Debate? Heated argument?
What about a quarrel because someone is... jealous. đđ€
But honestly, I've been waiting for you to write a jealous fic/sex trope. đ„șđđ
You're in luck đ I have a scrapped jealousy scene from Hello Nurse that has kissing, on the house:
content warning for Naoya lmao, rated high T, sensuality, cussing
Iâm getting laid, Shoko decides.
Ideally, sheâd prefer a targeted lobotomy: erase everything about Satoru that makes her stomach tie up in knots, but anyone whoâs manifested such a Cursed Technique has yet to step foot through the school gates. The thing about Satoru is heâs insufferable but also oddly considerate in unexpected ways, and these two facets of him are in constant harmony, which is frustrating, because he also has the nerve to be consistent about it.
Satoruâs stopped munching on her party-sized bag of potato chips and is staring at her.
âOh,â Shoko says, realising after a pause. âSaid that out loud, didnât I?â Satoru nods slowly. Sorry. What were you talking about?â
âMy annual âEnd of Summer; Zero Deaths!â party,â he says. He goes back to munching. Shoko got the salt and vinegar flavour out of spite, but that doesnât stop him from stuffing it down by the handful. âIsh gonna be âallow-een-feem.â
âHalloween-themed?â
Satoru nods, swallowing. âYeah, costumes. Youâre coming right? Who knows; you might even get lucky.â
âWho are you going as?â
âThe Dread Pirate Roberts,â Satoru says, puffing out his chest briefly. Probably another character from all those movies he watches, Shoko assumes. âWanna go matchy matchy? I think red suits ya.â
âHa-ha.â Stupid Morgue joke, she thinks. Stupid Satoru, making the same one every year, as if itâll magically land if he does it enough times.
âWorth a shot.â Satoru shrugs. He tips his head back to empty the rest of the potato chips down the hatch.
âSatoru,â Shoko says, suddenly remembering.
âYo!â
âWhat kind of woman do you like?â
Satoru is briefly serious, thinking about it. The moment he smiles, Shoko knows sheâs in for mischief. âHmm, well. I really like women who like me.â
Shoko groans.
âWhat? Itâs the truth.â
âSuch a copout.â
âHowâs it a copout?â Satoru scoffs, and as convincing as it sounds, Shokoâs ears are highly attuned to filtering out the bullshit.
âPlenty of women like you.â
âStill doesnât mean my answerâs a copout.â
âYes it is.â Satoru gives her a blank look. âYouâve noticed all those women liking you; youâve at least figured out your preference if you havenât acted on the fact by now.â
Satoru smiles coyly at her. âWhat an intriguing diagnosis. What makes you so sure I havenât?â
Thereâs a fine line between teasing and flirting. Satoru is a deft hand at blurring that line no matter who he talks to. Five years ago, it made her heart raceâuntil she realised he did that with everyone. Now it just triggers an involuntary eye roll.
âIâm not,â she says while Satoru chuckles. âThatâs why Iâm asking you.â
âItâs Six Eyes, not Six Hundred Eyes. Shoko, come on; I look like the kinda guy with that kind of time on my hands? You know my schedule.â
Another cop out. âI do know your schedule. I also know you have a knack for making space when itâs convenient.â
âHeaven forbid a guy practices time management!â Satoru throws his hands in the air.
âFavourite body part then,â Shoko says. Satoru tilts his head. âAre you a tits man or are you an ass man?â
Satoru snorts, then busts out laughing. He catches the marker pen Shoko flings at his head and sets it down calmly on her desk.
âIâm definitely an uncomfortable man,â he says.
âYouâre lying.â
âAm not Shoko, I really am uncomfy.â
âLook, Iâll get the ball rolling: I like guys with nice bodies. Thatâs why I asked Suguru out,â she says. âSee? Nothing you need to think too hard about.â
âClearly.â Satoru says, catching her in a stare down. Eventually Shoko relents, unnerved. She looks away, digging into her labcoat pocket for the comfort of a cigarette. Stupid man, stupid consistency. âThat strung out, huhâŠâ
âYou donât know the half of it.â Shoko sighs. She balances her cigarette between her lips while she feels around her pant pockets for the lighter. It takes a couple of flicks before she finally gets a flame going. Satoru is quiet as he watches.
