? You didn’t think that foreplay could draw this much delay in your session because all you thought was that he was going to insert his cock straight inside you as soon as he saw you naked. 

With all the touching, fondling, and kissing… what were you supposed to do? He was doing all the work here. 

“Baby,” you spoke softly, staring at the ceiling, “C-Can I… touch you?” 

Instead of pulling away, his mouth latched onto your left boob, giving it the same attention before moving south. “Not yet.” 

When he said that, you didn’t expect his hand to land on your crotch. Your heart was thumping at an irregular rhythm as you felt his fingers moving in circles around your bud, playing with your clit before spreading your folds apart. “Nghh—!” you let out an embarrassingly loud moan, eyes widening at the sound of your voice, but your boyfriend shushed you by placing a peck on your lips before spreading your legs into a V. 

“You’re so wet,” he said, pointing out the obvious as he positioned himself in between your legs, spreading your labia to reveal your entrance. Something about the situation made you increasingly self-conscious, but his undeniably hungry gaze kept you from covering your most sensitive area. It seemed like he was enjoying the sight of your pussy, especially with how wet and ‘untouched’ it was. “Your pussy’s so pretty, baby,” he mumbled, lowering his face closer to the area, “Can’t wait to put my dick inside it.” 

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue in between your folds. No, you couldn’t even think straight after he started teasing your vagina, alternating between flicking his tongue around your bud to french kissing your entrance. His tongue was so deep in your cavern that you were raising your hips involuntarily, going insane from the pleasure it sent your body. Your hands even gripped the sheets and your back arched into a C as you held back from moaning like a wild animal. At some point, the slurping sounds and the feeling of his mouth kissing your vagina had your legs shaking. 

Though, you could ask yourself: what turned you on the most? Was it him actually eating your pussy or just the idea of him doing it? 

And just when you thought he was done, he replaced his mouth by inserting a finger inside your cunt, garnering a much louder whimper out of you. “B-Baby!”

“Does it hurt?” he asked, eyes locked with yours as he slowly moved his middle finger in and out. “It’s so tight.” 

“It hurts…” You nodded, feeling his finger moving in circles inside your cunt as though he was trying to get a feel of your walls, measuring the tightness and such. 

He kissed you for a good minute. “Relax, angel. Don’t clench too much.” 

Clench? You didn’t even know you were doing such a thing. “How to…?” 

“Just relax.” Sukuna placed a hand on your abdomen, pressing it down while he was inserting yet another finger inside of you. “This’ll help you prepare so it won’t hurt as much later.” 

Now, you were goddamn nervous. What did he mean it wouldn’t hurt as much? Because you were overthinking the pain of having him his actual cock inside of you. If you couldn’t even bear having his two fingers inside you, how much more with his clearly thick shaft? It was ridiculous to feel both anxious and yet aroused at the same time. Anxious, because you knew he could rip you open. Aroused, because his fingers were currently doing a great job at hitting your most sensitive spot. Whatever it was that he was reaching, it was certainly sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body. 

His fingers continued to move. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Around. When he pulled his digits out, he sucked the juices on them, tasting every drip of your essence from his fingers. “Sweet.”

Were you? You started to get curious at how he tasted, too. Sweet? Salty? Bitter? You seemed to be moving on autopilot when you pulled yourself up and sat in bed on your knees. “Your turn?” 

You asked the question as if you knew what you were doing, which was why Sukuna found it adorable and humorous at the same time. He did help you pull down the sweatpants that had been covering his erection for what felt like eternity, only to reveal a monstrous size that sprung out of the garment. 

Holy fuck was all you could say. 

He stood at the edge of the bed, a devilish smirk displayed on his saintly face as he saw the length of his cock compared to your face. You obviously hadn’t seen many cocks in your lifetime to be able to compare his size, but in your eyes, he was definitely big. He was girthy. He was lengthy. He was veiny. Meaty. 

“Wanna suck it for me, baby?” he encouraged, pumping his shaft while looking at you. Fuck. “Open your mouth.” 

You did as told, wrapping a hand at the base of his length while placing his tip on your mouth. You pressed your tongue flat on the surface of his tip, rolling your tongue around the head as if it were a lollipop. Was that what you were supposed to do?

“Eyes on me.” His voice deepened an octave. And it was also raspier. 

Why did he want you to look up at him? It was already embarrassing. 

“I said, eyes on me, angel.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to lock eyes with his darkened ones. Damn. No wonder girls were desperate to see him in his shop every single day. This was probably what they had been daydreaming about. “Suck my cock.” 

In your head, you became a slut. In reality, you were still a shy, inexperienced virgin who didn’t know what to do. You relied on his instructions and looked at his expressions to know if you were doing a good job and to see what he liked and didn’t like. He definitely liked it when you sucked the head, liked it even more when you started to let him go deeper in your mouth, and surely liked it a hell lot better when you gagged after his cock hit the back of your throat. But in spite of the string of saliva that left your mouth after gagging from his cock, his arousal only grew harder, this time holding your hair in his fist as he began thrusting his hip forward. You were bobbing your head at a rhythm that satisfied him, feeling the stretch on your scalp as he tightened his grip on your hair. 

“Tighten your mouth around it,” he instructed, fucking your mouth senselessly like hitting your throat was driving him nuts. Your eyes were already filling up with tears because of your urge to gag again, but you didn’t think it would be a good idea to stop now while he was just starting to pleasure himself. 

This was the first time in your life to give someone a blowjob, and you weren’t sure what to make of that experience. It personally didn’t give you pleasure, but you liked hearing his desperate moans. You liked hearing him curse and get vulgar with his words. You liked seeing him get rough. His taste, on the other hand, was somewhat a different experience. Since you were only sucking his flesh, it was a tad bit salty at first contact but didn’t taste anything much after tongue got used to the skin around his shaft. Perhaps his cum would have a stronger flavor, though it looked like he had no plans in releasing his load into your mouth as he pulled his member out. 

“Fuck it,” he grunted, gently pushing you back and spreading your legs wide open again, “I wanna feel your pussy so bad. Can I fuck you raw, babe?” 

All those condoms, and he wanted to have you raw? 

“But… I don’t wanna get pregnant.” 

His face was full of assurance, shaking his head and denying any chance of knocking you up. “You won’t be. I’ll pull out, I just… I have to feel you raw the first time. I have to.” 

“Okay…” 

You were nervous as hell. You had butterflies in your stomach, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t silence. You had imagined this moment countless times, but now that it was here, the reality of it was too overwhelming. Your mind yet again raced with a whirlwind of doubts and insecurities, and every nerve on your body seemed to be on high alert while you watched him getting occupied with rubbing his entire length with lube, ensuring a smooth entrance inside you. 

He was nervous too, right? You couldn’t be the only one. You couldn’t be. 

You just wanted everything to be perfect. To show him how much you cared. To feel that you were enough. But the thought was paralyzing. Tonight was more than just physical intimacy; it was a step forward in your relationship, a moment of connection you wanted so badly to cherish. This first intimate encounter should be filled with love, respect, and mutual understanding. 

But what if after this, he’d come to realize that you weren’t the one? What if he’d get disappointed and tell you that you weren’t worth it? What if he’d leave you for someone else who could pleasure him better? What if, after you had given yourself to him, no one else would ever appreciate you anymore? 

You wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted to feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, the intimacy of your connection. You wanted to explore this uncharted territory with him, to dive headfirst into the unknown and discover what lay on the other side. But were you really ready for this? Did you truly want this? Would it be everything you had imagined, or would you regret losing your virginity to him?

The fear of inadequacy gnawed at your confidence as Sukuna positioned himself back in between you, his tip rubbing at your slit a couple times before he finally sunk it into your entrance. 

“Haaa—!” 

“Shh. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“N-No, I—!”

It felt like your walls were being stretched so painfully, like your flesh was being torn open in the most agonizing way. This was not the kind of pain you pictured out when he put his member inside. Sukuna even tried to grab hold of your hips to keep you steady, but you were withdrawing your hips back, wanting nothing but for him to remove his cock. 

“It hurts… It hurts… please, stop. Please!” 

“Baby, I’m trying to be gentle—”

“I SAID STOP!” 

Both of your eyes widened at the same time, and that was the only time you two were ever in sync. He was clearly shocked by your outburst, while you yourself were surprised at how you raised your voice at him. Neither of you expected that situation. As a result, he did pull away and completely withdrew himself from you. 

Frustration was evident on his visage and he couldn’t even hide it anymore. “Fuck this,” he spat in exasperation, taking a deep breath as he reached to slip his sweatpants back on. “I knew it.” 

“No, I…” You swallowed. “It just… You kinda forced it, I wasn’t ready.” 

“I forced it, really? I forced you?” His laugh was out of complete disbelief. “I never forced you into anything, angel. I’ve asked you since the beginning if this is really what you want.” He took a pause, a very uncomfortable one, before he went on murmuring, “It was just my tip and you’re overreacting like this. I’m not even halfway in.”

His agitation had finally awakened you to your senses, realizing that you did end up doing what you were scared of doing. You ruined the moment. You were so caught up in your bubble of negative thoughts that you had once again failed to fulfill what you were supposed to do. No wonder he was aggravated, now sitting away from you and wearing his clothes as if telling you that he was done. Done being blue balled by his own girlfriend. Done expecting something he was never really bound to have. 

You reached out to touch his arm. “Baby, I’m sorry… I just got scared, but we can still—”

“Still do it?” he continued your sentence by ironically cutting you off, “No, the fuck, I won’t. I’m not in the mood anymore.” 

His reaction brought tears to your eyes, because the way he was acting stung your fragile heart. You didn’t mean to ruin anything. More importantly, you didn’t wish for everything to just turn out like this. “I-I’m sorry. Let me try again, please.” 

The weakness of your voice seemed to have softened him, becoming calmer and more composed after a few minutes of contemplation, but he still held his ground when he massaged his temple and sighed. “Let’s just not push it, Y/N.” He looked at your eyes, with hurt and rejection reflecting on them. “Even if you say you wanna do it, you think I can’t see it in your face that you’re not really into it? You’re never ready for me and maybe it’s my fault, maybe there’s something about me that you’re so scared of. Maybe it’s because you don’t feel secure with me, maybe you wanna save yourself for someone better, someone who can give you a brighter future—”

“That’s not true!” You shook your head desperately, your eyes blurring from the pool of tears while you clung to his arm. Where was all this coming from? It sounded like he had been harboring those feelings for so long. “That’s not true. What are you even saying?” 

“I don’t even know what I’m saying. I’m just…” Trying to give a reason why you won’t give it to me. That must be what he had wanted to say. “Look, I don’t wanna pressure you into this bullshit anymore. I don’t wanna make it look like I’m begging for your affection like this. Intimacy should happen normally for couples, and if we can’t have that, then we can’t. That’s it.” 

Why did he sound like he was giving up? 

You tried to keep your emotions at bay while listening to him battling with his internal thoughts. “I understand I disappointed you tonight, but…”

He was adamant at shaking his head, distancing himself from you by getting up from the bed. “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for. It’s your body and your choice. I’d never force you into anything.” 

Then… then…

“I just think it’s not the perfect time,” he continued, shooting you a glance before looking away. Each step he took added another crack on your fragile heart. “From now on, I’m never gonna initiate anything intimate nor will I expect anything from you, aight? I’m over it.”

Alone in your vulnerability, you could feel the cold air hugging your naked body as you watched him walk towards the door, leaving you in the dark both literally and figuratively. “Where a-are you going? Come on… Please.” 

He no longer cared to turn around. He no longer bothered to comfort you as he walked away, muttering, “Just gonna go for a ride. Don’t wait on me.” 

— —

Nearly three weeks had passed since that night and you would be lying if you said everything was okay. 

No, everything was not okay. You could feel the distance growing each day even when you two still did everything together. Your normal routines didn’t feel normal anymore because he was acting too detached ever since he told you that he wouldn’t initiate anything intimate ever again. And to be honest? It hurt. A whole fucking lot. Hearing your partner say that they would never wish to do anything intimate with you was probably the worst way to experience heartbreak. Because he was truthful with it, and he showed it very openly. 

Now, he’d lock the door whenever he would take showers. He’d spent most of his time outside riding his bike until midnight. He stopped texting you sweet messages while on tattoo shop duty. He seldomly joined you to eat breakfast and dinner together. His back would face you whenever you two slept in bed. His eyes avoided you even when you walked around in underwear. His hand wouldn’t touch you even when you were centimeters close to him. There were no kisses exchanged either, unless obliged to do so when leaving the house. No hugs. No hair-stroking, hand-holding sweetness ever shared. You were simply cohabiting in your shared apartment like strangers who had barely even said I love you’s. 

“Man, that’s rough,” remarked Suguru Getou, your cousin and the barista, as he tidied up the counter behind the elevated bar. Having just served his friend an Americano, he listened intently as you vented about your situation with Sukuna. “I’ll be honest with you, Y/N. It’s not looking good for you.”

You knew that. You just refused to acknowledge it. “I mean, all couples fight.” 

Suguru shook his head, however. “You two aren’t even fighting. Dude just gave up and started detaching himself from you. If that’s not a sign already, then I don’t know what is.” 

“What sign?” you asked, hiding the obvious worry in your voice. You need not be dense about his words, but you wanted to have some kind of hope to grasp on. 

“Sign that he’s falling out of love?” he continued. 

And somehow, his white-haired friend thought it would be okay to chime in. “More like a sign that the tool's not interested anymore and is about to dump her.”

Your face felt hot and in the most terrible way. “Sorry, what was your name again?” you asked, your tone dripping with sarcasm. You hadn’t expected the guy to suddenly chime in, considering he had been quietly typing on his laptop just moments before. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, so don’t go listening to somebody else’s business when you’re not part of the conversation.”

“Jeez,” said the albino guy, grinning at your cousin as if amused by your barrage of a response. “She’s a yapper, too. I thought she was supposed to be this sweet and innocent type, Suguru?”

“Not always.” Suguru chuckled at his friend before turning to you, apologetic eyes now attempting to soothe your nerves. “Sorry ‘bout that, Y/N. Satoru just likes to tease people. Don’t mind him.”  

You kept a straight face. “Well, then maybe tell your friend to keep his nose out of conversations he’s not invited to.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Satoru gave you a playful salute before extending his hand towards you. “Look, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I actually sympathize with you. If it were me, I’d never do that to you, baby.”

Oh, God. You were so bad at this. Was he flirting with you or was he simply playful like this? 

Nevertheless, you rolled your eyes and ignored the hand he offered, essentially brushing off his advances. “I don’t need sympathy. All I’m here for is to talk to my cousin to try and have his advice on the matter,” you emphasized pointedly, making it clear to Satoru that he was the last person you wanted advice from. “I don’t need a stranger listening to my personal life.” 

“Doesn’t hurt to receive advice from another guy,” countered Satoru, shrugging. “Right, Suguru? I mean, we’re both guys. We can give you some insight into how men think.” 

You felt the urge to bury your face in your hands. It was clearly a mistake going there and putting yourself in that situation, and now having two guys aware of your sex life with your boyfriend. That alone was so wrong on many levels. But could it be helped? Suguru was your closest cousin, the only one who didn’t turn his back on you after you left your parents’ home. He was working at a cafe three blocks away from your flower shop and you happened to be delivering a batch of fresh floral decorations for their cafe. You obviously found it a good opportunity to open up to him about your struggling relationship and hoped he could offer some male perspective on Sukuna’s behavior. You just hadn’t anticipated his friend eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time.

Well, that should have been expected anyway, since only the three of you were in that cafe on a lazy Wednesday afternoon. 

“I don’t kiss and tell, by the way.” Satoru was beaming as he gave you that assurance and you couldn’t help but admit that the man had some charm in him. He was attractive, no doubt about it. He was also tall, toned, and seemingly well off based on the way he dressed. He had a casual yet preppy style, something you would normally see from guys who went to private school. 

“Do you work?” you asked out of sheer curiosity. “You don’t seem like the type.” 

“Oh, now she’s interested.” Satoru seemed to have found your sudden interest in him humorous. “I’m finishing my MBA, miss. Thank you for asking.”

“He’s a privileged rich kid with generational wealth and a family business,” Suguru remarked, playfully gesturing a cutting motion across his neck. “Definitely not your type, huh, Y/N?”

“Why, what’s her type?” The white-haired man looked intrigued, pulling his stool closer. He had that stupid grin on his face as though the topic just sparked his curiosity. “What’s her boyfriend like?”

Suguru, who wanted to play along, jokingly hummed in deep thought. “He’s got tattoos, likes to tattoo other people, is a college dropout, rides a big bike, smokes and drinks, listens to heavy metal, was probably a delinquent and a juvie alumni—”

“Excuse you, he’s never been in a juvenile detention center,” you defended your man, feeling like your cousin’s categorization of Sukuna was becoming a little too derogatory and you had to correct him for that, “and he’s a good man. He’s sweet and caring, he’s passionate, and he loves me sincerely.” 

“Sincerely, not?” Satoru quipped, earning your glare in return. He immediately raised his hands in surrender. “I'm just joking. If you believe he’s all that, that’s your choice. I don’t judge booktok girls who romanticize typical bad boys.”

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. Each word that left his mouth seemed to stoke the flames of your irritation. “You’re so offensive, I’ll have you know that.” 

The white-haired guy smugly took a sip from his coffee. “At least I don’t make girls feel guilty for not having sex with me.” 

“Oooh.” Suguru was clearly enjoying the show, unaware that you were one step closer from smacking his friend across the face. “Touché. He kinda has a point, Y/N.” 

“Be serious,” you warned. 

To which he agreed to. “Okay, I am being serious now,” he said, abandoning his playful stance to lean in on a more solemn posture against the counter, “If you think Sukuna makes you feel guilty for not doing it with him, then shouldn’t that speak for the kind of relationship you two have? He wants something you can’t give. His reaction tells you everything you need to know about him.” 

You tried to absorb his words with a better understanding and without any bias. “Isn’t his reaction normal? He’s a man, too. I understand his needs and I made him feel somewhat rejected.”

“It’s all about respect, Y/N,” answered Suguru, “If he’s a decent man, he wouldn’t make you feel that way. No mixed signals, no guilt tripping, no nothing. If you can’t do it, then don’t.” 

“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t feel the same if your girlfriend keeps rejecting sex with you?” 

Suguru smirked. “I never said I’m a decent man, either. All I’m saying is if what you want isn’t exactly aligned to what he wants, then maybe it’s best you break it off with him because this shit won’t get you anywhere, Y/N. Trust me. He’s gonna dump you before you know it. I mean, it’s one thing to pretend he’s all fine with it, and it’s another to distance himself from you like he’s silently protesting.” 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Satoru joined in once again. “It’s impossible for a guy like that to be in a relationship for so long and not have any pussy. We think of sex 24/7, some of us are just better at restraining ourselves than others. He’s putting up with it now, but it’s only a matter of time he gets sick and tired of waiting. You do realize he can get any girl he wants, anytime he wants, right?” 

Although you were still uncomfortable at Satoru casually chiming in on the conversation, it was true when they said they could give you the exact male perspective you needed to hear. This allowed you to go deeper into Sukuna’s psyche and understand why he was acting that way. You just didn’t know how to save the connection you have with your boyfriend when both your cousin and his friend were describing all the red flags on Sukuna’s behavior. 

“I don’t know,” you spoke in a tone of defeat. “I kinda understand where he’s coming from, so I can’t just leave him for it. I love him.”

Satoru looked at your cousin like you couldn’t be saved. “She’s in too deep.” 

“Yeah, gaslighted as fuck.” Suguru was shaking his head in disappointment. 

