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thatdammchickennugget · 3 months

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Take Care Of My Girl

pairing - mattheo riddle x fem!reader x lorenzo berkshire

warnings - cursing, smut, unprotected p in v, unprotected anal, threesome, some cringey dirty talk, MINORS DNI || 18+

wordcount - 2.7k

a/n - I just saw that I reached 1.000 followers that's insane! I wanna thank every single one of you for reading, reblogging, commenting, and following little old me, it really means so much to me <3 to celebrate I finally pushed myself to finish this, I hope you like it <3

You should not have played with him this morning. But dressed in a pretty short black dress and feeling on top of the world with your hair falling down your back in perfect silky locks, you saw your chance to rile him up.

Knowing that you only had a couple of minutes left before you had to leave for the annual ball hosted by the Berkshire’s at the end of every summer, you grasped at the opportunity to tease your boyfriend.

He looked like a dream in his black suit and emerald collared shirt, hair tousled perfectly.

Mattheo was fixing his tie in front of the wide gold-rimmed mirror in his bedroom when you re-emerged from the bathroom after putting the finishing touches on your make-up.

Pressing your chest against his back, you snaked your arms around his middle, your palms rubbing along the edge of his slacks, middle and pointer finger sliding inside the tight-fitting material to play with the hem of his boxers.

One of your hands strayed from its path to slide up over his chest, soothing some of the tension from his tight muscles.

He finished fixing his tie as you scattered slow kisses along his shoulder blades, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror when your fingers found their way into his underwear.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he quipped, the corner of his lip quirking up as he studied the way you batted your lashes. He was fully aware you were up to something.

Cheek squished against his arm, you pushed your lips into a pout. “I need you, Matty.”

You did not miss the mischievous glint in his stare. It was never hard to rile him up, at least it wasn’t hard for you.

One of his hands found its place on your wrist, stopping your hand from sliding down even further. “What exactly do you need from me, baby?”

Pushing up onto your toes to nip at his ear, you made sure to let your breath hit the spot behind his ear. His weak spot, the spot that could make him melt beneath you if you targeted it just right.

“I need your cock.”

Through the mirror, you watched him bite down on his lower lip. He started pushing your hand closer to their destination, speaking in a low voice. “Why don’t you go ahead and show me just how needy you are?”

You happily obliged, sliding a hand over his length, relishing in the sound of the small gasp leaving his lips. One of his hands reached behind him, grasping your ass and pulling you even closer against his chest.

Slowly stroking him, you watched his face in the mirror, waiting for the moment he closed his eyes and leaned his head back before pulling your hand away and leaving a quick, teasing slap on his backside.

His eyes flew back open, finding yours with a confused expression. Sending him your cheeriest smile, you went to grab your bag. “Okay, let’s go. We’re going to be late if we don’t hurry.”

A knowing smirk made its way onto his face. That was the moment you should have realised he would retaliate, but you were feeling much too good about yourself to notice it.

You made your entrance at the Berkshire manor, greeting whoever Mattheo deemed important enough, and made polite conversation with whoever came up to talk to you. Soon Enzo arrived, and your boyfriend was pulling you along behind him as he followed his friend to the library, happy to get away from the crowd.

You took your place on one of the sofas, your thighs pressing against his as you leaned into him, watching as Enzo threw himself down on the sofa across from you. The boys instantly opened up a discussion on Quidditch, so you took the moment to relax, already exhausted from socialising this much.

At first, you didn't even notice when Mattheo’s hand edged higher and higher up your thigh, but once it finally made its way beneath your dress, you instinctively clenched your legs together. Mattheo was not having it, his grip tightening as he pulled them apart.

You froze in place when his fingertips ghosted along the hem of your panties, checking if Enzo had noticed what he was up to. Thankfully, he was not paying attention to you whatsoever, completely focused on what Mattheo was saying.

There was a hint of desperation in Mattheo’s touch now as he ran his thumb along the top of your panties. You caught his little smirk when he felt the wet patch beneath his finger, rubbing slow circles over your clit.

Your legs opened a bit more, silently asking him to continue despite the feeling of shame washing over you. His touch on your sensitive bud had goosebumps forming all over your body, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet anyway.

Closing your eyes, you thought about his soft lips on your neck and his strong hands on your hips. About his powerful thrusts inside of you, and a new excitement washed over you. By the time he pushed your drenched underwear to the side and slid a finger inside of you, you had completely forgotten there was someone else in the room.

