#30 seconds over tokyo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

avatarchic · 8 months ago

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TWENTY-SIX MONTHS

— starring. baby daddy!todoroki shoto x fem!reader

— tags. miscommunication trope, angst, pregnancy and giving birth, friends with benefits, vague relationships, running away, slight single parent!au

— warnings. ages are unmentioned, but shoto is in his late 20s/early 30s, smut, soft sex, cunnilingus, praise, p in v, use of petnames (baby, pretty girl), reader gets called a good girl once, shoto is highkey a munch

— word count. 8.2k

— requested? no

— notes. this one ruined me tbh LOL i have a nasty habit of slipping btw present and past tense so the tenses in this one might be all over the place :')))

Whatever you and Todoroki Shoto had together, you knew it wasn’t romantic.

You were his outlet. His source of relaxation when being a hero became too much to bear on his shoulders alone. You were fantastical. You were illusionary. With you, he was no longer Pro Hero Shoto, Number Three Hero. With you, he was just Shoto. And for your moments away from the world hidden beneath wrinkled sheets and closed curtains, that was enough for him. When morning came, and those curtains had to be drawn, he would become Pro Hero Shoto again, and you would wake up to an empty bed.

For you, he was everything.

For you, he was your hero before he became a Pro. He saved you from succumbing to the stress of standing out to survive as a support class student. He saved you from your insecurities and false ambitions, and he saved you from living a life you didn’t truly want. Todoroki Shoto was your best friend before he became the man shrouded in shadow — the man you hid away in secrecy to bed whenever he wanted.

He told you he would be gone for a while. A mission in upper Kyoto that took him away from your arms while you stayed safe in Tokyo. He assured you that he would be fine and return to you as soon as possible. If you were a fool, you might’ve taken those to heart and swooned under the pretense of love. But you knew better.

Before Todoroki Shoto came Pro Hero Shoto. You would be a fool to think he would pick the first before the other. You would be a fool to think that you, a citizen with no name, could ever stand by his side. In your eyes, Shoto put his work before himself. Admirable, strong, ever-the-reliable Pro Hero Shoto. The nights he spent with you as just Shoto made you wonder who else got to see his true self.

The second month of his absence came, and you were sick. An illness had overtaken you, leaving you bedridden for days on end. At first, it had just been nausea. You put it off as motion sickness — you often had to take the train to and from anywhere. Perhaps your stomach had simply met its limit and was taking it out on you with lashes of sickness and vomiting.

After a week of being washed away in your bile, you realized that you had yet to bleed that month. Rather, you realized you hadn’t had your monthly bleeding for a while. You weren’t stupid. You knew what it all meant, and you knew the consequences of your actions had finally caught up to you. You hid away from the world, only leaving to purchase tests from the store.

The answers mocked you. PREGNANT. TWO MONTHS+.

You considered getting rid of it. To keep it your dirty little secret. Shoto would never have to know — no one would ever have to know. But as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your hand resting atop your stomach, you felt at peace for once. As if you finally had a reason to keep going.

Five months had passed since he was gone, and you felt it now more than ever. You never explained to any of your friends or neighbours who was responsible for the swelling of your tummy, nor about the packages of furniture fit for a nursery that showed up on your doorstep. They never asked. No one knew your trysts with Shoto, and you planned to keep it that way.

For his sake.

You wished. You desperately wished that he could stay by your side, that he could support you through this time of anxiety and worry. You daydreamed of welcoming him home, your little bundle of joy wrapped in your arms as you kissed Shoto on the cheek — a reward for working hard as he always did. You thought about spending more than just nights of pleasure with the two-toned man, about wearing his ring and raising your beloved child together.

As a family.

Thirteen months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Thirteen long, gruelling, and lonely months were spent mourning his absence, even though he was still alive somewhere. It felt like the clouds that followed you for weeks parted only when your son was born. He looked like you. He had your nose and your eyes. He had the same rounded cheeks you still adorn, even well into adulthood. His voice was like bells on a clear sunny day, and when he lay in your arms, you declared that you would love him for all you were worth.

Even if the tuft of red and white on his head brought you immense heartache.

A selfish part of you wished that nothing of your son, whom you’ve named Yami, would resemble his father. That way, you could truly hide his origins — your past that you refused to uncover. But the bigger part of you was overjoyed. The moment you laid eyes on his hair, matted down with blood and amniotic fluid, you sobbed uncontrollably. The nurses and midwife recognized the two-toned hair immediately and watched you with pitiful eyes as you clutched Yami to your chest.

You moved away the second you were discharged from the hospital, baby carrier in tow. You wished your neighbours well and thanked them for being so kind to you in the years you lived among them. You were gone within that same week.

You lived peacefully in your new home, tucked away in the countryside of southern Japan. You opted to stay away from TVs and the internet, worried that seeing his face might make you regret the rash decision to pick up and leave. Yami was growing quickly, already large for a four-month-old. His hair grew out, more red than white.

You didn’t know if Shoto had made it back from his mission. If he did, you weren’t sure how long he had been back or whether he had sustained any injuries. You didn’t know if he went to your apartment to search for his fantasy. You didn’t know if he thought of you at all.

You didn’t know if he was alive.

The longer you spent away from the man, the more your heart yearned for him. Whenever Yami would quiet down for his nap, you stared out the window at the acres of empty farmland. In the vastness of space, you could only think of him. The man who had taken your heart from the tender age of fifteen. The man who possessed your life in his hands, though your essence seemed invisible to those blue and grey eyes.

The fool in you wondered if he ever had feelings for you — if he ever burned for you the way you did for him.

You felt like a dessert. Scorched inside and empty. Golden sands represented him—burning to the touch and yet all-encompassing. Even without him by your side, he was always there. He surrounded you, dragging you in, and you let him.

Yami’s babbling would always break you out of your reverie, the pangs of guilt and sorrow gnawing away at your still-beating heart. The routine remained the same, day after day. After he woke up from his nap with an incoherent cry for his mother, you would settle him onto your lap and cry. You sobbed into his soft tufts of hair, apologizing for taking him away from his father, for hiding him away from the world just because you were a coward.

Yami was your darkness. He was your uncovered secret.

Two years and two months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Yami was seventeen months old and starting to look more and more like his father. He took his first steps earlier than any parenting book had told you he would, and it wasn’t long after when he said his first word. It seemed the world was against you, and the universe was punishing you for keeping Yami away. You broke down for the first time in a while when that first word hit your ears.

“Da… Dada…”

You weren’t alone in your silent, unspoken wishes to be at Shoto’s side. Poor Yami, who had never met his father, spoke Shoto into existence with that one word.

“My baby,” you sobbed, hugging Yami tightly to you as he babbled, repeating those two syllables over and over. “My poor baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Mommy’s so sorry, my baby…” You rocked back and forth, crying endlessly. Yami’s hands grasped at your clothes, hair, and face. His little round features twisted into a grimacing cry as he watched tears pour from your tired eyes for a reason he didn’t yet understand.

The day he spoke his first word was when you showed him a picture of his father for the first time. Recognition flashed behind rounded eyes, recognition for a man he’d never met.

While you were grocery shopping — Yami balanced on your hip, a paper bag full of produce in the other arm — you heard Shoto’s name.

“Didn’t you hear? Pro Hero Shoto is here! In town!”

“Isn’t that weird? Why would such a hotshot be here, of all places? We aren’t even on most maps…”

“Who cares?! Do ya think I can get an autograph?”

You break out into a run without paying attention to the rest of the conversation. You hold Yami to your chest, supporting his head as you run with all your might. The paper bag of fruit and vegetables lay forgotten behind you, surely to be crushed by any passing vehicles. You run until you can’t run anymore, chest heaving in exhaustion. Using your object manipulation quirk, you open the front door to your house without taking your hands off Yami.

You whisper sweetings into his ear, telling him everything would be okay. Maybe you were telling yourself.

Not long after you returned home, the door rattled with a gentle knock. The very door you locked moments ago. You hold your breath, not wanting to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him.

Your name was spoken in that soft voice you missed so much. Before you could stop him, Yami started sobbing, his high-pitched cries alerting the person outside that you were there. You shush Yami desperately, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to calm him down. You kiss his forehead, silently begging him to stop crying.

Your name was called out again, this time panicked and louder. Yami’s cries increase in volume, and you feel your eyes water all the same.

The door hinges begin to frost over, and it’s knocked down in seconds. The loud noise scares your son, causing him to sob uncontrollably as he grasps painfully at your hair. You hide him behind you as you face the intruder head-on. Without blinking an eye, you use your quirk to lift the door off the ground, pushing it against the intruder, hoping to push him out completely.

The door is pushed away easily. After all, you are no match for Pro Hero Shoto.

He has gotten larger in the twenty-six months since you last saw him. His shoulders grew broader, his hero uniform barely hiding the dense but lean muscle that hid beneath it. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes as if he didn’t have time to take care of it. The man in front of you looks different from the man you knew, but it is undoubtedly him.

He breathes out your name, steam rolling off his left side and icicles glistening atop his skin on his right. He steps over the forgotten door, into your house, and into your safe haven, large and commanding of your attention. You try to make yourself bigger, to hide Yami from his eyes, and perhaps to hide your shame as you stare at the father of your child.

“I looked for you everywhere,” he gravels, his voice deep and crackling with emotion. “I came home, and you were gone. Do you have any idea how fucking scary that was?! No one knew where you were, and your apartment was empty. I didn’t know if you were safe, I didn’t know if you were alone…” Shoto steps closer to you, anger seeping into his expression. “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t know if you were alive!”

Your heart hammers in your chest as he grows closer, his fists clenching angrily by his side. His eyes search you desperately, searching for any sign of injury or abuse. They trace over your wrists and ankles, perhaps looking for signs that you were held here not on your own will, that you didn’t leave him just because you wanted to.

You pick your brain for the right words to say. You have thought about this day for years, and now that he’s in front of you, you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess of shame and joy, your heart struggling in a fight against itself. Analyzing him, your eyes rake over his body. There were a few more scars you don’t remember, some fine lines on his face that weren’t there before, but it was him.

As your brain wraps around the fact that Shoto was really there after over two years, Shoto collapses to his knees in front of you. He all but crawls over to you as he shoves his face into your thighs. Hot, stinging tears hit your skin as he cries into your lap, his hands reaching to hold you. Large, calloused fingers grasped at your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

“I was so scared,” he admits, his body shaking as he cries silently. “I thought… I thought a villain had taken you.”

Your hands hover behind you, keeping Yami hidden. His cries have thankfully subsided the second Shoto entered the room, but you weren’t sure for how long that would last. You can feel him grabbing at your shirt, trying to peek around you. Resisting the urge to wipe away Shoto’s tears, you grip onto your son tightly.

“How did you know I was here?” You lick your dry lips, wincing at how raspy your voice is. The first words spoken to this man in over two years are painted over with wariness and caution, very unlike the words of encouragement and longing you had given him your last night together. “No one knew I was here. Not even my family, so how did you…” You trail off, unsure if you want to know the answer to this question.

Shoto pulls away from your lap, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I searched for you every day. I never stopped once I realized you were gone. I was in communication with every hero in this fucking country, hoping that one day one of them would spot you.” He hastily wipes his cheeks, his trembling hands remaining at your side.

“Why did you go?” he asks in a whisper. His voice, low and cracking, is broken as he speaks. “Why did you leave me? Did I do something? Was I…” Shoto swallows thickly as his insecurities taint his mind. “Was I not good to you? Did I make you leave?”

His endless questions send you for a loop. In front of you was not Pro Hero Shoto, but just Shoto. Your Shoto, the one you long for in your dreams. The one who paints your every happy memory and the one whose name you whisper into the dead of night.

And yet, as you feel Yami’s tiny hands grab your arm, you can’t answer any of his questions.

“Dada…!”

The both of you freeze, and the world stands still for a moment. Shoto’s trembling gaze slowly left yours, meeting the eyes of the toddler behind you. The first thing Shoto notices is his hair — bright red with streaks of white bleeding through. He feels his heart stop and start again, his hold on you finally slipping as his body goes somewhat limp. He falls back onto his heels, fully kneeling before you now.

Snapping out of it, you turn around and take Yami into your arms, facing away from Shoto as you shush the poor baby, calming him down quietly. Shoto can only watch as you handle him with a gentle care he isn’t privy to.

Without sparing another glance at Shoto, you start to walk away. He calls out your name hastily, and you can hear him clamber to his feet. Swallowing harshly, you look at him over your shoulder. Shoto looks out of place in your cozy living room, too large for the space. And yet, he appears small. His shoulders are hunched in as he reaches out to you with a face that begs you not to leave.

“He… needs to be put down for his nap,” you whisper, kissing Yami’s temple. “We… can talk after.”

Before you can regret your words, you head into his nursery, painted a soft yellow. You coo at your son, gently resting him in the large crib that took up most of the room’s space. You hum a lullaby to him as you stroke his hair, looking down at him with nothing but love.

Even long after he fell asleep, you don’t move. You stay there for a while, watching Yami so closely you don’t notice the presence at the door.

Shoto’s voice comes in a whisper. “He… He is mine, isn’t he?”

You can only nod, shame filling your soul as tears slip from your watery eyes. “His name is Yami,” you speak, your voice cracking.

Shoto flinches but waits patiently as he watches you come to a stand. He doesn’t rush you as you place Yami’s favourite stuffed animals by his side, leaning down and kissing his forehead before approaching Shoto.

“Let’s talk in my room,” you whisper, glancing at Yami before shutting the door behind you.

The two of you enter your room, the stifling air suffocating you as you shuffle over to your bed. Shaky hands reach for your pillows as you keep your back to the Todoroki, fluffing them to keep yourself busy. Your throat feels grating as you swallow down harshly. The room feels both hot and freezing, which you assume is his doing.

He doesn’t say anything either as he stares at the back of your head. Your hair looks different from the last time he saw you, and the clothes over your body aren’t articles he can remember you own. He thinks back to that night when quiet goodbyes were whispered between sweaty sheets. He wonders what went wrong.

His eyes wander, his frightful gaze tearing away from you only to look around your room. There are remnants of you everywhere. Family pictures hang from the walls, and old posters he vaguely remembers from your apartment are pasted against grey paint. It was you, but different. It wasn’t as colourful as your old room, and your trinkets are either out of sight or gone altogether.

When his eyes rest on you once more, a million questions run through his mind. Why did you leave him without a word? Images of your child, the very one who bore a striking resemblance to himself, flash in the forefront of his mind.

“How have you been?” you croak out after too many beats of silence. Hugging a pillow to your chest, you turn ever so slightly, only glancing at him from the corner of your eye as if it were painful to even look at him. Perhaps it is.

Shoto can only stare at you in disbelief, his brows curling upward as his heartache shines through. “How have I been?” he repeats breathily, his low voice raising half an octave. His mouth opens, but the words die on his tongue. Only after an excruciatingly long moment does he find the words again. “I’ve been miserable. You were gone.”

You wince at the strain in his voice, gripping the pillow even tighter. Your knuckles whiten under your tight hold. “I’m sorry,” you whisper pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat painfully.

“Why?” he asks again, his voice cracking as he takes a tentative step toward you. “Why did you disappear?” Shoto reaches for you, stopping just short of grabbing you by the shoulders. He can’t tell if he wants to shake you until you see sense or hug you and never let go.

“I had to,” you urge, finally meeting his eyes. Your breath hitches, and you regret turning to him, but now you can’t look away. Those mismatched eyes that used to bore into yours with unreadable emotion as he draped his body over yours were tired, dull, and pained.

Shoto is the first to break eye contact, staring at your floorboards as he attempts to string together his thoughts. “Was it me?”

With furrowed brows, you shake your head no. “Shoto—”

“If I knew,” he rushes out, interrupting you. His gaze drops to your stomach, and he imagines what you might’ve looked like, swollen with his child. “If I knew, I would’ve come back sooner. Fuck the mission, you needed me and I…” He cuts himself off, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His grip is tight enough to force you to look at him straight on, yet gentle. You think you can feel them trembling over your clothes, but you aren’t sure if you’re imagining it or not. “I’m so sorry,” he almost cries. The pillow in your hands falls to the carpeted floor, but neither of you cares to pay attention to it.

“Shoto, no,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips together. You thumb away his unshed tears. “That’s not why I left.”

“Then why?” he breathes.

You purse your lips, biting at the inside of your cheek as you reflect on those lonely nights spent under cold blankets. “You’re a hero,” you speak slowly. “I never had a place in your life, Shoto, not really. I’m a nobody. If… If I stayed, I would have been holding you back. You deserved more than that.”

Shoto narrows his eyes at you. “I deserve you,” he blurts, his tongue stained with vexation at the mere implication of your words. You watch as his lower lip wobbles momentarily before he steels his expression. “It isn’t your place to decide whether or not you should be in my life. That’s something for me to decide, but you took that away from me.”

“Took what away, Shoto?” you exclaim, raising your voice for the first time that day. “The sex? The comradery? You could have easily found that in someone else.” It hurts to admit, but you know it’s true. During those days together, you were a mere placeholder for someone better than you. Someone who could relate to him more than a nobody civilian could ever hope to.

After all, Pro Hero Shoto could have anyone he wanted.

Any anger left in his body dissipates as his body tenses. His face scrunches into something painful, mouth ajar and eyes wide as his grip on your shoulders tightens slightly. “What?” he whispers, the word dripping from his tongue like ice water. “What are you talking about?” The room feels like it’s dropped a few degrees, and if the frost that clings to his skin is any indication, it might have.

Averting your gaze, you try to wedge yourself out of his tight hold, but he doesn’t let you, taking another step forward. You’re practically chest-to-chest as he shakes your shoulders gently. “What are you talking about?” he repeats with an urgent tongue. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

You heave a sigh. “Don’t play dumb, Shoto. You’re… you. You could easily find someone to replace me.”

“Is that what you think?” he breathes harshly, steam rolling off his skin, melting the frost. “That you’re just some replaceable body in my bed? Do you really think that lowly of me?” His expression twists as he reaches up to cup your jaw. His touch is burning, and yet you find yourself leaning into his palm.