âCome to my party,â he says eventually, all teasing gone. âYou never come.â
âI donât like the noise.â
âPlenty of quiet corners. And beer.â
âWhat if I donât want to wear a costume?â
âThen youâre drinking water.â
âAlright, compromise: Iâll come and Iâll wear a costume if you answer the stupidââ
âHands,â Satoru says, heading off her rant at the pass with a smile.
Shoko closes her eyes and takes a drag. Thereâs never any comfortable middle ground when it comes to attention from Satoru. Always the extremes of barely enough, to have her noticing the days between his last visits and his current one, and too much all at once, filling her space with his presence until she feels suffocated by it.
âItâs stupid though,â he says.
âLiking hands isnât stupid,â she says on an exhale.
âI mean liking only one part of a person. People arenât made to be experienced in parts. You take them whole: good, badâŠkinky.â
Shoko opens her eyes and finds him grinning at her, clearly having added that last part just to get a reaction out of her.
Shoko gives him nothing. Sheâs had enough years training herself out of knee-jerk reactions. She closes her eyes again and brushes the delusion aside.
âYouâre weird,â she declares.
âIâm marking you down as Attending,â Satoru says. âWear a costumeâan actual costumeâor you get no beer.â
He goes, leaving her office door open behind him so it can ventilate. âSmoking kills,â he says over his shoulder.
âŠ
The party is in full swing when Shoko finally steps out of the elevator onto the penthouse floor. Sanji (Nanami) is there to let her in before he excuses himself to the bathroom. He doesnât bat an eyelash at Shokoâs outfit, but then Nanami tends not to bat his eyelashes at most things.Â
âUtahimeâs already drunk,â he explains. âI have to go hold her hair. Thereâs a walk-in closet where you can leave your coat.â
Satoru, or âThe Dread Pirate Robertsâ is in the kitchen, finding entertainment in watching a zombie (Itadori) and a witch (Kugisaki) race to see who can shotgun their cokes the fastest while a mummy (Maki) boredly stands off to the side, eating from a skewer.Â
Thereâs a large icebox filled with beers set up by the couches. Shoko passes the kitchen as she weaves her way through the throng toward it, pretending as if she isnât unnerved by the stares following her until she hears glass shattering. When she turns her head to the commotion, she finds Satoru standing there, staring at her like a deer in headlights, with the same blush sheâd seen weeks earlier creeping across his face.Â
Yukiâs about to have a field day.Â
She gives the downright flabbergasted pirate a polite wave in greeting, careful to hide her glee. Then she continues on, retrieving a beer from the ice box and making herself at home on the empty space of couch that Two-Face (Naoya Zenâin) of all people has just cleared out for her. As she crosses one leg over the other, he leers without an ounce of shame, which seems to be a common denominator for these clan types. Then he shifts closer, draping an arm casually behind her head on the couchâs backrest, bringing her into his domain. He smells nice, Shoko will give him that much.Â
âWell hello nurse,â he greets, in the pompous tone of a man very used to getting his way. âYouâre a long way from the Infirmary.âÂ
The current leader of the Hei is a walking red flag, a veritable patron saint of Rotten to the Core. The name Zenâin is a warning label all its own already, but by god does this man work to make sure it stays that way. Shoko knows this, every woman in the jujutsu world knows this.Â
But Naoya is also hot and she came here to get laid. Sheâs already accomplished her primary goal of wiping Satoruâs perennial smirk off his face, and thatâs worth celebrating. Shoko considers both truths as she pops open her beer. She decides just for tonight she doesnât care if Naoya doesnât respect her. Heâs never needed her like everyone else in Tokyo Jujutsu Highâs needed her, come crying when thereâs something to be fixed.Â
Feeling wanted, even if itâs by Naoya Zenâin of all people, is way too nice of a thing to not smile about. Â
âYes, I walked all this way just to sit here with you,â Shoko tells Naoya. Â
...