Mattheo began pumping his finger in and out at an agonisingly slow place, his thumb still drawing circles on your clit. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped past your lips. Grinding your teeth together, you embraced the pleasurable feeling of your oncoming orgasm until you heard a soft groan from the other sofa.

Your eyes snapped open only to meet Enzo’s, staring back at you, his eyes wide. Your cheeks flushed a bright red in embarrassment at being caught, though you felt yourself unwillingly clench around Mattheo's finger.

Your hand went to grab your boyfriend's wrist, trying to withdraw his hand from your core. He responded by pushing a second finger into your tight hole, increasing the pace of his thrusting digits. Another moan tumbled from your mouth when your gaze shifted, dropping down to find Enzo rubbing himself over his pants.

Suddenly everything became too much. Too overwhelming. The pleasure building between your legs was rising quickly, the intensity of Mattheo’s fingers pushing deep into your centre had you moaning louder and louder. Dropping your head back, you clutched at his arm tightly, your nails sure to be leaving marks on his skin.

"Oh, god," you cried out. Mattheo paused, his fingers withdrawing slightly as he looked down at you, his brows furrowed.

Then the corner of his lips curled up before he pulled them out completely, bringing his fingers up to his mouth, tasting your juices. "Mmm...so sweet."

With a whimper, you grabbed at his collar to pull him closer. But before your lips could meet, the door flew open, a familiar head of blonde hair appearing in the doorway.

"Mattheo, come on. My father wants to introduce us to someone," Draco told him, not even waiting for a reply before he was out in the hallway again.

Your jaw dropped when your boyfriend actually stood up, making his way to the door. "Really? You're going to leave me right now?"

He just looked at you with a cheeky grin, before turning to Enzo, making the other boy rush to attempt to cover the bulge in his pants. "Take care of my girl for me while I'm gone?" he said with a wink, pulling the door closed behind him.

Silence fell over the room. All you could hear was the heavy breathing of Enzo and your own erratic breaths. He had placed a pillow on his lap, refusing to meet your eyes, his face still flushed. A newfound boldness took over you at his flustered state and you pushed yourself off your seat, slowly making your way to where he was sitting.

He gulped when you came to a stop in front of him, your thighs brushing against his knees. You caught his eyes raking down your body, halting at your hips where your short dress was still pushed up, your panties clear on display.

Then they lifted up and found yours, full of heat.

"Are you going to?" you asked him in a low voice, almost a whisper. "Are you going to take care of me?"

His hands hesitantly rose to touch the side of your thighs, his touch leaving goosebumps in their path as they travelled up your exposed skin. When they found their destination at your hips, he hooked his fingers under your panties, sliding them down and revealing your soaked core.

He licked his lips, a nervous look crossing his features as you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Your hips rocked forward, desperate to pull another groan from him.

Slowly, Enzo brought one hand up to cup your breast, kneading it softly through the thin material of your dress before he leaned in closer, his lips leaving soft kisses along your neck. You let out a shaky breath, grinding down harder against his growing bulge. Pressing his free hand between your legs, his fingertips teasingly brushed along your folds.

A gasp escaped you as you started rocking against him, needy for more. And more he gave. Steadily, Enzo teased your sensitive bud with his talented fingers. His tongue leaving wet trails down your neck, his lips lingering against your ear. "I’ll take really good care of you. I'll make you feel so good," he rasped.

It was like he had flipped a switch, all the tension that had been simmering underneath came pouring out as he captured your lips with his. Two of his fingers pushed into you, pumping in and out at a rapid pace while his other hand pulled down the front of your dress.

Enzo's lips pulled back, quickly attaching themselves back to your skin and trailing down to your exposed breasts. Your head thrown back, the loud moans now tumbled out of you freely. "That's it, love. Let me make you feel good," he mumbled against the soft skin around your nipple, before taking the hardened peak into his mouth.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you moaned loudly, your climax exploding as his teeth grazed over your sensitive nipple, body convulsing around his fingers. Enzo’s finger’s slowed their pace and he pulled you back into another kiss, his tongue running along your lower lip, until you finally collapsed against his chest.

You took a moment to come down from your high before you started sliding your hands down his chest towards the button of his pants. His eyes widened as your fingers made quick work unbuttoning them, one hand slipping under the waistband to stroke him over the material of his underwear.