“Isn’t it the truth?” you murmur, your voice catching. “I’m not anyone special, Shoto.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” he spits out, angry at the notion that you were a nobody. “You’re special to me. Isn’t that all that matters? I couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re not a hero. That never mattered to me, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

Your eyes snap open as you stare at Shoto in shock. You feel your body freeze over, and suddenly, your lungs are empty. “... What did you call me?” you croak.

Shoto stares deeply into your eyes, his own darting back and forth as he tries to read you. “My girlfriend.” His voice wavers as he tries to understand why you look so confused.

“We weren’t dating,” you cry incredulously. “What are you talking about?” You watch Shoto as realization washes over his distraught expression and something within you cracks. “Shoto, what are you talking about?” you ask again with a frantic pull to your voice. Shoto’s hands slip from your shoulders.

“Weren’t we?” he whispers quietly, any strength sapping from his body as he limply stands before you.

With your heart beating faster than ever, your breath leaves chapped lips in uneven puffs of strangled air. “We never talked about being anything more than just…” You trail off, the past couple of years draping over your shoulders, weighing you down heavily.

“You thought I was with you for the sex?” Shoto doesn’t know how to feel or how to act. His face twists as several emotions run through him before his mind settles on heartache. His multicoloured eyes try to meet yours, but you’ve already looked away. He moves his body, craning his neck to take a good look at you. He wants to see you. He wants you to see him. He utters your name in a broken whisper. “It was never just sex for me, baby,” he declares, his voice cracking in sorrow. “You had to have known that.”

He moves closer, cradling your face as he gently forces you to look at him. When he sees the indecisive glaze that’s taken over your eyes, he feels his heart break just a little more. “Please tell me you knew. That you know it was more than that.”

You blink away tears, your chest rising and falling quickly as you meet his intensive gaze. “You’d only come to me at night,” you mutter, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and wanting to pull his hands off of you. “You never stayed. You were always gone in the morning, Shoto. What was I supposed to believe?”

Shoto fights back a wince as he mulls over your words. He sighs, absentmindedly rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I was so busy with hero work,” he murmurs in horror-filled realization, frowning at himself. He shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. I should have tried harder to be around. But it was never just sex for me.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. His eyes flutter closed, wet eyelashes sticking together as he lets out a trembling breath. “Please believe me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “I’ll be better. I’ll show you I love you. I’ll make sure you know this time, so please…”

Those three words pull the air from your lungs, but when he opens his eyes, you’re left truly breathless. Love, sorrow, and regret swirl in his blue and grey hues. You don’t remember the last time you’ve looked at Shoto like this. “Please come back to me.”

“Shoto—”

“I’ll stop being a hero,” he interrupts you, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “If that’s what it takes.”

You make a face, your brows knitting together tightly. “Don’t be stupid, Shoto,” you hush. “Being a hero is your life. I’d never ask you to throw that away for me.”

“You’re my life,” he presses. One of Shoto’s hands moves to cup the back of your head, carding through your hair. “Our child will be my life. You matter more to me than anything else.”

Sighing, you close your eyes as you lean into his touch. “I’d be even more upset if you gave up,” you murmur. “I understand that being a hero leaves you with little free time. So—”

“No,” Shoto cries out. “Don’t make excuses for me. I should’ve tried harder. I should have realized things between us weren’t clear.” He pauses for a moment, his brow bone tensing as he bites at his lip. “Do you love me?”

With a softened gaze, you knock on his forehead with a weak fist. “You’ve always been it for me, Sho.”

Shoto smiles at the nickname, a slight tick of the corner of his mouth. If you hadn’t been so close and hadn’t known his expressions as well as you did, you might’ve missed it. He leans closer, his nose brushing against your cheek as he kisses your tear-stained skin sweetly. “I love you,” he hushes, tugging you closer. His fingertips trail up your spine until they’re entwined in your hair. “I love you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation as you curl into him. Your hands trail up his broad chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. Inhaling deeply, you stare at him in hesitation. “Is this real?” you murmur, your mind swirling with the vivid dreams you’ve procured over the years. “You’re really here, right? And you really…”

“I love you,” he says again. He says it one, two, three more times, whispering into the side of your neck and he nudges himself into the empty space. His lips, which are cold against your blistering heat, brush against your earlobe as he all but whimpers your name. “This is real. I’m here, baby.”

You can’t help but believe him, your eyes closing as he presses kiss after kiss on your skin, moving down your neck until he’s reached your collarbones. He nips at the spot, his tongue jutting out to soothe the darkening mark he’s left behind. “Sho,” you scold weakly, your nails scraping against his scalp gently as you brush his hair out of his face.

Shoto grins boyishly at you, his hands resting on your hips as he guides you backwards, stepping over the forgotten pillow you dropped. “Let me show you,” he breathes out, looking down at you with wide eyes until he has you sat on the edge of your unmade bed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Then, he pauses, a brief flash of bashfulness flickering behind his embering gaze. “Please?”

You’re reaching out for him before you can answer, tugging him down to your height. You don’t reply with words, pressing desperate lips against his as you pull him over you until he’s pinned over your trembling body. Strong forearms rest beside your head, his skillful tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth. You almost moan at his taste—a taste you never forgot.

Shoto slants himself against you, your bodies resembling a mess of limbs. He flips you over with ease, strong hands gripping your hips to seat you atop his shaking lap. The shivers that run down the expanse of his body don’t go unnoticed, and you peck his lips once, then twice, before pulling away. He’s staring up at you breathlessly, lust-blown eyes dark but widened as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, stroking along the edge of his scar. Shoto leans into your palm, his eyes briefly fluttering closed, relishing in your warmth that he was deprived of for so long.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs back, brushing his lips against your palm. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

Your heart aches at his soft-spoken admission, and you kiss him again to tell him I missed you, too. This kiss is sweeter than the last, softer in its closed-mouth motions. His hand reaches up to palm your jawline, his other remaining on your hip. He sighs into you, breaking the kiss to leave fleeting pecks over your cheeks. “My pretty girl,” he whispers into your skin.

His hand trails up and down your side, as he gently pushes you against his growing erection. You let out a whimper at just how hard he already is, the tent pushing against your clothed cunt teasingly. Grinding your hips down, you relish in the gasp Shoto lets out. Busying his hands with the hem of your loose tee, he pushes himself off of the bed to chase your lips.

Shoto kisses you with a fervour you damned yourself for running away from. He kisses you like he needs your taste on his tongue to live, like you’re a lifeline, and he’s teetering on the edge. Gentle teeth scrape against your bottom lip, just barely grazing your swollen skin. Pulling away to rid you of your top, Shoto bites his lips at the sight of your bare chest. He lays back, propping his head up on your pillows. Tracing a hand down his strong pecs, you tilt your head back at the sight of his complete enamour.

Red cheeks hollow as he takes in a shuddering breath, looking up at you with nothing but love and adoration. “You’re perfect,” he breathes out, his hands tracing your sides so slowly. His thumbs, calloused from years of hero work, barely graze the underside of your breasts before his hands trail back down to your thighs.

“Take these off f’me,” Shoto urges, tugging gently on the fabric of your shorts. Those dark eyes never leave your face, as though he’s committing it to memory.

You don’t hesitate to obey his request, shifting off of his lap just enough to tug off the last of your clothing, fingers dipping beneath the band of your panties to take them off as well. Shivering, you sit back down on his lap, biting down on your bottom lip as you lean back. Shoto makes it clear how much he appreciates the view you’ve given him, his lustful gaze caressing your entire self. His eyes land on the apex of your thighs, and his bitten lips part in admiration.

A wide hand rests on your tummy, just below your belly button, as he gently pushes your hips back and forth. His other hand finds its way to your ass, gripping and rubbing the skin there in tandem with your movements.

You let out shallow breaths at the feeling of his rough jeans against your bare clit. You’re sure you’re sopping wet already, soaking the front of his pants with your slick, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when he’s looking at you like he’d cry if you stopped grinding down on him.

His eyes stay glued to where your hips meet, and he whispers your name lovingly. “C’mere,” he rasps out as he sits up with haste, wrapping those big arms around your midsection and pulling you even closer to him. Shoto kisses the tops of your breasts, moving up and up until his lips meet yours again in a searing kiss.

“Missed you s’much,” he gravels out against your lips, reaching up to cup your left tit. You whimper out when his thumb brushes against the hardened bud, his tongue following shortly after. His lips curl around your nipple as he kneads into you. Breaths leave your throat in shortened huffs as he bites down gently.

Pushing you gently, you find yourself on your back again with Shoto hovering over you. He lets go of your nipple with a pop, lips shiny with saliva as he kisses down your stomach. Arching into his affections, all you can do is lay there and bask in his gentle touches and sweet kisses.

“Sho,” you whimper out when he mouths your skin lower and lower. Strong hands push your hips up until your dripping cunt is in front of his face, and your legs are dangling over his shoulders. Your back arches deeply, his fingers digging into your sides to keep your bottom half suspended in the air. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten—you can’t recall the last time you’ve felt this aroused. “Please…”

Shoto smiles at you softly, looking at you through his lashes as he brushes his lips against your clit, making you jolt. “Patience, baby,” he chuckled. “I haven’t tasted your sweet pussy in too long. Let me take my time with you, yeah?”

When he asks so nicely, how can you refuse?

He leaves open-mouthed kisses where your inner thigh meets your pelvis, kissing and licking just around where you need him most. Pathetic moans slip through your wobbling lips as you press them together, trying not to be too loud. Your body is goo in his hands, and he knows this well. He easily keeps your back arched up off the bed, his beefy arms not straining at all.

When his lips finally close on your weeping cunny, you cry out louder than intended. “Shh,” he whispers, sitting back just far enough to leave you whimpering for more. “Don’t wanna wake the baby, do you?” Those teasing eyes meet yours again, and his teasing expression softens ever so slightly at your already fucked out look. “Be good and quiet f’me, love.”

“Okay,” you stammer out, screwing your eyes shut when he kitten licks at your slit.

Shoto kisses your inner thigh with a grin. “Good girl.”

Without missing a beat, he attaches his lips to your pussy once more, his skilled tongue licking and prodding exactly where he knows it makes your legs shake in pleasure. He eats you out with such expertise as if it hasn’t been over two years. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a map of your body memorized.

Long, thick fingers push at your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling out. “More, please,” you beg under your breath, arching into his mouth. “Please, Sho. I can take it.”

Shoto hums as he sucks on your clit gently, drawing circles over the bundle of nerves immediately after. “I know you can, baby. This pussy was made just for me,” he sighs into you, the loud slurping noises coming from the point of contact making you curl in on yourself. “You were made just for me, baby.”

He finally pushes two fingers in, curling up just how you like it. He groans as his tongue moves with ardour, his eyes rolling back behind closed lids as he savours your taste. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Missed this s’much.”

Shoto’s fingers push in and out, in and out, your slick gushing around them as the filthy sound of your clenching cunt fills the room. His lips are glued to your clit, drunk on your wetness as he fingers you deeply.

“I’m close,” you warn him, gripping the sheets tightly. Your body jerks, your thighs shaking and closing around his head as you feel the string in your tummy grow taught. “Sho—”

“I know,” he growls, kissing your clit again as he looks back up at you. He watches your face twist and scrunch in pure pleasure, moaning at the sight. Pushing a third finger in, his eyes slip closed at the feeling of you clenching tightly around him. “Come for me, baby. Need to feel you come.”

His voice drips with honey, coating your body in its warmth as your back bends. “Fuck,” you cry, slapping a hand over your mouth as your thighs tremble hard. “I—”

Before you can say anything else, you’re cumming around his fingers harder than you ever have in the time away from him. Fat tears line your lashline as he fingers you through your orgasm, lazily licking figure eights around your clit as he continues to push his fingers into you gently. He doesn’t stop, making you come again and again until you’re weakly pushing his head away.

His tongue laps your pussy clean, the lower half of his face covered in your slick when he finally sits back. You watch with lidded eyes as he wraps his lips around his fingers, his tongue jutting out to lick them until they’re no longer soaked with your essence. Moaning, you reach up for him, grasping weakly at his clothed chest. “Need you,” you plea, pushing at his clothes in a sad attempt to take them off.

Shoto only chuckles, leaning over to kiss you. He tastes of mint and musk, the taste of your come on his tongue making your eyes cross. He holds you tight, pressing you against his chest, and his hands run up and down the length of your spine. His head tilts, his mouth ajar as he licks into your wet cavern.

Leaning back, you kiss and lick at his face, cleaning him of your juices. He only sighs blissfully at your ministrations, stroking your hair out of your face as he presses his lips against your temple. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, do I love you.”

You leave one more kiss along his jaw, settling back onto the mattress as you look up at him. His hair is messy, tousled from the many breathless kisses you’ve exchanged in the last hour. His rouge-tinted cheeks make him look younger than he is, yet you can see fine lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows.

“I love you, Sho,” you declare softly, tucking his long bangs behind his ears. He gazes at you with more affection than you think you’ve ever seen him express, and it takes everything in you not to combust on the spot. You trail one hand down his chest, dropping down to his tented pants. Palming his clothed hardness, you glance at him pleadingly, smiling at the moan he emits the second your hand grazes his hard-on. “I need you now, please.”

Shoto nods, kissing the crown of your head before leaning back. You watch with careful eyes as he undresses, his hands moving with less grace than he’s known for. As he fumbles off his shirt, you unbuckle his belt, throwing it haphazardly across the room. You barely register the thud it makes as you tug down his pants. His hard cock slaps against his abdomen, coated with precum.

Fully nude, you sit back to admire Shoto in his entirety. There are many scars you don’t remember littered over his muscled body, and your fingers trace them gently. “I almost forgot how pretty you are,” you say, sitting up to kiss his collarbone.

“Pretty?” he repeats, laughing softly as he grips at your waist.

You hum. “Very pretty, Sho.”

Unable to wait any longer, he manoeuvres you back onto the pillows, adjusting you as he places one beneath your hips. “Gotta have you now, baby,” he groans into you, reaching down to fuck into his fist. You watch with wide eyes as he rubs himself for a moment more, pushing your thighs up against your chest.

Pushing his angry cockhead against your slit, he thrusts shallowly against your soaked pussy. A low moan rumbles out of his throat when his head catches on the hood of your clit. He uses a thumb to guide his length to your entrance, a whimper of your name tumbling from those bite-swollen lips once he finally pushes into you.

Your jaw drops as a wanton noise claws out of your throat. Shoto is sure to move slowly, only moving in an inch of his dick at a time before pulling out. You had forgotten how thick Shoto’s cock is, the stretch of your swollen pussy around his length burning through your body. “S-Sho…”

He groans at your voice, dropping his head to your shoulder as he fucks into you slowly. “I know, baby,” he lets out breathlessly. “I know. You’re doing so well f’me.”

His hips finally press against you after some time, his dick pushing against your pulsing gummy walls. He stills, letting you get used to the intrusion as he kisses you again and again. Propping himself on his elbows, he shakily brushes your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “You okay, baby?”

Nodding fervently, you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing his chest flush against yours. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out weakly, barely above a whisper. “You can move—” correcting yourself, you look up at him with pleading eyes. “—please move.”

Without another word, he pulls out slowly, only to thrust back into your hole nice and deep. A loud groan leaves his lips as he settles into a quick tempo, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he starts to really fuck into you.

Barely keeping your eyes open, you watch his expression twist with gratification, his brows tilting upwards as his lips part. With lidded eyes, he watches you, too. “You’re—fuck—so pretty,” he whimpers, pressing his forehead against yours as his thrusts become faster. “Missed you. Missed you s’much.”

Sitting up, he grabs at your waist as he fucks you zealously. His thumb flicks at your clit, rubbing tight circles that leave your legs shaking. His cockhead rubs at that spongey spot in your cunt with every thrust, making your eyes roll back. “Sho,” you cry out, the thought of keeping your voice down long gone in your pleasure. “Sho, Sho—!”

His mouth opens as he lets out a stunted shout riddled with lust and overstimulation. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grins down at you, his stomach flexing with each movement of his hips. “Fuck, baby. Can feel you clenching around me s’tight. Are you close?” His words come out harshly, exertion tugging them from his throat sluggishly.

His thumb never stops over your clit, moving in tandem with his hips as he slams into you. Unable to form coherent words, you can only cry out in vague confirmation, grabbing at his forearms. You can feel your slick dripping down the slope of your ass, soaking into your pillow and the sheets beneath you.

Shoto’s smile falters as he feels his own orgasm near, his rhythm becoming desperate as his eyes screwed shut. His head drops, his mouth opening slightly as he chases his high. When your cunt grips tightly around him, he’s sure he’s going to lose it. Harsh breaths heave out of him, his flushed skin causing his hair to stick to his forehead.

“Come for me again, baby,” he begs, barely able to pry his lids open to look down at you. “Please, come, please, please… Gotta feel you…!”

Whether it’s from his words, the whimpering tone that tugs at his voice, or the way his cock throbs inside you as he nears his own high, you feel your orgasm crash over you in waves. “Shoto,” you sob, your body jerking violently as you come hard. He lets out a high-pitched groan as he releases inside you, his thick seed filling you up in seconds. His hips tremble and twitch as he keeps shallowly thrusting, pushing both you and himself into overstimulation.

“I love you,” he mewls, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle. Without pulling out, he slumps over you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Laughing quietly, you weakly push at his shoulder. “You’re heavy,” you complain, still breathless from the countless orgasms he’s pulled you through. “Get off, Sho.”

“No,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck, cuddling into you tightly. “Don’t wanna let go.”

You roll your eyes. “You can hug me without crushing my ribs.”

Huffing, he rolls off of you, taking you with him as he lands on his back. You both groan lowly at the movement, his dick twitching inside you once you settle onto his lap again. “You’re insatiable,” you comment, feeling him thrust weakly up into your wetness.

Shoto only grins up at you, showing off that rare smile you missed so dearly. “You can’t blame me,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around you. “I have so many years of love to show you.” He kisses your shoulder. “I meant it. Before, I mean. You are everything to me, and I know our baby will be too.”

Your eyes wet again, fresh tears bubbling at the corners before dribbling down your cheeks. “Shoto…”

Looking up at you, he stares with an indescribable look in his mismatched eyes. “I wanna be in your life. I want to be in his life, too, if you’ll let me.” Leaning up, he kisses you sweetly. “So, please, come back to me.”