Naoya gets a phone call from the clan head and excuses himself to the balcony to answer, which is good timing for her, because she needs another beer. Most of the drinks have sunk lower in the icebox on account of the ice melting, so she has to bend a bit to reach. She feels a few of the eyes in her immediate vicinity fixate on her ass as she does, but it canât be helped. Sheâs just straightening up, two cans in hand when her back brushes up against a wall that wasnât there before and smirks as she turns. She didnât expect Naoya to be done with his clan business so quickly, but sheâs far from bothered; it just means she can get to her business too. Â
âAww did you miss mâoh,â Shoko realises, chuckling. Satoru has taped fake anime girl eyes into his blindfolds which are a hilarious contrast to the tension radiating off of him. He crosses his arms any tighter his headâs going to pop off like a cork, she thinks. âThe Dread Pirate Roberts. What an honour.â
âNice costume,â Satoru says. His smile is so fake, Barbieâs probably ringing him off the hook to sue about it.Â
âThank you. I think I might actually be getting lucky tonight, so I appreciate the suggestion.â
The fake smile on Satoruâs face splinters. âNaoya? Really? You couldnât find anyone else to talk to?â
âItâs so fascinating Satoru; I donât think he recognises me. Do you think he remembers what you and Geto did to him during Goodwill?â
âWhat you and me and Geto did to him, you mean.â
âBygones. Weâre adults now, Satoru.â
âHe isnât.â
Shoko smiles, poking him in the chest. âOh? I donât think you have any authority to say how an adultâs supposed to act.â
Satoru bats her hand away and holds up a gloved finger, which he probably assumes is supposed to lend him some kind of gravitas but in Shokoâs eyes he just comes across as petulant. âI got enough authority in this finger, nay, my pinkyââ he says, wagging it in her face, âto say that that guyâs a hundred percent garbage dressed up in a fancy suit.â
âWell, no one else is interested in talking to me, garbage or no garbage.âÂ
Satoru gestures between them. âIâm talking to ya arenât I?â
âDoesnât count; youâre the host. My point stands. No oneâs rushing to talk to me.âÂ
âBecause they saw Naoya talking to you.â
âWhyâd you invite him then?â
âBecause he did me a solid.âÂ
âAhh so heâs only ninety-nine percent garbage then,â Shoko says, and Satoru twitches, one corner of his mouth fighting a smile.Â
âYouâre smarter than this Shoko.â
âItâs sex, Gojo. Nothing to be smart about.â
âWell the sex youâre after is political.âÂ
As if she needed the reminder. Satoru looks at her expectantly. Shoko purses her lips, considering.Â
âWhat if I asked him really nicely to let you off the hook?â
âSnowballâs chance in hell thatâs happening. Look at him, Shoko: throwing his weight around, already enacting his terrorism over there.âÂ
Proclaiming Naoya as a terrorist is a step dramatic even for Satoru, Shoko thinks, as she follows where heâs pointing. âWhat, like heâs marked his territory? That is so ridicââ she cuts off with a snort at the scene on the balcony. Â
Naoya is still on his phone, leaning on the railing, his back to the entire world while he nurses a beer. The other party guests who were on the balcony before him have all instinctively crowded to one side to give him a wide berth. Â
Yes. Marking his territory does sound like something in the realm of what a man who only viewed women as playthings would do.
âItâs fine,â Shoko decides, turning back to Satoru. Heâs staring at the ceiling for no discernible reason, a blush high on his cheeks. âWhatâs with you?â
Satoru mumbles something.Â
âPardon?â
âI said Naoya sucks.â
âThatâs what I thought you said. Now quit being a bad host and go save those poor balcony guests if you care so much. Iâll tell you about the sex tomorrow if Iâm still alive.â
She squeezes his arm and leaves him staring at her back, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out.Â
...
On the spectrum of funny, Naoya is decidedly a lot less funnier than Satoru, which Shoko didnât think possible until tonight. If thereâs anything âfunnyâ about Naoya, itâs the way his gaze occasionally drifts to Maki from time to time. But Shoko also wants to get laid, and clan dynamics incestuous or otherwise are far down her list of things to be judgemental about, so.Â
Itâs an excruciating twenty minute conversation, to say the least.Â
Shoko can only imagine what she looks like, smiling politely, and occasionally giggling, initiating contact by slapping Naoya lightly on the arm as though scandalised. Sheâs fervently relieved Utahimeâs too drunk to see her subject herself to this, but Naoyaâs staked his claim and itâs not as if anyone else is stepping up to the plate. That said, by virtue of his family name, rancid as his personality is, Naoya has to have no shortage of people lining up to throw themselves at his feet for the favours or protection being a Zenâin guarantees. He should be adept at seeing through bullshit pandering, especially since itâs not as if sheâs going for the Oscar here. Thereâs a moment during their conversation where she thinks she sees intuition flash across Naoyaâs face, but it seems to be unfounded when he inevitably cracks another unfunny joke and finally rests a hand on her knee. Shoko smiles as she takes a drink of her beer, dimly aware of the sound of glass shattering, amused by a different punchline:
Naoya is just like every other man.Â
...