The taller man chuckled and brought up a ridiculous offer to lighten the situation up. “Honestly, Y/N. I know we just met and all, but if you ever need someone to teach you how to do good in bed, just hit me up. He’ll never know.” 

“Shut up,” you shot back at Satoru, eyes rolling at his remark. 

“You’re out here feeling bad for that guy when he could be fucking his clients at the tattoo shop.”

You argued. “No, he’s not—”

“Are you sure he isn’t?” 

It wasn’t Suguru nor Satoru who posed that question; it was Yuki Tsukumo, the café’s manager and Suguru's respected senior. She was in a relationship with one of your boyfriend’s stepbrothers, Choso, and was also a fellow biker, which allowed her to cross paths with Sukuna in their community. Despite this connection, she was never particularly close to him. In fact, Yuki didn’t personally get along with Sukuna and she was very vocal about it. She was, however, a regular client of yours and ordered floral arrangements from your shop on a weekly basis.

It had been awhile since you last saw her, and didn’t expect that the first greeting you would give her was a question. “Yuki, what do you mean?” 

Great. Now, three people know about your relationship quagmires. 

She was placing her helmet at the counter and sitting on a stool before answering you, “I really think you should talk to him about it, Y/N.” 

No, no. Why did you suddenly feel a pang of anxiety out of nowhere? Something about the sympathy in Yuki’s eyes felt unsettling, and it sent a wave of fear through you. She definitely knew something. What was Sukuna doing behind your back?

“Can you please just tell me?” 

Her gaze studied your face intently, as if deliberating on the right thing to do. “Well... I spotted him riding with a girl the other night. Initially, I thought it might be you, but last night, I saw them together again. I recognized her... because it was his ex. I think he’s been giving her rides home lately.” 

Amidst the quiet of the room, your heart felt like it was breaking in two. The sudden revelation sent you into an abyss of pain.

“You might wanna visit his tattoo shop later.” Yuki encouraged me with a comforting smile. “It may be best to confront him about it.”

— —

Sukuna wasn’t sure how to act around you anymore. It wasn’t like he was purposely avoiding you, but he just didn’t feel comfortable acting like everything was fine and dandy. Because if he was damn honest, the sexual frustration was fucking with his head. So much so to the point where he started questioning himself if he should still put up with a relationship like this. 

First of all, there were pros and cons involved. He had to consider that it was a special connection filled with special memories, too. 

If he was talking about the pros, he knew he would have a loving lifetime partner with you. You were beautiful, kind, and pure. You inspired him and motivated him to be better. You were unmaterialistic and happy with the littlest things. You gave his dominant side the urge to be a better man, like he was made to protect and provide for you. You became his muse; a blank canvas that was all for him to paint on. A canvas that no one had ever touched. Or, in your world, a white lily that was associated with chastity and virtue. 

But then, there were also cons, and the foremost of it being you were too conservative for your own good. You grew up in a strict environment with uptight parents who wanted to control your life. He could never voice it out, but he really hated that you were square like your parents sometimes. You were too traditional and afraid to explore new experiences, oftentimes policing him for living his life as free as he wanted it to be. The ‘opposites attract’ thing did seem to work in your relationship at first, with your differences being exciting for each other, but as time went by, it became clearer to him that you two were too different to actually be in sync together. 

Hence why your relationship became rigid and suffocating, forcing him to take a breather by distancing himself from you for some time. He did this for your benefit, because he had to clear his head before risking losing you for good. He didn’t want to jeopardize a relationship that he knew meant the world to him. Perhaps this was just a phase, a challenging period following the honeymoon phase, where all your differences seemed to become more pronounced.

But to repeatedly make him look forward to sharing intimacy with you, only for you to back out at the very last minute? Man, was that so frustrating. 

It didn’t help that it was destiny itself that seemed to be stirring the pot. Because while you two were going through a rough time in your relationship, the irony presented itself outside of Sukuna’s tattoo shop late at night just as he was about to close. 

“Ryo?” A tall woman with athletic build, long dark hair, and beautiful doe eyes came into view with a wide smile on her face. 

His ex-girlfriend of three years. 

Sukuna held the door for her albeit the confusion in his eyes. “Yorozu?” 

The only difference he noticed was that she had become a lot sexier, with the curves on her body more womanly than ever. It was obvious that she was active in the gym to achieve such a fit physique. But other than that, her facial features were the same. Her heart eyes still shone bright at the mere sight of him, as if they carried stars and galaxies. 

“I think I came too late,” said Yorozu, smiling in disappointment, “I should probably just return tomorrow.” 

“No, you’re good.” Sukuna insisted on letting her enter his shop, closing the door as soon as she was inside. “What brought you here?” 

She stood confidently in front him, wearing nothing but a blank tank top and some loose white pants. “Funny story ‘cause I actually just moved to this city recently and I just found out you had a shop in this area.” 

Oh? That was interesting, indeed. Sukuna wondered how she even found his shop in that case, while he was leading her to the tattoo chair. “Are you here to get a tattoo or?” 

“Yeah, yeah I am.” She was sprinkling some charm in her grin. He knew her too well. “I think it’s amazing that I’m gonna get it from you again.”

While Yorozu was talking to him, he couldn’t help but ask: was it wrong for him to be in the same vicinity as his ex? Considering how jealous you could get, this was definitely wrong in your eyes. But as he wasn’t doing anything sketchy, he figured there was nothing wrong about what he was doing. Yorozu was technically a client and he couldn’t deny her his services since she was basically a friend of his, too. So, was he breaking any code here? 

“Well, only if you have time now, of course,” she added out of consideration, “It’s kinda late so I can always come back.” 

Sukuna shook his head and headed to get his book of tattoo art samples. “It’s fine. I got clients lined up all day tomorrow, so,” he said, placing the book on her lap, “You wanna check that or do you have a design in mind already?” 

Yorozu’s eyes fell on the tattoos marking Sukuna’s body, her gaze landing on every familiar inch as though she had seen them all the time before. It was true. She had seen more of him, actually. She had done more with his body, too. “I kinda wanna get a sleeve, but I want you to choose the design for me.” 

A tattoo sleeve? Damn. It was something he would never in a million years see from you, but for Yorozu, it was totally normal. She was as obsessed with ink as he was. And although she’s had a couple of tattoos in her body already, which were done by him, it would be her first time to get a full sleeve. 

“I get to choose, really?” Sukuna chuckled lightly. If he were to think of Yorozu’s traits, she was definitely a classic red rose. A seductress, alluring woman was how he saw her and the said flower would be a true-to-life representation of her personality. She was passionate when it came to loving someone, and was completely devoted to him back when they were together. The only reason they broke up was because they were too similar, as if she was his counterpart, and he saw fit to leave a relationship where they both constantly battled for dominance. Yorozu could get too aggressive on loving someone and he didn’t particularly like that. He made her understand why they weren’t working as a couple, and it took her some time, but she eventually accepted his decision. Now, you could say, they were somehow on good terms. “Alright, I’ll do your sleeve, but I’ll keep the design as a surprise.” 

Her eyes sparkled in excitement at the thought. “I’d love that!” 

“Since you want a sleeve, we’re gonna do some stencil application today.” Sukuna didn’t waste any more time in getting ready with his equipment, biting on the glove while wearing the other on his hand. “It’ll take fifteen to twenty hours to complete a sleeve, and each session could last two to six hours depending on your pain tolerance. My schedule’s actually full all day until next week, but you can come around the same time every night so I can finish yours.” 

“Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with that,” she enthused. For some reason, Yorozu was happy with the idea. The idea of coming to visit Sukuna every night in his shop. The idea that they get to be alone. The idea that they would be able to reconnect just like old times. Those were the things that Sukuna assumed was going through her head. 

And as he did start with his ‘client’, it was probably best to admit that the sexual tension was high. The room felt stuffy as the both of them remained there until midnight, with her sitting on the tattoo chair, and him doing her tattoo to her left. His eyes were intently focused on the intricate patterns he was doing on her arm, but also couldn’t avoid seeing the contours of her breasts since she was wearing such a thin tank top. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen them before. He’d seen every part of her body from her neck down to her toes. He’d put her in every position from missionary to doggy. Goddamn, he could even remember how warm she felt around his cock. Didn’t she like it when he came inside her? Or when he made her swallow every drop of his seed? 

Sukuna cleared his throat, shaking his vulgar thoughts away as he continued with Yorozu’s arm. He may not be cheating, but thinking back on those intimate experiences with someone else other than his girlfriend was definitely not morally right either. But what sexual experience could he reminisce about with you? That ridiculously embarrassing night you two had shouldn’t even be counted since he was trying so hard to forget about it. 

He cleared his throat. Again. For the third time. “What, uh, what’ve you been up to?” 

Yorozu, who had no clue about his thoughts, turned her face to look at him happily. “Not much, actually. The bar I worked at closed down, but I got myself a new job in this club as a full time hostess and part-time promoter. You should come by. Drinks on me.” 

By not exactly accepting or refusing, Sukuna decided to just smile it off. “That’s why you moved to this city?” 

“Yeah, I mean… obviously, the rent here is higher, but it’s closer to my job. I get paid decently, too.” 

“That’s nice.” He was just trying to make small talk at this point. “Do you know your way ‘round here? How are you gonna get home?” 

She considered her options. “Probably a bus or something?” 

Sukuna paused, contemplating the situation. “There's no bus here at midnight,” he remarked, concerned for the girl who would have to navigate her way home alone at such a late hour. She was new to the area and clearly still adjusting to the commuter lifestyle. Unlike her, he had a vehicle that could safely transport her home. There would be no harm in offering, right? “Look, I have a bike and I usually take midnight rides, anyway. I can drop you off on my way home.”

“Really?” Her voice echoed excitement in them. “I’d appreciate it, Ryo. Thanks so much.” 

Life was ironic, truly. He didn’t see this situation coming because he never expected that he would even come across Yorozu ever again. They didn’t have any contact prior, but he still saw her on social media whenever he (on very rare occasions) decided to check his accounts. He never had her blocked, either, which was why you knew about Yorozu after snooping through his phone and reading through some of his old messages with her. Sukuna used to tell you not to worry about her, and that she was just his ex, and that she had nothing on you—which were all true, of course, but it was funny to him now that the woman his girlfriend was most threatened by was back in his life. 

And she was riding at the backseat of his motorbike, her arms latching at nothing else but around his torso. She was seated at the seat reserved for you, wearing the helmet that was bought for you, and holding onto a man that was rightfully yours. It all didn’t feel right. 

But because Yorozu delighted in his habit of speeding on the highway, he had somehow forgotten about the guilt that was forming in his heart. 

**

“You still have your ex’s Instagram?” Your questioning eyes met his defensive ones as he joined you in the living room, finding his space on the couch next to you. “I read your dms. Why haven’t you blocked her?” 

Sukuna’s breath remained steady. “Only toxic people do that shit.” 

“But I’m not comfortable with it!” you nagged, letting him snatch his phone from your grasp. 

“Do you see me talking to her still?” he asked, trying to be as patient as he could be, “Baby, I don’t even talk to her. I don’t think she’s active there, either.” 

You crossed your arms. “Then, block her?” 

“You’re being ridiculous.” 

“I’m being fair. You shouldn’t be keeping tabs with an ex.” 

“What are you—” Sukuna decided to cut his own sentence after realizing that the argument was plain stupid. “You know what, I’ll just delete my insta.” 

**

“How many times do you two do it?” you asked out of nowhere, sitting at the waiting area while he was closing his shop. “Your ex. How often do you have sex with her?” 

What kind of trap were you setting now? If he told you an honest answer, you would get mad. If he lied or even sugar coated it, you would also get mad. 

“Does it matter? Why do you keep asking questions about her and then get upset with me?” Sukuna’s frustration resonated in his sigh as he tidied the space where he tattooed his client a few minutes ago. “She’s an ex for a reason, so get over it.”

He was starting to get annoyed by your never-ending questions about his past experiences, but he knew you were simply coming from a place of no experience. You probably wanted to know what he liked in bed, what pleased him the most, what kept him from wanting more. Was that too much? No. Were you overdoing this entire thing? A little bit. 

“Why are you defensive?” you asked softly, still sitting on the couch as you watched him avoid your eyes. “You make me feel so insecure every time.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned around. “I don’t know, baby. If you’re feeling insecure, then do something about it.” 

**

“Thanks so much for the ride, Ryo.” 

Yorozu stood by her door, returning the helmet back to him while she kept her eyes locked on his. Her gaze was inviting, tempting him to give in and submit to his carnal desires. Any man would read her intentions the same way; Yorozu stared at him like that because she wanted to invite him to her place. She wanted him to spend the night and do unforgivable things. To remember the passionate exchange they once shared. 

But Sukuna wasn’t like that. No, he wasn’t a cheater. “I, uh, gotta get going.” 

“Oh…” Disappointment clouded Yorozu’s face. “Okay, then.” 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“...Alright.” 

“Okay.” 

“Wait!” Yorozu pulled his arm just as he was heading back to his motorbike. The sudden closeness in their proximity made his heart race fast. He knew what was coming. “I missed you, Ryo.” 

He knew what she was about to do next. 

And holy fuck did he guess right, as he was taken aback when Yorozu suddenly leaned in to press her lips onto his. Her soft, cherry lips moved desperately to taste his sweet kisses. 

But he didn’t return it. Instead, he immediately pushed her away. “Yorozu,” he spoke softly, “I have a girlfriend.” 

“You do?” She didn’t need to hide it. He could see the heartbreak on her face. 

“Yeah,” Sukuna confirmed, maintaining a more appropriate distance now. “We’ve been together for some time, and I live with her.”

Yorozu tried to maintain her facade of indifference, making it appear as though she was unfazed by his revelation. “That’s... That’s cool,” she said, “I’m sorry for, uh, the kiss.”

Sukuna nodded, “It’s fine. I should’ve told you sooner.”

“You’re alright,” she reassured him, “It's totally my fault. I hope she won’t be upset with you or something.”

Sukuna had no plans to tell you, knowing well the additional turmoil it would bring to your already strained relationship. However, he realized the importance of clarity in his intentions and the need to set boundaries. “We’re just friends. We’ll keep things civil. I’ll finish your tattoo in a couple more sessions, and then we’re done. Sounds fair?”

Yorozu nodded her head with a reluctant smile. “Fair enough.” 

— —

5 more days. Her sleeve required five more sessions, and days went by too fast for him to count. He had busied himself with his clients, while you had busied yourself with yours. He couldn’t even spend time with you because his shop took a chunk of his time from him, and even at home, things had become too awkward ever since your unspoken night. 

So, in some ways, Yorozu became his routine. She visited his shop for the past four nights and he had taken her home afterwards. She was in absolute love with her rose sleeve and they weren’t even complete yet. He still owed her one last session and told himself that it should also be the last time she should be around him. It wasn’t right and he didn’t want to create another source of argument with you. 

And in truth, he certainly felt a little guilty for spending more time with his ex than his own girlfriend. But did he purposely do it? No, it was fate that brought her to his door about a week ago. 

In spite of his stubbornness to admit his wrongdoing, he still ended up stopping by the flower market to get you a nice bouquet of white lilies. He knew you could make a prettier bouquet than that, but he thought it would be a perfect opportunity to surprise you with flowers that didn’t exactly come from you. Besides, he had some making up to do. 

Later that night, when he returned to your shared home, he found you sitting at the couch seemingly waiting for him to come home. The lights were dimmed and the television was turned off. For some reason, you were wearing outside clothes and had a somber expression on your face, too. That alone caused the loud thumping of his heart. 

“Hey,” he greeted, nonetheless, sitting next to you on the couch and kissing your cheek. “Everything okay, baby?” 

Your eyes carried sadness in them as you looked at him and searched for answers you couldn’t find. “Where were you?” 

Sukuna handed the bouquet over. “Got you flowers.” 

You didn’t accept them. Instead, every second seemed to torture you. “Where were you before that?” 

“In the shop…?” He didn’t know where to start, but he was definitely scared. “Why? Sorry I’ve been busy lately. I’ll make it up to you, angel.” 

“You close your shop at nine,” you pointed out, voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “Why do you always come home at two in the morning?” 

Fuck. Fuck! What should he say? Should he make an excuse for it? Should he say he’d been checking on Yuuji after his shifts? Should he say he’d been riding to other cities to clear his mind? He didn’t fucking know what to say, especially not when you were clearly on the verge of bursting out. 

“Answer me!” you cried, finally releasing the bottle out in the open. The tears that welled in your eyes now streamed ceaselessly down your face. “You’re an asshole. I-I hate you! I fucking… you think I don’t know? You think I’m too stupid to know?!”

Sukuna calmly received the fists you had swung on his chest as he tried to grab ahold of your arms. “Baby, I’ll explain everything.” 

“No, damn y-you!” The tremor in your voice squeezed his heart in the most painful way because he hated seeing you breaking down in front of him and over him. This wasn’t the first time he had made you cry, but this was the first time he had seen you actually sob like this. “I-I gave myself to you! I left my p-parents for you! And this is what you do to me? You’re cheating on me with your ex?!” 

He was desperate to hold you, hug you, cage you in his arms. He wanted to take your pain away. Wipe your tears away. However, you didn’t allow him to touch even a strand on your hair as you kept on pushing him off. Sukuna felt like he was going to lose his mind. “Baby, listen to me please. It’s really not what you think—”

“I don’t care!” you spat, moving away to wipe the tears off your face. “I don’t fucking care! You sleeping with her or not doesn’t change a thing. Don’t you get it? I’ll never be enough for you!” Despite your loud voice, the cracks in her facade only revealed your longing for validation and acceptance, etching into every tear-stained moment you two had shared over the course of your relationship. He watched you, paralyzed by the sight of you breaking down, as you grabbed a luggage you had been hiding behind the couch as if you were ready to leave. “I’ll never be the person you want me to be and staying with you will always remind me of it!” 

“No, no, no… Let’s talk.” Sukuna had to suppress his own tears while he tried to reach out for you. “Baby, please. I don’t feel anything for her, or anyone. It’s just you. You are enough for me, baby. I’m sorry, please.” 

You, on the other hand, were adamant at your decision. “I can’t stand what you’re doing to me anymore. I don’t like how you make me feel about myself. I hate how you make me question my own choices!” Tears continued to flow, and your voice wavered, transitioning from anger to a more subdued, pained tone. “I hate… I hate that I love you so much, that I lost all my backbone just to make you happy.” 

“You don’t need to.” He was feeling more and more miserable now, his heart sore from all the emotions he had seen from you. “Y/N, you don’t need to. I’m sorry, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”  

…

…

…

“It’s over, Sukuna,” were the last words he could recall hearing before passing out drunk in his bed that afternoon. “We’re done.”

— —

It was your first heartbreak. Your first actual relationship. Your first everything. Surely, people shouldn’t expect you to move on easily, especially not when the subject of your heartache worked across the street from you. 

You were a mess. You had cried enough tears after you moved out of his apartment that night, screamed your heart out as you suffered from the pain of loneliness once more. You couldn’t even bear the thought of returning to your parents and hearing them say they told you so, because loving Sukuna was a choice you thought was good for you. 

In the end, he was just a poison without any antidote. A toxin without remedy. The most effective solution was to sever all ties to prevent further contamination.

But strangely enough, you hadn’t seen him in his shop ever since that night, either. The tattoo parlor remained closed for more than two weeks without any notice. While a small part of you worried for him, a bigger part of you cared for yourself. He no longer held any importance to your life, and you should let it remain that way. 