You only manage to nod tearfully before the shrill cry of your baby echoes throughout the house. Shoto eases you off his messy cock, watching as his release dribbles out of you. He lets out a breath, kissing you sweetly before moving you off of him gently. No words are exchanged as Shoto throws his clothes back on, wrinkled and unkempt. He pauses to wipe you clean, using your shirt, after throwing you an apologetic glance.

A smile reaches your eyes as you watch Shoto bound out of the room to get your child.

©AVATARCHIC please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or copy any of my works.

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kaiijo · 2 years ago

Text

GOM + KAGAMI AS ROMANCE TROPES — [KNB]

characters: kuroko tetsuya, kagami taiga, aomine daiki, kise ryouta, midorima shintarou, murasakibara atsushi, akashi seijuurou content: gn! reader, tooth-rotting fluff, aomine’s is set when he and reader are college-aged + vorpal swords is a professional club notes: finally proving my love for my bball boys and living up to my username

⋆｡° kuroko tetsuya — soulmates

You were constantly looking over your shoulder, from the moment you were born to right now. No one could really blame you, what with the words “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” written on your arm from the day you were born. They were supposed to be the first words your soulmate spoke to you and you were supposed to be excited for the words, but you were just scared that your supposed one true love would be some creep or a serial killer.

You had moved from Okinawa up to Tokyo for high school, a move that your parents made so your brother could pursue track at one of the top high schools for the sport. Meanwhile, you had enrolled in Seirin High.

Sitting in class, you cursed your luck for being assigned a seat in the first row. You listened passively as your classmates’ names were called on roll. One by one, your teacher went down the list until she reached, “Kuroko Tetusya?”

“Right here, ma’am.” The whole class jumped at the quiet voice and you stared at the boy three seats behind you and to your left. When had he gotten there?

You turned back to face the front, sighing and shaking your head. You raised your hand when the teacher called your name, zoning out for the rest of the class. It wasn’t until your teacher said that she wanted you to turn and talk to a classmate and introduce yourselves that you listened back in.

You looked around with a frown; it seemed that most people just picked their desk neighbors or people that they were already acquainted with from middle school. Great, so you’d be the loner kid from out of town with no friends. Awesome. You turned to look back the teacher when you saw that there was someone right to your left — that super quiet kid, Kuroko. “What the heck!” you yelped. “When did you get here?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You two stared at each other for a solid twenty seconds, silent, before you bashfully said, “Hi, I’m Y/n.” You held your hand out.

“I’m Kuroko Tetsuya.” He took your hand and shook it with a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, soulmate.”

⋆｡° kagami taiga — friends to lovers

“What the hell happened here?” you asked Kagami as you two packed up for the day. You held his English language test in hand, pointing at the big ‘30%’ circled in red ink at the top of the paper. “Are you sure we both lived in America because—?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, snatching the paper from your hand. You snorted, poking his side and narrowly avoiding the swipe he aimed at your head.

You had known Kagami since you were kids in the United States, though you returned to Japan earlier than him because your dad’s job moved him back. It was a total coincidence that you wound up at Seirin together, reconnecting in your English language class.

“Yikes,” you said. “Better call Alex and brush up on your English.”

As you exited the school building, Kagami shoved you lightly, though it was enough to set you off-balance and almost careening into the ground. You would’ve if Kagami hadn’t grabbed your arm, sheepishly offering an apology. “Jeez, Taiga, know your own strength. Some of us aren’t as buff as you, you know?”

Kagami went a little red and he looked away from you. “Can we stop by Maji Burger on the way back?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m actually kind of hungry.”

You took the train over and you sent Kagami to the register to order for the two of you, sliding into a booth. As you scrolled through your social media, you didn’t notice some guy sliding into the seat across from you. He cleared his throat and you looked up, eyebrows raising. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, I saw you across the restaurant and just had to ask for your number.”

“Oh, uh… I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do that.”

“Why, you got a boyfriend or something?”

“Yeah, me—” Your head whipped over to see Kagami, standing with a tray stacked with burgers and fries. “—so you can fuck off.”

The guy’s mouth opened and closed, taking in Kagami’s large frame and mean scowl and seemingly deciding that it wasn’t worth it, slinking off with his tail between his legs. Kagami practically growled at his retreating back, settling into the seat across from you and dropping the tray on the table with more force than necessary. You watched him as he unwrapped a burger and took a big bite, still frowning. “So,” you said, “you’re my boyfriend now?”

He avoided your eyes and mumbled something around his food. You reached across the table and poked his forehead. “What was that?”

Quietly, he repeated, “If you want me to be.”

Your face warmed but you gave him a small smile and said, “Maybe take me on a date first.”

He perked up and said, “Deal.”

⋆｡° aomine daiki — second chances

Aomine, for all his pride and bravado, admitted that he wasn’t the best boyfriend in high school, especially when the two of you dated in your first year. He understood now that instead of an equal give and take for the two of you, he really just took and took and gave you very little. But he was older now, more mature, more reflective, and you were standing a few feet away from him in the coffee shop Momoi begged him to visit to get her some new, overly sugary treat that was trending on social media.

He had to do a double-take when he first walked in, having heard a laugh while he tapped through Instagram stories (Kuroko had taken a video of Kagami tripping over a wet floor sign, Kise was promoting for some skincare brand, and Akashi was in Ishigaki for the weekend). His heart leapt to his throat; when you turned from the cashier to make your way to the pick-up counter, he confirmed it. It really was you. Your hair was a little shorter and your style changed quite a bit but he would know that laugh anywhere.

“Dude.” Aomine snapped out of his daze and glanced over his shoulder as some scowling middle school kid. “Move up, it’s your turn.”

Aomine didn’t reply, approaching the cash register and ordering Momoi’s viral, heart attack-inducing pastry and a coffee for himself, doing his best to subtly glance over to where you were patiently waiting for your own drink. He shuffled to the pick up counter, standing a respectable distance away from you. Did you know he was there?

“Aomine!” The barista called, and he watched your head shoot up from your phone and you glanced to your right, eyes meeting his.

He grabbed his coffee and the pastry, unsure of what he should do next. Should he say something to you? It would be dick move to just walk away without a word.

“Aomine,” you said, breaking the ice first. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he said, frowning a little at the use of his last name. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been pretty good, studying environmental science. What about you? You’re playing for Vorpal Swords now, right?”

His eyebrows raised and something sparked in his chest. You still kept up with his basketball career? He nodded and you replied, “That’s cool.” The silence that followed was a little awkward, but neither of you made any attempts to move.

“I remember you always liked biology class,” Aomine said finally, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m glad you’re doing what you love.”

That seemed to pull a genuine smile from you and Aomine’s chest tightened. “Yeah, I really do like it. I could say the same for you though.”

The barista called your name and you jumped a little at the sound. As you grabbed it and before he could stop himself, Aomine asked, “Iced latte with oat milk and vanilla syrup?”

You looked surprised. “I’m… I’m honestly shocked you remember something like that.”

“We bought coffee almost every day before school,” he said. “Always running late because of it.”

“Hey! We ran late because you couldn’t wake up to your eight alarms, dummy.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, yeah.”

Silence followed again and you rocked a little on your heels before telling him, “I should get going. I have to help my roommate study for a quiz.”

“Right,” he said. “Yeah, it was… nice running into you.”

“You too, Aomine.” He watched you walk out the door and it was only a few seconds before he was racing out of the cafe.

He yelled your name, drawing stares from other pedestrians. You turned around and Aomine asked, “Wanna get coffee here again? Saturday at eleven?”

You smiled back at him. “Sounds like a plan. You better wake up to those alarms… Daiki.”

⋆｡° kise ryouta — fake dating

During a break in his basketball practice, Kise ran up to you from where you sat in the stands. “Look, Y/n-chii,” he said, showing you his phone screen. You glanced at it, a selfie of Kise with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, both of you are grinning. The caption read: no one else i’d rather be with <3. “We’re so cute together.”

You laughed weakly, “We are.”

A month ago, Kise asked you to pose as his partner since his sisters were going to be around for the month. They had been bothering him about getting a partner and he had gotten sick of the teasing and nagging. The two of you hadn’t been friends exactly but you weren’t strangers; you had been in a handful of classes and worked on a few projects in and out of school. You weren’t really sure why you agreed. You guessed it was that gravitational pull that Kise had that made him irresistible to women and men alike.

You were a bit embarrassed to say that you originally judged Kise as just a pretty face but the month revealed to you that it was absolutely untrue. While he may not be book smart or excel in school, Kise was emotionally intelligent, a beast on the basketball court, and — as you found out through a series of encounters with some of his fans — highly protective of those he cared about.

He took you out on cute “dates,” you met his sisters and parents, and you tried (and failed) to beat him in some spontaneous street basketball matches. You had to admit that you had a really, really good time fake dating Kise. Maybe too good a time. Your heart raced when he leaned against you, enveloping you in the comforting scent of his cologne, when he slid his hand into yours, when he kissed your cheeks when you met his family.

You felt like a complete fool, falling for a guy so out of your reach.

“Hey,” he said and you nearly leapt out of your skin when you saw that Kise had made his way into the stands and sat down next to you. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He frowned, unconvinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he looked out over the basketball court and said, “Can’t believe the month’s almost done.”

You chewed your bottom lip and tried to make a joke: “How dramatic do you want the breakup to be?”

Kise said, “That’s— I’ve actually… I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“Do you want to do it earlier?” Your heart dropped to your stomach at the thought.

Kise’s head whipped towards you, nearly colliding with yours. “No!” He took a deep breath and more calmly, said, “No. Actually the opposite.”

“You want to break up later?”

To your surprise, Kise chuckled, “Wow, and people say I’m dense.”

“What do you mean?”

Kise tilted your chin up, making you meet that intense gold gaze. “I want to date you for real.”

⋆｡° midorima shintarou — frenemies to lovers

You wouldn’t say that you disliked Midorima but… you couldn’t say that you were good friends either. The two of you bickered in class a lot, constantly jockied for higher scores on tests, and gave smug looks at each other when the teacher praised the other.

However, while you and Midorima were, in essence, academic rivals, you were also united in the fact that you both were at the top of your classes. When a classmate would say something dumb, you’d both immediately share a side-eye together. You gravitated toward each other for group projects, avoiding people who wanted you to do all the work.

“You need to come to the game tonight,” Midorima announced to you as you two packed up after Japanese History.

You gave him a look, saying, “When have I ever shown interest in watching basketball?”

He pushed his glasses up and said, “Time to get interested.”

“Why, though?”

“Oh, just come,” Takao sighed. “None of us will ever hear the end of it if you don’t.”

“Fine,” you said, “if it means that much to you, Midorima.”

He just nodded tersely and began to turn away before hesitating. He pointed at your phone charm — a limited-edition charm from you favorite manga — and asked, “Can I take that?”

“What?” You glared at him. “Of course not!”

He huffed, ears turning pink and he pushed up his glasses defensively. “Just for tonight.”

“Why?”

“It’s my lucky item.”

You gave him a look but sighed, unfastening the charm from your phone and handing it to him. “I better get this back after your basketball game.”

He nodded again and pivoted sharply on his heel, walking away without another word, Takao hot on his heels.

On your train ride home, you looked up Oha Asa’s horoscopes out of curiosity, searching for Midorima’s. He was a Cancer, right?

Today is a fifty-fifty day for Cancers but you can change your luck for the better by inviting someone important to you to a meaningful event in your life. Your lucky item for the day is a borrowed phone chain!

⋆｡° murasakibara atsushi — stuck together

You absolutely could not believe the day you were having. As Yosen’s long-suffering manager, you supposed you should have been used to the antics of the players, but after a less-than-stellar performance on a pop quiz and spilling water on your uniform blazer, all you wanted was an uneventful practice and to go home and take a nap. But apparently, fate had other plans for you in the form of Murasakibara Atsushi.

“Y/n-chin,” he drawled, pulling on your shirt sleeve. “Do you have any snacks?”

You shook your head and asked, “Doesn’t Himuro usually have some for you?”

“Muro-chin’s coming late today.”

Ah, so that’s why the gym wasn’t swarming with girls at the moment. “Right,” you said with a sigh. You thought for a second before saying, “I think I remember Liu saying he stashed some snacks in the supply closet. Let’s go look there.”

The two of you made your way into the closet at the end of the gym and you unlocked the door. You switched on the light and rooted around shelves, pushing away cleaning supplies and spare equipment. “I swear Liu said he hid snacks in here.”

“Maybe you’re just too short to see,” Murasakibara said. Before you could tell him that he needed to keep the door open since it locked automatically from the outside, Murasakibara had already moved and the door swung shut behind him.

You cursed and grabbed the handle, twisting it and feeling the resistance of the lock. You groaned, resting your head on the door in despair. From behind you, Murasakibara announced that he found Liu’s stash of snacks. “Great,” you grumbled. “I’m so happy for you but we’re stuck in here until someone lets us out.”

Murasakibara glanced at you and came up beside you, trying the door handle himself with much more force than you ever could muster (you were pretty sure you heard the metal bend a little) but you still remained trapped. You shot a text to Coach Araki, informing her about your situation, to which she replied that you’d both have to wait until they found the spare key since Fukui had managed to misplace it a few weeks ago.

You rubbed your hands down your face and leaned your back against the door, watching as Murasakibara plopped down on the floor and stretched his legs out, munching on Liu’s chips. He took up most of the floor space of the closet, and you pressed yourself further against the door to avoid knocking into his feet.

As fifteen minutes passed, you shifted your weight from one foot to the other again, legs growing tired. Murasakibara cocked his head before he suggested, “Y/n-chin, do you want to sit?”

“I’m okay,” you mumbled but Murasakibara remained unconvinced apparently since he sat up a little straighter, set the empty chip bag aside, and leaned forward suddenly, pulling you down to sit in between his legs. Your cheeks burned as you practically crashed into his body.

“You can lean against me,” he said. Your face was on fire but honestly, you were too tired to argue with him, shifting to rest your back against his chest. He reclined on his hands and you felt his gaze burning into the back of your head.

It was about fifteen more minutes before the door opened, Himuro having found the key. Fukui, Okamura, and Liu also peeked their heads inside, Fukui and Himuro eyeing your positioning with smirks. “Looks like you two got comfy,” Fukui snickered. Okamura turned away, muttering something about how unfair life was, and Liu’s eyes zeroed in on the chip bag beside Murasakibara.

“Did thou eat my snacks?”

⋆｡° akashi seijuurou — forbidden relationship

If it was anybody but you, you would have rolled your eyes at just how cliche and utterly ridiculous this situation was. But it was you and your life and your relationship, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t completely crush you.

You and Akashi had grown up alongside one another but not necessarily in a good way. Your parents’ companies were each other’s main competitors, and while they had as polite a relationship as industry titan competitors could have, neither family wanted their heirs dating.

But at your and Akashi’s ages, it was hard to really forbid you two from seeing one another.

You sometimes couldn’t believe how many people rose to power who were insufferably boring. You stood beside your mother as she laughed and clinked champagne glasses with a group of suits, your face frozen in some disingenuous smile. Your eyes, meanwhile, scanned the large banquet hall, falling immediately on a figure with red hair and two-toned eyes. You felt your mouth curl into a real grin when you met his gaze and you winked at him, butterflies bursting in your stomach when he smiled back and shook his head fondly.

He had told you that his father arranged a date for him tonight, the heiress to one of their closest associate companies. You couldn’t say you weren’t a little jealous but you were completely confident in Akashi’s love for you; the two of you wouldn’t have carried on this long if either of you wasn’t completely enamored with the other.

“Excuse me,” you said at a lull in the conversation, “I’m going to get some air, I’m feeling lightheaded.”

“Of course, dear,” your mother said. “Be sure to be back for speeches, though. You know how your father gets.”

You nodded and slipped away to the venue’s gardens, lush and hued in autumnal colors. Your fingers brushed against the blooming wisteria as you made your way to the bridge over the garden’s pond, staring down at the moon’s reflection in the water.

A few minutes later, your reflection is joined on the bridge with Akashi’s, shoulders touching. You didn’t exchange any words for a while; you just rested your head on his shoulder and his head rested on yours.

“Where’d you leave your date?” you asked him.

He chuckled, “She’s in a conversation with my aunt about her collection of vintage Versace.”

You hummed, “That should keep her busy the whole night.”

Akashi finally faced you. “That’s the intention, beloved.” He pecked your forehead.

You gently poked his side and asked, “You call that a kiss?”

He gave you one of those looks, eyes glinting with the same promise of a challenge as they did when he played basketball. “Are you underestimating me?”

“Well, if the shoe fits…”

You laughed as he cupped your face and pressed his mouth against yours for a much, much different kind of kiss.

#knb x reader #kuroko no basuke x reader #kuroko's basketball x reader #generation of miracles x reader #gom x reader #kuroko tetsuya x reader #kagami taiga x reader #aomine daiki x reader #kise ryouta x reader #midorima shintarou x reader #murasakibara atsushi x reader #akashi seijuurou x reader #kuroko x reader #kagami x reader #aomine x reader #kise x reader #midorima x reader #murasakibara x reader #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ kaiijo writes

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satocidal · 1 year ago

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𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ “Stacey’s Mom has got it going on” — Gojo Satoru

Synopsis: You can’t help eyeing your daughter’s pretty boyfriend when he’s just so sweet, and he can’t help himself either when you’re the best he would ever find.

— word count: 4.2k

— A/n: idk if this qualifies as dc (I don’t think so) but it has like, idk age gap and cheating concepts so take care

— warnings: smut!! MDNI!! Age gap (Gojo is 20 and you’re bordering late 30s); cheating; sort of asshole representative? But how else would something like this work; hair pulling; body worshipping; oral (f! Receiving); dub-con (slightly?); Satoru is a shit boyfriend to your daughter; hinted domestic abuse; mentions of scars; almost subby! Satoru? (There’s no definite concept of who’s dominant- and if satoru then a lot of soft dom); slight spitting; riding; simultaneous orgasm

21-7, Shinjuku 3-chome, Shinjyuku, Tokyo.

He had the address memorised, down to the number of windows in your house and the exact shade of the monotonous white your husband had deemed “minimalist”.