A sigh left his mouth as your fingers worked on his swollen cock, eager for some release. Enzo groaned out your name, as you pushed the restraining material down,his whole body shuddering with pleasure when you took him into your hand. You smiled smugly as you continued to pump him, his hips thrusting forwards in response.

Pulling his head back by grasping some of his hair, you held his gaze while lowering yourself down onto his tip, relishing in how his hands gripped onto your hips tightly. You started rocking your hips slowly, teasing his tip, sliding it along your folds.

He growled and bucked up against you, his body shaking with the pleasure you were bringing him. Your mouth left open mouthed kisses along his neck , sucking and biting along his sensitive skin. Enzo’s grip tightened on your hips, pulling you impossibly close to himself.

You slid further down and he gasped sharply, his fingers pushing into your skin as he pushed you down, fully driving his erection inside you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you began rocking your hips faster, one of his hands sliding down to find your clit.

He groaned in pleasure as he slammed harder into you, the friction sending sparks through your entire being. Enzo’s breathing was becoming more laboured, each thrust causing him to moan and cry out your name.

The pressure building within you threatened to burst from inside of you, and your toes curled, when you heard the door creak open behind you. Your hips stopped rocking and your hands squeezed Enzo’s shoulder blades. Both of you froze at the sound of footsteps coming closer.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," Mattheo rasped into your ear when he came to a stop behind you. "Come on, keep going."

Your whole body stiffened at his words and your fingers dug deeper into Enzo’s shoulders. Enzo met your eyes, an unsure look on his face and his jaw clenched. Slowly his hips started to rock up again, his movements slower than before.

Enzo’s breathing grew heavier as your hips started moving against him faster. You felt one of Mattheo's hands on your hips, pushing you down to meet Enzo's thrusts, the other coming down to smack your ass.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle at your yelp when his palm met your skin, the noise only fueling your arousal. A loud moan left Enzo’s mouth at your reaction. Mattheo's hand came up to your face, thump running over your bottom lip. "Open up, baby."

You obeyed instantly, opening your mouth to wrap your lips around his finger. You let out a small whine when he pulled it back out, resulting in another slap to your sensitive skin. Then a gasp tumbled from your mouth as he slowly pushed his saliva covered thump against the tight ring of your ass.

"Fucking hell..." Enzo breathed out when he slipped out of you and then slammed back into you again, intently watching your face as Mattheo slowly pushed his finger deeper.

As your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you let out a louder moan, you felt Mattheo bite down on your shoulder, now pumping his finger into your ass in an agonising rhythm. Your whole body arched and shook as you felt your release getting closer with every pump of his finger.

"Are you ready, good girl?" Mattheo nipped at your ear, the warm breath hitting your neck sending a shiver down your spine.

"Yes, please, Matty," you whined, leaning back against his chest as your eyes remained on Enzo's flushed face.

Your boyfriend muttered a quick lubrication charm before throwing his wand on the sofa behind him, replacing his finger with his already leaking tip. Your eyes clenched shut at the pleasurable pain when Mattheo slowly pushed himself into you, rocking into you gently before picking up his pace.

"God...fuck...fuck...yes!" you cried out, grabbing Enzo's biceps tightly, your nails digging in as they both started thrusting into you in sync, your muscles contracting around them. Your body trembled and your vision started fading in and out as your brain grew fuzzy. Everything faded out except the feeling of their bodies pressed against you, their moans filling the room as they pounded into you and you let the orgasm wash over you, Enzo still rubbing shapes into your sensitive bud.

Enzo cried out as he felt you clench around him, his own body tensing as a rush of pleasure rushed through him. He let out another guttural groan as his release followed right behind yours, shooting his seed deep inside you before his hips jerked forward one final time.

Mattheo's thrust soon became even more erratic and sloppy, his body meeting yours with heavy gasps. His teeth sunk back into the skin of your shoulder as he rode out his high. Panting in pleasure, his hands pulled you back against his chest.

You slumped against him, tears of pleasure pricking your eyes. Your chest ached as your heart beat frantically against your ribcage. You buried your face into the crook of Enzo's neck for a moment. Then you felt yourself being lifted off of Enzo's lap, Mattheo gently laying you down on the sofa next to the other boy.

Your boyfriend grabbed his wand, non-verbally casting a spell to clean the both of you up before sitting down himself and pulling you up onto his legs, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

"You can go now," he snapped at Enzo, who quickly scrambled to pull his pants back up and leave the room. You let out a soft laugh at his flustered expression, resting your head on Mattheo's chest.