What you should focus on, instead, was living your life without any trace of him. A life of independence, away from the toxicity of a manipulative man who constantly made you doubt yourself and what you offered. As they say, you have to learn to love yourself first before you can fully learn to love others. 

And in your journey of knowing the truth of that saying, a certain white-haired man entered your floral shop on a somber Friday afternoon just as you were arranging preordered bouquets for multiple customers to pick up. 

“Hey,” you greeted the man, surprised at his sudden appearance at your shop. 

Satoru grinned as he approached you closer. “I’m here to pick up two bouquets.”

“Oh, it was your order?” Your eyes widened. Silly you. Of course, Suguru would order on his friend’s behalf. He wouldn’t even get his girlfriend some flowers, let alone his mother. So this being Satoru’s order made much more sense. “Okay, you got a bouquet of blush peonies and another bouquet of pink tulips, am I correct?”

He smiled handsomely, displaying his set of perfect white teeth while listening to you talk. “Correct.” 

“For your mom?” you asked before you made your way to pick up the bouquets, handing them to him carefully. 

His response came with a soft, affirmative hum. “Mhm. One for her,” he said, taking only the bouquet of tulips, “The other is for you.” 

Oh, no, no, definitely no. You had seen this before and it didn’t go well. 

“That’s lovely, but…” You offered a smile. “I’m not taking those peonies.” 

Satoru acted innocent, his vibrant blue eyes coruscating under the ambient lights. “But it’s mother’s day.” 

You playfully shook your head. “I’m not even a mother.”

“Yes, you are,” he went on teasing, “the mother of my future kids. I like to think in advance, you know.” 

Honestly? This man started off with a bad impression on you, but he wasn’t actually so bad. He was an easygoing, happy-go-lucky person who carried positive energy around him. That, and he was decent, too. He was the type of guy your parents would have surely approved of. He was a degree holder like you, even pursuing graduate studies to run a business that was already generating an income that you could only imagine of getting. He was set for life with no uncertainty with what he wanted for his future. 

“Satoru?”

He met your gaze. “Yeah?”

“About your offer last time,” you recalled, recalling his earlier jest about teaching you some things in bed, “I think I'd like to take you up on that.”

[justanotherasiangirl]

[justanotherasiangirl]

uruwashi no yoi no tsuki ch.30

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The symbolism of flowers

Flowers have a long history of symbolism that you can incorporate into your writing to give subtext.

Symbolism varies between cultures and customs, and these particular examples come from Victorian Era Britain. You'll find examples of this symbolism in many well-known novels of the era!

Amaryllis: Pride

Black-eyed Susan: Justice

Bluebell: Humility

Calla Lily: Beauty

Pink Camellia: Longing

Carnations: Female love

Yellow Carnation: Rejection

Clematis: Mental beauty

Columbine: Foolishness

Cyclamen: Resignation

Daffodil: Unrivalled love

Daisy: Innocence, loyalty

Forget-me-not: True love

Gardenia: Secret love

Geranium: Folly, stupidity

Gladiolus: Integrity, strength

Hibiscus: Delicate beauty

Honeysuckle: Bonds of love

Blue Hyacinth: Constancy

Hydrangea: Frigid, heartless

Iris: Faith, trust, wisdom

White Jasmine: Amiability

Lavender: Distrust

Lilac: Joy of youth

White Lily: Purity

Orange Lily: Hatred

Tiger Lily: Wealth, pride

Lily-of-the-valley: Sweetness, humility

Lotus: Enlightenment, rebirth

Magnolia: Nobility

Marigold: Grief, jealousy

Morning Glory: Affection

Nasturtium: Patriotism, conquest

Pansy: Thoughtfulness

Peony: Bashfulness, shame

Poppy: Consolation

Red Rose: Love

Yellow Rose: Jealously, infidelity

Snapdragon: Deception, grace

Sunflower: Adoration

Sweet Willian: Gallantry

Red Tulip: Passion

Violet: Watchfulness, modesty

Yarrow: Everlasting love

Zinnia: Absent, affection

[justanotherasiangirl]

[justanotherasiangirl]

Dragons are extraordinarily good mimics, escaping human predation by disguising themselves as common airliners, some even going so far as to sport crude copies of carrier logos. This makes them difficult to track, though most sources agree that the dragon population is critically endangered.

While there has been some success with halting large-scale dragon hunting, conservationists are still concerned about a recent spate of crashes in otherwise healthy adults.

Given that dragons communicate via radio signals and that most crashes occur near military radar stations, it is theorized that the radar may be disorienting the dragons. Investigations are still ongoing.

[justanotherasiangirl]

has this been done yet

[justanotherasiangirl]

Saw a post like this with negative outlook so I asked for it to be fixed

[justanotherasiangirl]

A murder mystery film set in a medieval village. After an outbreak of plague, the villagers make the decision to shut their borders so as to protect the disease from spreading (see the real life case of the village of Eyam). As the disease decimates the population, however, some bodies start showing up that very obviously were not killed by plague.

Since nobody has been in or out since the outbreak began, the killer has to be somebody in the local community.

The village constable (who is essentially just Some Guy, because being a medieval constable was a bit like getting jury duty, if jury duty gave you the power to arrest people) struggles to investigate the crime without exposing himself to the disease, and to maintain order as the plague-stricken villagers begin to turn on each other.

The killer strikes repeatedly, seemingly taking advantage of the empty streets and forced isolation to strike without witnesses. As with any other murder mystery, the audience is given exactly the same information to solve the crime as the detective.

Except, that is, whenever another character is killed, at which point we cut to the present day where said character's remains are being carefully examined by a team of modern archaeologists and historians who are also trying to figure out why so many of the people in this plague-pit died from blunt force trauma.

The archaeologists and historians, btw, are real experts who haven't been allowed to read the script. The filmmakers just give them a model of the victim's remains, along with some artefacts, and they have to treat it like a real case and give their real opinion on how they think this person died.

We then cut back to the past, where the constable is trying to do the same thing. Unlike the archaeologists, he doesn't have the advantage of modern tech and medical knowledge to examine the body, but he does have a more complete crime scene (since certain clues obviously wouldn't survive to be dug up in the modern day) and personal knowledge from having probably known the victim.

The audience then gets a more complete picture than either group, and an insight into both the strengths and limits of modern archaeology, explaining what we can and can't learn from studying a person's remains.

At the end of the film, after the killer is revealed and the main plot is resolved, we then get to see the archaeologists get shown the actual scenes where their 'victims' were killed, so they can see how well their conclusions match up with what 'really' happened.

[justanotherasiangirl]

friends with benefits with nanami wouldn’t work because he would think you deserve better. you think your arrangement is going well, kento has never complained before, and you’re certainly more than satisfied in bed. he’s handsome, strong, kind, generous with aftercare, and really fucking good with his mouth, so there are no complaints on your end. which is why it’s such a surprise to you when kento confesses that he doesn’t like the way he’s been treating you, and no matter how much you insist that it’s fine, and reassure him that he treats you more than well enough, he refuses. 

“but kento, i’m okay with this,” you attempt to convince him that hooking up is enough—he doesn’t need to feel like he has to do more for you, “you’re good to me, and not just in bed. please don’t feel like you owe me more.” 

“you deserve something proper,” he’s adamant, shaking his head, “you deserve more than convenient sex.” 

“but what if this is all i want?” you can’t help but to tease him. he looks awfully cute with his arms crossed, respectful refusal written all over his face, “i think eating me out on a weekly basis is quite enough, it would just be greedy for me to ask for more, don’t you think?” 

your jokes don’t amuse him, but his expression keeps you giggling. still, nanami sighs, and grumbles, “you should want more. it’s not greedy.”

“kento, if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you’re telling me to raise my standards.”

he blinks, cheeks pink with irritation and eyes hollow with tiredness. you push every single one of his buttons and he doesn’t know why, but he would never stop you. maybe that’s where this impeding guilt is coming from—kento likes you, and he doesn’t enjoy feeling like he’s using you, even if you get to use him in return. he doesn’t want your relationship to be transactional, and he doesn’t like that you think such a relationship is okay. 

because, guilt aside, kento knows he wants more of you; he wants all of you. and even if you don’t want him back, he thinks you should know that you’re worth having all of, and nothing less, too. 

“maybe i am,” he settles, “you are worth more than an occasional hookup. you should be treated better than this, and i am sorry that i have let it go on for this long.”

“this is ridiculous—you’re nothing but good to me! and i like having sex with you. if you don’t want to have sex with me anymore, that’s fine, but—“

“i didn’t say that,” he interrupts. 

“so… you do wanna keep sleeping with me?” 

“yes. but we should go on a date before we continue.” 

“but what if our date is terrible. do we still get to have post-first date sex?” 

he shakes his head, stepping closer to you and holding your forearms before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “i don’t kiss on the first date.”

you scoff, taking a half-step closer, snaking your arms around his torso, and grinning up at him, “what a prude.”

at that he smiles, before bending his neck to indulge you in one last kiss. “i’ll pick you up at seven.” 

[justanotherasiangirl]

two years in and im still waiting I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH JSNDSJNEKSNS

staring at the sun ➸ geto suguru (chapter four)

OVERALL SYNOPSIS: you think that chasing after golden dreams is tiresome, but suguru thinks that the reward at the end of the road is worth the effort. you can only watch from the supporting sidelines as he climbs up the social ladder, all the while not knowing the consequences to come. —OR… you watch suguru turn from rags to riches while debating whether to leave you behind or not.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: to think that father solomon would see the people he would think would be glued at the hip forever start treating each other as strangers is something that unsettles him.

WARNINGS: geto calling people “monkeys” :P

WORD COUNT: 6.9k

SERIES MASTERLIST

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CHAPTER FOUR | ROCKET MAN

Father Solomon looks worriedly over to the sight happening at the parking lot in which two individuals engage in a heated conversation. One wears an expression of anguish and anger, while the other wears distress and desperation. The taller figure is consistently trying to get the shorter one to look at them by grabbing their shoulder or wrist before the latter pulls away and attempts to walk away again. Sister Cybelle goes over to say something to him, only to see what he’s looking at and blinks at the sight of two people she thought were basically connected at the hip disconnected, a cloud hanging over the both of them.

“Leave me alone, Suguru!”

“Just let me talk to you first!”

Sister Cybelle asks, “Did something happen between them?”

Father Solomon shakes his head. “I’m not too sure, myself.”

The priest attempts to walk forward in an attempt to break up the heated tension between you and Suguru but you manage to break free from his grasp on your forearm and stomp away, too upset to be dealing with another stressor. You almost walk past Father Solomon, until he stops you by gripping your shoulder, a hold much more gently and acknowledging than Suguru’s. Detecting what he’s about to say, you shake your head, letting him know you don’t want to talk about this right now. The priest blinks slowly at you before sighing.

“That seems to be a habit you’ve never seemed to break, (Y/N),” he says sadly, “You know you don’t have to shoulder all your worries by yourself.”

Ceased to a silence, you thin your lips. Father Solomon has always been too good at reading people both young and old. It’s one of the reasons why he became a priest in the first place since his empathy levels were a lot stronger than the normal person’s. While it’s one of the reasons why you favor him so much, it’s also one of the reasons why you always tended to avoid him because knowing you, you’re too easily read. Your expressions are much too vivid and you’re not exactly quiet when it comes to things that disturb you. Your lying skills aren’t the brightest, either.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble.

Father Solomon can most definitely guess that whatever is going on between you and Suguru, is not just nothing. A heavy sigh exhales through his lips. “I’m called Father Solomon for a reason. Talk to me. You can even badmouth Suguru and I won’t tell him—it’ll be like gossiping. You’ve done it before, you can do it again all you want.”

This manages to finally crack a smile in your frown, making Father Solomon a little relieved at how your tension wasn’t too rigid. It doesn’t last for long, though, because his growing dark hair reminds you of someone else’s and you sour upon realizing it. Again, you shake your head and mutter that you might talk to him later, obviously still stubborn to let him inside your little bubble.

Father Solomon watches as you look back one last time, giving a look that doesn’t last more than half a second at Suguru before finally walking off.

Suguru jogs toward Father Solomon but before he manages to pass him to try and get to you, the priest stops him with a hand shielding his chest. Figuring that Suguru would only be met with another set of disappointments, he creates a barrier between him and you. He figures the material he’s wearing costs at least a month’s pay and he can’t help but give a soft chuckle at how materialistic his former pupil has gotten.

“What’s so funny?” Suguru gripes, his eyes still locked on your minimizing figure.

“You’re not even going to say hello, first?” Father Solomon asks with a playful tone of voice, resistant to mood swings made by both children and adults. “It’s been awhile, you know.”

Suguru stiffens upon realizing his improperness. “Sorry,” he mumbles and gives a light bow out of respect to the priest. “I’m sorry, Father. I wanted to come sooner, but there was traffic and my manager refused to let me go until I finished up a segment of this project I’m working on. Then there was a short meeting and th—”

Father Solomon stops him by putting a hand up. “No need for excuses. I’m just glad you took the time to come here out of initiative,” he comforts gently before asking the obvious when he notices Suguru’s eyes quickly flash back to look at you. quickly dart behind him. “Is everything alright with you and (Y/N)?”

When Suguru refuses to spill the truth out of nervousness, Father Solomon looks at him pityingly as he switches between looking at the priest and you, who was engaging in a solemn conversation with another Sister.

It had surprised the elder when four years ago, you had excitedly called him while on the road on the phone and brought it up to the car speaker, telling him that it was Suguru’s voice. He remembers Suguru telling you to hang up the phone in embarrassment before you loudly laughed and said no and telling Father Solomon to search up his debut song that had gained a massive amount of positive responses. Thoroughly impressed at how Suguru had managed to shoot up to the same level as multiple A and B list celebrities, Father Solomon couldn’t believe that a simple small town boy had grown up to be such a rising star in a short amount of time.

Suguru had always been a visible show of talent. He self-taught himself to play the guitar when he received a hand-me-down from Father Damien at only eight years old and had later moved on to other instruments that were offered at the orphanage. He was given his very first songbook, a blank one that might be in ruins by now on his eleventh birthday and had already finished it by the time his twelfth birthday arrived. Before she passed, Sister Carolina had requested for him to play in the church instead of being an altar boy and Suguru had dedicated himself to playing the organ or a soft acoustic guitar in the background for ten years before he finally moved out.

It made the priest proud to find out that his name was starting to chart up on the top hits on the radio and even prouder when he began to hear his songs on the radio because Suguru had managed to make something special out of his gift. But while he didn’t want to jump to conclusions, Father Solomon must’ve figured something that had corrupted the humble and soft spoken musician considering the look you had given him in the parking lot was a look you rarely put on your face. He didn’t know that one of the peppiest people he knew could even give such a face.

“Do you want to speak more in private?” Father Solomon pipes up. “My office is still standing.”

Suguru swallows apprehensively before slowly nodding. Father Solomon perhaps considers it his way of still trying to avoid the burned-down orphanage that held too many memories that he doesn’t want to visit with an aching heart just yet. As they trail down the path of the forest that leads towards the church’s sister building where a smaller chapel is hidden in the beauty of the forest.

Suguru finally has the courage to speak up as they enter into the empty chapel, the doors creaking behind them. “I ask my agent to donate around $10,000 in relief funds, is that okay? Do you need more? You could just always call me if—”

“I think that’s well more than enough, Suguru,” Father Solomon says gently with a small smile.

Suguru nods with a strain in his neck before he sheepishly scratches the back of it. The difference between yours and Father Solomon’s treatment to him after not seeing him for a prolonged period of time makes him ill at ease. “Where are the kids located now?”

“They’re currently inhabited in an empty floor of the pediatrics hospital downtown,” Father Solomon replies, letting Suguru admire the old beauty of the chapel until he leads him into the further rooms where priest offices lay. “It isn’t the cleanest option, but it’s the most comfortable as of now.”

The former child that now towers over the priest looks northwest, where the heart of the town sits. Father Solomon glances at him briefly, acknowledging the pained and merciful expression painted on Suguru’s face as he stares out the window. He supposes that there’s still that little bit of his old self still buried in that matured heart of his, the Suguru that did charity work out of the goodness of his heart without being asked to.

Father Solomon puts a hand on the small of his back, patting it gently, a motion he used to do when Suguru was younger to calm him down from his consistent adrenaline attacks that he’d get from contemplating his existence too much to the point where distress would surface then later flood his developing mind—an awful habit he had developed much too early. Father Solomon still somehow bears some of the guilt from how Suguru would always watch as the child he helped take care of be whisked away to a new, fresh family. “Don’t worry, they’re all safe. The nurses provide the little ones with many toys, especially.”

“I don’t know why,” he starts slowly, eyes still hazing with a sort of cloud in them. “but I feel somewhat guilty,” Suguru mumbles.

“Don’t bear any weight that isn’t necessary,” Father Solomon advises carefully. “None of it wasn’t anyone’s fault, let alone yours.”

“I know but,” he pauses, thinking to describe the indescribable feeling that’s deluging him. “I… I don’t know. This is just an entire headache for me, to be honest.”

Father Solomon stares at him with pall eyes. “The orphanage or (Y/N)?” he asks, trying to clear up blurry context.

Suguru thins his lips before sighing out, “Both.”

“Don’t mind the orphanage for now,” the priest denounces. “The entire town said they’ll help with reconstruction for a bigger and better one, so we’ll take care of that.” They both walk into the office that’s shared with the other priests and it amuses Suguru the difference between Father Damien’s messy and disarrayed desk filled with pencils and pens spilling all over and the tidiness of Father Solomon’s with his packets all aligned in order with the bible neatly placed atop the placemat. Father Patrick is still the middle ground between them, paperclips and other stationery sprinkling everywhere but still somehow his bookcase is aligned neatly and the small ceramic figures the children often made for him are still placed like figurines on the shelves.

When you and him were younger, you wanted to make a mushroom house for the fairies you firmly believed in while he wanted to make Father Patrick out of the given clay. Though the colors of the paint were fading, the structure of the indented mushroom house you were never able to bring in the forest and the poorly-made clay figure of Father Patrick and his exaggerated beard were still standing next to each other, just like the majority of yours and his belongings.

It was often said amongst the children in the orphanages that when they would play outside in the chapel and church playground that when you were pulled aside and brought to the chapel’s office when would misbehave, you were in big enough trouble that everyone would taunt you with jeering “ooooh”’s. It seemed like such a terrifying place for Suguru when he was younger but now, only a place of secrecy and safe havens alike are settled here. He feels at ease, strangely enough, as the scent of created chamomile tea begins to aromatize the air.

He lets one of the mugs down on the table beside the couch as he sips from his own. “Before anything,” Father Solomon starts as he motions for Suguru to sit himself down on the couch. He goes to round his desk and pulls something out of one the drawers of it, staring at it for a minute before he relieves himself and reveals a small book, no bigger than a few pages thick. With tender fingers, he hands it to Suguru who looks at it with visible confusion.

“When you and (Y/N) said to me and a few other people that you planned to attend the same college together when you were children, we had secretly collected these photos as a developing graduation gift for you and her,” Father Solomon needs to finally sit himself at a stool as Suguru’s trembling hands fathom to open the book. “But when we found out only (Y/N) would be going to college only, we decided to abandon it for the meantime until you began. I suppose that never happened since the route you’re taking right now seems to suffice,” he shrugs, “I actually forgot about it until the fire started and I managed to salvage it before it burned down with the rest of everything else, but I’m not sure if you still want this or not.”

Suguru’s eyes haze for a minute, trying to properly refocus on what he’s looking at and making sure it’s real.

The first photo, the start of many to come by, features two sleeping babies side by side in the same crib swaddled in onesies—one wearing a fluffy yellow one stamped with baby ducks and the other exhausting a pale blue one with flowers.