And so is Satoru, apparently.
Naoya gets another phone call and Shoko wonât lie: itâs amusing to watch the people on the balcony part like the Red Sea the moment he steps out. She makes her way to the kitchen while Satoru herds everyone into the living room for some party games and starts assigning them up into teams.Â
The first game is charades. Shoko clears an entire tray of beef skewers while she watches, perched on one of the stools behind the kitchen counter. The only thing more entertaining than watching charades is watching drunk people argue technicalities for points.Â
The stool beside Shoko scrapes against the floor. Satoru steals the last beef skewer before she can get to it and cleans it off in one bite, chewing with more gusto than seems necessary since every piece has been cooked until tender.Â
âYou nâ Naoya gettinâ real cozy,â he remarks.Â
âAs cozy as one can get, sidling up to a viperâs nest?â Shoko guesses, smiling.Â
âWell at least you donât need me to tell ya.â
Shoko watches him pull a tray of dumplings over and steals the one he was about to pick up as revenge, popping it into her mouth and smiling innocently back at him afterwards. Satoru mutters something under his breath and picks up a different dumpling.Â
âYou know, Gojo,â Shoko says while they eat. âIf I didnât know any better, Iâd say you wanted Zenâin-kun for yourself.â
Satoru chokes mid-chew, beating a fist against his chest. Shoko claps him behind the back a few times to help dislodge it, admittedly with more force than required. This sudden burst of protectiveness is appreciated but unnecessary. Naoya and his ilk could stand to attend a gender studies class, but itâs not like sheâs setting out to screw a scumbag curse user. Â
Satoru summons an unopened can of soda, andâafter an expectant look from Shokoâa beer from the icebox with Blue. Itâs as heâs sliding the beer over that Shoko notices the red smears on his wrists.Â
She jerks his hands towards her before he can drink so she can examine them closer. No wounds, just remnants of his reversed cursed energy kicking in, and fairly recently, too, judging by the strength of his residuals.Â
âWhat happened here? Fistfight with a knife?âÂ
âTch, no. Pyrex dish exploded.â
âWhat? How? Why? Those are supposed to be oven safe.â
âDunno,â Satoru says. He clears his throat unnecessarily and tugs his hands back. Shoko sits back and watches him eat, a hundred percent certain heâs being evasive and trying to figure the angle.Â
âNever pictured you with a guy like Naoya,â he mutters, before he freezes, eyes wide, like he didnât mean to say it aloud.Â
Too late for him, Shoko pounces. She leans against him, smirking. Shoko doesnât know what possesses her to do it, maybe itâs the costume giving her a boost of confidence, but she curls her fingers over his forearm, idly scraping her nails against the muscle she feels through the black silk of his shirt. Satoru stiffens at the contact, face pink, but he doesnât move away. Â
âOh? You were picturing me with guys? I didnât know your schedule had space for âthat kind of thing.ââÂ
âOh like you donât have time picturing me with women. Miss âwhatâs your type?ââ
Shoko drums her nails against Satoruâs forearm and sighs. âFor your information, I only asked because Yuki wanted to know.â
âYuki?â Satoru repeats, frowning at her. If Shoko didnât know any better, sheâd be tempted to say he looked disappointed. She presses on, tracing an âSâ in his arm with a nail, amused at how every line in Satoruâs body seems to draw tighter the longer she does it. Heâs never been the ticklish sort, so itâs fascinating. Â
âWhat kind of guys, Gojo? Go on, tell me. Youâve been so vocal tonight, donât stop now.â
âGood guys.â Satoruâs tone is clipped.Â
âLook at Mr. Eloquent over here. Whatâs a âgood guyâ? Define it for me.â
âHa, easy: anyone at this party who isnât Naoya.â
âAnyone, huhâŠâ Shoko lets go of his arm and glances to where the rest of the party guests have gathered, engaged in the most intense game of Pictionary sheâs seen, gaze sweeping over the faces she knows.