Mattheo leaned down to press his lips to the top of your head, asking with a teasing tone, "Was this what you had in mind this morning?"

Mattheo + Enzo Taglist: @slytherinboysappreciation @urmomsgirlfriend1 @remussbitch @nighttimewrites @starsval @gillyweeds @sir-elian @harryslittlebitch @thatblackthorn @gayforyelena @whoreforfictionalmen18 @darkacademicvibes @marauderswhxre @ravenclawprincess33 @sbrn0905 @atadoddinnit @helpimhopelesslyinlove @carav4l

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riaki · 5 months

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nice boys and sour hearts | satoru gojo x reader

wc: 4.6k cw: minor swearing, he refers to u as 'momma' once (its normal i promise) n i think thats about it post suguru defection, shoko typical smoking ; no established relationship b ur def more than friends

i didnt want this angst to be too intense so i made it super duper fluffy. hopes it tastes like strawberries to u cs it does in my head ; another one of those fics i whipped up to meet the weekend deadline b i’m actually proud of this one not proofread!

satoru hates arguing with you.

it bites at him; twists his heart from the inside out in such a gut-wrenching way that he can hardly stand seeing your nose wrinkle in frustration and your eyes narrow with impatience, let alone hear the words coming out of your mouth, dripping with venom and irritation directed at him. he's never been used to being on the receiving end.

it tastes sour; bitter on his tongue in a way he's never been accustomed to. his tastebuds only recognize the sweet taste of fruit syrup, powdered sugar, or warm chocolate as home; he never indulges in the bitter, like the black coffee the kid he took in seems to like so much. but he'll take the silly sour lemon drops with sweet cream in the center, only because they remind him of you. you, so sweet when you love but sour when you're annoyed, which happens to be now, in this instant.

of course, he'll tell himself he doesn't mind. that sweet and sour have always gone nicely together. like strawberry lemonade on hot summer afternoons when the both of you have had enough of being stuffed into a clammy hot classroom with your musclebrain teacher. sometimes its the three of you, maybe even the four of you if you get lucky with the pixie stick trade offering (a healthier alternative to a cigarette, you both agreed on). but nowadays, it was only ever the two of you. the bitter had chosen his own path, and tangy was locked up in the infirmary sun up to sun down.

but right now, you're upset with him. and he absolutely despises it— to him, it's abhorrent. a strong word, but it's only fitting. but he can't help it when your conversation lingers in his mind, spinning itself a web of self-doubt and hurt and anger as he slips his gym shoes off and redresses himself by the school lockers, running a hand through his hair with a forced, annoyed exhale.

it was nothing big, really. or at least, that's what he thinks. you'd been in the gym after school, watching as he messed around with the basketball, seeing how long he could go dribbling by himself with a bump of his knee there, pushing it to the floor with his hand and watching it bounce back up with mild interest. he had no one to play with, but at least the ball would come back up no matter how much he pushed it down.

it was small. barely worth fussing over.

he had already been irritated. it was hot out, because summer was coming around. sweat beaded on his neck and rolled down his chest, seeping into his shirt as he wiped his forehead and made another shoot at the hoop, landing back on his feet with a soft thud as the basketball rattled around the rusted metal ring and fell through the net for the nth time that afternoon.

a hum of approval comes from your throat, followed by a loud whistle of contentment from him as he watches the ball bounce on the floor. he hikes his sunglasses up his forehead, bringing an arm up and wiping away the sweat on his cheek with his sleeve as he turns to look at you.

"that was pretty good, yeah? i think i deserve a celebratory smooch. lay some sugar on me, momma'." he laughs, loud and arrogant. you just give him a pointed look at that, but he ignores it as a sign for something wrong and only acknowledges it as your dramatic endearment. like speeding up at the sight of a yellow light in hopes that you'll make it instead of slowing down at the warning.

his shoes made squeaking sounds on the gym floor as he made his way over to you, swiping his shades off his face and sliding them onto your forehead, nestling in your hair as he grabbed a rag from the bench and wiped the sweat from his jaw. you have his uniform jacket on your lap, the yellow button glinting in the dying sunlight filtering in through the windows, reflecting off indiscernible flecks of dust in the air.

you had watched him with quiet contentment, observing the languid way he moved, graceful like a dancer moving in water. but then, you seemed to remember something; his lips pressed into a thin line, tilted to one side in anticipation. it made you hesitate— he always knew when you were about to speak before you even opened your mouth. he had come to notice, and appreciate, little things about you like that.