19 he was now, you stood at an elegant 37—arriving in the vicinity at an estimated 5 years ago, your husband’s property, he’d guessed.

Gojo Satoru was 14 when he first saw you, puberty making its way into the young boy’s mind—you did none but encourage the certain downfall in the way you tapped his cheek when he offered to help you in carrying the many bags.

Over the years, Satoru saw you a lot, and also, didn’t at all.

Satoru saw you in the afternoon haze, dealing with the heat—staring obnoxiously when you took off your floral shirts, standing in front of him in those tight leggings and tank tops—but he also saw you at times that you didn’t know about.

And when he didn’t see you physically, you were present on his mind.

At least up until his 18th birthday, you knew of his presence when he would come to meet you.

What had begun as an innocent tap on his cheek for being adorable had developed into an innocent friendship on your accords, smiling wide every few months when he would zoom past your house on his cycle.

The routine was simple then, left-right-right-left, 15 minutes of a way from his house, and there he would be, at your gate—somehow always when you had grocery to carry.

The routine was simple now too, 11 p.m. he would sneak out of his dorm room, a smirk on his face as he used his infinity—making his way into your house, all so quietly, to watch your pretty face as you slept—sometimes even snickering when he caught you being fucked by your husband, snickering at that bored expression on your face, knowing just how much better he could treat you.

He’d never been inside however, general courtesy to be shown, not as a kid—never yet as an adult.

Back then you’d giggled when a 17 year old Gojo had brought his shy friend to meet you, both their cycles parked outside your house as you tended to their boyish smirks, he doubted you’d giggle knowing that the same friend, Geto, was the one he sent your pictures to when he found you sleeping.

But Satoru wasn’t dumb, he knew you’d realise at some point and so, he did what he had to.

In his head, it was all your fault too, so oblivious to everything that he had to choose the second best, your daughter.

“I know she’s like hot and what not but you gotta let her go dude,” Suguru’s voice was a drag—partially dry from all the alcohol he’d consumed.

Satoru’s 20th birthday was approaching, a week left, the celebrations of course had to last a month.

Satoru chuckled beside his best friend—almost wasted he noted—“it’s not like I wanna fuck her or something,” he grinned, he knew wanted to, he knew he possibly couldn’t, “it’s just, I could treat her so much better you know? That stupid little house-”

Suguru smirked, “-don’t bring money into it you pervert,” his eyes bore into his best friend’s, “her daughter ain’t that bad ya know,”

Satoru snorted at that, “which is exactly why I went for her too,”

Just at that, Geto snorted too—mindlessly, shamelessly, both of them.

-ring!!

Slow, both their eyes panned onto Satoru’s phone, ‘my love’ the screen flashed, Suguru snorted again, “Ironic,”

With a roll of his eyes and a short smirk, he shook his head—knowing she’d only be calling because she was needy, at least that’s all he remembered her to be.

“Mmhmm baby, gonna drop by in half an hour yeah? Yeah, yeah, miss you too, bye,”

He always sounded sweet- that was what your daughter rambled about, Satoru Gojo was the sweetest guy ever, and you were glad mostly, a little jealous? You weren’t sure.

It just wasn’t something you ever had.

As Satoru got up to leave though—“you ever let your girl go though, hit me up alright?”

Satoru eyed his best friend with a grin- that was something he could do—“have our own fucked up family eh?”

“Satoru?” You smiled, “long time honey,”

‘For you’, he thought, smiling smugly, “I keep you in well wishes all the time so, not so much Ma’am,”

You chuckled at his words—ever the gentleman he’d been, “that’s adorable, is that how you charmed my daughter too?”

His heart ached at that—only a little however, no, it was all only for you, all the charm—all for his only woman.

Thoughts flashed onto his own girlfriend, he remembered the night well—it wasn’t much, her 16th birthday, he’d just turned 17 too— he’d dropped by, getting you those medicines you’d requested a week or so ago—they were only found near his vicinity, he could only oblige.

Curiosity often killed ended up killing the cat.

He’d racked his brain, he thought of it for endless nights—he didn’t want to accept it, not so easily, not when you made it seem simple.

Each of what you’d asked him to get was a pain killer.

He’d disliked your husband before, but since after, he was sure he hated him.

That night, he’d sat outside your house with your daughter, she was smoking—he was used to it, he hated the smell.

“Aren’t you too young to be smoking?” He’d teased, exactly how he used to Suguru and Shoko—except she didn’t entertain the jokes, never had, never would.

However, before a mean retort could fall off of her lips, a crash sounded all too loud.

Not accidental, Satoru knew that.

He was quick to get up, he was no hero, but his life be sworn if he let you suffer such—a hand held him back.

“Don’t get into it,” she warned, your daughter did.

He didn’t, it wasn’t his place to.

Your husband cheated that night, as he had countlessly, your daughter found her first boyfriend—you wept that night, Satoru’s heart did too.

“Can’t lie I keep a special bank reserved for my uh…mature ladies,” a wink he passed, he made you feel young, alive.

A shake of a head you passed and a knowing laugh.

You noted his lingering gaze, the bruise on your forearm ever present, never you said a word- never him.

The silence engulfing and nauseating.

“Your uh,” his words were rough, “anniversary yeah? Round the corner isn’t it?”

You giggled, almost as if it mattered, “So he remembers? And your own, isn’t it?” A look of slight confusion masked your face, he grinned, “a week after yours, it’s my birthday though, on the same day that is, you always mess it up,”

An apologetic smile you passed this time around, “why, I’m sorry, let me make up by baking you a pie honey?”

A thin smile adorned his face—shaking his head, he ushered you back in, waiting patiently for your daughter to bounce back, to remind him of his reality.

But just as you did turn, “wait, by the way,” his eyes lay stuck upon the bruises you didn’t care to hide, “how’re things going?”

His eyes gazed upon the sheer material of your shirt, “how’s…Mr Y/l/n?”

Almost a sneer, as if, you stared, “perfectly fine, Toru—how’re things with Y/d/n?”

He stared blankly this time around—“perfectly fine Ma’am.”

“Pass me the lighter,”

Satoru stared at his best friend’s outstretched hands—your daughter’s pretty smile as she handed him hers—the same smile that had intrigued Satoru to even look at her, the only feature on her face that resembled you.

“What are your plans for the anniversary?” The words registered in Satoru’s ears—he wasn’t sure who the speaker was, he didn’t exactly care, “I could help around your house,” a mutter, as if unsure to why—but certain that he wanted to.

Cocked brows looked at him confused, “…isn’t it your 20th birthday though?”

He nodded.

“Who wastes their 20th birthday helping around random houses?” Suguru’s tone was almost annoyed, as if he knew—or could’ve guessed why.

Satoru’s girlfriend laughed, “You know he’s screwed a little right? Can’t stop him if he doesn’t want to,”

Satoru nodded again—it gutted him onto how well she bothered to know him—and yet, he perhaps didn’t even bother knowing her favourites most of the time.

“No no,” head shaking, a grimace fell onto Suguru’s face, “pretty boy here can do whatever he wants,” a knowing look they both passed—“but 20s don’t happen again, go big or go home,”

Satoru chuckled, of course he had it all planned out, “I’m going big and going home,”

Another charming smile, another wink—just something you couldn’t become a fool too.

A slight frown rested on your lips, “You sure hon? You don’t have to waste your evening like this…”

It was almost motherly, the way you showed concern—in ways Satoru had barely experienced.

He scoffed, “Time well spent is never wasted,”

“You’re going to mow a lawn baby,” you chuckled, “y/d/n isn’t home either- you know her sleepover- I don’t see how-”

“-anything to please and help you is almost the best kind of work I could do,” you’d have smiled usually, at his words—a tiny flirt you always deemed him—laughing about it to your husband, even though he barely cared.

You didn’t care of it either, an empty marriage, so be it—hollowed from both ends, slow.

But this time, this was different.

This time you’d perhaps bask in his help—no husband to taunt by complimenting little Satoru, no daughter to tease by complimenting little Satoru.

Satoru wasn’t all so little, you realised—your daughter and husband weren’t home—just you, Satoru and his praises.

6 p.m. — 7 p.m. — 8 p.m.

Satoru didn’t remember a time to the when he’d done all so much work for his own mother- but he was content, with a pair of earphones and a creative little mind, he was intent to impress you.

It amused him, to actually how big of a lawn you actually did have—and he wondered at the almost pristine look of it if you managed it yourself.

Even if you did, he would be your helping hand now—he grinned ear to ear as he thought the countless many scenarios.

‘Desperate’ , a little voice in his head called—“my pretty good boy” your voice, the one you used in his thoughts, fought away all doubts.

But all to quick his train of thoughts paused, “you missed a spot there Toru’”

And most of the time, he’d be pissed on to anyone who dared to correct him—with you he’d nod obediently and carry on—but normally, even your normally, you didn’t step out in front of him in just a small, pretty pink towel wrapped around you.

Satoru Gojo had pretty eyes, a decent imagination too—he’d thought about you plenty of times.

Naked, spread open, on your knees, having him between your knees—many and every and any position but absolutely nothing could’ve compared to the way seeing you covered just enough—in a small towel got him hard.

Satoru Gojo had pretty eyes and for a second they were wide as saucers.

His eyes panned onto the spot you pointed at—he had indeed missed a spot—he nodded slowly.

The music rang in his ears—

Stacy's mom has got it goin' on

Ironic.

“I’ll get to it, going for a bath?”

It shouldn’t have been that casual—him asking you your schedule such—you let it be so.

“It’s getting late, want to stay the night? And yeah—yeah, a bath,”

Stay the night.

There the offer lay and his temptation—he watched the careless way you held the towel, all so small that decency was the only thing that stopped him from staring shamelessly at your exposed thigh.

“I don’t know-”

An attempt, simply a stupid attempt to save him and you—“-I insist and what song is that?”

He stared blankly, “Stacey’s mom,”

“How I love that song,”

Of course you did- he watched you walk away as the song continued playing.

Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn?

Your mom came out with just a towel on

I could tell she liked me from the way she stared

And the way she said

"You missed a spot over there"

Down the drain, his character, perhaps yours—then relationships you’d held, everything.

Another nod.

“I’m staying the night Suguru,”

“Hah?!”

An eye roll, an obnoxiously pitched questionnaire, “The fuck? It’s your damn birthday tomorrow—why did you make me get that damn cake?”

Jaw clenched, he stared at the recently mowed lawn—10:00 p.m.

It was too late.

“Better get a taste of her damn pussy if you’re staying the night fucker,”

Satoru shook his head, a smile, “Shut up, talk about her nicely,”

“I’ll talk to her nicely when your girlfriend talks to me nicely when I’m dicking her down, really got yourself a brat huh?”

The smirk was evident in his tone- Satoru wanted to feel betrayed, he couldn’t.

“You’re such a bloody fucker,” he muttered through, “Take care of her,”

“Always have—you take care of her damn mom,”

And he always had too.

10:15 p.m.

He found it simply, weird, that you were in the shower all so long—shaving?

It was your anniversary tomorrow, a loyal wife, a good wife—you’d present yourself well—he thought.

He wasn’t entirely wrong either, was he?

Foggy, your bathroom mirrors stood as you prepared yourself just right, shaven smooth—a guilty heart panged in your chest.

You watched the many scars lingered upon your body, natural, provided—all yours and you doubted it, doubted the mere fact that Satoru would even think about touching you the way you fantasised.

It was wrong—just a fortnight ago and he was the sweet boy you used to adore and having by, just a week ago he was the boyfriend of your daughter that made your relationship all the more insecure, just tonight he was growing into his age.

Head hung back, you stared at the ceiling- so wrong and so right.

Almost melancholic, your train of thoughts was, and his too as he sat by the window of your room—“Please clean these windows too,” you’d said with a smile, breasts pushed together as you held your hand in front of you—the little pink towel did nothing, you knew that.

His hard-on was obvious, you’d had that effect on guys all the time—but then, maybe it wasn’t for you, maybe he just saw the sight and it reminded him of- maybe-

“God~ fuck-!”

Your ears perked up, maybe that was a moan.

Not maybe, it was—it was all too certain a breathy moan.

And before the better judgement was to be passed, there you were, the pink towel wrapped around all the more perversely as you twisted the knob of the door—entering your room to the prettiest sight in a while that you’d seen.

“Satoru?”

Eyes all so wide, the ministrations came to an immediate halt—“Mrs- Mrs- I- shit,”

You watched him scramble about, struggling to get the pants that he’d pulled down to his ankles, back in place—pale cheeks tinted with the embarrassment he held-“I’ll leave right now,” and you knew your figure standing about, almost naked, did not help.

A giggle you passed, “Satoru, it’s fine baby, what’re you so embarrassed about?”

That, he didn’t expect, neither did you.

A low ‘huh’ dropped from his mouth,a hardened cock hanging out for you to ogle at.

“Yes I mean,” you continued, slowly moving towards him, “it’s all…natural isn’t it? You’re a big boy now too,” your voice was sweet as honey, pulling him, reeling him in.

He watched, estranged, as you swayed your hips, moving in, pulling him—pushing him and there he lay in your bed.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

“Tell me Satoru,” you whispered, nimble fingers grasping the hem that covered you—“are you all grown up? Still my big boy?”

A silent nod, your towel fell.

A smile etched across your face as you saw his mouth widen-“l-like what you see?”

A slight stutter, you were nervous too—just as him.

And it was entirely a surprise to you then, when his were the hands that grasped your hips rough—flipping the both of you over so he was on top.

Lips attached to your neck—his hands ran wild as they explored every bit of you—“So much, so so much, you’re gorgeous,”

Frenzied moans, hefty touches—it was almost as he’d been dying to touch you—and he had.

His lips moved fast—faster than his fingers, moving across every inch of you—a slight tingle you felt as wet and sloppy kisses he left across your shoulder blades, your hands tugging at the white tuft of his hair.

“So soft,” he murmured against your skin— “so fuckin pretty,” he was skillfull, almost, in the way he managed to completely disregard your needs in the moment.

Not a single brush of his fingers or crotch against your pussy—a tease.

You wanted to cry, pleasure hit you hard—and in the way he lingered seconds too long upon every scar that your husband had given you, at every bruise that you held—in the way he handled you so carefully, not as if you were fragile but as if you were his desire personified.

“Tell me, Satoru,” you snickered, at the breathy moans he let out, “how long have you waited for this,”

“Forever,” he breathed out—the crystal blue eyes finally met you then, “God forbid I just- please, please let me?” A whine he let out still, so desperate.

“Always this needy hm?”

He shook his head fast, “Only for you,”

And you knew that just there he was begging all so easily.

“Please- ple-ase,” his voice was a drag, as if afraid that he’d lose this moment all so soon, “please let me…let me touch you- feel you,”

A twinkle in your eye, “if you’re good, yeah?”

He bobbed his head at that- “on your knees for me baby,”

And that he did, so obedient, “Show me how much you’ve yearned,”

It was a dynamic, if anything—you held the control surely, and you lay naked too—sprawled out as your head rested upon the pillows steadily, his between the plush of your thighs.

An airy gasp you let out as you felt him spit upon it, “fuck you’re glistening,” he whined, “So wet from just the thought of me?”

You felt his fingers spread your folds out, he felt so cold against the warmth of your pussy, “Didn’t even need me to spit huh? But had to mark you didn’t I? Remind you that I am the one who gets you this way- has your husband ever gotten you this way huh?”

His words seemed almost feral, a growl with every word as he kept lowering his head— he focused upon your clit.

Your legs lay spread wide open for him, one his hands resting upon your thigh, rubbing soft soothing circles—while the hand finger fucked you.

His finger slipped in so easily, a groan both of you let out together, “so fucking warm I- your pussy’s pratically begging to be ruined,”

You squirmed at his words—already dumb at the way his middle and ring finger pumped inside of you,

“More please,” you moaned out, “need more,”

A smirk he held as he lowered his lips, nipping at your pussy lips, “More what Ma’am? More of what hm?”

A loud whine you let out at his word- “Fuck Toru’ not tonight, please just touch me—want you,”

Enough encouragement, in fact it was all he needed before landing his tongue flat upon your clit, swiping it back and forth upon the little nub.

“Scream my name please,” rough hands pulled at your legs—resisting you from closing your legs—“Arch your back and scream my name, let your neighbours know I’m the one in your silly fucked marriage that gets you so worked up and not that fucker,”

His words barely registered in your head—thrashing at the liable pleasure he held onto you, “Sh-it Toru’ I- right there! Yes please,”

He grinned as he looked up at your face briefly, before diving right back in, suckling at your hardened clit as his fingers prepared your cunt to be ruined by his cock.

“God I should film you being so needy for me,” another groan as his tongue lapped upon your core—“should teach em how to please the perfection you are,”

You whimpered at his words, eyes rolling back at the way he provided just the right kind of pressure- until you weren’t.

A loud whine and groan as he pulled out of your cunt, he grinned, “Want you to cum on my cock when you do — wanna feel you clamp down hard,”

You looked into his eyes, hesitant? Neither of you.

“Taste yourself,” and before you could pull away, shoved into your mouth were his two fingers as you sucked onto it—“Fuckin’ delicious,” he muttered as he pulled away the fingers too.

Needy, he wanted you needy.

Slow, he moved about, rising about and pulling you with him as he kissed your arms—“someday, I’ll leave such pretty marks on you, those are the ones you deserve,”

You bit your lips hard- he did too, as you straddled his lap—“please,” he whimpered and you giggled, “how many times do you think about this?”

All the time.

Any and everytime he was alone, just you on his cock bouncing to chase your euphoria.

You cupped his face as you stared at him, such a pretty innocent look he held—you grinned devilishly as you lined your entrance upon his tip.

"yeah. 'think about it a lot. want you to use me, please, just have me. i'm y — ohhh god, oh fuck me, y-yes please — fuck i'm yours!" his words, bound to be a mess now that you've lowered yourself to meet level with his cock.

It throbbed inside you, it looked so pretty, when you imagined sucking on it— with that curve you always felt pressing against your walls when he would be balls deep inside your pussy- just as now.

“Tell me Toru,” you but down in your lips hard, red, “how many times do you think?”