Father Solomon looks at the picture from upside down. “I never told you this but (Y/N) was brought into the orphanage about three months after you were, that’s why your birthdays align with the date you came here. You both were excruciatingly loud when you cried at night, did you know that?” he chuckles softly at the memory of the sisters complaining about two awfully noisy babies in the divided nurseries. “The only time you were able to sleep peacefully was when you and (Y/N) were placed in the same crib in the napping room. We didn’t know why it was strictly only you and her until your friendship formed when you were toddlers.” Father Solomon gives a short laugh. “Do you think it’s fate?”

Suguru stays quiet, slowly flipping the page after staring at the singular, labelless photo for some time. The next is two pages full of photos of the toddler days—one is of you holding a fluffy dandelion up to the camera with a delighted, innocent smile with the one below it of what seems to be four-year-old Suguru showing off a toy truck smothered in paint. The next ones are photos of you and him playing in the sandbox that used to be in the playground.

More photos arise gradually. Five years old, a photo of you and him holding hands on what seems to be a field trip to the local zoo with matching lion hats. Six years old, a photo showing the entire orphanage smiling for a group picture in the snow all warmly bundled up with a close up of you and him next to each other. Seven years old, a photo of you in the front seat of a raft, Suguru in the middle, and Father Patrick at the back at the beginning of a water slide, hair damp and exclaiming as water sloshes on the side. Eight years old, a singular photo of Suguru showing off his A+ on his math worksheet. Nine years old, a photo of you putting horribly-applied makeup onto what seems to be poor Luca whose bottom half of his face was smothered in dark red lipstick and eyelids slapped with purple eyeshadow featuring Sister Ha-yeon yelling in the background about her makeup bag. Ten—his tenth birthday party with you laughing beside him. Eleven—Suguru and you playing piano together. Twelve—first day of middle school (you’re taller than him by half a head). Fourteen—first day of high school (you shared the same height). Eighteen—high school graduation featuring you both holding up your diplomas with a cap enveloping your heads (he’s a significant amount taller and it’s stayed that way).

“When I said you and her grew up together, I meant it in the most specific way possible,” Father Solomon finally says as the photo album ends, Suguru still staring at the backing of the book. His eyes heavy themselves a little, noticing how Suguru’s hands haven’t stopped trembling. “You were each other’s past, present, and future… what happened?” the priest finally asks, ready to take on the storm Suguru is about to bring.

It takes Suguru a couple of moments to bring himself back to a reality that he doesn’t want to face—he busies himself with looking at the past instead, choosing to dwell on the happier, more peaceful times. Times in which he didn’t have to pick up the pieces of what is now a shattered relationship between the person closest to him.

Suguru groans and rubs his forehead so aggressively, it seems as if he was trying to scrape the exhaustion that’s been compiling up onto him for God knows how long. “I fucked up.”

Father Solomon bites back a remark to remind him not to curse in front of him and scoldings of how he’ll shove soap in his mouth like he did when Suguru was younger. “In what way?”

“More like ways,” Suguru enunciates, “Shit…”

Father Solomon allows him to wallow in his solemnity for a brief minute, sighs and frustrated lip biting taking up a good amount of time as Suguru attempts to collect the right words. “Suguru, I can’t help you if you don’t let me know what’s wrong.”

Suguru’s lips have paled intensely throughout the entire session and for a few moments, he even refuses to move a single limb, as if a singular action would tear down the walls he’s been building. Finally, after a patient ten minutes, Suguru licks his dry lips and lets the cat out of the bag once and for all.

“It was around two weeks ago,” he starts slowly with his gaze still locked on the carpeted floor. “I was called in for a photoshoot for Guerlain’s new cologne as their spokesperson but I was an idiot and forgot that (Y/N)’s parents work for its parent company. I ran into them on the way to the studio and they told me that (Y/N) transferred jobs and now worked for the marketing team and they said I should drop by but I thought I shouldn’t.”

Father Solomon furrows his brows. “Why didn’t you learn that (Y/N) moved jobs earlier? I figured you two would always keep in contact with each other.”

Suguru grips the knees of his pants, anxious to tell the truth. Should he really be telling Father Solomon the context of what’s been happening for the past four years and why your relationship with him has disintegrated to dust? Outcomes of all sorts plague his head.

“When I moved out after I had collected enough money to buy myself an apartment, we did promise that we’d call each other every night and sure, it worked for the first couple of months,” he swallowed, “then I started getting busier and busier and by the time I would sometimes come home at night, I’m sure she was asleep by then. Don’t get me wrong,” Suguru looked up and expressed on his face true genuity that told Father Solomon what he was about to say was the full truth. “I really tried my best to make time for her but even then, our talks would be less than five minutes and they got awkward quickly.”

The half lie, half truth made Suguru’s shoulders tense suddenly. He could never confess to the Father that the real truth was that you both had cut off contact more than two years ago, when his career was quickly climbing to the top, mostly the work of the strict limitations of who Suguru could contact as a newbie to the entertainment industry—they couldn’t have their fresh, ripened fruit be spoiled so swiftly. Guilt seeped into his thoughts like oil to water, however, when Suguru remembered that even though his restrictions lessened and his freedom to do whatever he wanted began to build up, he still failed to come in contact with you. Now, the regrets of spending a free weekend in sunny Santorini instead of knocking on your loft door and relaxing with you and Miso are forever embedded within him.

“At least you tried your best,” Father Solomon comforts, not noticing the tight swallow that passes through his pupil’s throat. “But even so, I’m sure that (Y/N) would be more tense around you than angry. What happened back at the photoshoot?”

The images of the faceless, grubby-handed monkeys surface his mind, making Suguru pull a face as he remembers them shouting questions and blinding him with flashing cameras the moment he would let his guard down. Tensing, a cold sweat runs down his back before he shoots another lie again, again not having the heart to tell innocent Father Solomon the ugly truth.

“I did run into her after the shoot and instead of saying hi, I just ignored her like I ignored everyone else,” he mutters.

Adjusting his glasses to look at Suguru a little more clearly, Father Solomon leans back in his chair thoughtfully, debating what exactly to do or say in Suguru’s situation.

“I suppose you could just simply apologize,” he shrugs.

“It’s really not that easy,” Suguru replies, “You saw her face. She was livid when she saw me.”

The priest couldn’t deny that. Your countenance has displayed a vast mixture of all types of anguish when you had seen his car pull up and he figured that you wouldn’t be forgiving him so effortlessly with a simple, two word apology that was most likely half-assed at the same time.

Suguru watches as Father Solomon thinks deeply for a prolonged period of time before giving another dragged breath and getting up. “I’ll be right back, just give me a moment.”

Father Solomon goes to exit the office, leaving Suguru with him and only his thoughts to accompany him. As he sits in silence with only the flicker of a fake fireplace hissing away, he contemplates about the truth of the situation that took place a narrow two weeks ago, the reunion that took place at the wrong place, wrong time.

They’re everywhere. They contaminate everything they touch… they’re absolute germs, every single one of them.

Suguru kept his head ducked down, hidden under the hood of his black trenchcoat with his face half-veiled by the sunglasses. The bodyguards created a mobile fence around him, yelling at the paparazzi to lower down their cameras and to not invade his personal space. It was only a minute walk from the parking lot of the building to its entrance, why did it seem like a hundred-mile journey. He should’ve known that the pests were waiting for him—ready with their many blinding cameras, jeering looks, and invasive questions that would penetrate his shield of protection if his temper wasn’t leveled enough. The wireless headphones in his ears were blasting music at the loudest level, yet he could still hear their shouting overhead despite him jamming the “volume up” button with his now-sore thumb.

Finally, they managed to reach the entrance of LVMH’s building, where another group of specialists were waiting for him just like the paparazzi. Something about their phony smiles and that eerie glint in their eyes made Suguru uneasy.

“Welcome Mr. Geto,” replied one of the women, “Our company is so thrilled to have our first photoshoot with you. They’re just finishing up setting up the studio.”

Great, after a cascade of white hurdling at his eyes, he has to be temporarily blinded for another two hours with more, larger cameras. Suguru stayed quiet, letting his manager do all the talking.

“Thank you for having us,” Satoru said coolly. “Is there a room where Mr. Geto can perhaps freshen up beforehand? It’s been a rather long journey.”

“Of course,” the leader of the photoshoot team nodded and gestured for them to follow her. “We have a specialized dressing room for you that has food at the ready, if you’re hungry.”

Suguru went ahead to explore and take a breather for himself, roaming around the building the remaining twenty minutes before the session began and telling Satoru to go ahead and that he’d meet him later. Satoru noticed the weariness under his eyes, perhaps from the many consistent hopping between activities like the movie soundtrack planning and the press conferences Sony Music was featured in.

The building was somewhat desolate and empty, with only a few mindless employees wandering around and too preoccupied with their clipboards to be paying attention to a charting artist roaming the halls. Somehow, a familiar person’s voice from behind the corner made Suguru’s ears perk up as they conversed with a stranger. Creeping slowly on the toes of his shoes, he managed to shadow the marble corner and see someone’s back to him with the other man’s face showing a gentle visage, occasionally nodding to their words before the man spotted him and widened his eyes. Suguru failed to react on time, considering how the man kept his gaze locked onto him while excusing his conversation with his colleague.

“Dad,” Suguru croaked out weakly, not even having the effort to put a fake smile on his face.

Your father’s countenance was unreadable for the first few steps he took and for a moment, Suguru was genuinely afraid for his fate that would be sealed within the next few seconds. Did you tell your parents everything that happened between them? Did you unravel the truth and tell them that you two fell out completely and lost all contact with each other without warning? And if you did, did they realize this gaping distance between you and him was tearing him apart as well but he was too much of a coward to face it head on?

You were their precious daughter. It was only natural for fathers to be overprotective over their daughters, especially, knowing the cruelties of men in this world since they came from the same kin. If they learned the little boy that had supposedly grown up with their child had caused harm to her, if he did so, he feared his fate that could come out as a variety of outcomes ranging from forcing him to never contact you again (not like he ever did so, anyway) to threats of harm if he ever came near you again. It didn’t matter if they treated him like a son, it didn’t matter if he was your best friend, a parent’s child always comes first.

He didn’t need to have parents of his own to realize this truth.

Somehow, every single one of his nerve-wracking anticipations came crashing down in relief when a gentle smile lifted on your father’s lips. Suguru could tell that it was one of those ignorant smiles, one that was blind to a bitter reality.

“Suguru,” Dad greeted quietly. “My, how you’ve grown.”

“How are you?” he rasped, returning the loose hug your Dad gave him, somehow finding comfort in his touch. Suguru had forgotten your parents had co-worked here together, hence the many beauty samples you and him received back when you were living together.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Dad chuckled, pulling back to admire Suguru’s matured figure. “I told you that you’d grow up to be handsome when you were older.”

Suguru bit his lip and let out a quiet laugh. “Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you, I should’ve said something beforehand.”

“Oh, don’t mind that. (Y/N) probably didn’t know either, she would’ve told us something, too. Besides, it’s not everyday someone has a celebrity in their contacts list,” At this, Suguru froze for a short moment. Something about his tone of voice and wording had somehow convinced Suguru that you were pretending to keep in contact with him. But why? Out of your own selfishness because you refused to let them know the breakage of your relationship or because you felt a need to protect him from your parents’ wrath despite it all? “You know, she’s almost done with the day. Text her to see if you can catch her before she leaves.”

Though short lived, the conversation somehow brought an ephemeral balance to Suguru’s mind. He waved a final goodbye to your father as he entered the elevator, seeing his comforting smile be closed out by the metal doors before he was pulled down to an unsettling reality.

As he made his way back to the dressing room, his trip back was unlike the trip from in which multiple people had stopped him mid-stroll and had asked—no, demanded for his autograph. The calm waves turned into hurdling tsunamis in a brief moment and Suguru found himself with pens getting jabbed into his hands and pieces of nonsense being thrown at him.

With no one to be a human barricade between him and this erupted mob, Suguru’s breaths quickened. Monkeys… their germy hands are all over me… I can’t breathe…

Backing away, Suguru broke out into a sprint and hurried through the labyrinth of marble halls and flooring, not even knowing where to go but just the goal to get out of there. Satoru finally caught him and yanked him by his collar by just barely catching Suguru as he almost whizzed by his dressing room, asking with concern where he had been before he noticed the look on the singer’s face.

A small glass of wine and sessions of deep breathing later, Suguru managed to begin the photoshoot with attempts to not cringe or stiffen whenever they would touch him. Something about a monkey’s touch seemed so acidic on his skin and the way the photographer just was never satisfied with any poses Suguru seemed to do seemed to irritate him to the edge. The flash the camera aimed at him mimicked too much of the paparazzi’s parade of cameras and Suguru’s eyes began to haze with specks of black halfway in.

His mind must’ve been playing tricks on him because Suguru swore he saw the figure of a familiar woman near the emergency exit of the studio, where she conversed with a woman that was in charge of his makeup. Ignoring the photographer’s words, he squinted ahead and thought he saw the hallucinatory figure of a you that had aged four years older looking straight at him with an unreadable expression, but when he blinked, the emergency exit was closed like it was before and the makeup artist was left alone.

By the time Satoru started to notice Suguru’s fatigue and how he would stiffen when the photographers would reposition his arm or leg, he called it a day and demanded the shoot be cut short. He was lucky he was tall and that his blue eyes were piercing enough to scare off the demanding photographer who pleaded for more takes.

All Suguru wanted to do was just rest for the day after being on his feet ever since the early morning. While packing his stuff up, he was once again mobbed by the many staff on the set, asking the weary noirette for a chance to take a picture with him or to sign a napkin for them or a relative. The charity work was fun at first, seeing how happy fans were after they received their wishes, but now, it just seemed invasive and ignorant considering how Suguru returned their words with a snapping silence.

It was worse when he exited the floor and returned to the lobby, where the same crowd of paparazzi was waiting oh so patiently for the singer to finish up his last task for the day. Gritting his teeth as the bodyguards began to box him in again, he once again blasted the inaudible music in his ears. All it took was a couple more steps and he could rest back at home with no one to invade his personal space.

At last, he managed to escape the mob of cameras and was at peace just before he opened the car door. However, his patience finally exploded when he felt a light tug on the back of his shirt and like a bomb, detonated into a firework of anger and disturbance.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you goddamn monkey!” he shouted while still turning on his heel.

The volume of his voice had startled him, but it startled him even more when he realized who he was losing his temper at.

Because here you were right in front of him, after four years of not seeing each other, holding his neatly folded trenchcoat in your hands with an alarmed look on your face that mimicked his.

He swore it was a hallucination back at the studio, but now seeing you in crystal clear vision, he could fully see that you really have blossomed four years older. Your hair was shorter than it was four years ago, and the makeup you put on yourself made you seem more mature than your peppier, energetic self. The stance that uplifted you made you seem more evolved and professional, as well as how it set all your fully developed curves into place that were enunciated by the tweed suit and skirt you wore. Suguru didn’t know if the breathlessness of his voice was made by how overwhelming your elegance was or how he had reacted to you without even turning around.

Your lips parted for a moment, but nothing came out. Suguru’s lips parroted yours in the same manner. Finally, he took a hesitant step forward but it only made you take a step back, mirroring his actions.

“(Y/N)—”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” you interrupted softly, your gaze leaving his. “But you forgot your jacket… sir.”

The title you had granted to him instead of his name made him wallow in a sea of guilt. It was obvious you refused to acknowledge his actual name out of spite but Suguru thought he deserved nothing more.

Your hands finally grazed his when you put the jacket gently into his arms before taking your leave silently, leaving him stunned in his place with nothing but your name being your reply from him after four years.

As he tucks the photo album aside, Suguru pinches the bridge of nose as he recalls the memory from each segment. If he unraveled the full verity, what would Father Solomon think of him? If he told him what truly happened back at the building that you currently reside in, would Father Solomon, the soft-spoken, kind-hearted, understanding priest, be able to empathize with his situation even though it was rotten to the core? No, if anything, Father Solomon would most likely show a side of him that Suguru never knew existed in the first place, just like how you showed a foreign aloofness to him at the parking lot.

His inner contemplation is disrupted, though, when he hears two familiar voices muffled outside, talking amongst each other. He immediately gets when he realizes who the other voice was replying to Father Solomon is. He hears your laughter reverberate in the chapel for a minute, still clouded by the walls from the outside until the door handle twists and the door opens before he could take action to do something, anything.

But he freezes in place when the view of you and Father Solomon comes into his field of vision and it doesn’t take a genius as to why you had stopped laughing the moment you entered the room.

To seize yourself from the uncomfortable tension that now surfaced the room, you avoid his gaze and return it to Father Solomon with a weary smile, “Sorry, I just remembered that I need to—”

“Not so fast, (Y/N),” Father Solomon interjects, grabbing you by the shoulders before you could escape the office.

He turns you so that you face Suguru directly. He can see your eyes quickly dart all over the place, desperate to land for a spot that wasn’t him. Not even Suguru can let out a greeting or even a single sound but unlike your silence and avoiding gaze, he takes up the initiative to look at you fully.

“(Y/N), I’m sure you’ve met Suguru,” Father Solomon tells playfully but his attempts at jokes don’t go as planned considering how you stiffen and bring your crossed arms closer to you and how your pained eyes close and look to the side.

Suguru feels a terrible ache in his chest when you don’t bother to greet him, not even as a stranger but as a fragment of empty air—something that wasn’t within your reach and was deemed untouchable. For what sort of denseness did his body hold right now, he couldn’t tell considering he himself didn’t feel right in the current body he was in, as if he was some sort of apparition that had possessed the wrong body.

Father Solomon lets out a weary sigh at the silent treatment you stubbornly give him. Disapproving of how you’re pouting like a child, he sits you down and crouches down to face you as if he was giving a toddler a lecture.

“Whatever you two have going on,” he starts softly so his volume speaks to only you and him. “you both need to fix it.”

“Why should I?” you insist.

“Because I know that it isn’t healthy for you and him,” Father Solomon murmurs, “It’s normal for friends to fight, but what isn’t normal is to hold a grudge for a long time.”

You’ve always hated how he’s consistently right about everything. You’ve hated the way he spoke so gently with an angelic yet condescending tone, like if his requests were disguised as threats under a white mask with a halo perched over its head.

Suguru stands in the corner of the room, watching how Father Solomon talks ever so softly with you with caution, knowing that he doesn’t prefer yelling and shouting voices because it drives anyone away.

“Do you want some water?” he suggests to both of you, finally standing up. When he receives two quiet nods, he goes ahead and excuses himself, “I’ll fetch some water bottles for you both, I’ll be right back.”

Father Solomon ignores your pleading look to not leave you alone with Suguru, only responding with a head pat since he knows that gesture is constantly used to calm you down. Suguru doesn’t have the courage to face you as he makes eye contact with the corner of the room. The priest only gives a weary expression to the two individuals in the office before he leaves the room and pulls out a key.

You offer a single glance toward Suguru’s back before wheeling yourself a little farther from him on the chair, still highly uncomfortable to be around him. There’s an overwhelming urge to go with Father Solomon so you can retrieve the water bottle yourself then use it as a scapegoat to get out of here, but it all comes crashing down when you hear the lock turn.

Immediately, you and Suguru turn to the now vertical lock, indicating that it had been turned from the outside. At first, you think that maybe Father Solomon had accidentally jerked it upwards so you race to the door to let him know before he leaves the chapel.

“Father!” you call out, patting palms pressed against the door that could only be locked from the outside. “Father… the d-door.”