"were you smoking with shoko?" you had asked him. he tilted his head, eyebrow cocked up as he made a face. "no, i wasn't. why d'ya ask?" he huffed, watching from the corner of his eye with mild disinterest as the basketball, still rolling from his previous goal, bumped into the wall. cocky as ever.

(he wouldn't even look you in the eye when you were being dead serious.)

you reach a hand into his jacket, fishing around for something in his pocket; that gets his attention. who knows what trinkets and candy wrappers he has in there? and he'd hate for you to send him to his yearly checkup early again; the nurses always try to coddle him, and he has half a mind to charge for battery. nevertheless, he almost mistakes what you pull out for a lollipop stick. but it's not— it's a cigarette; a white papery hit of cancer with a dead cherry. certainly not a wise idea to keep that in his pocket among the other very flammable wax wrappers and the occasional flower petal, but who were you to judge? you, who's lips pucker like they've just tasted lemon juice when he eyes the unlit cigarette, utterly unamused.

he knows that you know it's his; the subtle glistening of pink around the end points to the gloss on his lips; he can practically taste it on his tongue. he wonders if you'd put the cigarette to your mouth too if you could have a sample of his lipgloss; then again, you could always just ask for a lip-to-lip taste, and he'd indulge you without a second thought.

you twist the cigarette butt between your fingers so that he can see the remnants of faint strawberry pink on the edges. he just rolls his eyes with a loud huff, leaning his weight back on his heels and shoving his hands in his pant pockets.

"yeesh. you're such a goody two shoes, y'know? how come shoko's allowed to smoke 'n i'm not?" he drawls, an arrogant lilt to his voice as he sticks his lower lip out. you can see a matte spot where the gloss had been transferred to the cigarette paper. you just sigh exasperatedly (he feels like a kid when you do that) and lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. his jacket bunches up in your lap.

you tap the cigarette to his chest a few times; it makes a soft thumping sound against the fabric, and for a moment he's grateful of the noise; it sounds just like the way his heartbeat picks up with each touch, but you don't hear it. he wonders if you ever will. maybe one day, when there isn't so much distance between you and he has the opportunity to tuck your head to his chest, right over his heart.

"it's not that i care about the lung damage, idiot. why were you smoking?" you asked, voice softening. and he absolutely hates when you do that, because it always pulls on his heartstrings and brings a flush to his face, the way you treat him. he thought that if you did it enough, he'd be sent to the doctor for heart palpitations instead of a sweet tooth.

he doesn't answer you at that. how could he tell you, when he knew all that'd result from it was a thorn in his side? you, being the rose. so beautiful but awfully prickly and unfairly sour like a lemondrop with a sweet inside. then again, he'd much rather have your interrogating care than lose you, like what had happened with the reason he was trying out smoking in the first place.

then, it happened— your voice went unbearably soft, like puffy white covers and featherlight pillows with silk covers on a saturday morning, looking out the window to see pink tulips against a cloudy blue sky as the sun streamed in. it almost made him want to clutch your hand over his chest and see if you could feel the way he was reacting. no doubt, it was filled with such patient tenderness; all-encompassing sweetness it made him want to cry. so he coughed to cover it up, averting his gaze and bringing one hand to his face to absentmindedly smooth down the strands of damp white hair hanging over his eyes.

"thinkin' about suguru again, are you?" you asked gently, tucking the cigarette back into your pocket—yours, not his—and reaching out to take his hand.

his lips parted ever so slightly, gaping like a goldfish. he knew he looked silly, and he should've been okay with that— because being vulnerable with you, out of everyone he ever knew (with maybe the exception of one) was easier than breathing; came more naturally to him than his gravitation to a challenge. the same could be said for sweets.

(maybe he'd have to re-evaluate his proclaimed taste, then. since you were more sour than sweet.)

but this time, he wasn't okay with it. it had been hard to talk about what had happened with suguru one year ago since— it formed a nasty lump in his throat, bitter like black coffee and the wrong mix of herbs. it made him feel weak. reminding him of his shortcomings, which, in his mind, shouldn't even exist in the first place. but you never had a problem ripping his problems from the shielded cavity in his gut, bringing them under the operator's light to dissect and solve like a surgeon. forget about forcing him to the doctor's— at this point, you should be the one in the white coat, not shoko. he thinks about what you'd look like with blue gloves on your delicate fingers for a moment too long.