He gulped hard as he watched you move, unable to hold himself as your warmth spread all over his cock, “J-just some- sometimes, when I- I miss you, when I c-can’t get enou- oh god- can’t get enough,”

He moaned softly, head fallen aback and eyes shut close as you rode him slow, rolling your hips—it took your all to just not give in and fuck yourself dunb over his cock.

“In the shower…after- after practice,”

You giggled at his words, oh how you felt like a filthy girl in the moment, “all sweaty and dirty? Think bout fuckin me in shower?”

“Yeah…” his voice lay a rasp, “think bout you when I’m alone,”

Your words, actions—he was dizzy with pleasure, legs squirming beneath you—toes curling in pleasure and hips stuttering as he reeled in for more.

“Think of you when I fuck your daughter too,” and just at that he thrusted harshly into you, gripping your hips as he moved you fast—“you’re too slow,” he grunted.

A low moan escaped you at his words—him too.

Filthy.

Wrong.

You didn’t care.

"d-you think of me too, when- when you can’t touch it? When it- it d-doesn’t feel right?" his question almost sounded innocent, eager to hear your response.

"Course’ i do. think about my pretty boy all the time. i miss this cock so bad sometimes, 'can't get off the same with any of my toys."

He groaned at that—you could feel him twitching inside you.

11:55 p.m.

You weren’t sure when or how you lost all that time- it didn’t matter.

It was your anniversary in 5 minutes and his birthday.

Your hands grabbed his face and pulled him close—your boobs thrusted into his face, “cum with me ok? Hold on just a pretty while yeah?”

Your words were a lullaby to him, he nodded mindlessly, attaching his lips onto your nipples, swiping his tongue over your nipples.

Your soaking cunt engulfed his cock as you bounced upon it, head hung back as you chased your high—his hands kneaded your skin—one pinching your nipples while the other massaged your ass.

If you could, you’d have seen the adoration in his eyes as you fucked your self onto him—breathy moans and shy grunts, the smell of your sex wafted through the air.

Just another minute.

“S-So good to me-” He stutters, nails latching onto your skin to bounce you more aggressively on his cock as his flustered state slowly dissipates.

So close, both of you—a babbling mess underneath you,Satoru was purely pussy drunk—and just like that, the clock strung 12:00 a.m.

You both drew each other’s orgasm.

You stay there on top of him for a second, panting and heaving you both lay—nuzzling as his fingers drew circles on the small of your back.

Circles, you weren’t aware, those circles were actually his name crafted carefully upon your skin for he knew you were finally his.

“You good?”

A slight smile on your face as you asked him, he lay beside you in your bed—“Happy Birthday Toru,”

“Best birthday I’ve had,”

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

— Taglist: @illogicallyx @rizzmin @immurrsed @bbytamaki @abitoldschool

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cheriladycl01 · 8 months ago

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I think you're full of shit! Yuki Tsunoda x Artist! Reader

Plot: You get lost in Japan when your travelling to get inspo when a boy claims he drives really fast cars.

You were currently lost in Japan, you'd been on your way to an art gallery and studio when you'd taken one wrong turn and ended up in the middle of Tokyo.

You also didn't know enough Japanese to get you out of this situation and you didn't want to be that annoying tourist. So you set yourself up in a public park opposite a huge cherry blossom tree in full bloom that was hanging over the lake there.

Your easel was out facing the direction you intended to paint while all of your tools were rested in your little pop up desk to the side of the easel. You been painting for at least two hours now, only having captures the basics of the landscape.

You were getting hungry but knew you couldn't just leave the art here incase someone tried messing with it or stealing it. So you continued on, some people would come up and gasp when they saw what you were painting, the compliments in Japanese getting more and more common as your painting started to get to the final few steps until it would be done.

"Hello" a voice calls from behind you causing you to flinch a little, the English catching you off guard. Luckily your brushes were no-where near the canvas that had your art on.

"Oh!" you smile looking at the man that was standing behind you gazing from the art to the backdrop that you were using as your muse.

"That's really good!" he smiles stepping next to you, and you now notice that your a little taller than he is, however that was an uncommon thing in Japan with you being on the taller side of women.

"Thank you, I erm wasn't actually supposed to paint here but I'm really glad I did. It's a beautiful location" you admit looking around the other area of the part that the square of your canvas wasn't capturing.

"Where were you supposed to paint?" he asks.

"Erm, some gallery in Shinjuku, but I got lost and I ended up here. I didn't want to look like one of those annoying tourists!" you smile awkwardly.

"Well, I don't know about you still being able to paint in the studio but the gallery should still be open if you want me to take you there?" he offers and you eye him carefully.

"How do I know you aren't going to kidnap me?" you ask crossing your arms.

"I have a reputation that I would heavily damage if i did do that!" he jokes but see's that you still don't look convinced.

"I drive for a living, in really really fast cars" he offers to you, making you cock your head to the side. So he was on TV, and drove cars if he had a reputation.

"So like Top Gear?" you ask.

"Mmm not exactly more competitive than that" he laughs and you look over him again.

"I think your full of shit!" you laugh, not believing this kind and humble man has any ounce of fame behind him.

"Mmm, come find out!" he offers and you look at him like he's crazy.

"Sorry?" you laugh.

"I'm an F1 Driver, I'll get you tickets if your still here for the Grand Prix next week. It's my home race after all" he offers, of course you'd heard of the racing sport but you weren't ever one to pay much attention to it.

"Alright, you've got yourself a deal..." you press wondering his name.

"Yuki, my name's Yuki!" he smiles. You slowly start to pack up, having finished your painting when you were first talking to him.

"I need to take this all back to my hotel first, then can you take me to the gallery?" you ask, making sure all your paints were sealed so they wouldn't spill out into your shoulder bag.

"Sure, where are you staying?" he asks and you show him the address of the hotel on your phone, you both walk back through the streets of Tokyo him pointing out little things you'd missed in your time here. He brought up other places that he thought you'd like to paint and in seconds had you rambling about how you didn't just paint you just preferred to.

You'd got to the hotel in just a 30 minute walk and you placed all your stuff back in your room making sure the canvas wasn't near anything that would make it too hot and run. You grabbed your professional camera knowing having Yuki around he'd find some good places for you to get photos of the city.

In minutes you were back out on the busy streets of Tokyo Centre, as you were going across the Shibuya crossing Yuki grabbed your hand so you wouldn't get lost. With it being the late afternoon, all Japanese office workers were finishing their days up in the office and heading for their commute out of the city.

"It's very busy so you have to stay close!" he yells a little over the loudness of the crowd on the crossing.

"I know, I'm right here" you beam back, watching roughly where the end of the crossing was coming too. You could see the gallery at the end of the road Yuki was starting to head down and you could already tell it was going to be fantastic with the architecture from the outside.

"Oh woah, let me get a picture!" you exclaimed, the way the sun set down the street flickering off the building and the way it light up the graphic design on the back of Yuki's denim jacket.

"Oh sorry! I'm ruining your shot" Yuki says stepping to the side noticing you looking through your camera and kneeling down to get the perfect shot.

"No no stay back where you were facing away. You looked great!" you say looking at his bright smile through the camera making you snap an picture of him facing you and laughing.

"Are you sure your this super fast race car driver not a model?" you shout over to him as he starts to squat in a pose for you.

He comes over wanting to see the work done, the pictures he's been in.

"Woah, you have such an artistic eye." he smiles looking through the pictures you'd caught. Seeing how it made him look exactly like you said ... a model.

You continued to the gallery and walked around with Yuki, taking pictures and checking out the art.

"I really want to be in a gallery like this one day" you sigh looking at a particular group of paintings that had a similar style to yours.

"Mmmm i think you will. You really have an eye for all this!" he smiles.

"Thank you, really!" you smile.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @formula1mount @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #yuki tsunoda #yuki tsunoda x reader #yuki tsunoda imagine #yuki tsunoda x you #yuki tsunoda x y/n #yt22 #yt22 x reader #yuki tsunoda fluff

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thoughtsonkm · 4 months ago

Text

HONEYMOON

NAH scratch "are you sure?!", they should've named the show "Cuddles and Giggles" yep yep

I don't know why I just finally wrapped my head around the fact that it's really just them two together on this one. Kinda having a mild crisis about it right now, idk why it just hit me. You'd think I would've been prepared for this already..

Not them color coordinating their outfits on almost EVERY POSSIBLE SCENE 😭

- JM: jungkookssii I'll give you a cuddle tonight so you're not cold hehe 😙

- JK: 😁😁😁😁😁

Me every 3 seconds: nooo jikook what are you doing there's cameras everywhere stopp ittt

And they're flirting over grilling meet now?? Marinating huh..This is some new level of domesticity

So wait Jm already burned his leg once during another bike ride? Did I understand that correctly? Ngl I love a protective Jk always warning and telling jimin to be careful

They casually kinda cosplayed GCF Tokyo, they're nuts omg

Ok but how many placesss have they been to?? I've already counted like 30 different locations

🎶Just how fast the night changes..🎶

The beauty of all this is that this time around almost no photo and no selfie will be lost into oblivion, they'll all be in the photobook ✨

They seem like good friends. yes. lol.

#ANOTHER DAY ANOTHER TEASER #jikook #kookmin #jimin #jungkook #bts #bangtan #are you sure?!#jikook travel show #july 2024

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kiyoomi-levin · 10 months ago

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here for you (yan!Suna RinatroxF!reader)

a/n this has been a wip for so long... enjoy! i'm working on a atsumu [nsfw] fic so be on the lookout for that next (unless adhd takes over and i start working on a different one instead)!

summary:: As a pro athlete and model, he's nice enough. And yet...there’s something in your gut that says you should stay away. word count:: ~4.4k warning(s):: non-con (no smut/SFW), suna's a grade A creep/stalker, yandere!!, isolation, stockholm syndrome, horror??(i tried to make this scary but it's really not lol) Music rec:: joke's on you - charlotte lawrence

As an aspiring journalist, your dreams had all but come true when you were hired as an intern at the most prestigious sports media center in Tokyo.

You get to shake hands with athletes you see on television daily and most importantly, you had received an actual assignment.

Gone were the days of running around to get your manager coffee and spending the day shredding documents. Instead, you had been tasked with creating an in-depth piece into the most popular athlete of the year— Suna Rintaro of EJP Raijin.

You still vividly remember your first time meeting him.

You’d been star-struck— a tall, gorgeous man you had only ever seen through a screen was standing in front of you.

Smiling. Holding out his beautiful hand for you to shake.

Despite his casual demeanor, there was something off about him. Maybe it was your nerves, or the cold air circulating in the office, but there was a tug in your stomach that was warning you.

At the time, you had plastered an excited grin on your face and scolded yourself.

But looking back— his eyes were quite cold, weren’t they?

You just can’t explain why you feel sick whenever you see him. In fact, despite the great task ahead of you—interviewing and writing up an article on Suna— you had been avoiding him.

There’s just something in you that dreads looking into his sharp green eyes.

It doesn’t help that in spite of your best efforts, you strangely run into him everywhere-- on and off the court.

“Suna?”

Your voice comes out squeaky and clearly nervous.

Are your eyes deceiving you? Why would he be here, in the middle of the cereal aisle, at the small grocery store next to your dingy apartment? You have to do a double take before you can confirm that yes, it is in fact him.

It’s late, and it’s only you, Suna, and the tired store manager. Though, at this moment, it feels like it’s only the two of you in this world.

“Oh. Hey, y/n,” Suna says casually, flashing you his famous smirk— the one that has his fans screaming and crying. He’s on his knees, reading the back of a granola cereal.

Suna turns back to the aisle in front of him, finally placing a box into his basket. Your brain registers it as your favorite flavor (the unhealthy, chocolate-y type that you’re sure athletes shouldn’t be eating).

What a coincidence.

“What are you doing here?”

You live on the edge of Tokyo, an unfortunate 30 minute subway ride to get to the sports arena you’re working at. And you know, from Suna’s player profile, that he lives in a luxurious high-ceiling apartment only a few blocks away from there.

“What do you mean?” Suna asks, frowning. He seems genuinely confused.

Are you the crazy one?

“Oh, it’s just… so random, you know?”

Your throat is tightening now and you feel unable to even swallow.

There are alarms blaring inside of your head, as if every fiber is irrationally telling you to run.

Suna glares at you, sharp eyes studying your smaller stature.

God. Another reason why you don’t like this man— he’s just too difficult to communicate with.

“You live quite far away, right?”

Seconds pass and you’re beginning to worry you’ve said something wrong or offensive when Suna finally stands, sighing as he turns toward the registers.

“No. I just moved to Kamikitazawa.”

You feel that tingle again.

“What a coincidence!” You say, recovering quickly.

Fuck. You sound especially stupid right now.

But could you help it? Suna, a multi-millionaire, moved into your apartment building? The one inhabited by broke college students and poor retirees?

Was he struggling financially? Did he have a secret child like some rumors alleged? Wait, is he—

“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but whatever it is, you’re wrong.”

Suna and you are standing at the cash register now, and he turns to gently smile at you. You feel yourself softening.

Why were you scared, anyways? He’s a world-famous athlete and model.

Your premonitions have been wrong in the past— like when you thought your boss, Kuroo, would be upset with you accidentally deleting his PC files.

“I see,” you murmur, “well… the apartment is kind of… there’s a lot of problems, you know?”

The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. You sound like a broken radio.

There's an awkward silence as you and Suna both try to find the words to say.

This is why you hate talking to him, he expects you to do all the work!

"You should know that the third elevator isn't that good. It always gets stuck on floor two. And the garbage chute at the end of every hall is kind of hard to open. You have to," you make a pulling motion, "really yank, ya know?"

Silence. Suna stares at you blankly.

You're just an absolute loser, aren't you?

He's gonna cringe, or worse, tell your advisor that you're being overfamiliar with him, an athlete 5 years your senior…

As you stand in your cheap winter boots, shivering, Suna suddenly laughs.

It's not the quiet chuckle you see him release when he's joking with Komori, but a head-throwing, mouth widening laugh.

"Uh..." you stutter, nervous.

It takes a full minute before he finally stops, silently pink at the face.

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," he says, lifting his shopping basket.

You nod repeatedly, nerves subsiding.

"Wanna walk back together?" Suna asks.

You hesitantly nod. Why not? It's late and dark, and though the neighborhood is calm, it never hurts to have a walking buddy.

On the walk home, to your surprise, Suna begins to talk about his team and compliments you for your article on the top liberos. You’ve never seen this side of him. There’s a reason why he’s so beloved— he’s a mystery.

You’re nearly zoning out as the two of you reach your apartment complex.

"Am I boring you?" Suna suddenly asks.

It's such an unexpected question, you falter for a second.

"No! I'm just... I feel relaxed. I like hearing your voice," you say, surprised.

Suna lets out a sigh of relief as he punches in the door code to the building.

"So. As I was saying, you want me to give you a ride tomorrow?"

"What?”

"A ride. To the arena." He says, enunciating every word as if you're a child.

"It's okay," you start, “I—”

"Take the subway, yeah. But it's a hassle, right?"

No, it's not. In fact, it's pretty nice, seeing strangers off to their desired destinations.

But it's as if he can read your mind.

"I’ll give you a ride."

It's not a question anymore.

"Alright," you murmur.

The short journey to your floor is now awkward, and you’re wishing you had turned down his offer to walk together.

The two of you are almost at the end of the hallway now, at your apartment door. To your horror, Suna doesn’t continue walking.

Instead, he simply turns around and reaches for the doorknob of the apartment just across from you.

Strangely, you’re just now noticing just how narrow and dark this hallway is.

Under the cheap fluorescent lights, you can only see the man in front of you. Suna’s pale hands flex as he easily readjusts his heavy grocery bags, reminding you he could take you out in a moment.

“Wow. Looks like we’re neighbors, huh?” Suna says, stepping into his flat.

You’re blinking up towards him, breath cut short.

“See you tomorrow, y/n.”

Funny. He didn’t sound surprised.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You're just tying your hair when the doorbell rings.

"y/n, you ready?"

Who would’ve imagined hearing the Suna Rintaro’s voice at 9 AM.

You sigh as you take a final glance into the mirror. You couldn’t completely hide the dark eye circles from your lack of sleep— who’d be able to sleep after learning a celebrity lives practically next door?

Taking a deep inhale, you push open your front door.

You instantly feel yourself healing as you take in Suna. It’s a similar effect to watching your favorite idols perform on stage— good looks work wonders on your tired body.

Suna leans against the wall, wearing a pair of black sweats and a thin blue hoodie. With a start, you can't help but notice it's almost a couple set with your blue sweater and black skirt.

"Good morning," he says, sliding his phone into his pocket. You nod in response.

As you walk down the hall together to the elevators, you can't help but flush. Is this what it'd be like to have a boyfriend? As a student dedicated to her craft, you’d never felt the urge to date, remaining single your entire life. You can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to be Suna Rintaro’s.

“Oh! What’s this!” Kiana, a middle-aged woman, calls out as you and Suna wait for the elevator.

“y/n! You never told me you got a boyfriend! And such a handsome one, too! Oh, if I was only a little younger…”

You and Suna make eye contact and you blush, quickly turning towards the smiley woman, ready to retort.

“We’re—” You barely make out a word before Suna suddenly takes your hand.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m Suna Rintaro, y/n’s boyfriend. I just moved into apartment 306.”

At his words, both your and Kiana’s eyes widen.

Yours in confusion, hers in wonder as she recognizes the handsome stranger.

“I know you! I know you! You’re Suna, from that team! Oh, my son is such a fan! I can't believe you're living here! He’ll be so excited."

As Suna and Kiana make small talk, you try to discreetly shake your sweaty hand out of Suna’s grasp. To your bewilderment, he continues gripping onto it, so hard you can feel his short fingernails digging into your soft skin.

To your relief, the elevator chimes, and as Suna waves goodbye (you do too, out of habit), you gasp as he yanks you into the elevator.

"What was that?" You ask, nervously looking up at your ‘boyfriend.’

Suna’s eyes are hard as he stares down at you, but he’s glowing all the same, as if he’d just received a gift.

“Saying we’re a couple. What was that about?”

Suna hums innocently.

"I just thought it would be most convenient to tell her that. People will see us together from now on."

No, they won't.