Suguru goes by your side and wrestles with the door handle, only to fail when it doesn’t move at his will. “I think you locked it by accident!” Suguru expresses.

“I’m sorry, but that wasn’t an accident,” the priest replies from the other side. It’s evident from the way his voice sounds so close he’s also up against the other side. “I’m not letting you two out until you talk things through.”

“You parent-trapped us?!” you exclaim hotly.

“It was the only way,” Father Solomon insists. “I’ll give you a half hour to talk to each other and if everything doesn’t recuperate by then, well…”

You gasp loudly. “Father, you wouldn’t!” you cry, “I have a child in the car!”

Suguru goes to widen drastically when he hears your last sentence.

Had he missed out on so much of your life during these past four years that he hadn’t heard that you had conceived? Apparently, it didn’t seem like you upheld your word back then about not having children considering how tearful you were when you replied to Father Solomon’s threat. But he would’ve heard at least the smallest thing, he figured, something on your social media that he can’t follow but instead wavers over occasionally, even if the majority of them were private, or even a rumor of a baby shower invite of some kind.

“Hiroto will be fine,” he replies coolly. His comfort obviously fails considering your cold sweat doesn’t lessen. “I’ll let you both out after thirty minutes but you two should really work things out with each other because you’re stressing everyone else out.”

With that, you hear his casual whistle of an Elton John song slowly begin to fade away along with his footsteps, leaving you and Suguru alone for the first time in four years.

TAGLIST: @sukiguru @yosanoaki @deadflowerd @gimyeongbestboymain @sidehub @jjstsksen @justanotherasiangirl @vngelis @notsostraightweeb @soyk1d @kristchxin @autumn-slaves @morningdangerheart @uzumakioden @dpr-staybifs @k1kuoo (want to be in the taglist? send a reply, ask, or message!)

AUTHOR NOTES: obv not a lot of y/n interaction in this one apologies ! i wanted to squeeze it in with this chapter because the next one is where the first spike of drama finally hits but i think this chapter was a good preview to suguru's current pov

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[justanotherasiangirl]

staring at the sun ➸ geto suguru (chapter four)

OVERALL SYNOPSIS: you think that chasing after golden dreams is tiresome, but suguru thinks that the reward at the end of the road is worth the effort. you can only watch from the supporting sidelines as he climbs up the social ladder, all the while not knowing the consequences to come. —OR… you watch suguru turn from rags to riches while debating whether to leave you behind or not.

CHAPTER SYNOPSIS: to think that father solomon would see the people he would think would be glued at the hip forever start treating each other as strangers is something that unsettles him.

WARNINGS: geto calling people “monkeys” :P

WORD COUNT: 6.9k

SERIES MASTERLIST

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CHAPTER FOUR | ROCKET MAN

Father Solomon looks worriedly over to the sight happening at the parking lot in which two individuals engage in a heated conversation. One wears an expression of anguish and anger, while the other wears distress and desperation. The taller figure is consistently trying to get the shorter one to look at them by grabbing their shoulder or wrist before the latter pulls away and attempts to walk away again. Sister Cybelle goes over to say something to him, only to see what he’s looking at and blinks at the sight of two people she thought were basically connected at the hip disconnected, a cloud hanging over the both of them.

“Leave me alone, Suguru!”

“Just let me talk to you first!”

Sister Cybelle asks, “Did something happen between them?”

Father Solomon shakes his head. “I’m not too sure, myself.”

The priest attempts to walk forward in an attempt to break up the heated tension between you and Suguru but you manage to break free from his grasp on your forearm and stomp away, too upset to be dealing with another stressor. You almost walk past Father Solomon, until he stops you by gripping your shoulder, a hold much more gently and acknowledging than Suguru’s. Detecting what he’s about to say, you shake your head, letting him know you don’t want to talk about this right now. The priest blinks slowly at you before sighing.

“That seems to be a habit you’ve never seemed to break, (Y/N),” he says sadly, “You know you don’t have to shoulder all your worries by yourself.”

Ceased to a silence, you thin your lips. Father Solomon has always been too good at reading people both young and old. It’s one of the reasons why he became a priest in the first place since his empathy levels were a lot stronger than the normal person’s. While it’s one of the reasons why you favor him so much, it’s also one of the reasons why you always tended to avoid him because knowing you, you’re too easily read. Your expressions are much too vivid and you’re not exactly quiet when it comes to things that disturb you. Your lying skills aren’t the brightest, either.

“It’s nothing,” you mumble.

Father Solomon can most definitely guess that whatever is going on between you and Suguru, is not just nothing. A heavy sigh exhales through his lips. “I’m called Father Solomon for a reason. Talk to me. You can even badmouth Suguru and I won’t tell him—it’ll be like gossiping. You’ve done it before, you can do it again all you want.”

This manages to finally crack a smile in your frown, making Father Solomon a little relieved at how your tension wasn’t too rigid. It doesn’t last for long, though, because his growing dark hair reminds you of someone else’s and you sour upon realizing it. Again, you shake your head and mutter that you might talk to him later, obviously still stubborn to let him inside your little bubble.

Father Solomon watches as you look back one last time, giving a look that doesn’t last more than half a second at Suguru before finally walking off.

Suguru jogs toward Father Solomon but before he manages to pass him to try and get to you, the priest stops him with a hand shielding his chest. Figuring that Suguru would only be met with another set of disappointments, he creates a barrier between him and you. He figures the material he’s wearing costs at least a month’s pay and he can’t help but give a soft chuckle at how materialistic his former pupil has gotten.

“What’s so funny?” Suguru gripes, his eyes still locked on your minimizing figure.

“You’re not even going to say hello, first?” Father Solomon asks with a playful tone of voice, resistant to mood swings made by both children and adults. “It’s been awhile, you know.”

Suguru stiffens upon realizing his improperness. “Sorry,” he mumbles and gives a light bow out of respect to the priest. “I’m sorry, Father. I wanted to come sooner, but there was traffic and my manager refused to let me go until I finished up a segment of this project I’m working on. Then there was a short meeting and th—”

Father Solomon stops him by putting a hand up. “No need for excuses. I’m just glad you took the time to come here out of initiative,” he comforts gently before asking the obvious when he notices Suguru’s eyes quickly flash back to look at you. quickly dart behind him. “Is everything alright with you and (Y/N)?”

When Suguru refuses to spill the truth out of nervousness, Father Solomon looks at him pityingly as he switches between looking at the priest and you, who was engaging in a solemn conversation with another Sister.

It had surprised the elder when four years ago, you had excitedly called him while on the road on the phone and brought it up to the car speaker, telling him that it was Suguru’s voice. He remembers Suguru telling you to hang up the phone in embarrassment before you loudly laughed and said no and telling Father Solomon to search up his debut song that had gained a massive amount of positive responses. Thoroughly impressed at how Suguru had managed to shoot up to the same level as multiple A and B list celebrities, Father Solomon couldn’t believe that a simple small town boy had grown up to be such a rising star in a short amount of time.

Suguru had always been a visible show of talent. He self-taught himself to play the guitar when he received a hand-me-down from Father Damien at only eight years old and had later moved on to other instruments that were offered at the orphanage. He was given his very first songbook, a blank one that might be in ruins by now on his eleventh birthday and had already finished it by the time his twelfth birthday arrived. Before she passed, Sister Carolina had requested for him to play in the church instead of being an altar boy and Suguru had dedicated himself to playing the organ or a soft acoustic guitar in the background for ten years before he finally moved out.

It made the priest proud to find out that his name was starting to chart up on the top hits on the radio and even prouder when he began to hear his songs on the radio because Suguru had managed to make something special out of his gift. But while he didn’t want to jump to conclusions, Father Solomon must’ve figured something that had corrupted the humble and soft spoken musician considering the look you had given him in the parking lot was a look you rarely put on your face. He didn’t know that one of the peppiest people he knew could even give such a face.

“Do you want to speak more in private?” Father Solomon pipes up. “My office is still standing.”

Suguru swallows apprehensively before slowly nodding. Father Solomon perhaps considers it his way of still trying to avoid the burned-down orphanage that held too many memories that he doesn’t want to visit with an aching heart just yet. As they trail down the path of the forest that leads towards the church’s sister building where a smaller chapel is hidden in the beauty of the forest.

Suguru finally has the courage to speak up as they enter into the empty chapel, the doors creaking behind them. “I ask my agent to donate around $10,000 in relief funds, is that okay? Do you need more? You could just always call me if—”

“I think that’s well more than enough, Suguru,” Father Solomon says gently with a small smile.

Suguru nods with a strain in his neck before he sheepishly scratches the back of it. The difference between yours and Father Solomon’s treatment to him after not seeing him for a prolonged period of time makes him ill at ease. “Where are the kids located now?”

“They’re currently inhabited in an empty floor of the pediatrics hospital downtown,” Father Solomon replies, letting Suguru admire the old beauty of the chapel until he leads him into the further rooms where priest offices lay. “It isn’t the cleanest option, but it’s the most comfortable as of now.”

The former child that now towers over the priest looks northwest, where the heart of the town sits. Father Solomon glances at him briefly, acknowledging the pained and merciful expression painted on Suguru’s face as he stares out the window. He supposes that there’s still that little bit of his old self still buried in that matured heart of his, the Suguru that did charity work out of the goodness of his heart without being asked to.

Father Solomon puts a hand on the small of his back, patting it gently, a motion he used to do when Suguru was younger to calm him down from his consistent adrenaline attacks that he’d get from contemplating his existence too much to the point where distress would surface then later flood his developing mind—an awful habit he had developed much too early. Father Solomon still somehow bears some of the guilt from how Suguru would always watch as the child he helped take care of be whisked away to a new, fresh family. “Don’t worry, they’re all safe. The nurses provide the little ones with many toys, especially.”

“I don’t know why,” he starts slowly, eyes still hazing with a sort of cloud in them. “but I feel somewhat guilty,” Suguru mumbles.

“Don’t bear any weight that isn’t necessary,” Father Solomon advises carefully. “None of it wasn’t anyone’s fault, let alone yours.”

“I know but,” he pauses, thinking to describe the indescribable feeling that’s deluging him. “I… I don’t know. This is just an entire headache for me, to be honest.”

Father Solomon stares at him with pall eyes. “The orphanage or (Y/N)?” he asks, trying to clear up blurry context.

Suguru thins his lips before sighing out, “Both.”

“Don’t mind the orphanage for now,” the priest denounces. “The entire town said they’ll help with reconstruction for a bigger and better one, so we’ll take care of that.” They both walk into the office that’s shared with the other priests and it amuses Suguru the difference between Father Damien’s messy and disarrayed desk filled with pencils and pens spilling all over and the tidiness of Father Solomon’s with his packets all aligned in order with the bible neatly placed atop the placemat. Father Patrick is still the middle ground between them, paperclips and other stationery sprinkling everywhere but still somehow his bookcase is aligned neatly and the small ceramic figures the children often made for him are still placed like figurines on the shelves.

When you and him were younger, you wanted to make a mushroom house for the fairies you firmly believed in while he wanted to make Father Patrick out of the given clay. Though the colors of the paint were fading, the structure of the indented mushroom house you were never able to bring in the forest and the poorly-made clay figure of Father Patrick and his exaggerated beard were still standing next to each other, just like the majority of yours and his belongings.

It was often said amongst the children in the orphanages that when they would play outside in the chapel and church playground that when you were pulled aside and brought to the chapel’s office when would misbehave, you were in big enough trouble that everyone would taunt you with jeering “ooooh”’s. It seemed like such a terrifying place for Suguru when he was younger but now, only a place of secrecy and safe havens alike are settled here. He feels at ease, strangely enough, as the scent of created chamomile tea begins to aromatize the air.

He lets one of the mugs down on the table beside the couch as he sips from his own. “Before anything,” Father Solomon starts as he motions for Suguru to sit himself down on the couch. He goes to round his desk and pulls something out of one the drawers of it, staring at it for a minute before he relieves himself and reveals a small book, no bigger than a few pages thick. With tender fingers, he hands it to Suguru who looks at it with visible confusion.

“When you and (Y/N) said to me and a few other people that you planned to attend the same college together when you were children, we had secretly collected these photos as a developing graduation gift for you and her,” Father Solomon needs to finally sit himself at a stool as Suguru’s trembling hands fathom to open the book. “But when we found out only (Y/N) would be going to college only, we decided to abandon it for the meantime until you began. I suppose that never happened since the route you’re taking right now seems to suffice,” he shrugs, “I actually forgot about it until the fire started and I managed to salvage it before it burned down with the rest of everything else, but I’m not sure if you still want this or not.”

Suguru’s eyes haze for a minute, trying to properly refocus on what he’s looking at and making sure it’s real.

The first photo, the start of many to come by, features two sleeping babies side by side in the same crib swaddled in onesies—one wearing a fluffy yellow one stamped with baby ducks and the other exhausting a pale blue one with flowers.

Father Solomon looks at the picture from upside down. “I never told you this but (Y/N) was brought into the orphanage about three months after you were, that’s why your birthdays align with the date you came here. You both were excruciatingly loud when you cried at night, did you know that?” he chuckles softly at the memory of the sisters complaining about two awfully noisy babies in the divided nurseries. “The only time you were able to sleep peacefully was when you and (Y/N) were placed in the same crib in the napping room. We didn’t know why it was strictly only you and her until your friendship formed when you were toddlers.” Father Solomon gives a short laugh. “Do you think it’s fate?”

Suguru stays quiet, slowly flipping the page after staring at the singular, labelless photo for some time. The next is two pages full of photos of the toddler days—one is of you holding a fluffy dandelion up to the camera with a delighted, innocent smile with the one below it of what seems to be four-year-old Suguru showing off a toy truck smothered in paint. The next ones are photos of you and him playing in the sandbox that used to be in the playground.

More photos arise gradually. Five years old, a photo of you and him holding hands on what seems to be a field trip to the local zoo with matching lion hats. Six years old, a photo showing the entire orphanage smiling for a group picture in the snow all warmly bundled up with a close up of you and him next to each other. Seven years old, a photo of you in the front seat of a raft, Suguru in the middle, and Father Patrick at the back at the beginning of a water slide, hair damp and exclaiming as water sloshes on the side. Eight years old, a singular photo of Suguru showing off his A+ on his math worksheet. Nine years old, a photo of you putting horribly-applied makeup onto what seems to be poor Luca whose bottom half of his face was smothered in dark red lipstick and eyelids slapped with purple eyeshadow featuring Sister Ha-yeon yelling in the background about her makeup bag. Ten—his tenth birthday party with you laughing beside him. Eleven—Suguru and you playing piano together. Twelve—first day of middle school (you’re taller than him by half a head). Fourteen—first day of high school (you shared the same height). Eighteen—high school graduation featuring you both holding up your diplomas with a cap enveloping your heads (he’s a significant amount taller and it’s stayed that way).

“When I said you and her grew up together, I meant it in the most specific way possible,” Father Solomon finally says as the photo album ends, Suguru still staring at the backing of the book. His eyes heavy themselves a little, noticing how Suguru’s hands haven’t stopped trembling. “You were each other’s past, present, and future… what happened?” the priest finally asks, ready to take on the storm Suguru is about to bring.

It takes Suguru a couple of moments to bring himself back to a reality that he doesn’t want to face—he busies himself with looking at the past instead, choosing to dwell on the happier, more peaceful times. Times in which he didn’t have to pick up the pieces of what is now a shattered relationship between the person closest to him.

Suguru groans and rubs his forehead so aggressively, it seems as if he was trying to scrape the exhaustion that’s been compiling up onto him for God knows how long. “I fucked up.”

Father Solomon bites back a remark to remind him not to curse in front of him and scoldings of how he’ll shove soap in his mouth like he did when Suguru was younger. “In what way?”

“More like ways,” Suguru enunciates, “Shit…”

Father Solomon allows him to wallow in his solemnity for a brief minute, sighs and frustrated lip biting taking up a good amount of time as Suguru attempts to collect the right words. “Suguru, I can’t help you if you don’t let me know what’s wrong.”

Suguru’s lips have paled intensely throughout the entire session and for a few moments, he even refuses to move a single limb, as if a singular action would tear down the walls he’s been building. Finally, after a patient ten minutes, Suguru licks his dry lips and lets the cat out of the bag once and for all.

“It was around two weeks ago,” he starts slowly with his gaze still locked on the carpeted floor. “I was called in for a photoshoot for Guerlain’s new cologne as their spokesperson but I was an idiot and forgot that (Y/N)’s parents work for its parent company. I ran into them on the way to the studio and they told me that (Y/N) transferred jobs and now worked for the marketing team and they said I should drop by but I thought I shouldn’t.”

Father Solomon furrows his brows. “Why didn’t you learn that (Y/N) moved jobs earlier? I figured you two would always keep in contact with each other.”

Suguru grips the knees of his pants, anxious to tell the truth. Should he really be telling Father Solomon the context of what’s been happening for the past four years and why your relationship with him has disintegrated to dust? Outcomes of all sorts plague his head.

“When I moved out after I had collected enough money to buy myself an apartment, we did promise that we’d call each other every night and sure, it worked for the first couple of months,” he swallowed, “then I started getting busier and busier and by the time I would sometimes come home at night, I’m sure she was asleep by then. Don’t get me wrong,” Suguru looked up and expressed on his face true genuity that told Father Solomon what he was about to say was the full truth. “I really tried my best to make time for her but even then, our talks would be less than five minutes and they got awkward quickly.”

The half lie, half truth made Suguru’s shoulders tense suddenly. He could never confess to the Father that the real truth was that you both had cut off contact more than two years ago, when his career was quickly climbing to the top, mostly the work of the strict limitations of who Suguru could contact as a newbie to the entertainment industry—they couldn’t have their fresh, ripened fruit be spoiled so swiftly. Guilt seeped into his thoughts like oil to water, however, when Suguru remembered that even though his restrictions lessened and his freedom to do whatever he wanted began to build up, he still failed to come in contact with you. Now, the regrets of spending a free weekend in sunny Santorini instead of knocking on your loft door and relaxing with you and Miso are forever embedded within him.

“At least you tried your best,” Father Solomon comforts, not noticing the tight swallow that passes through his pupil’s throat. “But even so, I’m sure that (Y/N) would be more tense around you than angry. What happened back at the photoshoot?”

The images of the faceless, grubby-handed monkeys surface his mind, making Suguru pull a face as he remembers them shouting questions and blinding him with flashing cameras the moment he would let his guard down. Tensing, a cold sweat runs down his back before he shoots another lie again, again not having the heart to tell innocent Father Solomon the ugly truth.

“I did run into her after the shoot and instead of saying hi, I just ignored her like I ignored everyone else,” he mutters.

Adjusting his glasses to look at Suguru a little more clearly, Father Solomon leans back in his chair thoughtfully, debating what exactly to do or say in Suguru’s situation.

“I suppose you could just simply apologize,” he shrugs.

“It’s really not that easy,” Suguru replies, “You saw her face. She was livid when she saw me.”

The priest couldn’t deny that. Your countenance has displayed a vast mixture of all types of anguish when you had seen his car pull up and he figured that you wouldn’t be forgiving him so effortlessly with a simple, two word apology that was most likely half-assed at the same time.

Suguru watches as Father Solomon thinks deeply for a prolonged period of time before giving another dragged breath and getting up. “I’ll be right back, just give me a moment.”

Father Solomon goes to exit the office, leaving Suguru with him and only his thoughts to accompany him. As he sits in silence with only the flicker of a fake fireplace hissing away, he contemplates about the truth of the situation that took place a narrow two weeks ago, the reunion that took place at the wrong place, wrong time.