Kiyotakaâs kind but too awkward. Mei Mei could be fun, but would probably lord it over me if she doesnât try to swindle me first. Utahimeâs already asleep. She tilts her head at Nanami whose lap Utahime has claimed dominion over for the foreseeable future.Â
âI guess thatâs true,â Shoko admits. Satoru nods in that self-satisfied way of his that sheâs used to and pops open his soda. âDo you know if Nanamiâs seeing anyone?â Shoko asks and Satoru spits out his drink.Â
âNanami?â He manages, recovering. Sheesh, from the look on his face youâd think sheâd just declared that Suguru was right this whole time and that sheâs going to buy a ticket on the genocide train.Â
âWhy not? Isnât he a good guy? Or would Haibara be a safer bet. Heâs nice and I like his face.â
âWell, yeah, but.â
âBut what? Is he taken?â
âNo, heâs just.â Satoru glances to Nanami and then back to her, managing to look even more put out, which is dumbfounding, considering Naoya as her only other alternative. âNanami? Seriously!â
The last part comes out so sharply that Shoko startles, and she sees from the way Satoru registers her reaction that the outburst is instantly regretted. Sheâs used to seeing him emotional, but always as a third party watching him rant at Ijichi. Being subject to that ire is as sobering as a shock of ice water to the face.Â
Shoko pops open her beer and skulls it, feeling her hands shake. She canât deal with being sober right now, because then sheâd have to contend with the knowledge of the âgood guyâ sitting right in next to her never, ever, slowing down enough for her to reach him.
âSorry,â Satoru mutters, massaging his temples. âDidnât mean to snap. Hostingâs been a real pain. Think Iâll should just⊠I dunno, hire out an izakaya next time.â
âThatâs the smartest, most adult thing youâve said all day.â Â
âTch. I should confiscate your beer.â Satoru continues to press his fingers to his temples, brows knitted together, eyes closed. Â
âAnother migraine?â
âYeah. From watching you slobber all over roadkill,â Satoru grumbles.
Shoko rolls her eyes and swivels his chair to face hers. Satoru cracks an eye open, looking at her quizzically.Â
âHere.â She pulls his hands down, replacing them with hers along the sides of his face. Satoru closes his eyes.Â
Sheâs done it so many times itâs muscle memory at this point. Locking in on the pressure built up behind his eyes takes her no time at all, and even less time to remove it completely. All in all the process takes no longer than five seconds, but Satoruâs expression remains pinched, so she lingers. She waits for him to move away, because heâs always the first to do so, always laughing awkwardly when he does. Itâs a rejection sheâs built an immunity to from sustained exposure.Â
Satoru finally moves, but not in the way she expects. Both his hands come up to cover hers while he turns his head in towards one of her palms. When she feels him press a kiss into her skin, slowly opening his eyes to meet hers to gauge her reaction, she feels her entire body still as the realisation sinks in.Â
Hands.
Satoru smiles as he tugs her in, his eyes flickering to her mouth. Shoko goes without any resistance, feeling heady from the rush of emotions flowing through her.Â
Maybe itâs the universeâs way of evening the playing field, that for all of Satoruâs ethereal beauty, the allure of it is always instantly dispelled by the first thing that comes out of his mouth. For years sheâs considered herself immuneâand to a greater extent, specialâbecause itâs never happened to her. Sheâs heard every conceivable off colour thing this manâs said, always felt an innate certainty that with all the years sheâs spent supporting him, thereâs nothing he could ever say to make her want to turn and run.Â
Until tonight.Â
The validation of every thought, every feeling, the alleviation of every doubt sheâs ever had about the possibility of him returning her feelings; uplifted to heaven in a single gesture only to be dragged straight back to hell in the next. Ruined by the first thing out of his mouth, just as their lips are about to touch:
âDonât go with him.â
Shoko pulls her hands back, too shocked to even derive some satisfaction from the way Satoruâs face falls. Her body moves automatically, muscle memory kicking in as it registers the grief, discerning no difference to her losing someone on her operating table, or completing an autopsy on a former colleague. She hops out of her stool, calmly goes over to the sink and washes her hands, dries them methodically like she always does, pausing to take in a pile of cracked glass and ceramic swept haphazardly into a corner, red streaks lining some of the larger pieces. Shoko decides she doesnât care. She strides out of the kitchen and continues to the balcony towards Naoya, past everyone having a blast at karaoke, too drunk to pay them any mind. Satoru follows, ashen faced and stricken.Â