"what's it to you?" he snaps back after what feels like three years of his life. his fingers tighten around yours for a moment before he pulls his hand away abruptly.

the frown that lingered on your face from then on had been burned into his memory.

and, well, that was his mistake. it spiraled from there— because he knew what it was to you, and he hated that. hated that you could see straight through him like a cloud blue stained glass window; without rose colored lenses like the ones he always wore (the ones he rocked, he thinks).

a crack of thunder overhead jolts him from his thoughts; he couldn't even get in there to dust the spiderwebs away before being jerked back into reality. he clicks his tongue in disappointment, watching as the skies pry themselves open and rain begin to fall in the way it only did over heavy summer showers. he wishes the sky would stop its weeping, but even the strongest has his limitations.

but it doesn't matter. he has one of those cheap plastic umbrellas he'd bought from a convenience store one day in a late march many moons ago, during the brightest blue spring of his life. and so, he didn't understand why he was lingering at the door, swinging the umbrella around his fingers by the hook on the handle, watching as the rain fell with increased fervor. there was no plastic button to keep the folds tied up, so it floundered around with each swing like a tulip bent by monsoon winds. maybe on the coast of some faraway land with windmills and fields of flowers. he wonders if he'll ever get to see the world with you someday— a fleeting thought that crumbles instantly when he conjures your pretty face in his vision, clear yet distorted like a reflection on a glazed pond, rippling water from the dragonflies that skipped over the surface.

you were definitely still angry with him, because you hadn't showed— normally, you'd walk home together. sometimes with shoko, if she didn't leave early. angry words echo in his mind, the image of your downturned lips swimming in his bright vision as he watches the rain streak down the window panes by the lockers. there's a fog settling over the grass outside that's sure to leave dew after the storm. he wonders when that'll be.

"why can't you ever take me seriously? can't you see i'm worried about you?"

"of course i can. but i don't need your damn concern!”

...

he'd been sorely mistaken, that was for sure. loosing his cool and snapping at you wasn't exactly something he took pleasure in, either way. he leans back on his heels, tapping his foot impatiently as he holds the umbrella like a cane against the floor. infinity could probably do away with the rain. another reason as to why he's not even sure why he's waiting here, or why he's holding an umbrella. perhaps to keep in case he has to offer it to some poor, shivering and cowering young maiden lost beneath the shading of a bus stop behind a curtain of rain droplets, with a charming grin and a wink.

maybe.

a shuffle behind him catches his ear; he turns his head, an unamused expression on his face as his eyes drift over the empty room to land on you. the shadows beneath your eyes are prominent, and your hair is unkempt. there are sleep lines on your face; you probably fell asleep in a classroom somewhere, which is why you delayed.

it was evident you weren't expecting to see him, though— with the way your eyes widened a little before they dropped again, nose bridge wrinkling slightly as if you'd caught the scent of something unpleasant. your eyes left his, and he felt a little disappointed as he watched them wander toward the window, where the current downpour was prominent. he didn't like the way it made his chest pang when your attention was anywhere but him, so he raised his hand lazily, tilting his head to catch your attention that he so clearly craved.

"yo. got an umbrella?" he calls, tapping the tip of his budget cane on the floor. the thud is the only sound for a while as your gaze wanders back over to him; reluctant.

"no, i don't. i didn't expect it to rain so hard today." you responded quietly, stepping over to him with a small sigh. almost a little resigned, he thinks. he can't be sure, though. he never is with you. doesn't know whether to expect his candy to be sour in the center or the other way around; but maybe he likes a bit of uncertainty every once in a while. (not with you, though. if it means arguing? never with you.)

his sunglasses are hooked around the collar of your shirt. he doesn't know why it takes him so long to realize, but when he does, he has to clear his throat in an effort to hide the heat on his face and do away with the blush. "here. take mine. i don't need it," he says curtly, offering his umbrella to you. he wants to snatch the shades from your shirt, but he doesn't want anything to go wrong, so he just eyes them warily, careful not to let his gaze slip past into anything you'd be pissed at him for.

you eye him, eyes narrowed as you raise an eyebrow, but you don't protest. your fingers brush against his for a brief moment when you take it, shaking it a little before opening the door and stepping outside, opening it up. it looks like a little clear plastic mushroom cap over your head; you're short enough to constitute as the stalk in his eyes. it's a little funny, but he has to stifle the laugh bubbling on his tongue lest you think he's making a mock of you.