“It would confuse them to have to explain you’re an intern.”

Was that so complicated?

But with his mischievous smirk and the way he taps his foot against the elevator floor, you just can’t find the courage to refute.

“Alright… but could you let go?” You ask uncomfortably.

"Ah, right," he says, letting you free.

You rub your hands together, easing the circulation back.

Strangely, it feels especially cold without his grip on you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wake up."

Awakening with a start, you rub your eyes.

You can't help but admit you could get addicted to free rides with Suna.

His car is just too nice; the seats are fluffy and he turned on the heater to just the right temperature and there's soft piano playing from the speakers.

How long have you been out?

Taking in your surroundings, you're surprised to find you're already at the Tokyo Volleyball Arena. You almost jump in shock as you realize what’s warming your lap— a box of your favorite strawberry waffles.

“What’s this?” You question as Suna wordlessly hands you a fork.

"I thought you might be hungry.”

Suna slides a cup into your open hand— matcha.

So he is a nice man, after all.

“Wow, Suna! Let me please pay you back!”

Your stomach grumbles as you take a bite of the sweet breakfast.

“No, no, it’s on me.”

How could you make it up to him? Maybe you should bake him cookies or something… you shift in your seat, frowning as you realize your bare thigh is strangely damp. Rubbing your thighs together, your eyebrows furrow.

“Oh,” Suna says, biting into his scrambled eggs, “sorry. That was me, I got some coffee on you while you were sleeping, so I wiped it away," he says sheepishly, gesturing towards the pack of wet wipes in the glove compartment.

He looks embarrassed, avoiding eye contact, so you don't push it any further.

He's kind of cute, you think.

It kind of feels too perfect– the plush comfort of Suna’s luxury car, the sweetness of the waffles, and the delicious matcha, albeit slightly salty.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, y/n, which movie should we watch?" Suna calls from your couch.

You're in the kitchen, preparing popcorn in your small microwave.

"Studio Ghibli!" You shout back, stirring the hot chocolate, “I have a whole bunch downloaded, just choose one.”

It's become a regular occurrence for the two of you to spend much of your free time together. At first, Suna had gently coaxed you into spending time with you under the guise of doing more research for the article you’re writing about him, but now you’ve grown to genuinely enjoy his company.

From morning rides to office lunches to casual dinners, it's like your life has been consumed by Suna. Your gut had been wrong, after all, because Suna treats you like a girlfriend— although you’d long shook away that silly thought— he’d never see a younger, broke student that way.

But despite your brain knowing everything is just fine, your heart has yet to be rewired. It still pounds with discomfort, as if it knows that fundamentally, something’s wrong.

You just can’t identify or place a label on that problem.

More recently, you’ve been getting hit with strong deja vu from that one night at the grocery store months ago.

As if it’s only the two of you on this planet.

Sighing, you take your place next to Suna, glancing at your phone. It remains still, screen dark.

“What’s wrong?” Suna asks, frowning. He pushes up his black glasses, running his fingers through his damp hair.

You hesitate. It’s fine to share this, right? After all, it feels like Suna’s all you have right now.

“Well… I’m not sure why, but I think my friends are mad at me. For the past few months, they’ve been silent. They don’t really respond to me anymore, and when they do they just say they’re busy.”

Suna nods, reaching for your hand. You welcome the warmth of his fingers, blinking back tears.

“And even worse, my family hardly contacts me. I used to call my mom basically everyday. I think there’s something really wrong, Suna, I’m really worried.”

“How long has this been going on?” Suna has the movie paused now, full attention on you. He gently strokes your hair and the kind gesture has tears pooling in your eyes.

“For a few months… maybe… four? I didn’t realize it at first because of how busy I’ve been at work and with the article I’m writing on you,” you mumble, allowing Suna to embrace you.

He’s gently rocking you back and forth now, rubbing your back, whispering kind words into your ear, telling you it’s okay and they’re probably just busy too…

Minutes pass before you finally look up, eyes widening as you take in his facial expression.

Despite his sweet words, Suna’s eyes are completely blank and there’s a questionable, small smile on his face. You barely recognize him.

“y/n?”

You blink, and take in an inaudible breath as you stare at Suna.

He cocks his head, confused. He looks at you with nothing but affection and concern, thin lips pressed into a frown.

Your heartbeat slows as you realize that, yet again, you’d just been seeing and feeling things wrong— whenever you’re around Suna, it’s as if you lose sense of your surroundings.

Smiling, you sniffle as you wipe away your tears.

“Sorry for getting emotional at movie night.”

Suna grins, giving you a final gentle hug before turning back to the television.

“Don’t be. I’m always here for you, y/n.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Q: Suna, this question has been long requested by your fanbase. How do you express love?

A: Dedication. I give my all to my lover, no questions asked.

Oh, and I don’t like to share.

There’s suddenly a knock at your door, causing you to jump. You put down your laptop, where your open article draft sits nearly complete.

The lightning storm outside has you shaking and you just wish Suna was here, holding you and laughing at his silly responses to your even stupider interview questions.

Another knock at the door.

Strange— Suna’s practice runs for extra long today for his upcoming tournament. Maybe he finished early.

“Suna, why didn’t you call before practice finished? We could’ve gone out for dinner,” you scold as you pull open the door.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Standing in front of you is your furious older sister, drenched from the rainstorm outside.

“Oh my god! Come in!” You say, alarmed. You reach towards her wrist, but she remains planted in place.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She’s angrier than you’ve ever seen her.

“How could you tell us to fuck off? You really think your journalism is that important? Your writing isn’t more important than family, you asshole! It’ll never be important!”

Taking a deep breath, your sister lets go, immediate regret evident on her face. She opens her mouth to apologize, but you’re not having any of it.

Anger is coursing through your body now and you shove your sister away, causing her to stumble against Suna’s door.

Your family has never supported your career— from when you were just a child, you’d had to work hard for your own future.

So this is why they had shunned you? Because they can’t stand seeing you successful? Because you had moved away from the countryside to make something out of yourself in the city?

Tears stream down your face as you tremble.

“My writing is important,” you whisper. Your sister nods quickly, opens her mouth again—

“Don’t come by anymore. Don’t consider me a part of the family anymore.”

“No, I’m sorry— I think there’s a miscommunication, y/n! Wait!”

Slamming the door on her shocked face, you stumble towards the couch.

It feels as though you’re going to die— the room spins as your lungs strive for air and your vision is becoming increasingly blurry.

The sound of rain and your sister pounding on the door intertwine, and as you bury your head into a pillow, you really just wish Suna was at your side.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“y/n?”

Someone’s tugging at your sleeve, and you glance up, blinking uncomfortably at the bright lights of the living room. There’s dried tear streaks on your face and you’re sure you look like a miserable ogre, but Suna looks at you with nothing but compassion as he hugs you, alarmed.

He’s slightly damp—probably a combination of sweat from practice and the rain outside—but you hold onto him eagerly as he eases you onto his lap.

“What happened?”

You shake your head, explaining what had happened in the few hours when he’d been gone.

Suna’s furious on your behalf, jaw tight and fists clenched.

“Thank god I told your sister to fuck off. She was standing at your door, yelling curses and threatening to call the police,” he mutters.

Tears spring to your eyes again. This only confirms the reality of your life now— your family (and probably friends, too) absolute despise you.

“Don’t worry, y/n. I’ll always be here for you,” Suna whispers.

His words are somewhat like a relaxant to you. Taking a deep breath, you lean into his chest, sighing.

“I don’t think I can write anymore, Suna. I don’t want to. What have I been working towards my whole life?”

Suna remains silent for a moment, studying your sorrowful face, before leaning in to brush his nose against yours. Your eyes shift, admiring his gorgeous olive ones.

“Your journalism is amazing, y/n. And… if you hadn’t worked so hard, we might’ve never met, right?”

You smile sadly.

“I guess…”

“y/n, how about you wrap up your article tonight? You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

You gesture towards your open laptop on the coffee table.

“It’s done, but it’s shit. My sister’s right, it’s not worth anything,” you say, embarrassed. You’ve always known you were talentless, which is why you’ve always worked harder. But it amounted to nothing in the end.

You press your cold hands against your burning eyes as Suna picks up your laptop, skimming through what you’ve written about him.

If even he hates it… that’s it. You’re not sure how you’re supposed to go on.

“y/n, will you look at me?”

Suna’s gently tugging at your hands covering your face. Biting your lip nervously, you let him take your hands into one of his.

“Want my honest opinion?” He asks, placing the laptop onto your lap. You nod, staring down at the bright screen.

“This is the best thing anyone’s written about me.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head.

“Don’t lie.”

“y/n. I’m serious. This shows exactly the side I wanted the public to know about me. It’s intimate, but written formally enough to be taken seriously by the media.”

When you don’t respond, Suna sighs sadly.

“I guess you don’t want the opinion of a dumb athlete, though…”

Frantically, you look up, shocked.

“Of course not! Suna, your opinion is everything to me!”

Relief settles in your stomach as Suna grins, eyes shining.

“Really?”

“Of course! Thank you… That really means a lot to me.”

Suna nods, rambling about how much he loves that sentence here, the use of punctuation there…

“What’s wrong?” He asks, noticing you look down again.

“I… just feel like I have nobody but you, Suna.”

Suna smiles at you, waving towards the polaroids of your friends and family hung on the wall.

“I’m sure they’ll come around again, y/n.”

Your nose crinkles as you cringe at the photos. You want them gone. You want all of the references towards them gone.

You want to get out of here.

“I hate this apartment, actually. They helped me decorate it and everything,” you sigh.

“Well then, how about we move out together?”

You fiddle your thumbs, headache threatening to return.

“I don’t have that type of money,” you say, frustrated. It’s easy for a world-class athlete like him to just up and leave, but you’d never be able to, not unless you dropped out of school and found a job elsewhere.

“y/n, I’ve just remembered. I have an apartment near our stadium, right? How about you move there for the rest of your internship?”

You hesitate. Intruding into the home of a man you’re not even in a relationship with? While the offer is tempting…

“Don’t worry about anything, y/n. Don’t think too hard about it.”

Suna’s gently rubbing circles onto the side of your hands and you feel like melting away, exhausted.

All that crying and anger has truly taken a toll on you. Your eyelids flutter as you finally nod.

“Okay.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you sure?”

Now that it’s come to actually burning the photos, you’re hesitating. Aside from the few photographs on the walls, your apartment is completely bare, all of your belongings now residing in Suna’s luxury condo.

“y/n. You don’t need them anymore.”

You pause, the lighter in your hand feeling heavier by the second. With this, you’re truly erasing all parts of your former family and friends. Just then, your phone buzzes— you barely need to look at it to know it’s a string of curses from your ex-best friend.

Suna grimaces as he deletes the message, examining you out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re right, Suna. I don’t.”

You watch as the pictures go up in flames, holding back tears.

Looking around your now empty apartment, Suna wraps his arm around your shoulders.

“I always thought your walls would look better bare.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

In and out.

There’s something so comforting about the way you breathe.

You’re lying motionless on Suna’s large bed, curled into a ball.

Adorable.

Sighing, Suna collapses next to you, admiring your eyebrows, the curve of your nose, your lips…

When was the last time he’d felt this content? Reaching out, Suna gently tucks your hair behind your ears, admiring the small s shaped earrings adoring them.

Bringing you here was the best option. It’d taken him a little longer than he’d hoped, but now you were truly in the palm of his hand.

He’d almost slipped up a few times (your gut was much smarter than you) but everything had worked out, hadn’t it.

Since the day he’d first met you nearly a year ago, Suna knew you’d be his.

He’s not sure why, but there’s this thing about him— sometimes, when he sees something, he wants it.

And he’ll do anything to make sure it’s entirely his.

You mumble in your sleep, rolling over to face the large windows that present the city of Tokyo below his feet.

He has it all now.

His phone vibrates— messages from your concerned father.

Rolling his eyes, Suna silently reaches over to your phone, which lies innocently next to your small hand, and unlocks it (the password being his birthday, obviously).

Without hesitation, Suna begins wiping out all traces of the code he’s implanted into your phone.

There would be no more reason to reroute your messages to himself anymore.

Next, Suna makes sure all of your family and friends’ contacts are blocked.

Ensuring your safety is a top priority of his.

He squeezes your device in his large hand, wondering if he should just break it.

If Suna had it his way completely, he’d rather you not have a phone at all.

Tossing your phone back onto your side of the bed, Suna smirks as he unlocks his own device.

Desperate messages from your sister pop up, warning you of your tall neighbor, he threatened to kill me if i didn’t leave y/n please get away from him and go to the police!

Suna slides his thumb across the screen, removing the messages from his screen, and disconnects his phone from yours.

After all, you wouldn’t be getting contacted by those nuisances anymore.

Almost done, then he can sleep peacefully with you—Suna sends the email he’s been working on: a PDF attachment of your final draft of your article on him and a short message of your resignation as an intern, written by yours truly.

Turning over, Suna locks the bedroom door, smiling.

There’s no need for anyone else.

Not when he’s always going to be here for you.

#haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu #suna x reader #suna rintarou #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x y/n #suna rintarō #suna rintaro x you #suna rintaro yandere #haikyuu yandere

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rastronomicals · 3 months ago

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3:21 AM EDT August 11, 2024:

Pere Ubu - "30 Seconds Over Tokyo" From the EP Datapanik in the Year Zero (April 1978)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

#Pere Ubu #Datapanik in the Year Zero #30 Seconds Over Tokyo

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g0ry0re0 · 7 months ago

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Josh Futturman (Future Man, 2017, TV Show) - Headcanons

Description: [18+ MDNI] AU where the reader experiences the show's events with Tiger, Wolf, and Josh. This takes place at the end/after the show where you and Josh live together as a couple. / Josh Futturman x GN!Reader

General Notes: Established Relationship, Reader Show Insert, Slight Spoilers For The Ending Of Future Man, Gender Neutral Reader, Romantic Headcanons, Sexual Headcanons Mixed In, No Use Of Y/N, Slight Cursing

Author's Note: Needed to do some headcanons to fill the JHutch void on Tumblr right now, and to get myself back into writing actual fics lol. Also, I can't believe this is only the second thing I've done for my baby boy, Futturman. I love him so much. Hope y'all enjoy! <3

Word Count/Bullet Point Count: 523 Words/30 Bullet Points

You and Josh road trip from Iowa back to California soon after stopping the existence of time travel

You find yourselves doing odd jobs to keep yourself afloat, Josh often doing cleaning jobs

Y'all find a dingy little apartment on the outskirts of L.A.

Despite the smallness of the shitty apartment, you and Josh declared that you didn't need that much anyway, as long as you had each other

Josh definitely gets back into gaming once you come to terms with being stuck in the 2000s

He particularly enjoys Street Fighter EX3 and Tekken Tag Tournament on the PS2 (until Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy 10 come out in the next few years)

You also acquire a Gamecube system once it comes out the next year

You liked playing Pikmin and Mario Kart: Double Dash together (you always played as Luigi to spite him)

You both also try to get into taking care of small plants

There's a lot of dead plants on your kitchen windowsill

Though, Josh has the first flower you ever grew together pressed and hung in your bedroom

After everything that happened, Josh is pretty clingy

When you wake up in the morning, Josh does not leave your side

Whether you're making breakfast, coffee, or just trying to get ready, Josh is practically attached to your hip

He gets especially clingy at night when you two make dinner together and watch a movie y'all rented from Blockbuster

He likes to cuddle A LOT, which can often lead to some more intimate activities

After the events at Haven, Josh was a little nervous about sparking any private moments between you two

But, after the first time together, he quickly got over it

He was worried he would hurt you at first too, but the things you went through in the past few "however-much-time-has-passed", you showed that you can take a little pain

He loves how good you take him, as if you two were made for each other

Unless Josh gets pissed for some reason, he is a definite sub

His favorite position is having you on top in any way, shape, or form

Josh is a sucker for pleasuring his partner, first and foremost, to where he can nearly get himself off just thinking about it

Besides being sexually intimate, you both just love physical contact in general

Josh loves taking you out on little dates, taking you to his favorite places in L.A. (sometimes forgetting what year it is and finding out that place doesn't exist yet)

Josh especially loves taking you to Little Tokyo and the Arts District

Josh also loves when music he enjoys is released and he can finally listen to it again (instead of humming it to himself in the shower)

Same goes for films, he really enjoys being able to go to the theaters to experience it for the "first time" with other people. especially the Marvel movies later on

When Josh observed his parents for the first time, he cried

The last time Josh visited his parents, you took him away with the promise of a picnic in the park before his dad could say anything to him

Masterlist Link

Divider: saradika and saradika-graphics on tumblr

Gif: marlosrph on tumblr

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #josh futturman #josh futturman x reader #josh futturman x gn!reader #josh futturman headcanons #headcanons #josh futturman smut #josh futturman future man #future man #future man 2017 #smut #reader insert #x reader #katykat235 #g0ry0re0

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menherasy · 8 months ago

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original callout post is by @menheratic !! if you want more info, please ask them. i am merely reuploading the original callout post of ezaki. please do check out the link of the jp community calling him out in 2019 ^^ https://togetter.com/li/1327770

! The following post talks about the various bad things that Menhera-chan's creator, Ezaki Bisuko, has done.

Here a japanese summary of all the shit he did so far, including but not limited to:

• registering Yamikawaii as trademark

• sending his fans after gyaru YouTuber Usatani to harass her into a suicide attempt over unknowingly buying a shirt with stolen PPG fanart he drew

• himself buying products with stolen art, even promoting their sales, because it’s totally ok when he does it

• the reason why Usatan’s original design was changed aka it was a ripoff of Cult Party’s iconic rabbit mascot that was designed by their artist Maromika-chan

• wrote a whole guide on how to legally get away with sex work as child

• proof of him tracing art for the more detailed MCH artworks

• how he attended the Menhera Exhibit only to smear misogynist bullshit with blood on maxipads

• complaining about how anime for little girls are evil feminist agenda TM because ain’t nobody need men to be saved anymore

• boasting about being a fashion designer only selecting the finest fabrics for his merch when it’s actually made by the japanese equivalent of Redbubble

• “parody” works featuring child characters like Chibi Maruko-chan prostituting themself, the message being all women are whores regardless of age for the right amount of money

• the small “terms and conditions” shield he has at his con booths where you agree that you need to buy anything you touch

• how he setup an earthquake victim fundraiser only to keep the money

• telling his english fans they are not allowed to use any of his art for private use, like as icon, unless they pay him

• how he wants to move to the US when he turns 30 because of all the evil haters TM in Japan

• copyright claiming everyone left and right

• japanese Menhera speaking out about he keeps hurting the community

In regards of the maxi pads:

TW, CW // nooses, misogynistic text in red on maxipads

Our favorite being the second row second one, “Abortion is murder”.