âShoko? Whatâs the matter? Why are youââ
Shoko reaches Naoya and snatches the phone out of his hand, ending the call. Naoya raises an eyebrow at her afterwards, a cruel smirk promising retribution on his face even after she hands back his phone. The few other people on the balcony scatter, heading for the safety of Satoruâs living room.Â
âThe last woman who gave me attitude,â Naoya says, advancing, âI had herââ
âDonât care,â Shoko says briskly. âYouâre hot, I like your face and I want to sit on it. You can fuck me however way you want after. We doing this or not?â Â
Naoyaâs smirk widens, gaze raking greedily over her. He takes another step forward. âAlright, feisty. Your place or mine?âÂ
âNeither,â Satoru cuts coldly in before Shoko can answer, looming over Shokoâs frame like an overgrown shadow. âSheâs not going anywhere with you.â
âThatâs my decision,â Shoko snaps, but Satoruâs attention remains fully focused on Naoya. She turns and prods him in the chest, which is the same thing as trying to poke steel. âOi. Donât talk like Iâm not here.â
âNaoya-kun.â Satoru says, as politely as he can manage through clenched teeth. He tries to put a placating hand on Shokoâs shoulder but she immediately shrugs him off. âI think you should go. Sheâs only going to use you.â
âI donât mind,â Naoya says, really more to Shokoâs cleavage than her face. Satoruâs eye twitches. Shoko inwardly rolls her eyes.Â
Men.Â
âWell if heâs leaving then Iâm leaving too,â Shoko declares.Â
Satoru frowns at her, confused for all of two seconds before he clicks.Â
âWaitâŠwhat the hell, youâre mad at me? The hell did I do?â
Shoko pointedly ignores him, looking at Naoya. âWell?â
Naoyaâs gaze shifts back and forth between her and Satoru, briefly perplexed before his smirk returns. âNo idea what the hellâs going on here, but Iâve seen youââ he nods at Satoruâ âwatching me like a hawk, and youââ he nods at Shokoâ âchatting me up all night. You both want a piece? Fine by me, but I get to top.â
Satoru doubles over laughing. Shoko pinches the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine coming on. Naoya crosses his arms, watching the two of them, waiting for an answer.Â
Satoru finally recovers, dropping a hand on Naoyaâs shoulder. He shakes his head. âNot even in your wettest, wildest dreams, Nao-chan.âÂ
Shoko is already halfway to the hallway while Naoya shakes him off, digging into her pocket for her phone to call a cab. Satoru swears under his breath as he pursues, only a few steps behind her.Â
âShoko! What did I do?â
âIeiri?â Naoya spits out, aghast. âFuck! I knew she looked familiar!â
...
Satoruâs hallway feels twenty times longer than it initially felt when she arrived, which is doubly annoying because he remembers he can teleport, and does so, cutting her off at the halfway point. Shoko barely manages to stop herself from walking into him. She tries to shoulder past but he catches her wrist.Â
âWhy are you mad at me? What did I do? Back in the kitchenâlook if you donât want me thatâs fine, butââ
âDonât go with him,â Shoko deadpans. âSeriously.â
âBecause he sucks! Why are you being soââ
âThe second I start paying attention to someone else then suddenly Iâm worthââ
âHey, thatâs not fair,â Satoru says, looking hurt. âI didnât even know you liked me like that until five seconds ago. Give a guy a chance to catch up will ya? I didnât even know I had a chaââÂ
âWhat? Of course I like you like that, stupid dumb idiot! Iâm still here, arenât I? After everything, Satoru!â Shoko hisses, just in case karaoke isnât loud enough to drown out their argument.
Satoru recoils from the outburst, startled.Â
Iâve fucked it up. Iâve fucked it. Whatever, Iâll live.Â
Shoko exhales and soldiers forward. Given time, none of this will matter in the grand scheme of things.
âIâm sorry. Look, itâs just. I put you first, I put everyone else first. I always have. Iâm not complaining, I know my role in all of this. I just thought for once it was the other way round. And it felt niceâŠuntil you opened your big fat mouth.â
Satoru just stares, saying nothing.Â
She takes that as her cue to leave, brushing past him. She makes it about two steps before he catches her wrist.Â
âIâm sorry. Forget I said anything,â she says quietly, feeling too petty and small to look him in the eye even as he tugs her back, that same hand moving to cup her cheek. âI just needââÂ
She breaks off as Satoru kisses her.
...