he follows after you, slipping past to stand at your side with his hands in his pockets. you can't help but feel a little curious despite your prolonged anger (you like holding grudges, he knows), so you sneak a glance upward to satiate your wonder. you don't expect him to look as breathtaking as he does.

the clouds are light overhead; they're not a heavy blanket of gray anymore, and a small strip of light manages to push through, shining on satoru's pale white hair. you can make out the edge of his undercut against his neck when the wind picks up a little, the color of fluffy white clouds on a lavender sunset with the sway of yellow flowers beneath an expanse of a bright sky. there's a little cat hair on the collar of his jacket; you realize with a faint flush that it must've been from when you were holding his jacket for him in the gym. somehow, the cat you have at home found its way to satoru. you hope your pet has become a matchmaking fortune teller, for the sake of your happiness.

what catches your eye the most, though, isn't the cat hair on his dark jacket or the faraway look in his misty blue eyes; it's the outline of rain water around him, a product of his infinity, you realize. he's dry underneath the downpour, and it never ceases to amaze you. it's like there's a soft glowing halo against the backdrop of tangled wires, gray walls and pale green bushes— he looks like an angel boy, school bag hooked and hanging over one shoulder.

eventually, you manage to peel your gaze away, and he notices— looks down at you, pressing his lips together and running his tongue over them. he can taste strawberry gloss.

wordlessly, you start walking. and he follows suit, rain bouncing off of him; you catch yourself sneaking glances from under the roof of your clear umbrella between raindrops that slide down the clear plastic. sometime during the walk home, he had gone off and gotten himself a drink from a nearby vending machine— the red can catches your eye, and your fingers curl around the rubber handle of the lent umbrella as you watch him drink; the bob of his adam's apple before he crushes the can up and tosses it into a nearby bush, causing a brief scattering of leaves and a downpour of collecting droplets onto the pavement.

despite the rain, the weeds between the cracks in the sidewalk still stay strong; they have deep roots. much like the way you never fail to scowl at him for littering. he catches it— of course he does. he's been praying for a sign you're not still so hopelessly angry with him that you can't even bring yourself to have a civil walk in the summer rain together. after the scowl, though, comes the smile— the one that always makes him melt in his shoes, much like the sunshine after the rain.

and there it is at last, he thinks. the hard sour coating melts away on his tongue, draining the taste of lemon to reveal a sweet, genuine center. all it takes is time. your lips curve up, and you duck your head, hiding the small bemused laugh that leaves you breathless.

"what are you laughin' at?" he huffs, glaring down at you. but there's no malice behind it— if only you could feel the wave of relief that's washed over him, a crest of white foam that leaves behind still waters reflected in the pools of sapphire in his eyes. nothing like the hit of numbing nicotine he'd shared in the shade of an alleyway with shoko earlier that day— away from the sun; away from you. hidden from both. or maybe they were the same— to him, he couldn't differentiate.

"i'm not laughing!" you protested weakly, immediately wiping the grin from your lips, and he regrets speaking up. "just.. i dunno."

you walk in silence for a little longer, content to listen to the rain lighten up overhead. satoru kicks a plastic onigiri wrapper out of the way, splashing up a puddle as a frown dampens his face when the wrapping only clings to his shoes. he's fine with getting a little grumpy if it means seeing you smile again. and even better, you laugh again— so sweet, like the chiming of bells in the wind's melody.

"please don't do that again." your voice sounds so very small when he hears it again, and he looks down at you from beneath long white lashes, the corner of his lips quirked up. the shape of them is almost cat-like, you think. he doesn't even know what you're talking about— a vague idea, at best— but he won't do it. not if it means hearing you sound so pathetically... sad. he doesn't like it. it's far too bitter for his taste. let the black betta you both used to know indulge in dark coffee and bitter cologne— satoru likes things sweet, like the cream surrounded by tea leaf matcha in the center of his mochi and fluttering feeling he gets when you run your hands through his hair, fluffing it up to your heart's content.

(as long as your heart is happy, his is, too.)

"i won't. happy now?" he sticks his tongue out, making a face. but you both know he means it— he hates breaking his promises to you. you smile when you look up at him again with a small nod, and he feels his knees wobble a little. he just hopes you don't notice. "sorry for lying. i just.. don't like it when you're mad at me. and you look at me like that," he mumbles under his breath, bunching up the fabric of his pants between his fingers. then, after a moment, "geez, you're so dramatic. quit carin' so much." he really hopes you don't stop, and it makes him feel like the world's biggest hypocrite. the strongest, but so weak for you.