They’re everywhere. They contaminate everything they touch… they’re absolute germs, every single one of them.

Suguru kept his head ducked down, hidden under the hood of his black trenchcoat with his face half-veiled by the sunglasses. The bodyguards created a mobile fence around him, yelling at the paparazzi to lower down their cameras and to not invade his personal space. It was only a minute walk from the parking lot of the building to its entrance, why did it seem like a hundred-mile journey. He should’ve known that the pests were waiting for him—ready with their many blinding cameras, jeering looks, and invasive questions that would penetrate his shield of protection if his temper wasn’t leveled enough. The wireless headphones in his ears were blasting music at the loudest level, yet he could still hear their shouting overhead despite him jamming the “volume up” button with his now-sore thumb.

Finally, they managed to reach the entrance of LVMH’s building, where another group of specialists were waiting for him just like the paparazzi. Something about their phony smiles and that eerie glint in their eyes made Suguru uneasy.

“Welcome Mr. Geto,” replied one of the women, “Our company is so thrilled to have our first photoshoot with you. They’re just finishing up setting up the studio.”

Great, after a cascade of white hurdling at his eyes, he has to be temporarily blinded for another two hours with more, larger cameras. Suguru stayed quiet, letting his manager do all the talking.

“Thank you for having us,” Satoru said coolly. “Is there a room where Mr. Geto can perhaps freshen up beforehand? It’s been a rather long journey.”

“Of course,” the leader of the photoshoot team nodded and gestured for them to follow her. “We have a specialized dressing room for you that has food at the ready, if you’re hungry.”

Suguru went ahead to explore and take a breather for himself, roaming around the building the remaining twenty minutes before the session began and telling Satoru to go ahead and that he’d meet him later. Satoru noticed the weariness under his eyes, perhaps from the many consistent hopping between activities like the movie soundtrack planning and the press conferences Sony Music was featured in.

The building was somewhat desolate and empty, with only a few mindless employees wandering around and too preoccupied with their clipboards to be paying attention to a charting artist roaming the halls. Somehow, a familiar person’s voice from behind the corner made Suguru’s ears perk up as they conversed with a stranger. Creeping slowly on the toes of his shoes, he managed to shadow the marble corner and see someone’s back to him with the other man’s face showing a gentle visage, occasionally nodding to their words before the man spotted him and widened his eyes. Suguru failed to react on time, considering how the man kept his gaze locked onto him while excusing his conversation with his colleague.

“Dad,” Suguru croaked out weakly, not even having the effort to put a fake smile on his face.

Your father’s countenance was unreadable for the first few steps he took and for a moment, Suguru was genuinely afraid for his fate that would be sealed within the next few seconds. Did you tell your parents everything that happened between them? Did you unravel the truth and tell them that you two fell out completely and lost all contact with each other without warning? And if you did, did they realize this gaping distance between you and him was tearing him apart as well but he was too much of a coward to face it head on?

You were their precious daughter. It was only natural for fathers to be overprotective over their daughters, especially, knowing the cruelties of men in this world since they came from the same kin. If they learned the little boy that had supposedly grown up with their child had caused harm to her, if he did so, he feared his fate that could come out as a variety of outcomes ranging from forcing him to never contact you again (not like he ever did so, anyway) to threats of harm if he ever came near you again. It didn’t matter if they treated him like a son, it didn’t matter if he was your best friend, a parent’s child always comes first.

He didn’t need to have parents of his own to realize this truth.

Somehow, every single one of his nerve-wracking anticipations came crashing down in relief when a gentle smile lifted on your father’s lips. Suguru could tell that it was one of those ignorant smiles, one that was blind to a bitter reality.

“Suguru,” Dad greeted quietly. “My, how you’ve grown.”

“How are you?” he rasped, returning the loose hug your Dad gave him, somehow finding comfort in his touch. Suguru had forgotten your parents had co-worked here together, hence the many beauty samples you and him received back when you were living together.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Dad chuckled, pulling back to admire Suguru’s matured figure. “I told you that you’d grow up to be handsome when you were older.”

Suguru bit his lip and let out a quiet laugh. “Thank you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you, I should’ve said something beforehand.”

“Oh, don’t mind that. (Y/N) probably didn’t know either, she would’ve told us something, too. Besides, it’s not everyday someone has a celebrity in their contacts list,” At this, Suguru froze for a short moment. Something about his tone of voice and wording had somehow convinced Suguru that you were pretending to keep in contact with him. But why? Out of your own selfishness because you refused to let them know the breakage of your relationship or because you felt a need to protect him from your parents’ wrath despite it all? “You know, she’s almost done with the day. Text her to see if you can catch her before she leaves.”

Though short lived, the conversation somehow brought an ephemeral balance to Suguru’s mind. He waved a final goodbye to your father as he entered the elevator, seeing his comforting smile be closed out by the metal doors before he was pulled down to an unsettling reality.

As he made his way back to the dressing room, his trip back was unlike the trip from in which multiple people had stopped him mid-stroll and had asked—no, demanded for his autograph. The calm waves turned into hurdling tsunamis in a brief moment and Suguru found himself with pens getting jabbed into his hands and pieces of nonsense being thrown at him.

With no one to be a human barricade between him and this erupted mob, Suguru’s breaths quickened. Monkeys… their germy hands are all over me… I can’t breathe…

Backing away, Suguru broke out into a sprint and hurried through the labyrinth of marble halls and flooring, not even knowing where to go but just the goal to get out of there. Satoru finally caught him and yanked him by his collar by just barely catching Suguru as he almost whizzed by his dressing room, asking with concern where he had been before he noticed the look on the singer’s face.

A small glass of wine and sessions of deep breathing later, Suguru managed to begin the photoshoot with attempts to not cringe or stiffen whenever they would touch him. Something about a monkey’s touch seemed so acidic on his skin and the way the photographer just was never satisfied with any poses Suguru seemed to do seemed to irritate him to the edge. The flash the camera aimed at him mimicked too much of the paparazzi’s parade of cameras and Suguru’s eyes began to haze with specks of black halfway in.

His mind must’ve been playing tricks on him because Suguru swore he saw the figure of a familiar woman near the emergency exit of the studio, where she conversed with a woman that was in charge of his makeup. Ignoring the photographer’s words, he squinted ahead and thought he saw the hallucinatory figure of a you that had aged four years older looking straight at him with an unreadable expression, but when he blinked, the emergency exit was closed like it was before and the makeup artist was left alone.

By the time Satoru started to notice Suguru’s fatigue and how he would stiffen when the photographers would reposition his arm or leg, he called it a day and demanded the shoot be cut short. He was lucky he was tall and that his blue eyes were piercing enough to scare off the demanding photographer who pleaded for more takes.

All Suguru wanted to do was just rest for the day after being on his feet ever since the early morning. While packing his stuff up, he was once again mobbed by the many staff on the set, asking the weary noirette for a chance to take a picture with him or to sign a napkin for them or a relative. The charity work was fun at first, seeing how happy fans were after they received their wishes, but now, it just seemed invasive and ignorant considering how Suguru returned their words with a snapping silence.

It was worse when he exited the floor and returned to the lobby, where the same crowd of paparazzi was waiting oh so patiently for the singer to finish up his last task for the day. Gritting his teeth as the bodyguards began to box him in again, he once again blasted the inaudible music in his ears. All it took was a couple more steps and he could rest back at home with no one to invade his personal space.

At last, he managed to escape the mob of cameras and was at peace just before he opened the car door. However, his patience finally exploded when he felt a light tug on the back of his shirt and like a bomb, detonated into a firework of anger and disturbance.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you goddamn monkey!” he shouted while still turning on his heel.

The volume of his voice had startled him, but it startled him even more when he realized who he was losing his temper at.

Because here you were right in front of him, after four years of not seeing each other, holding his neatly folded trenchcoat in your hands with an alarmed look on your face that mimicked his.

He swore it was a hallucination back at the studio, but now seeing you in crystal clear vision, he could fully see that you really have blossomed four years older. Your hair was shorter than it was four years ago, and the makeup you put on yourself made you seem more mature than your peppier, energetic self. The stance that uplifted you made you seem more evolved and professional, as well as how it set all your fully developed curves into place that were enunciated by the tweed suit and skirt you wore. Suguru didn’t know if the breathlessness of his voice was made by how overwhelming your elegance was or how he had reacted to you without even turning around.

Your lips parted for a moment, but nothing came out. Suguru’s lips parroted yours in the same manner. Finally, he took a hesitant step forward but it only made you take a step back, mirroring his actions.

“(Y/N)—”

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” you interrupted softly, your gaze leaving his. “But you forgot your jacket… sir.”

The title you had granted to him instead of his name made him wallow in a sea of guilt. It was obvious you refused to acknowledge his actual name out of spite but Suguru thought he deserved nothing more.

Your hands finally grazed his when you put the jacket gently into his arms before taking your leave silently, leaving him stunned in his place with nothing but your name being your reply from him after four years.

As he tucks the photo album aside, Suguru pinches the bridge of nose as he recalls the memory from each segment. If he unraveled the full verity, what would Father Solomon think of him? If he told him what truly happened back at the building that you currently reside in, would Father Solomon, the soft-spoken, kind-hearted, understanding priest, be able to empathize with his situation even though it was rotten to the core? No, if anything, Father Solomon would most likely show a side of him that Suguru never knew existed in the first place, just like how you showed a foreign aloofness to him at the parking lot.

His inner contemplation is disrupted, though, when he hears two familiar voices muffled outside, talking amongst each other. He immediately gets when he realizes who the other voice was replying to Father Solomon is. He hears your laughter reverberate in the chapel for a minute, still clouded by the walls from the outside until the door handle twists and the door opens before he could take action to do something, anything.

But he freezes in place when the view of you and Father Solomon comes into his field of vision and it doesn’t take a genius as to why you had stopped laughing the moment you entered the room.

To seize yourself from the uncomfortable tension that now surfaced the room, you avoid his gaze and return it to Father Solomon with a weary smile, “Sorry, I just remembered that I need to—”

“Not so fast, (Y/N),” Father Solomon interjects, grabbing you by the shoulders before you could escape the office.

He turns you so that you face Suguru directly. He can see your eyes quickly dart all over the place, desperate to land for a spot that wasn’t him. Not even Suguru can let out a greeting or even a single sound but unlike your silence and avoiding gaze, he takes up the initiative to look at you fully.

“(Y/N), I’m sure you’ve met Suguru,” Father Solomon tells playfully but his attempts at jokes don’t go as planned considering how you stiffen and bring your crossed arms closer to you and how your pained eyes close and look to the side.

Suguru feels a terrible ache in his chest when you don’t bother to greet him, not even as a stranger but as a fragment of empty air—something that wasn’t within your reach and was deemed untouchable. For what sort of denseness did his body hold right now, he couldn’t tell considering he himself didn’t feel right in the current body he was in, as if he was some sort of apparition that had possessed the wrong body.

Father Solomon lets out a weary sigh at the silent treatment you stubbornly give him. Disapproving of how you’re pouting like a child, he sits you down and crouches down to face you as if he was giving a toddler a lecture.

“Whatever you two have going on,” he starts softly so his volume speaks to only you and him. “you both need to fix it.”

“Why should I?” you insist.

“Because I know that it isn’t healthy for you and him,” Father Solomon murmurs, “It’s normal for friends to fight, but what isn’t normal is to hold a grudge for a long time.”

You’ve always hated how he’s consistently right about everything. You’ve hated the way he spoke so gently with an angelic yet condescending tone, like if his requests were disguised as threats under a white mask with a halo perched over its head.

Suguru stands in the corner of the room, watching how Father Solomon talks ever so softly with you with caution, knowing that he doesn’t prefer yelling and shouting voices because it drives anyone away.

“Do you want some water?” he suggests to both of you, finally standing up. When he receives two quiet nods, he goes ahead and excuses himself, “I’ll fetch some water bottles for you both, I’ll be right back.”

Father Solomon ignores your pleading look to not leave you alone with Suguru, only responding with a head pat since he knows that gesture is constantly used to calm you down. Suguru doesn’t have the courage to face you as he makes eye contact with the corner of the room. The priest only gives a weary expression to the two individuals in the office before he leaves the room and pulls out a key.

You offer a single glance toward Suguru’s back before wheeling yourself a little farther from him on the chair, still highly uncomfortable to be around him. There’s an overwhelming urge to go with Father Solomon so you can retrieve the water bottle yourself then use it as a scapegoat to get out of here, but it all comes crashing down when you hear the lock turn.

Immediately, you and Suguru turn to the now vertical lock, indicating that it had been turned from the outside. At first, you think that maybe Father Solomon had accidentally jerked it upwards so you race to the door to let him know before he leaves the chapel.

“Father!” you call out, patting palms pressed against the door that could only be locked from the outside. “Father… the d-door.”

Suguru goes by your side and wrestles with the door handle, only to fail when it doesn’t move at his will. “I think you locked it by accident!” Suguru expresses.

“I’m sorry, but that wasn’t an accident,” the priest replies from the other side. It’s evident from the way his voice sounds so close he’s also up against the other side. “I’m not letting you two out until you talk things through.”

“You parent-trapped us?!” you exclaim hotly.

“It was the only way,” Father Solomon insists. “I’ll give you a half hour to talk to each other and if everything doesn’t recuperate by then, well…”

You gasp loudly. “Father, you wouldn’t!” you cry, “I have a child in the car!”

Suguru goes to widen drastically when he hears your last sentence.

Had he missed out on so much of your life during these past four years that he hadn’t heard that you had conceived? Apparently, it didn’t seem like you upheld your word back then about not having children considering how tearful you were when you replied to Father Solomon’s threat. But he would’ve heard at least the smallest thing, he figured, something on your social media that he can’t follow but instead wavers over occasionally, even if the majority of them were private, or even a rumor of a baby shower invite of some kind.

“Hiroto will be fine,” he replies coolly. His comfort obviously fails considering your cold sweat doesn’t lessen. “I’ll let you both out after thirty minutes but you two should really work things out with each other because you’re stressing everyone else out.”

With that, you hear his casual whistle of an Elton John song slowly begin to fade away along with his footsteps, leaving you and Suguru alone for the first time in four years.

TAGLIST: @sukiguru @yosanoaki @deadflowerd @gimyeongbestboymain @sidehub @jjstsksen @justanotherasiangirl @vngelis @notsostraightweeb @soyk1d @kristchxin @autumn-slaves @morningdangerheart @uzumakioden @dpr-staybifs @k1kuoo (want to be in the taglist? send a reply, ask, or message!)

AUTHOR NOTES: obv not a lot of y/n interaction in this one apologies ! i wanted to squeeze it in with this chapter because the next one is where the first spike of drama finally hits but i think this chapter was a good preview to suguru's current pov

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[justanotherasiangirl]

BRO 😭😭 fruity patootie

[justanotherasiangirl]

Start Here, Caitlyn Siehl // The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller // The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller // Unknown // The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller // Passanger, Alexandra Bracken (a.k.a Heartbreaker) // I wrote this for you, Iain Thomas // These Violent Delights, Micah Nemerever // jjk the light novel translation // The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller // The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller // Elegy, Chen Chen// the playwrights will write your names in the darkness of the sky

[justanotherasiangirl]

～ ｡☆ FAVOURITE JJK FICS ON AO3

ft. jjk men (toji, nanami, geto, gojo, and choso)

ヾ˙❥ all of these fics are nsfw (smut, sexual content! please read the tags and the warnings inside of the story before you read!)

ヾ˙❥ click here for jjk men fic recs on tumblr!

1. heat waves (ft. choso kamo) by nagumoan

～ ｡☆ it's too hot to even move a single muscle of yours, so the only logical way to deal with it is... working up a sweat with your boyfriend. at least it's logical in his mind.

2. tease me (ft. gojo satoru & geto suguru) by meowandyouui

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ "𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔, 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒."

↳ in which - y/n falls in love with her bullies. geto and gojo. though she can't have both, and is torn between having to choose. ︶꒷꒦︶ ๋࣭ ⭑

3. seduce and destroy (ft. toji fushiguro) by skyredvenus

～ ｡☆ moving in with a wealthy family in their mansion for your new job, but nothing is as it seems. the house is haunted by a family curse and a mysterious blood-lusted creature.

4. fruit (ft. choso kamo) by thelovelyruin

～ ｡☆ he’s your ex, and he’s having a hard time moving on from you.

5. i know (ft. choso kamo) by thelovelyruin

～ ｡☆ choso wasn’t taking the break up well, and honestly, neither were you.

6. midnight (ft. gojo satoru) by tsunderetsukki

～ ｡☆ ❝ You look tired boss, let me help you out a little. Consider it an apology for making you work late ❞

╰---➤ 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐞-𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤.

7. slow bloom (ft. nanami kento) by princesspetty

8. shirt (ft. toji fushiguro) by skyredvenus

～ ｡☆ the arrival of a mysterious package leads to a hot, sticky situation.

9. wet dreams (ft. toji fushiguro) by meowandyouui

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ "𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔."

↳ in which - y/n is wedded off to the biggest enigma floating around. though... she can't stop having peculiar dreams about this very man. toji zenin.

10. bloodlust (ft. geto suguru) by teatimewithlevi

～ ｡☆ you move to the suburbs and a freakishly sexy man is your neighbour. he has a taste for blood—especially yours.

11. secret slut (ft. choso kamo) by meowandyouui

12. dark eyes (ft. choso kamo) by moonc0re

13. first time (ft. choso kamo) by chososdisordkitten

14. late mornings (ft. nanami kento) by l043

～ ｡☆ the weekend was for rest, relaxation, and sex.

15. feverish (ft. toji fushiguro) by angry_geese

16. cabin (ft. geto suguru) by slvttyplum

～ ｡☆ You and Suguru go on a group cabin trip, with a couple of drinks and your love for each other… what happens?

17. cadillac : a pimp's anthem (ft. geto suguru) by redskyvenus

～ ｡☆ an unexpected meeting at Suguru's nightclub ignites an interesting connection.

18. so, you got a boyfriend? (ft. geto suguru) by slttygeto

～ ｡☆ when watching a certain scary movie gives your husband, suguru, the perfect idea on how to ruin you.

19. hell is empty & love is wicked (ft. geto suguru) by soleilnomoon

～ ｡☆ geto suguru is the perfect boyfriend, until he grows bored with y/n & casts her aside; he doesn't account for y/n standing up for herself & getting revenge.

20. 00.00 (ft. nanami kento) by kamisathoes

～ ｡☆ In which you need some late night loving from your ex-lover, Nanami Kento. But things were not what you expected them to be, they were more than what you anticipated it to be.

[justanotherasiangirl]

“來看鏡頭！”

[justanotherasiangirl]

VOICEMAILS AND DIAL TONES - yuuta okkotsu.

✩ — about. “back then, you didn’t have words to describe the way that he made you feel. maybe, you were a little too young to understand.” there are rules to a friendship that’s lasted as long as yours and yuuta’s has. the first being that you tell each other everything. the second, try not to fall in love. all you know, is that you’ve failed at both, and now your best friend is half way across the world without any idea as to how much you truly love him. is that something you can say over text or voicemail? ( 8.7K )

✩ — warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, with a happy ending - video banner! characters are in their 20s. coffee-shop!au, childhood friends to lovers, forbidden romance, long-distance, misunderstandings, miscommunication, situationships, arguments, hospitalisation mentions, death mentions (non-major characters), cucking, somnophilia, praise, fingering (f!receiving), oral sex (f!receiving), phone sex-ish, clothed sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampies, fem!reader.