Shoko will give Satoru this much, the man knows how to kiss. Itâs just as well that he does, because itâs good enough to stop her from wondering about all the other people heâs kissed before he finally got to her. His free hand weaves around, supporting her back so he can tilt her, smiling against her mouth briefly before he pulls away and straightens, taking her weight as she sags against him, her hands resting on his chest.Â
It takes Shoko a few seconds to bring her brain back online, which would be mortifying, if Satoru didnât also look like he was having just as hard a time catching his breath.Â
âUh,â he says intelligently, possessing only enough braincells to grin goofily at her from ear to ear.Â
âY-yeah,â Shoko says, just as intelligently, feeling a sudden hunger thrum throughout her body, sharp and hot until itâs all she can focus on. The equationâs simple enough: she wants him, he clearly wants her; the answer to said equation is even simpler: what the hell are they doing just standing around for?Â
Satoru clears his throat. âSooo,â he starts, conversationally.Â
Shoko curls her fingers into his collar and drags him back to her mouth, a hand sliding up the nape of his neck to card through his hair.Satoru makes a noise as his back hits the wall, hands flailing uselessly in the air as he kisses her back. While heâs so distracted, Shoko goes for his belt, unfurling his shirt from the waistband of his pants. Satoru makes another noise and catches her wrists, holding them up and out towards her sides. Shoko adapts, slipping her tongue into his mouth, pressing the length of her body up against his and rubbing against him. It works like a dream: Satoruâs grip on her wrists starts to slacken, moaning into her mouthâ
âYo! Gojo-sensei!â Yuji calls from the living room, the equivalent of cold water dousing the fire between them. âYour turn on the mic! Anyone seen Gojo-sensei?â
Satoru breaks away from Shokoâs mouth immediately, panting hard as he puts distance between them. He straightens, hands shaking as he tucks his shirt back into his pants, attempting to work his hair into some semblance of the âstylishlyâ dishevelled look it was before Shoko got her fingers in it. Irritating as it is, Shoko will concede this about the interruption: itâs a nice ego boost on top of the catharsis of having her feelings returned, being able to admire her handiwork and let her imagination run wild on what else she can inflict upon this man.Â
âProbably sucking face with Ieiri,â Naoya says drily, in a rare display of leaving his self-centred bubble long enough to concern himself with other people. Shoko always assumed that was only something he did in battle. Â
Satoru just shoots a dirty glare towards the living room, blushing profusely. Â
Haibara busts out laughing. There's a loud thud and Naoya coughs. âHahaha! Good one Zenâin-kun!â
Shoko tries to approach Satoru again, but finds she canât get within two steps of him, thanks to his Infinity. Satoruâs clearly realised that any attempt at restraining her requires their bodies to be touching, thereby opening himself up to further exploitation on her part. Heâs probably also considered sitting on her or tying her up, but has wisely refrained because he doesnât want her more annoyed than she currently is. Shoko huffs and plants her hands on her hips, pursing her lips.Â
Stupid idiot, Shoko thinks, peeved, moving to lean against the wall opposite Satoru as a peace offering. Always smart only in the nick of time.Â
âDonât be crass,â Maki says, murmurs of agreement following. âEveryone knows Ieiriâs too good for that idiot.âÂ
Shoko nods in agreement. Satoru looks as if heâs just taken enough mental damage for his own soul to vacate his body.Â
âAnd how much are you willing to bet on that?â Mei Mei chimes in, scenting blood like the dirty capitalist she is. Someone groans. âWhat? You think this manicure grows on trees? A girlâs gotta eat.â
âThought you wanted me,â Shoko says quietly. Â
âYou fucking kidding me?â To his credit, he does look both apologetic and similarly frustrated about the situation, raking a hand through his hair, gaze sweeping longingly, hungrily over her, triggering an almost automatic lust low in her belly. He gestures wildly at all of her. âYouâre wearing a nurse costume and stockings, for fuckâs sake! I got half a mind to barrel you over my couch.âÂ
âSo why donât you?â
Satoru chuckles. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. âWell, dunno if ya noticed, but half the jujutsu community are on that couch right now.â
Shoko fights a smile. Stupid man and his capacity to only be funny in the worst of times.Â
âI hate you,â she says, managing to keep an even tone about it.
Satoru still smiles, eyes twinkling. âAww, donât be like that.â
âNo. I hate you.â Shoko enunciates crossly, turning her head away before he realises that charm can be weaponised against her. âIâve liked you all this time and this is the thanks I get. I donât even want to think about all the credibility Iâve lost wearing this stupid costume. I got half a mind to go running back to Naoya.â
Silence.