Some more recent event: When he started harassing and hating on disabled people after Tokyo Fashion translated a Tweet of his because being disabled is discriminating yourself.

It’s like a trainwreck that refuses to end, now with 100% more crypto on NFT while shitting on those who warn about the dangers.

His NFT sales can be found here: https://foundation.app/@bisuko_ezaki

For some reason, after 7 years, he also decided to re-release the infamous wrist-cut bracelet to sell at events. The leader of the Neo-Decora group bought one for example:

TW // Bracelet that imitates sh, includes blood

Also keeps doing collabs with “Tokyo Uragawa” under Yamiko so Seigi (Mental illness is justice), which focuses on self-harming girls as fetish objects.

TW, CW // drawn sh

Recently, he also wrote a long-article on his definition of Yamikawaii:

https://harajuku-pop.com/67775/

Still not sure where overseas people got “this is about mental health awareness” from, might be based on mistranslations because the word for mental health and illness is one in the same, and his definition is about glorifying mental illness. In fact, this is why he was banned from Tumblr because he kept posting other people’s self-harm photos to his aesthetic blog Menherabusu.

Next up: Made suicide baiting posts over his following decreasing in the hopes of getting attention, fans sent him photos of cute animals to cheer him up, and he decided to post about destroying the pictures.

Tbh, this list could go on forever as he does this kind of bs on an almost daily basis now, but apparently people don’t care enough to stop throwing money at him.

Meanwhile the Japanese community made a whole Wiki for tracking all of his drama considering how much it is by now.

https://ezabisumatome.wiki.fc2.com/

TW // mention of shotacon

Decided to nickname himself Shotabi, the name being a combination of Shotacon and Bisuko, while using nsfw anime edits of male child characters in sexual situations as decor for his selfies.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝:

Is it ok to still like Menhera-chan?

𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫:

Sure, the problem is really only Ezaki himself and his increasing problematic remarks fueled by his ego, the manga is a lot older than him being like that.

Fun fact: Ezaki actually hates Menhera-chan because it's the only thing he ever gets approached for by the media, he constantly rants about this on Twitter. If you have noticed, he barely makes new MCH content anymore (unless he gets paid for it) and mainly reposts old artworks and fanart (without permission) instead because it's the only way he can still get attention as his other works, like the misogynist Manapisu, which is just him hating on women as "dumb wh*res" as a manga, flopped badly.

Just try to not fund his bs by buying new goods.

#menhera #menhera chan #bisuko ezaki #archived #yamikawaii

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ctrlsatoru · 1 year ago

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DIABLO - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to sexual assault. toji having no sense of decorum. reader is engaged so, cheating? but not really and not yet. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k a/n: i was listening to diablo by lexie liu and the rest was herstory. started as porn without plot but things escalated. will proofread this later. summary: Toji Fushiguro looks like a problem, and you know better than to let curiosity get the best of you, until boredom strikes.

There was a time when you speed-walked through this very same building with the drive that only a determined intern could contain. Six days a week, from busy mornings to late nights, you embraced every task they tossed your way, seamlessly transitioning between the demands of different editors.

In the midst of it, one newly appointed creative director saw your efforts and took you under her wing. What began as a professional mentorship soon evolved into an enduring friendship that extended well beyond your time at the magazine.

Utahime Iori, a guiding presence in your life, became one of your favorite people in the world—a friend with whom you shared an unspoken understanding, effortlessly reading each other's thoughts with a single exchange of glances across the room.

Fast-forward five years, and the abrupt, intrusive ring of your phone tucked under the pillow shook you awake. It was Iori on the line, her voice laden with urgency and distress. She was stuck in Kyoto, needing you to do her a solid one. Her father’s condition had worsened overnight, and she wouldn’t be able to make it back to Tokyo for a critical photoshoot.

And so, here you stand, back at the bustling headquarters of the technology and culture magazine where you started your career. Despite your throbbing headache and the relentless fatigue that clings to your tired eyelids, you refuse to let your friend down.

Today's mission: capturing profile photos for an enigmatic tech mogul, a figure so elusive that no magazine has ever managed to secure an interview or collaboration. Probably some Zuckerberg from shein with an amped-up eccentric, incel overlord edge.

Iori had shared the name and a brief overview of the assignment during her desperate call, but the details had slipped through your grasp in the haze of your concern for her.

If you remember correctly, the concept is something corny along the lines of Diablo.

“Ok,” you breathe after the third scalding gulp of coffee that someone thrust in your hand the second you arrived.

Utahime's assistant, a young girl with striking blue hair and asymmetrical bangs named Miwa, looks up from her phone at you with bright eyes, relieved that you’re finally showing signs of life.

“Uh, who the fuck is this guy again?”

You’re momentarily distracted by how cold this place is. A shiver cuts a straight line up your spine. July in Tokyo is no justification for keeping the set at industrial fridge temperature, you think. For some reason, Miwa’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of the water. You know Utahime can make any seasoned truck driver sound graceful when she’s under enough pressure, so it can’t be your choice of words.

You fail to notice your surroundings coming to a stop, or the shadow towering over you.

“Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

Oh.

That's one way to sober you up.

You’re definitely awake after hearing the deep yet smooth rumble behind you. Everyone within earshot gets ready for what’ll happen next as that oh shit realization settles on your shoulders.

But you’re no longer the eager intern who hid in the bathroom to cry after a rookie mistake. Nothing in your face gives away your heart threatening to crawl out of your ribcage. You turn around bravely and face a soft, dark blue surface.

No choice left but to look up… and up again, until he’s framed inside the thin silver structure of your glasses.

Your first impression of him is simple: no one this tall should stand at this close of a distance. There should be two, or three meters between you to make up for the lack of an acceptable height.

Toji Fushiguro -the name does stick this time- tilts his head to the side and gives you what might be the most shameless once-over. His eyes feel like a dark green horizontal light scanning you from head to toe. It ends with a quizzical expression on his face. The irk is triggered within the second.

“Who are you?”

That same question pops into your mind.

The hair team probably spent twice the time it took you to get here on LA traffic to arrange his inky black hair in the perfect unbothered way. There’s a healthy glow on the sharp edges of his face that can only be the result of seamless natural makeup, enhancing his ruggedly handsome looks.

You’re thinking that by too big, Iori meant that he’s massive. Literally. Wide shoulders block the tungsten spotlight behind him, casting a shadow on you and drawing a luminous halo around his silhouette.

Nothing’s angelic about him. You can tell just by looking. It’s a family gift. You may not have your brother’s electric baby blues, but you have the sight, as he calls it, and the alarms in your head are off.

Miwa shifts her gaze between you like she’s about to shit herself when Choso, the head photographer and a good friend of yours, cuts through the tense atmosphere with admirable ease. He rests a warning hand on your shoulder and takes it upon himself to introduce you.

"She'll be our director today, stepping in for Utahime."

Toji Fushiguro turns to Choso, his eyes never leaving you, observing.

“Why? What happened to Utahime?”

"She had an unexpected family emergency and asked her to fill in. She's worked with us before, and she's excellent at what she does. You're in capable hands today."

What a star, Choso. A beacon of diplomacy. The world would be a much more peaceful place and the arms industry would collapse if he got into politics, you’re sure.

Still under his scrutiny, your expression remained composed. You knew his steely smile would fade soon, and—

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” Toji concludes breezily, extending his hand toward you.

You reciprocate. Unlike him, you don’t even look down to see how his palm engulfs yours. You just know it will. He on the other hand lifts both eyebrows at your firm handshake.

“I look forward to working with you, Gojo.”

Two hours in, it occurs to you that it might be the case that everyone on set is under some kind of horny spell.

Him nearly walking through the backdrop five minutes in and laughing it off with a cocky comment and a devilish grin sets the entire set on edge from the get-go.

Apparently there’s something about an overwhelmingly tall, ripped, attractive grown man pouting like an iPad kid when his tiny but scary female assistant comes in between breaks to confiscate his phone. There’s a brutish charm about him that makes people act like Victorian gentlemen glimpsing an ankle for the first time in their lives.

The wardrobe assistants are in a heated discussion about how many hands it would take to wholly grasp his bulging biceps.

You, however, remain the skeptic, observing from the fringes. Though if you took any part in the conversation, you’d point out how fucking thick his neck is. Does he lift weights with that thing? What does he need all that for?

When the makeup artist approaches him for touch-ups, he widens the distance between his feet until his face reaches a comfortable height for her to work away. The behind-the-scenes team gobbles it up like ravenous piranhas, and you expect to see this doing numbers on the magazine’s YouTube channel.

Done with feeling out of the loop and not satisfied with what you catch from the set gossip, you take a bathroom break and allow curiosity to get the best of you. You lock the stall door, sit on the lid, and google him.

His name auto-completes after just three letters. You stare at the Toj on the search bar before digging in.

Techbro, self-made, controversial, messy family background. He was the mastermind behind the acclaimed video game, Diablo, which exploded in popularity during the early 2000s. For years, he's faced criticism in several countries for glorifying violence, gang activity and accusations of satanism. You have to chuckle at that. Nonetheless, Diablo hit it off big and he went on to found a videogame and software company under the same name. He's been steadily encroaching on giants like Tencent after repeatedly refusing buyout offers.

Buzzfeed has a trove of ridiculous articles filled with GIFs of him looking scary and hot at the same time, of him looking like the bodyguard of everyone’s dreams, of him taking no shit from the press. Of him looking like a character out of his videogame. You get the idea.

But something else in the personal life section draws your attention.

He’s a Zenin. And not a distant one. He’s Naobito Zenin’s very own nephew.

According to a twitter thread, he severed ties with his fucked up dynasty of a family when he was younger and paved his own way under his late wife’s last name. The reasons for the fallout are unknown to the public, but theories are abundant in the replies. You bookmark that for later.

You can't help but wonder if your brother knows him.

With all this newfound context, you’re almost disappointed that he showed no offense to your frankly rude introduction. After all, you’re a Gojo, the impulse to antagonize a Zenin runs through your veins. And if it’s not an inherited impulse, Satoru personally taught you how to handle them. One of your favorite early teen memories of your brother is watching him reduce Naoya Zenin to tears.

The handshake felt layered, like a declaration of war tucked behind a steely smile. There’s a glint in his eyes when he catches you looking that contradicts the unbothered, enigmatic persona people are simping for religiously online. It’s there and it’s gone, but you’re fast enough. It tells you that he’s playing nice as a temporary measure. If you have to guess, he’s planning to make his team bring up your misstep up to the magazine higher-ups.

You're torn between concern for Utahime and a deep-seated desire to see him try.

The day unfolds smoothly with minimal intervention on your part. You stay behind the monitor and let the crew do their job. Your role mainly involves offering insights when requested by the wardrobe team and flagging promising shots with Choso.

Seeing him go through different stages of boredom and despite his not-so-wide variety of facial expressions, you note the camera doesn’t hate him. It's a unanimous consensus that, in another life, he could have pursued a career in modeling, or perhaps even acting. When someone inquires about your opinion on the matter, you become the focal point of a few discreet side-eyed glances. Your response is a non-committal hum.

Your attention is currently fixated on the last sequence of preview shots displayed on the screen, there’s a very specific detail that you just can’t let pass.

“Can we take a quick break? I wanna try something.”

Choso, taken aback by your sudden initiative, responds, “Yeah, of course, take your time.”

Toji’s face drops from the draw of his eyebrows as you approach him.

“Hi,” he says with that off-putting lift of the corners of his mouth that is supposed to be a smile. He’s probably thinking that your stalling is only prolonging what he wants to be over with.

“Hi,” you catch his inquisitive glance at the objects in your hand. “Is it okay with you if I wipe off your scar?”

His eyes snap down at yours as he thinks it over, squinting for a bit. You’re certain he’s about to tell you to fuck off when he nods briskly, opening his palms as if beckoning you closer.

“Go ahead.”

It's a polite, seemingly harmless green light, yet it feels like you're a bird about to peck at grains of rice beneath a box suspended by a stick.

“Can you—”

He reads your hesitation and does the same thing you’ve seen several times today. He opens the distance between his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. You, for some reason, wait until he looks up at the ceiling like people on the makeup chair usually do out of instict, but he stares at you instead.

Taking a Q-tip soaked in micellar water, you start working away the thin but high coverage layer of foundation, careful not to overdo the edges. A few swipes in and the natural rosy hue of scarred tissue appears, a few shades darker than the color of his lips. It’s a slender, vertical ridge that cuts across his lips, about an inch long. A feature too distinct to waste.

You pull back and he takes the brief chance to run his tongue across the scar, pulling a face at the taste he finds.

Unfazed, you wipe away any excess micellar water and—well, his saliva, you assume—with the dry side of the cotton swab. Once you’re done with that you pat away with a disposable puff dipped in translucent power, just to get rid of any unnecessary shine.

“All good? You satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you don’t look satisfied.”

You’re happy with the outcome of your tweaking, yes. The overall shooting? Well, you’re not in love with it, but you don’t have to be. This whole thing has Utahime’s and the magazine’s aesthetic written all over it, harsh contrasts, blunt shadow.

“This is Utahime’s concept, I’m going with the brief,” You answer, taking a step back to get an overall look and consider any further touch-ups, stopping him when he starts to go up again. “No. Stay right there.”

“What concept would you go for?” he asks, complying pointedly.

“Like I said, I’m going with the brief I was given.”

“But if you were the original director?”

You wouldn't even be assigned to the task. You left the magazine shortly after you finished your internship and never looked back, even though you liked it here and were being given a much nicer offer than you were expecting. The reason for it being that you found out that your brother had been wining and dining members of the home editorial, showing interest in negotiating for the magazine.

It was a no-brainer for you to part ways and find another way. These days, you work with brands and entertainment agencies that allow for more creative freedom, usually sought out for your particular aesthetic.

“I wouldn’t be so heavy on making the tech oligarch look human.”

You reply more out of impulse than calculation, the same way you touch a cat’s tail knowing there will be consequences.

“You suggesting I don’t look human?” He flashes a cold grin at you, kind of like a warning. it’s gone as soon as you blink at him.

The novelty has worn off. Most of the crew are busy doing their own thing, discussing lunch and stretching to alleviate the fatigue of a long day. A few lingering glances remain trained on you— Miwa, Choso, his soldier of an assistant. Toji doesn’t wait for your answer.

“So, what do I look like, then?”

Like a shark, you think. Don’t ever grin at me again, creep.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”You tug lightly at the neckline of his shirt, just a pinch of the fabric, barely touching him at all. "Maybe that should be included in the profile."

He hums. “I do get bored easily.”

You conclude the brief interaction and walk away, acknowledging Choso with a nod, all the while ignoring the way Toji’s amused eyes linger on you.

Like you’re just postponing the inevitable. Whatever that might be.

He finds you later that day, after you’ve wrapped up.

He enters the room with the unspoken confidence of someone who believes he owns not just the studio, but the entire building. Like he's just acquired the magazine and now feels entitled to disrupt your peace with a shitty opening sentence.

“Your work.”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and deserted, and only the lights remain on.

“It’s… interesting. The butterflies, are they alive?”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and empty, and only the lights remain on.

“Sorry?” You’re unable to hide your annoyance at the unexpected interruption.

“I googled you. Your work. It’s eye-catching, quite… I guess eccentric’s a good way to describe it. Very edgy.”

You’ve heard your fair share of similar comments in the past, but he pouts and frowns with the last two words and irritation pulls at you. You let your hands drop to your lap.

He leans nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed, undeterred by your silence and your less-than-friendly attitude.

“I was wondering, are the butterflies real or is it CGI?”

You can’t for the life of you decide if he’s being serious, or decipher his intentions. “Neither. They’re props.”

“They look very realistic.”

“They do,” you agree. “That’s the intention.”

“And the flowers?”

“Those are real. For the most part.”

“I see. So how would you have me?”

“Excuse me?”

He visibly fights back a smile, and you wonder if this one would’ve reached his eyes, but seeing how you’re going back and forth like you can’t let the other get the last word, you doubt it. You doubt that he’s capable of such a human thing. Smiling warmly. Honestly.

“You said not so heavy on the looking human earlier, so what concept would you go for if we worked together?”

Because he won't leave you alone to discuss dinner plans with Satoru and Suguru, you stand up from your seat and turn around to rest against the floating station. Facing him like this feels a lot safer than speaking to him through the mirror while giving him your back.

He’s dressed in his own clothes, a basic light gray t-shirt several tighter than the soft material the stylist put on him and a pair of dark jeans. His phone is, as usual, attached to his hand, constantly lighting up with notifications.

“I don’t know. It usually takes me a week to get a feel of the concept.”

“I saw the tank pictures,” he replies a bit too quickly as if he didn't care for your answer. You’re certain that you don’t like this man. You don’t like how bluntly he describes your work, or that you immediately know what he’s talking about.

Knowing how things went on that particular set and from the way he looked absolutely done in the most basic environment without having to do much work, that would be a disaster.

“I wouldn’t put you in a tank,” You snort dismissively, and he tilts his head curiously.

“So?”

A string of visual prompts runs through your mind. You’d submerge half of his face in black tinted water, or have his head resting on a white surface, make blood spill from his eyes. Perhaps you'd drown him in smoke or apply early 2000s mechanical prosthetics to his face and neck. You’d make his skin flush like rubies as if it were burning to the touch. In every single one of them, his scar is left untouched.

“Nothing you’d be comfortable with.”

“You see, I think we could meet in the middle.” he reasons, very eloquently, like he knows just what to say to negotiate with you. You imagine that this is the same voice he uses with his board members to bend them his way. “Can’t say I’d be down for the body-pilling thing or the full-body suits, but I’m sure we could come up with something that leaves us both satisfied.”