✩ — things to note. hi everyone!! jumping on the yuuta hype and dropping this fic i wrote as a commission for @kkittycries last year!! it's so interesting to see how much my writing has changed, but i remember having fun when writng this. either who!! i hope you all enjoy <3 - m.list ⋆ read on ao3 ! ִ ࣪𖤐₊ ⊹

absence makes the heart grow fonder — at least that’s what they tell you so that the feeling of missing someone hurts a tiny little bit less. 

you’ve always wondered if that were true. if willingly putting space between yourself and the person you loved truly helped soothe the soreness as if it were medication for the body’s aches and pains. perhaps the theory could best be applied to your friendship with yuuta okkotsu. 

he’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember — from the moment he moved in next door, his bambi eyes were big and brown, safe and inviting…who were you to keep hiding behind your mothers leg and deny him an invitation to play on the swing set his parents had put up for him in the garden just over the fence? yuuta was the sweetest boy to date, he was always polite with your parents and asked their permission before taking you into the depths of his cardboard fort in the front yard. 

he would walk home with you from pre-k, your chubby little fingers tightly intertwined and the matching charms on your backpacks swinging about the place jingling with every step you took towards home. when you got to middle school and kids were meaner, yuuta stood by your side while you were teased for being quieter than most. he defended you, his shy, patient best friend. 

okkotsu still walked you home, his pinky finger hooked over yours — greeted your mother with that same shy, yet charming tight lipped smile and offered to help her with cooking dinner with that same airy voice of his. your mother would reward you both with a kiss to the forehead and a plate of warm walnut and chocolate chip cookies and your pinkies — still linked underneath the table.

you were always linked. it’s always been yuuta and you. back then, you didn’t have words to describe the way that he made you feel. maybe, you were a little too young to understand the butterflies in your tummy and the blistering temperature to the back of your neck and your ears — maybe too naive to understand a metaphorical doctor’s diagnosis of a case of early on-set puppy-love. knowing back then would’ve explained why you wrote yuuta’s name on a heart alongside your own or why you squirmed every time you touched.

there was only one explanation. you liked yuuta, loved him. 

you wished that you’d known what that feeling was…because it's soon ripped from your grip and your whole world changes when rika orimoto enters your lives. she was pretty, had a beauty mark smeared daintily across her cheek and gentle eyes that made you feel safe. she was pretty and yuuta thought that too — inside and out. that’s why they became fast highschool sweethearts and why you were left in the dust. 

rika easily made a mess of him, tearing yuuta into a million tiny pieces that only she could put back together. she asks him out on white-day, okkotsu a bumbling mess by the lockers in between gym class and economics as he clutches her neatly written love letter — hearts over the I’s and T’s crossed ever so cutely. she had done to yuuta what he’d been doing to you all of your lives and you’d hardly seen her talk to him around school until that day. 

much to your dismay, they date throughout the rest of highschool and it nearly kills you, having someone that you were once so close to fade-away into near nothingness with growing distance. life where yuuta has a girlfriend ( that isn’t you ) drains the happiness that you got from being around your childhood best friend. it’s selfish, you know, to have wanted to keep him all to yourself. to have him want you instead of her. 

they make plans for after school, babies with names that start with the same letters as theirs and a wedding that’ll be small and flowery and whatever rika wants because yuuta okkotsu would give the girl he loves the entire world. you so badly want to be her. that person who is the centre of his universe. it should be you, it should have always been you — making plans with yuuta and imagining the perfect ring, the one that he would give you in the front yard of his childhood home. it should be your life with him, one that you’d dreamt up with him…and the sick thing is, you can’t have him — because you’re best friends and you’d be risking it all in the name of childish love.

rika, dies just days shy of your highschool graduation and it changes your best friend. a tragic car accident violently takes her life and okkotsu along with it. he’s a shell of the person he used to be, void of his dazzling smile and the comforting warmth that was unavoidable if you spent even just a minute with him. yuuta used to be like sun rays on a sunday morning but after the incident, he felt like blizzards on a dark november's eve. he lost his love, and you were starting to lose him even more than before.

his first love is memorialised at the graduation ceremony and while everyone sends her their thoughts and prayers — you feel sick to your stomach, knowing that for a brief second you’d felt relieved that your competition was gone. loving him was forbidden, he’d just lost his person and so despite your guilt you had to stick it out. be there for him. be there for your friend above all else and hold him up so that he didn’t sink in the deep water of his own grief. you’d save him, at all costs, you’d stop him before he drowned. 

things start to look up when the pair of you head to college — you both get into the same school and find the cutest little off-campus apartment to share. it feels like a home away from home to you both, since your nights before semester begins are spent attempting to master your mother’s famous cookies while practising how to introduce yourselves since you’re both nervous as hell for this new beginning. everything feels like it was when you were both children and didn’t have a single thing to worry about — except now there’s crippling student debt and a four year workload ahead of you…but you’re both excited, together again and it seems like the distance between you has shrunk just a little.

then your love life takes a turn for the worst ( yet again ) and yuuta finds himself running around town with a new crew of friends that he met in a club run by one of your elective professors, satoru gojo. they stay out later than you’re used to and your best friend comes home smelling different too, of strong perfumes and cigarette butts even though you know he doesn’t smoke. as it turns out, there’s another girl. 

maki zenin.

you don’t like her, and to be fair, she doesn’t like you either. so you keep your distance once more, keep your head down when maki does her faux walk of shame out of your best friend’s room — her thighs and her neck covered in bite marks and scratches, his shirt slipped over her body to cover the rest of her decency. he made her breakfast with your food and tea in your designated mug. it hurts to hear her mewl the sweet syllables of his name late at night while you’re stuck with the soundtrack to your own sobs.

it should be like this, distant — far apart because you care about okkotsu and you love him, so it’d be better to avoid it all rather than get him hurt.

your phone ringing in the distance gently lulls you from your reminiscent thoughts and you scramble to pick it up before you end up with a missed call. 

yuuta’s contact flashes across your screen, framed by light and making him look like an angel. it rings and rings, and you know that you should let it go to voicemail. let the space between you grow so you can protect what’s left of his soul. 

but you were never strong when it came to him. 

and you pick up before he can listen to another second of dial tones.

voicemail #1  - “hey yuuta, i hope you’re good, you’ll never guess who stopped by the cafe today— professor satoru! i haven’t seen him since your graduation! anyways, are you still coming over for dinner tonight? i miss you!”

this isn’t like him. 

even after all these years, from pre-k to college — yuuta okkotsu has never missed one of your calls. after graduating you'd made a promise to one another, to keep contact no matter where life took you, a promise of his own volition. you’d have dinner with each other at least once a week just like when you were kids and catch up on your not-so crazy adventures into adulthood. 

you kept up your end of the bargain as your way of keeping okkotsu afloat — to ground him. he’d seen and been through enough hurt to last him a lifetime and if he had to use you as a crutch for comfort, despite your raging feelings for him, then so be it. so you never missed a call, always checked in and made him something nostalgic and tied to the memories of afternoons where your mother would fill you up with her wondrous baked goods or heartwarming soups.

but still, this isn’t like yuuta to not pick up when you call. 

to feel…more distant than usual and of his own accord. 

panic sets in while you listen to the third dial tone, trying to contact him again. taking a deep breath, you pace around the fridge-freezer in the back of your bakery — one that you’d set up shortly after graduating from your business degree. there had to be some explanation for your best friend’s absence. perhaps traffic? maybe he was on the subway catching a ride over? or maybe he just needed space. he’d been going through a lot recently. yuuta didn’t get a job straight out of college and he broke things off with maki shortly after — they wanted different things and had different aspirations.

even still, with the free time left on his hands, there was too much room for him to think about his losses and his loves…it made you worry for him, it made you panic and chew on your nails just like this. “c’mon yu,” you whisper to yourself, the shaky syllables of your words bouncing off the metal house for your ingredients, muffled by paper bags of powdered sugar and organic flours. “where are you?” 

you can barely hear the automated message telling you to leave a voicemail for your friend over the bustling of your afternoon service. if yuuta hadn’t been off the grid, he’d be here helping you with the customers that know him all too well, the old ladies that pinch his cheeks and the younger ones that twirl their hair in an attempt to flirt over miniature cherry bakewell tarts. except he’s nowhere to be found, and you’re nauseous, worried sick about where he could be and what he could be up to. 

you try his cell one more time in an attempt to grab at his attention. there's something weird about today...as if he’s avoiding you, hiding. yuuta always picks up and you always pick up for him, it’s an unspoken rule.

when you’re met with the dial tones again, you hang up — slumped and distraught. there’s hungry customers to feed and you’re overly friendly college professor waiting on a fresh box of sweets you’d used as an excuse to escape to the back of your shop. yuuta can wait for another call from you. 

but you’re not sure if your heart can wait for one back from him. 

voicemail #2  - “it’s yuuta, we need to talk.” 

oddly enough, silence is comforting to you. it reminds you of your best friend, the nights you’d spend coupled up in your dorm with your fingers running through his silken midnight hair, his head in your lap and the both of you shrouded in darkness. more often than not, you could tell how one another’s days went just by body language and when shoulders were slumped and eyes were droopy — yourself and yuuta would curl up together  and just…take in the quiet. 

be close to one another.

so, you bask in the tranquillity of your quaint little cafe as you clear up after a day's work. you sweep floors, wipe tables clean and arrange the tables and chairs with perfect precision. the only sound that accompanies you is the clink of silverware and porcelain plates as you wash the dishes. it’s so quiet you could hear a pin drop and the slightest noise is enough to make you jump — just like your phone that vibrates deep within your back pocket, startling you as you scramble to dry your hands so you can see if it’s him who’s been trying to get in touch with you.

it’s embarrassing how quick you are to smile when you see a few missed calls and a voice message from yuuta. though you’ve never quite heard the tune of seriousness that plays in his voice before, your heart won’t stop racing at the mere sound of him speaking. your mind wonders…what could be so urgent that he’d need a ‘talk’?’ 

maybe it was a thank you…for always being beside him or maybe he even liked you. perhaps okkotsu had finally come to his senses and realised how much he’d always needed you…how much he loved you.. the racing thoughts in your brain hopefully jump towards a confession from your best friend and you find yourself getting giddy at its prospect. you practically skip, hop and jump to the back of your cafe, switching out your flour stained clothes for one of the spare and cleaner shirts you keep in the back — you touch up your makeup too, brighten the dark circles under your eyes and blot your worry lines with care. 

you even manage to heat up a few of yuuta’s favourite pastries to serve up by candlelight — rehearsing your own words of confession as if they haven’t been looming around in your head for years. 

the bell to your quaint little cafe chimes with his arrival, a rush of cool, late night air tangling with the temperate atmosphere as you lay your finishing touches on the meal you’d prepared for you both. when you look up, yuuta’s eyes have settled on you — warm and inviting as usual, but bright with a light that had been missing from them since you were young. you’ve missed it, the subtle spark that brings life to the coffee brown oasis in his eyes.

he remains as handsome as ever, taller than you by however many heads — limbs long, arms slightly muscular and waist slender, though his build is more like a dancer’s. yuuta okkotsu grew up to be a fine man and you’d be a fool to have not noticed. he crosses the room in short strides, rushing to take you into his arms and hold you close and squeeze you to his chest. yuuta smells like cookies, you note, hardly paying attention while his lips softly brush over your hairline in a sweet kiss.

“hi,” he whispers, voice smooth like melted chocolate dripping through your ears. “i’ve missed you.”

you only hope that he can’t hear your racing heartbeat, it’s speed picking up as you decide that this is your moment. the moment. “i’ve missed you too,” you mumble back, toying with a loose string on the cream cashmere the dark brunette is wearing. “yuuta…i have to tell you something—“

“i-i have something important to tell you,” he breathes out at the same time as you do, almost shy as you both sway in the centre of the room and enjoy one another’s embrace. 

the both of you share a laugh that’s light and airy before you drag him over to a table and set of chairs, forcing him to sit and to eat the baked goods you’d set out for him. “you first, yuu,” it makes you happy to see him tuck in, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you owe me a story after disappearing on me today.” 

okkotsu nods in agreement, his cheeks adorably full of food and pastry flaked across his milky skin. “‘m sorry, i was sortin’ something out la’sht minute.” 

“yeah?” 

“y-yeah! i’m moving,” yuuta drops the bomb like it’s nothing. “abroad. for a job! professor gojo set me up and it’s s-supposed to help build my confidence and stuff—“ 

your world falls apart in an instant, sucking away the oxygen in your lungs until you feel like your lungs are failing. yuuta is leaving you and this time it’s for real. 

confessing to him now wouldn't mean shit, you’d only be holding him back. your face crumples faster than you can control at the thought and after years of knowing you— okkotsu instantly picks up your change in mood. 

“what’s wrong?” he says your name and even that hurts to hear.

“n-nothin’ yuu, i’m happy for you, really.” comes your broken voice over the quiet, you fake it until you make it.

“really? you don’t look like it.” 

running a hand over your tired face, you force a smile. “really. especially if you think this is what’s best for you.” 

“it is!” yuuta nearly snaps, controlling himself— stopping himself from yelling at you and tearing your friendship apart before he’s gone. “i need this, need’a be my own person. after college, after highschool i didn’t have time for any of that! i need this.” 

needs it more than he needs you.

“okay.” you say simply, blankly.

“okay.” he says back. 

the debate doesn’t last that much longer after that — the room fills with silence as you grieve your faltering friendship. whatever confession you had planned, now forgotten. 

voicemail #3 -  “yuuta! i wasn’t sure how long your flight was but please call me when you land! you’re gonna do great at your new job.”

yuuta doesn’t call after he lands, in fact two entire days pass before you actually hear from him. after the argument, you’d try to stay on good terms as though not to lose him for good — helping him pack and sort out his currencies, buying him language books since you knew he would struggle with the new dialect. 

you figure it’s because he’s unpacking and not because he doesn’t want anything to do with you — and while you make some late night tea, you find that it’s better to imagine him alone in a new foreign country, picture his pretty pink lips struggling to form the vowels of the new language too, envision how he’ll tan under the blistering hot heat and how excited he’ll be to try new things.

its humiliating how easily he can preoccupy your thoughts from thousands of miles away and makes your heart race so fast that it might burst through the bones and flesh of your chest. he occupies your every thought like a fungus crawling across your brain that’s only disrupted by the sound of your phone ringing loudly — making you drop your tea and jump up to answer.

“hey,” the way yuuta says your name sends tingles down your spine — filtering out any pain you feel from burning your hand. he looks good too, dark hair flopping over his eyes, voice gravelly with sleep as if he’s just woken up and you’re the first thing on his mind. “i got your message, s-sorry for not calling i’ve been—“ 

you cut him off, eager to speak and draw the call out for as long as possible because you missed him. “busy? a guy like you must be extremely popular on the other side of the world.” you’re chipper in an attempt to cover how flustered you are and to cheer your best friend up when you notice how nervous he looks.

“not exactly… i’m nervous. e-everything seems so big ‘nd scary without you here…”

without you.

you shake your head over the grainy FaceTime call. “you’ve always done fine without me, you’ll do even better without having to cover for my shyness!” he laughs at that, the sound like a sweet song to soothe your aching heart. “you got this yuuta.” 

your best friend gives you a sleepy smile, one that melts you like a knob of butter on a hot stove and has your knees knocking. “you’re the best, you know that? you always know what to say.”

the static crackles between you and your heart leaps into your throat. 

“i’m always here for you, yuuta.” 

“and i’m glad for that,” he yawns. “i love you.” 

you have to remind yourself that what your best friend says is strictly platonic but you almost selfishly repeat the words back to yuuta until you notice he’s fallen back asleep. 

ending the call, you clutch your phone and burned hand to your chest. 

“i love you too.”

voicemail #4 - “hey sorry i missed your call, time zones can be crazy! work has been catching up with me and, well, i made a new friend!”

for the first week, you and yuuta text everyday while he’s away. you do your duty and act as his crutch like you always have— keeping him company while he works, eats and commutes all on his own. you feel bad that you lap up the attention he gives you over the phone through his loneliness. you could be compared to a desperately hungry stray animal at the way you drink up every little interaction you have. giving pieces of yourself away to keep your best friend happy. 

but as time goes on, okkotsu seems less and less worried about his job — easily slipping into the language here and there, no longer relying on you to stand on his own two feet. the frequency of your communication dwindles to the point where you really feel like you’re oceans apart. 

even yuuta notices the change within himself — the confidence that filters through him when he says yes to the pretty girl who works in the cubicle next to him when she asks him to tag along for drinks with the rest of the office one night which soon becomes a regular thing. he knows that he speaks less with you and that your texts are barely there but he’s sure you won’t mind the distance. you’re a busy girl, you run a cafe, a few days of not talking wouldn’t do any harm.

“oooh, she’s pretty. who is that?”

kasumi miwa is the one to pull yuuta out from the fog of his thoughts. the brunette looks up from his phone, your face flashing across it’s lock screen as the background. a photo where you have your arms wrapped around him from behind and your smile is as bright as the sunshine. miwa is a pretty girl, different from you. her voice is smoother and eloquent where yours is charming and sweet — she doesn’t remind him of home, or smell like the warmth of a chocolate chip cookie…but she is pretty. her presence is enough to make him shy.

he’s caught her looking a few times, her touch lingering whenever miwa passed him paperwork and right now; her cheeks are tinged pink probably from the alcohol the office is drinking inside where yuuta had come out for some fresh air.

okkotsu clicks his phone shut and stands up at full height to face his blue-haired coworker. “i… i haven’t spoken to her in a while. i miss her.” he says wistfully as he gives your name

“well, if i were dating a girl that pretty, i would miss them too.”

“o-oh! we’re not together! she’s my best friend!”

the woman beside yuuta cocks her head, a satisfied grin spreading across the slope of her lips. “you should call her — i’ll be waiting inside.” 

he follows her eyes as she walks off, along with the whiff of her chanel perfume, before his gaze lands on his phone — he calls your phone. 

you answer after the second ring, though don’t speak straight away, letting the silence wear the both of you thin. “how’ve you been?” you say quietly, lacking the chipperness to your tone that you usually have whenever the two of you ring each other up. there’s no hello, no warmth, you’re cold. 

but yuuta doesn’t ask — he’d like to think he knows you well enough not to. he thinks that you’re fine, probably tired from work and it’s late over there too. if he cared to catch up with you, he’d have been more considerate of that.

“good!” the brunette chirps in order to keep the mood light, leaning over a nearby railing. i miss you. yuuta wants to add, but the words feel like cotton in his mouth, sticking unpleasantly to every surface and for some reason they don’t feel right to say— feel foreign. “work’s been good. i think i’m getting the hang of things around here. my co-workers are great, i get this amazing view every morning a-and—“

“and?” 

“i met someone! i think! i wanna get to know her more but she’s been great to me so far…you’d like her!”

hearts don’t make a sound when they break, but if they did— you’re sure that yuuta would have been able to hear yours even from halfway across the globe. over his own ramblings he can hardly make out the shatter of your vital organ as it falls to pieces, cracks into tiny shards with jagged edges that could make you bleed if you tried to put it back together…because your best friend having met someone means he’s moving on. leaving you behind. and he’s too tone deaf to notice. 

through the static of a phone call, okkotsu misses the crumple of your face and the way your throat bobs as you swallow back salty tears and two decades worth of unrequited love. you’re devastated and he can’t even tell, barely noticing the way you rush off the phone while he’s halfway through a sentence.

his brows furrow when he realises you’ve hung up. 