âI mean,â Satoru mumbles to his feet, scratching the back of his neck. âI thought youâd come as Buttercup not⊠I mean Iâm totally not complaining but I didnât think youâd actuallyââ
âWhat was that?â Shoko snaps, an eye twitching.Â
âNothing!â Satoru says quickly. He must have lowered his Infinity, because in the next instant heâs in front of her, taking one of her hands into both of his and squeezing. Shoko scowls up at him, feeling her resolve falter at the utter earnestness in his eyes. Damn him. âIâll make it up to you. Promise. Good things come to those who wait, right?â
Shoko finds herself smirking. âIf you say so,â she says.Â
She snatches back her hand and turns on her heel, striding confidently back to the living room. If thereâs anything she knows about Satoru, itâs that Paragon of Patience he is not.
âWhat? Whatâs that supposed to mean?â Satoru mutters, trailing a few steps behind. âShoko?â
âAbsolutely nothing,â Shoko lies.Â
...
If itâs a battle of wills Satoru wants, Shokoâs happy to accommodate. Thirteen years of observing the man, be it fighting or teaching or goofing around has taught Shoko that he does not possess a single reserved bone in his bodyâironic, considering the one sheâd felt growing against her stomach five minutes earlier. Heâs been spoiled by having Ijichi as a pressure valve to let off the steam before too much of it can accumulate, but Ijichi or no Ijichi, itâs not as if heâs ever had any trouble articulating his grievances.Â
Armed with tonightâs realisations, Shokoâs determined to become the most difficult grievance for Satoru to ever have the displeasure of trying to ignore, let alone protest about. She may have agreed to wait, but that doesnât mean sheâs rolling over and letting the time pass uneventfully for him. Sheâs spent enough of her twenties doing that, thank you very much, and fuck him for making her wait. Dark corners her foot. Â
At the very least, it will be an interesting stress test to see how many contrived, misinterpreted scenarios itâs going to take to crack him. Her moneyâs on Nanami as a heavy hitter, but Haibara could be a wild card, which is why heâs up first. Itâs free amusement for her either way.Â
Haibara is cheerfully munching his way through a tray of pull-apart cheeseburger sliders and occasionally singing along with whoeverâs got the microphone at karaoke. Shoko reclaims her seat at the kitchen island beside him while Satoru passes, taking the microphone from Yuji at the front of the living room by the TV. Satoru clearly isnât concerned because Haibaraâs the guy who takes everyone at face value, and wouldnât know a flirtatious line if she sat beside him and had a name tag that read âHi! Iâm Flirting With Youâ sticky-taped to her bosom.Â
âAyy, park it there, Shoko-san!â Haibara greets, grinning at her through a mouthful of beef and cheese. He doesnât even get distracted by her boobs which gives Shoko a newfound appreciation and respect for the guy. Haibara may not be special grade, but he is an anomaly amongst his peers, with that endless optimism.Â
âHey Yu,â Shoko says, smiling and actually meaning it for once, âhowâs life treating ya?â
âBetter now that youâre here. So good to see ya out and about!â Sauce dribbles down the corners of Haibaraâs mouth.
Shoko realises her cheeks hurt because her smile has turned into a full blown grin. In another life, sheâd let that unpretentious charm of Haibaraâs sweep her off her feet. Just her luck, falling for a serial schemer instead of someone so wholesome and uncomplicated.Â
âWhat?â Haibara says.Â
âYou got a littleâŠâ Shoko canât help but laugh when Haibara uses his tongue to try to mop up the sauce, only succeeding in spreading more of it around his mouth.Â
âHowâs that?â
âBetter.â
âAwesome!â
âNo, you idiot, you got it everywhere,â Shoko laughs.Â
Haibara just shrugs like this is his life now, nothing to do except roll with it, which is just the most Haibara thing ever.Â
And seeing a mess and feeling a responsibility to clean it is unfortunately just the most her thing ever. Shoko grabs a napkin and leans forward, beckoning for Haibara to follow suit. âCome here then.â
âOkay!â
Shoko wets the napkin with water from an opened bottle and wipes away the sauce as best she can from Haibaraâs face while he giggles.Â
âThat tickles Shoko-san,â Haibara says, when she pokes his cheek.Â
A few more daubs here and there and, âPerfect,â Shoko declares at last, leaning back.Â
âThanks!â Haibara says. He grabs another two sliders and stuffs them into his mouth and thereâs more sauce dribbling out than before.Â
Shoko tosses the used napkin to an empty part of the table with a sigh. As Haibara goes back to eating, she tunes back into karaoke just in time to see Satoruâs head whip back to the lyrics rolling across the LED, his jaw slightly set.Â
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