"sorry, can't. the day you stop crushing your soda cans and littering is the day i'll stop caring, 'cus that won't be my satoru anymore." you tease. and he laughs, throwing his head back so you don't see the red that spreads across his cheeks, dusting his skin like powdered sugar on top of a strawberry crepe. he always wants to be your satoru, so he figures he'll keep littering. a few money fines here and there mean nothing to his undentable wallet, or the erratic beating of his heart, trapped against his ribcage in a feathery blooming of flowers he only gets from you and your pretty smile underneath the layer of lemony sourness.

you walk along the road for a little while longer. the rain has lightened, but it's still going— incessant, dripping from the leaves of trees and the knotted black wires overhead. he still has his infinity up, which means he can't pet the cat the two of you spot on your way back, but he's perfectly content to watch you do it. you scratch its chin, smiling at the way it purrs and nuzzles into your hand, and he wonders if he'd do the same if he was in its position.

he's lost in thought when you speak to him again, shoes splashing against murky puddles in the backdrop of a never-sleeping city; tokyo's bright skyline always makes your eyes go round with wonder. you say something, and he chuckles, warm and velvety. and then you realize what's been off with him this whole time— he doesn't have his shades on.

you slip them off the collar of your shirt, smoothing down the fabric before you reach over and attempt to nudge his arm. you don't think it'll work, because he still has his infinity up— and your sleeves are already getting spattered by rain that leaves darkened wet spots on the cotton. but to your amazement, your fingers make contact with his sleeve, and you watch in wonder as the rain actually falls— soaks into that little patch of wet fabric that you're able to feel on his arm. that he's turned his infinity off in that one spot so you could touch him. you spare a glance up at him, only to find his head angled away from you. you might be hallucinating, but the tips of his ears seem red.

you don't linger on it before you're tugging on his shirt with a frown, getting him to look down at you as you unfold his glasses and offer them over to him. he takes them quickly, and you don't miss the way the rain stops falling onto his arm again, back to bouncing off the invisible shield that protects him from everything (but you, it seems). he slips his dark shades back over his eyes, obscuring oceans of pure blue that seem like they've trickled in from the purest snowcaps on the distant mountains dotted with old red tori gates and shrines with scrapped paint. but you can't stifle the smile that spreads across your lips this time— giddy and fresh and filled with youth, blossoming like sakura petals in a spring that seems so far away yet so close with his presence by your side.

you don't say anything for a while. you're content to watch the rain wash down the pavement and into the gutters, past cute little coffee shops and parks with ponds as the droplets from the sky scatter the water in part of a never-ending cycle; watering the surface of the earth and bringing life that would soon spring up as shroomcaps and fresh dew on the clean cut green grass. you wonder what satoru sees through his lenses— though, you already know. you've worn them plenty of times before, when he insists on having your perfume cling to the frame for long missions he's sent on alone, when he can't have you hold his jacket, or his hand, or scold him for sneaking a smoke when you're not watching. that, and the extra lemondrops he keeps in his pocket; gifts from you that he's fought hard for.

you're more prepared to not feel any interference of his infinity this time when you reach over, and this time you don't go for his sleeve—yanking him close to you by his hand and forcing him beneath your umbrella. you feel the way he freezes up for a moment, but his fingers fill in the gaps between your own like its the most natural thing in the world, palms pressed together in a little breathless hug that leaves no room for the humid air.

"don't waste your infinity on the rain, dumbass. you'll fry what little is left of your brain." you scold him, and he just grumbles and scoffs angrily under his breath, cursing you as he hunches over and ducks his head to fit under the umbrella to negate his height. his hair brushes against the plastic roof of the umbrella, and his lanky limbs are still awkwardly sticking out, but his fingers tighten around yours and his thumb rubs over your knuckles, still a little damp from your earlier encounter with the rain, and you can't help but smile a smile bright enough to wash away every last bit of cloud in the sky. his personal sunshine.

even though he still prefers sweet things, satoru's come to like the taste of lemondrops. sweet and sour go well together, after all. just like you and him.

its okay if it doesnt taste like anything to u as long as u enjoyed it :) thanks for reading !! the black betta in question is suguru btw my (riaki) stuff. don't repost and/or plagiarize !

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