“i take it that didn’t go well?” kasumi questions when yuuta re-renters the bar, her face sympathetic but voice elevated with smugness. 

he shakes his head once. “no, but it’s okay. she’s been busy.” 

he excuses you but kasumi doesn’t let up, pushing for more of yuuta — breaking him out from his shell, stealing and keeping the pearl of his heart for her taking. “don’t be too sad yuuta, you have me and your new friends, we’ll keep you company instead.”

there’s a hidden meaning behind her cherry picked words. she’ll keep him company — and for once, yuuta doesn’t feel guilty for trying to break away from you.

voicemail #5 - “what happened between us yuuta? you used to tell me everything and now you’ve got a girlfriend? i didn’t even find out through you!”

there’s an unspoken rule to a friendship that’s lasted as long as yours and yuuta’s – you’re supposed to tell each other everything. there’s not been a secret between you in all the years you’ve known each other except for minor white lies that couldn’t amount to major forms of harm. he might have told you that your hair looked fine on days where you’d barely any time to tend to it and you might have told him that he hadn’t been awkward presenting in front of your entire college class… but those were worthless lies. strings of words tied together that didn’t mean anything, that didn’t have any intent to harm.

there were no secrets, no major ones.

until now.

“he’s got a girlfriend, yanno…”

the news is shared with you casually from over the counter one day by your irritating white-haired ex-professor who makes a habit of annoying his old students. he comes in for sweets often and the daifuku you make is his favourite – you offer him extra in exchange for updates on the classmates you used to share since he’s nosey like that.

with every visit to your little cafe, gojo filled you in on everything yuuta had been up to in the blurred weeks and months since you’d last spoken – including his relationship status. “she’s pretty too, long hair. s’blue which is an odd colour, but she’s been good to him, ‘pparently. boosted his confidence.”’ the man cocks his head, watching in real-time as your movements in packing up his order slow down.

your throat bobs whilst you swallow your fading pride in front of your teacher, forcing down a wave of tears. it doesn’t matter how many times yuuta gets over you, moves on from you, finds someone to love other than you… it still hurts. it’ll always hurt knowing that he can fill the other half of his heart with someone that isn't you, while your own stays void and empty.

as always, satoru gojo sees right through your resolve as you total up his order – again forgoing charging him extra for the little tid bit of gossip he’d given you. there’s a shell of someone he doesn’t recognise in place of the girl he used to teach – the one who was once full of life and eager to learn, get out into the world and achieve your dreams. yuuta okkotsu had chipped away at you, the years you’d spent protecting his feelings had caused you to drown in your own.

and gojo could see that, he knew that. he’d been through it before.

he only wishes he had better words of comfort for you.

“you love him, don’t you?” he asks you quietly as you ring him up but you answer with his total in yen instead – sniffling as you do. professor gojo takes his brown paper bag, full of enough sugar to make the heart stop – to kill a person, but even that’s a better death than the heartache you’re going through now. you sniff and he offers you a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach the sapphire eyes behind his shades. “better yet, don’t answer that. i don’t need anymore tears in my daifuku.”

voicemail #6 - “oh fuck yuuji, right there…” “here baby? oh you’re so cute, fuck ‘m gonna—!” “oh… yuuji!” 

( incoming voicemail from - yuuta: “hey, call me back? who’s yuuji? are you okay?” )

yuuta knows that he shouldn’t have kept listening – he should have deleted the voicemail as soon as he caught onto what was happening. it didn’t take a genius to know what was going on, the sounds of skin slapping on skin, your voice wavering with the tune of lust even over the static crackle of the voicemail you’d left. 

he wishes that he’d never heard you moan out like that for someone else, that he wasn’t picturing the faces you’d make underneath the body of another man…but he couldn’t help it. the more he listened, the angrier he felt, the more betrayal flooded his veins and clouded his usually clear judgement. the brunette had no right to be this mad at you, he was supposed to be happy with miwa, supposed to be letting you move on just like he had done from you.

and yet, like a necrotizing parasite – jealousy feasts at the back of okkotsu’s mind. it disrupts his work, distracts him from his girlfriend and fills his mind with flashing images of you being fucked five ways by another man. one that isn’t him. yuuji. who even is yuuji? how did you meet him? were you dating him? you hadn’t talked in so long so the guy had barely come up in conversation. you were best friends that used to tell each other everything and now he felt like you were fucking someone new behind his back. yuuta knew nothing of what that stranger meant to you, he had no idea that yuuji itadori was just some college boy you’d brought home one drunken night – to act as a salve for the burns your childhood best friend had left on you.

it's a temporary fix, yuuji’s tongue laps at your wounds – pleasures you with teeth and tongue until your head is light and you’re almost too dizzy to think properly. in the moment, he felt good, he took care of you…but he wasn’t who you wanted. he wasn’t yuuta.

was it bad that you basked in the jealous rage and attention the brunette had bathed you in? drowning you in a barrage of text messages  the morning after you’d slept with itadori, when yuuta finally had the chance to listen to the voicemail you’d left by accident. it was the most you’d gotten out of him in the months you’d been separated.

yuuta - 7:16AM: hey…did you mean to send that? call me when you’re up.

yuuta - 7:45AM: i don’t think i was supposed to hear that…

yuuta - 8:34AM: who’s yuuji?

yuuta - 8:36AM: are you seeing someone? call me please.

yuuta - 8:57AM: pick up the phone.

yuuta - 9:21AM: it’s not funny anymore. i’m worried. pick up.

you answer your phone around noon, having given yourself the space to think over cooking a hang-over breakfast for yuuji. the sounds of spitting oil underneath frying eggs had provided the soundtrack to your thoughts – helped you pick and choose the words you would say to yuuta before your companion slips out of your apartment and you tell him to grab a pastry from your cafe downstairs on his way out. a little thank you for the night you’d shared.

“what the hell was that?” is the first thing yuuta snarls down the line once your call connects.

you shift your phone in your grasp, as if his seething tone has scorched the palm of your hand. “are we past greetings or somethin’, yuu?” you fail to admit that it hurts you, starting the call without his tender and caring ‘hello’, you feel like an enemy on the battlefield to okkotsu, rather than his friend.

“i think we are well past that, especially with the kind of voice messages you’ve been leaving me.” he says it like he’s disgusted with you, when he really just misses you. craves you. he’s angry at himself and for letting you slip between his fingers into the grasp of another man. not at you. never at you. but even cell phone lines connecting calls from across the globe can’t properly convey the way yuuta feels. “what’s going on with you? why are you acting like this? we haven’t spoken in weeks and you–?”

“why is what i do any of your business anymore, yuuta?” you snap through his flurry of questions, growing heated yourself. “i accidentally left you a voicemail of me fucking someone, that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.”

“you’re just… not like this. we don’t speak and all of a sudden…y-you’re different!”

you clutch the phone tighter, swallowing thickly. “and who’s fault is that? let me answer that for you. it’s yours. you’re the one who got a girlfriend and left me in the dust. not the other way around!” you argue, trying to sound stern and steady though yuuta can hear the wobble to your words loud and clear. “you shouldn’t have listened, you should have called. you let the distance become a problem between us.”

he scoffs, an action so unlike your best friend. “we’re not children anymore! you should have talked to me about the distance!” 

“i couldn't!” you defend yourself, desperate for the pain in your heart to be heard for once. “you were finally happy again yuuta! that mattered to me—“ 

“you think i'm happy about hearing my best friend get…defiled over the phone?” 

“well you should be! it means I’m not hung up on you anymore, that i’m moving on from being in love with you! leaving you so that you can be happy in your new life!” 

the silence from yuuta’s end of the phone is both too loud and too deafening. 

“you…loved me?” he whispers, switching back to that same sweet tone he always used when it came to you. “why didn’t you say?”

your stupid little confession, the one you’d been holding back for more than half your life, sips out before you can catch it with the tip of your tongue and you instantly feel terrible for weaponizing your crush on okkotsu against him. at least that’s what it feels like you’ve done. “i never told you…because i’m not selfish, yuuta,” you stutter out, your face hot with oncoming and flustered tears. “i-i'm not a selfish person. i wouldn’t sacrifice our friendship or your happiness, not just because i loved you.”

yuuta says your name, but blood rushes through your ears in embarrassment – way too fast for you to catch it, and you hang up before you can humiliate yourself any further.

before you can hear him say that he loves you too.

voicemail #7 - “open up, i'm coming home. please be here when I’m home.” 

the number you have dialled is unavailable, please try again later.

after the slip of your tongue and confession to yuuta— he was met with radio silence. you’d blocked him on every form of social media possible and he couldn’t even blame you. you wanted to be free from him, from that silly and imaginary red string that had kept you tied to his soul for all of these years. it hurt to think when everything reminded you of him, so you buried yourself in your cafe and worked yourself to death because even the sweet relief from life would be better than living without your best friend. 

gojo had stopped by and taken you to the hospital twice since you’d worked yourself into exhaustion — tonight was no different, sentenced to bed rest by your ex-professor and the best doctor he could find. he always did look out for his students.

sleeping your sadness away had caused you to miss a barrage of yuuta’s calls — if you’d picked up you’d have known that he was coming home. coming home for you. in the wake of your love confession, okkotsu had realised how much he needed you and how much he loved you. you had never left his side, no matter what yuuta had been through, and now, nothing feels right without you. 

so he broke up with his girlfriend, took leave from his job and flew halfway across the world for you — to give his message in person. 

it’s near midnight by the time yuuta gets back to japan, the warm yellow of the streetlights illuminating the path right up to your apartment after getting out of the uber. there’s a spare house key, glinting gold, hidden under your cupcake shaped doormat just as yuuta remembers and he uses it to slip inside — dumping his bag and kicking his shoes off at the entryway. his socked feet locate the bedroom with ease, perhaps drawn by your aura and the anticipation of seeing you again.

and there you are, so close yet so far away — your face peaceful and painted with an adorable expression of slumber. okkotsu notes the way your chest slowly rises and falls, the crease between your brow as if you’re having a bad dream. he could fix it… whatever’s plaguing your sleeping mind, he knows that he can, because whenever you touch each other, it’s like your bodies know to relax and that they’re safe.

tiptoeing deeper into the room, the brunette slinks up to the side of your bed and the mattress dips underneath the weight of his knee as he seats himself beside you. you’re so beautiful, so calm. he doesn’t know how he went his whole life without choosing you, choosing other people over you time and time again. “i love you,” yuuta whispers into the dead of the night, brushing a thumb and forefinger over the apple of your cheek — hesitating when you roll into his body heat. “i love you. i’m so sorry.” he says again, while pressing a feather light kiss to that same spot. 

his breath hitches when you reach for him this time, grabbing at the man in your sleep.

yuuta kisses you again, but on your forehead. then your other cheek, your chin, your inner wrists and finally — your lips. each brush of his own against you is increasingly feverish, pouring unspoken emotions into them as he quietly utters the words ‘i love you.’ over and over again. he feels like he has something to prove, as if the brunette has to show you how much he cares for you — leaving a trail of sweet smooches between the valley of your breasts from over your night-shirt to between your thighs that spill out of the loose material.

he only hopes that this is enough for you to forgive him, for you to love him back like he does you.

your best friend… or ex best friend really should feel bad about this, teething on the swell of your thighs— his fingertips sinking into their apex to pry you apart for him. you could end up hating him more for this, yuuta’s slick and drool stained tongue rolling over the seam at the crotch of your panties hungrily, softly as if to test the waters. he takes it as a good sign when your face contorts with pleasure even in your sleep and slots his entire mouth against the sweet treasure between your legs— sucking the juices from the fabric of your underwear.

you taste so good and he’s not even got you properly wet yet. yuuta’s next move is to hook two fingers over the garment to pull it aside — revealing your twitching hot cunt to the cool night air in your bedroom. even your scent is divine, enticing just as you’ve always been and the brunette can’t believe he was too blind to see it before. he presses a chase kiss to your clit, feeling it pulse to life against his lips before said kisses become open mouthed and sloppy— tongue diving into the tightness of your little hole, circling it to flick your flavour back into his mouth. 

his movements start slow, tenderly testing which spots inside your pretty little cunt make you sigh out contently while you slumber but the wetter you get, the sloppier yuuta becomes — lapping at your sex and your clit in eager movements like a kitten at a bowl of milk. you only stir awake when his fingers travel up to grip onto your ass and tug your pussy onto his face, guiding you up and down on his writhing tongue like he’s fucking you for real.

“y-yuu?” you grumble, still finding your footing in the reality of consciousness. “whas’ h-happenin’… oh my god—!”  the questions you have for the mop of hair between your legs, groaning like a starved man into there too, taper into an angelic moan. pretty and airy, like music to yuuta’s ears. once you come to and fully realise what’s going on, your fingers slip into the roots of his hair and your hips buck into his mouth instinctively — even though you should be pissed. even though you should be screaming at him and kicking him off. you can’t help it that this is what you’ve always wanted. that you’ve always wanted him.

“w-what are you doing here?” you manage to ask through a whine, brain fogging up at the way yuuta’s tongue runs laps over your swelling clit. 

he pulls off of you with a lewd pop that makes both of you shudder, two of his slender digits easily sliding into you where his tongue once was — guided by spit and slick. “i came home for you. i love you,” your best friend doesn’t have time to formulate proper reasoning, drunk on your saccharine flavour  like you’re the finest wine he’s ever had the honour of tasting. “f-fuck, i-i missed you.”

yuuta gives you those big puppy dog eyes as he curls his digits inside of you and hits spots you can't quite reach on your own. you should be talking about your feelings not fucking through them but you’ve missed him so much and need him so bad. both of you groan in unison when he brushes over your g-spot, your hips jumping up and his grinding down into your silky sheets. 

“missed you too,” you breathe and yank him up by the hair to meet your lips — making out with him feverishly, swapping the words your mind can’t seem to force you to say, pouring the mixed emotions into him as he finger fucks your tight little hole like his life depends on it.

every movement you make with one another is sloppy and uncoordinated, tongues doused in one another’s saliva— saliva that tastes like you. your moans mingle in the hot and heavy air and you clench down on yuuta’s fingers as they pump in and out of you, his palm slapping against your folds while you leak into the seat of his palm. 

“are you close?” yuuta slurs into your mouth so quietly you almost miss it underneath the lewd sound of your pussy. “i want to make you cum, show you how much i love you.”

blood rushes through your ears, heat pin pricking like needles under your skin. “y-yes. p-please yuu…” 

his thumb dragging smooth circles over the pulsating bud between your blooming pussy lips is all you need to trip over the edge into your high— the knots in your lower tummy unwinding faster than you can register, waves of your nectar flowing from your cunt onto the sheets below and soiling yuuta’s hand right up to his wrist. 

your head tips back into a high pitched squeal, eyes locked away and rolling back while you damn near black out from your orgasm. but your best friend is right there like he should be, sucking love-bites into your neck to ground you. dark tresses of yuuta’s chocolate-like hair tickle at your tingling flesh while he manoeuvres himself between your legs and shifts his pants down enough to let his rock hard cock spring free. 

“c-can you take me now?” he pleads more than he asks, brown and warm eyes trembling with need, anticipation. “i don’t think i’ll last long and i need you.” 

you feel him press at your entrance, his angry red tip glistening with opaque beads of precum— yuuta softly ruts his hips against you, smearing…claiming you with his own essence while he waits for your consent. “i’ve always needed you, yuuta.” you say breathlessly, giving him a small grin and nod when he looks up from drooling against your neck. 

that’s all the go ahead he needs before his thick girth pushes all the way into you at once — weighty and temperate against your ribbed and creamy walls. “‘ohmyfuckinggod,” he whimpers wetly against you. “y-you’re so tight wrapped around me. so perfect i—“ 

“move, yuuta. fuck me, please,” you remind him, tugging on his air and crossing your ankles at the base of his spine. 

“y-yeah okay…g-god you’re so good. so sweet ‘n tight.” with that, he draws his hips back — hesitant at first. brown eyes watch your face for any signs of discomfort and yuuta’s lust driven instincts take the lead when he only notices how blissed out you look. your pretty lips are agasp, forming a pleasure-filled ‘o’ as you mewl and claw at his half-clothed shoulders. “i love you, o-oh god!”

all you can do is whimper in response, fingers drifting up to the nape of yuuta’s neck to tangle in his dark locks— tugging him into you as if it’ll make him hit deeper, churn up your guts and make you see stars. “y-you’re stupid…” you manage to get out, the warmth of your breath glossing his lips as if to taunt your best friend with a kiss. 

“i know…” calloused fingers grab at the backs of your thighs with a bruising grip before yuuta pushes your legs towards your shoulders, both of you grunting and whining in unison when you tighten around him at the new angle. gushing sweet juices that paint his stomach and pelvis.

“y-you shouldn’t have left me,” tears start to brim, collecting in your lash line like diamonds before they hit your cheeks.

you’re so beautiful like this, even when you’re crying— when you’re crying because you’re fucked up on his cock, claiming it with your cream as ur clings to his balls and the veins that spital down his length. 

yuuta’s red hot tip nudges against the soft and squishy spots along your sensitive walls, keeping his thrusts at a rhythmic and passionate pace to make sure the only thing you feel is heaven on earth. your pussy is hot and warm and heaven-like around him, sucking him in so selfishly and tightening every time yuuta’s strong abs grind against your puffy clit. 

“i know,” he sighs dreamily and with an airy voice, licking a stripe from your chin to your cheek as a tear streaks it’s way down it. “won't ever leave you again,” his fingers touch at your face, sinking into the softness of your cheeks as he drags you up to face him. “i’ll never leave you again.” 

“never?” you ask, hiccuping.

“never.” he moans.

you see it there, the love glittering amongst the almond flecks in your childhood best friend’s eyes — he means it, he promises it and you can feel it with every roll of yuuta’s hips into you while he pins you to the bed. he makes love to you and says what he needs to through his actions this time. through your tangled mess of sweaty limbs and fluttering lashes you find okkotsu’s hand, linking them together. 

the sight of your hands meeting one another brings emotions bubbling to the surface of your skin, hot to yuuta’s touch — it's a symbol that you’ve finally come together after being worlds apart for so long. “you’re finally mine, ‘m never letting you go,” his warm breath coasts across the seam of your lips before he dips into kiss you— tongue gliding over yours as it pushes into the depths of your mouth just as his cock does, brushing up against your g-spot and just  kissing your cervix. “you’re always going to be mine.” 

“i-i’m yours,” your eyes roll back and yuuta loses his pace, his entire body twitching the closer you both get. sex taints the air, both in sound and scent, your cunt squelching around him with how wet you are and how much he leaks into you. “g-gonna cum, yuu! make me cum, make me fucking cum.”  you slur out, anchoring the man down to you with your arms around his neck until yuuta’s forehead is pressed against yours. sweaty locks of his hair and all.

yuuta’s body collapses against you and his thrusts switch to sensual grinds that never let up on your spongey g-spot. “f-fuck me, b-baby. ‘m cummin’,” he croons, panting against your lips and with one, two, three more pumps you’re squirting all over him— the pressure unwinds in your lower belly and you’re hit with blinding white lights and your nails dig into yuuta’s shoulder to the point where you leave bright red crescent moons. “that’s it baby, cum for me, make a mess for me. show me you love me— fuck!” 

you’re still trembling with the aftershocks with your orgasm when the brunette follows suit — the warmth of his seed floods your quivering cunt, painting your folds an opaque white before yuuta pulls out. the last droplets of his cum hit your soft tummy accompanied by his high pitched whine  and then he crumples against you, exhausted from the height of it all. 

“i love you so much,” yuuta hums against your skin, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “it’s always been you.” 

“i love you,” you affirm, knowing that no matter what distance is put between you and your best friend (now lover) — you’ll always find your way back to each other. 

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.