“Are you trying to hire me right now?” You’re genuinely confused. And hungry, and tired, and nursing a lingering hungover.

“No,” he chuckles, like the notion is absurd “but you looked bored on set today, and I think I could live up to your vision, is that the word?”

“Right, uh huh.” you nod, very condescendingly, remembering that you’re no longer filling up for anyone or hold any professional responsibility. This is just some man wasting your time. “So what is this? You got a praising kink or something?”

He’s unbothered by your dig. “Not that I know of. Can I be honest?”

You lift your shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. It's not as though he cares about seeking permission anyway.

He lets his eyes drop to the floor and looks back up at you with a bashful little grin.

“I’ve just always wanted to fuck a married woman.”

You’re not as surprised as you are relieved that he’s cut to the chase. He’s not the first man to detest you and want you at the same time. Men often blur the lines between disdain and sex. It’s only fun when they don’t get too comfortable or want to only deliver and fold when it’s their turn to take.

The situation settles on you. The room seems smaller now, and the distant sounds of people outside have all but faded away. He's blocking your only exit, put you in this tight spot intentionally.

There’s a possibility that he’s some exception to the norm, that he can take as much as you suspect he can give, but you’re not going to find out.

“Too honest?” He's devoid of any shame or attempts to sound apologetic. Instead, he's assessing you closely, monitoring you for any reaction.

You know men like him. He has to be used to people eagerly dropping to their knees with just a tilt of his chin. Most of the people you worked with today would do so without hesitation. But Toji Fushiguro, with his insincere smile and unflinching demeanor, harbors far more selfish and hostile motives than bending you over the same chair you were sitting in and making you watch in the spotless mirrors.

“Should’ve kept my intentions to myself?”

A corner of your lips lifts, and he zeroes in on it.

“Didn’t scare ya, did I? You’re a big girl, you're not gonna run.”

He’s daring you now. Fully predatory, like he’ll do something at the slightest indication. Shark. You picture him stalking his way into this secluded space that only the crew knows about after finishing recording videos for the magazine’s social media accounts, his shadow looming across the narrow corridor.

Fear and power. That’s his deal. He either wants to witness a furious flush down your neck, your throat bob in trepidation and your hand look for your phone–

“And do what?” You cross your arms, refusing to cower. “MeToo you? Expose Japan’s mysterious self-made billionaire hellboy? Reddit would riot.”

–Or he wants you to bite back.

“I mean, considering the way you were eyefucking me I think I could probably pull the reverse MeToo card on you.”

Your chin drops, your eyebrows go up, and your head leans back at the accusation. Were you? Eyefucking him? Maybe.

But so was the whole room.

And nothing’s stopping you from bullshitting. “Someone’s optimistic.”

“Is that it?” he smiles, tantalizing. “Do you always just take on the job of the make-up kids out of the goodness of your heart?”

You're not going to indulge him with an answer to that. It's not uncommon for you to take on various roles and responsibilities during your projects. There was a time at the beginning of your career when you engaged in every aspect of your work, from styling and set design to prop work, editing, and even makeup.

“Right. You go ahead. Tell Instagram that I sexually assaulted you with a cotton swab.”

“It’d be just another Monday for Gojo’s PR mercenaries, right?” he pushes you further, casually dropping the G-word as a last resort.

“Everyone likes to look at pretty things, don’t be cocky, old man.” He starts blinking real fast like he’s never been called old to his own face. “Earlier, you asked me what you look like.”

The scrunch of his nose indicates that he wants to say something before the subject changes, but ends up only squinting at you.

“I did ask you that.”

“You look like a problem,” you let your words hang in the air for a moment. “And not the kind I have fun dealing with, no offense.”

Finally, he grins again, tongue coming out to just graze the edge of his canines. Something inside your belly moves as you follow the movement.

“And I’m not married yet, so– you might want to take your intentions somewhere else.”

He nods thoughtfully, then he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and lifts his shoulders, taking in a deep breath. The motion reveals a thin line of hard skin under his shirt and just the edge of his underwear.

Water under the bridge.

“Well, no harm in putting it on the table, right?”

Your phone buzzes. Your car is waiting for you outside. You move like he’s not standing by the doorway and blocking your only way out.

“Have a pleasant day, Fushiguro. It was nice to meet you.”

It’s Friday when you see him again at your friend’s birthday party.

He’s lurking his way through the party, nursing a drink with his eyes attached to the screen on his hand until the birthday boy himself hunts him down. Haibara, producer and pitchfork sweetheart whose debut album cover art you worked on earlier in the year.

It’s a funny sight, it would be almost endearing if it weren't for the fact that it's him. The sunshine main character dragging the hunched, brooding giant along with him. Toji looks like he’s trying his best to keep up, half-amused, half-annoyed, nodding as Haibara rambles away. You wonder how the two even fit inside the same room, Haibara being so charming and Toji, a walking threat.

Then you remember Haibara mentioning that he's been working on the soundtrack for a video game.

Your friends’ conversation mingles with the music and flows around you. Someone’s getting married to his ex-husband’s father. Yuki’s about to open her third concept store somewhere in Europe. You can’t be bothered to focus too much on catching up, but you do meet Shoko’s eyes across the room when Mei Mei says something particularly questionable.

You see a hint of longing in her eyes, a shared sense of missing Iori, just as you do. On a brighter note, her father's health is finally starting to improve.

A hand wraps around yours, and another settles on your shoulder. The cold press of a ring on your skin brings you back to the present. You look at your fiancé and get the dreaded feeling that you’re an impostor pretending to know what to do with a man so devastatingly beautiful.

Hiroki leans over your shoulder. “Car’s here.”

His hand feels hot and clammy on yours as he leads you out of your friend's sight, turning back occasionally to make sure he hasn't lost you in the crowd. He won't stop until you're both outside, standing by the side of the street.

“Call me when you land?”

Of course, he will. Nothing has changed. He’s starting a new project in some small town in the middle of nowhere in Europe in 24 hours. You won’t ask him to stay. Six months will pass, and nothing will change, you’ve both done this before.

But you stall. He always calls a car with this in mind. You kiss by the sidewalk, he squeezes you in his arms until your bones fight back. You’ve done this before. It’ll happen again, considering how his acting career is taking off overseas. You’ll do it time and time again until–

“You taste like pennies,” he tells you, and you can't help but laugh softly into his mouth. Your finger traces the barely there curve of his thick, straight eyebrows.

“Make sure to take an aspirin.”

He nods, always sweet and obedient when you’re nagging. You tuck a strand of hair away from his eyes so that people don't fall too hard for him on his flight. His hair has grown longer in recent months, part of his preparation for a role.

Back inside, Yuki makes room for you by moving her legs off the couch. She asks if everything is okay, and you pull her legs onto your lap, rolling your eyes. She knows you too well.

“Don’t gaslight me. Something was off.”

“Do I look like something’s off?”

“No, but you’re a fucking oyster. Hiroki’s not that good with his face for an actor. He kept looking at you like he was afraid you’d disappear.”

Choso chimes in, draping his arm around her shoulders. "They're getting married. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think he might like her, and he might enjoy looking at her."

Looking out of the window, your gaze naturally drifts toward a figure seated by Haibara’s covered dock. Earlier, it was adorned with twinkling lights, but now, even in the dark, you can discern a solitary silhouette in the middle of the glittery ocean.

Mei Mei taps her cigarette, fixing her eyes on you from the other side of the couch.

“Does it have something to do with Toji Fushiguro asking about you, by any chance?”

Your stomach drops. Your group of friends reacts quickly.

“Huh?”

“What does Toji want with you?” Yuki asks, face snapping at you. “Is he trying to get to Gojo through you?”

“We worked on a shooting with him a few days ago.” Choso calmly explains before she can come up with any conspiracy. “She was covering for Iori. Made quite the impression on him, I think.”

“Oh, Satoru’s gonna fucking hate that.” Shoko laughs, unexpectedly loud in her inebriated state. “Please, please fuck him. He’ll be so pissed if you fuck him. It’ll be hilarious.”

“No respect or regard for Hiroki.” Choso shakes his head, and it looks like he’s laughing from the way his shoulders move up and down. “Poor bastard.”

“Yeah, well.” Shoko shrugs, not bothering to hide her dislike for your fiancé.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “He’s just pissy because I was not— exactly professional. I think the asshole might try to get me blacklisted.”

Choso makes a noise of disagreement. Yuki frowns in concern. “Shit. What did you do?”

“She showed up hungover, asked who the fuck he was when he was standing behind her, and traumatized Miwa.”

“Not Miwa. She's an angel.”

“Whatever you did, he’s asking around…” Mei Mei adds with a sick barely there smile, finger on her chin. You don’t like how well she knows you. She makes you feel like she knows exactly what went down that day.

You wonder how well she knows Toji, and how much he told her.

What exactly he asked.

“...and let’s just say that he’s not the curious type, so make your assumptions, everyone.”

You tap Yuki’s thigh without thinking twice and push yourself off the couch. A string of accusations about scaring you off follow, and Mei Mei teases you about not meaning to do that.

“Fuck off, I just need some fresh air.”

“But you’re gonna consider it, right? For me? Come on, it’ll cheer Iori up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck some random man just because you think it’d be funny, Shoko.”

And you’re pretty sure Iori would be the first to tell you to stay away from him. Shoko sags against the back of the couch like a puppy you stepped on.

You step out of the house, past the pool, the limestone steps, and stop only to take off your sandals. The sand is cold and yielding, no traces of the warmth of the slow Atami day left, soft grains clinging to the soles of your bare feet.

Haibara’s dock stretches out into the ocean, endless until you reach the far end and leave behind the sound of laughter and music. It’s him, like you suspected, sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over the sea.

With one elbow resting on his thigh and a phone in hand, his other palm supports his face. You sweep a strand of hair over your shoulder and inhale the salty breeze, opting to linger a while before revealing your presence.

“I think I got it.”

He looks up at you, momentarily caught off guard, allowing you to take a triumphant sip from your glass, the alcohol causing a painful sting inside your cheek. He's still engrossed in the medieval game he was playing from days prior, his commitment minimal, his thumb hovering over the screen.

You leave some distance between you as you take a seat, your glass resting between you. It’s a high drop from here, the water looks as if it could freeze you instantly.

“Hand-held CCTV cameras aimed at your face. Like guns. Point blank.” you finally elaborate, once you’ve found a comfortable position, demonstrating with your hand.

“Sounds fuckin’ uncomfortable.” he remarks, eyeing your demonstrative fingers. You wonder if he’s drunk and how much alcohol it would take to get him there.

You drop your hand, and he follows the movement. “I warned you.”

“So I don’t get flowers? No butterflies?”

“Nah.”

He lifts his gaze from where it had settled on your thighs, and you absentmindedly tap your ring finger against the bare skin out of habit.

“Thought I was pretty.”

You snort in response. Tonight, the moon shines particularly bright, illuminating the dock lounge. It's a serene spot to catch a break from the lively party.

“I changed my mind.”

He sucks on his teeth. “You can’t take a man’s virginity for being called pretty and then take it back.”

“If it helps, you’re still objectively nice to look at.” You say behind your glass. No point in lying, he’s hot. And self-aware. And you’re not blind or ashamed to admit it.

“Objectively nice to look at.” he repeats, like he’s getting a feel of it, or memorizing it for future use. “What about the fiance, then? ‘s he pretty? Enough for flowers and butterflies and shit?”

“I met him working for an editorial. He did get flowers.”

“Ah, I see. So, does he do that often?”

You let another sip wash down your throat, this time tilting your head to the side to avoid the sting.

He returns to his game, and you trace the profile of his nose while the screen highlights the hollows beneath his eyes and the fine lines around his mouth. If you were a bit more intoxicated, you might be tempted to snatch his phone and toss it into the water, anything to halt the conversation about Hiroki. It would force him to look at you instead.

“Leave you alone at parties.” he adds.

You've momentarily forgotten the initial question. “He’s my fiance, not my babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

“Never suggested otherwise, did I?” he sniffs, and a part of you, the sensible one, contemplates returning to your friends and disregarding whatever pulled you out here. Leave him be to enjoy his game and stay away from the one brewing between the two of you.

“What about your entourage? Are they comfortable leaving you out of their sight?”

“I can fend for myself too,” he says, eyes set on his phone. He seems to like to add your name at the end of his sentences.

“Can I play for a bit?” you ask, extending your hand. He hesitates, briefly glancing at you as if to confirm you're not taking the piss, down at his phone, and back at you.

His phone is big enough to feel like a console, and there's a very on-brand crack on the left corner that he warns can cut you. It gets him a side eye that he reacts to with a careless shrug.

You haven’t played any games in years or downloaded any since the younger members of your family grew out of the age where they came as useful, but you recognize this one from ads you’ve seen on Instagram.

It doesn’t take any experience to figure out that you’re supposed to manage some kind of orthogonal kingdom. There’s a castle and a medieval-style village surrounded by a tall wall, with full crops around. You tap around, collect coins here and there, zoom in and zoom out under his close watch. Every time you tap a building without a full green bar, a few options show up, you bite your lip to hold back a smile and hit the red X on the right corner of what looks like a church.

“Hey–”

He’s snatching his phone out of your hands before you can pretend to be sorry.

“Fuck you’d do that for?”

You don’t know why, but his annoyance hits you as the most entertaining thing you’ve seen or heard tonight. A grown-ass man next to you sulking because you deleted his little 2D church on his phone. Shoko might think you fucking him would be hilarious, but this, to you, is real comedy.

“What? You religious or something?” You doubt he is, given his controversies and taunting the satanic-panic crowd. He also happens to look like god left the room the moment he was born.

Toji shakes his head, not as an answer but to reiterate that you’ve pissed him off. A laugh full of mirth bubbles out of you. He’s tapping aggressively, filling up the blank spot with a smaller version of the building, and sucks on his teeth again, disappointed at how pathetic it looks around all his leveled-up properties.

“Did something happen to you as a child, maybe?” You inquire.

“What?” he gruffly responds, offering you an irritated glance. He’s kind of cute like this, frustration looks like a foreign emotion for a man like him.

“Are you diagnosed?”

He does a double-take again.

“Is that offensive to you?” you tease, struggling to contain your amusement at the situation. "Sorry, I know your generation isn't that comfortable discussing mental health."

“See, I might be socially stunted, yeah–” he gruffs after staying quiet for a bit, finally putting his phone inside his back pocket. You lift your eyebrows, eager to see where he’s going with this. “I can agree with that. But you rich kids–”

“Oh, us rich kids?” you gasp softly, not expecting that turn, you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud as he’s not done with his sudden rant. You’re fucking tickled.

He shakes a thick finger in your direction. “–You’re fucking uncomfortable to be around, you know? It makes you think that maybe bullying exists for a reason. They don’t rough the bunch of you nearly enough at those expensive private schools, do they?”

“Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you are a rich kid inside a grown man’s body.” He rolls his green eyes at you until all you see is white, thick eyelashes fluttering.

“Oh, I see. No, I get it. You’re self-made and I’m nepo trash. A spoiled little bitch with a bad attitude who’s never been taught a lesson, is that it?”

Animosity radiates out of him. He flattens his palms on the wood surface behind him and clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he’s not even going to try to reason with you.

“You wanted to hatefuck her but then she ruined your game and made you feel uncomfortable, and now the chase isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nah, you’ve got it wrong there, sweetheart. I don’t put people in such one-dimensional boxes.”

“No?”

He scratches the side of his nose before elaborating.

“Spoiled little bitch, yeah. But you’re a hard worker. And stubborn, too. You’ve been paving your own way, working real hard to traumatize daddy back, haven’t you? You run on pure spite, eh?”

“Fuck off.” you scoff, throwing back what’s left of your drink.

“And– get this,” eyes now glazed with a cruel glint, he leans in closer like he's about to share a secret, and peers down at your chest when you do the same “He’s the crowned king of our country’s conservative media, he’s also old as fuck, so that can only mean that he’s a raging homophobe on top of, you know? Violently misogynistic. You and your brother got your therapist's pockets nice and full, paid off a few nice vacations to hawaii, probably bought a big beach house for her.”

He stops and cocks his head, like realization just landed on him.

“But you, you’re weaponizing the fuck out of him. Christmas at the Gojos's a fucking nightmare for your poor little fiance, but you have your fun, don’t you?”

Just a few minutes ago, you’d been savoring the signs of irritation in his body language, mind running wild with all the ways you could make him tick, but now you want to punch him in the throat. Just bury your fist right there in that v-shaped Adam's apple of his.

“You’re cold-hearted for that, sweets. You know you are.” he accuses half-heartedly, the wicked glint in his eyes hinting that he's trying to strike a chord. “Tell me, does he prepare his social justice speeches beforehand or does he just sit there next to you, quiet and pretty and eats his dessert?”

“Don’t talk about my family, asshole.” You lick the inside of your cheek, but you know the strung tone of your voice will only egg him on.

“Why not? You’re on the news every day. Everyone talks about you.”

Usually, when it comes to your family, you’ve got thick fucking skin. You’re aware of the stain and privilege of your last name. The advantages you’ve had and people claim you don’t deserve. The fact that you’re the living consequence of your father cheating on Satoru’s mother.

Most of the things they say about your father and his monster of a corporation you can agree with, but you keep your head high and your thoughts to yourself and stick to sharing looks with Suguru when it gets particularly nasty between your brother and your father in family gatherings.

“He’s been causing quite the stir, hasn’t he? Your brother. If Alzheimer’s doesn’t do it, he might be the one to finally send your old man to the grave.”

But you don’t fuck around when it comes to Satoru.

You’re propping yourself up on your wrist and lifting your leg when his hand comes to your bare knee, stopping you from attempting to stand up and walk away. His grip is surprisingly gentle, though the tips of his fingers touching the back of your knees do send the message. It’s like he can’t let you forget how much smaller you are in comparison to him.

“Whoa, easy. I’m just playing with you.”

You blink down at him, face set, hoping to deliver the message that you might push him into the water if he fucks around any further.

“I have plenty of family baggage for you to hit me back with, have at it.” he adds, almost kindly.

You remember Naoya Zenin with tears running down his face. If you had to bet on it, you’d say that making Toji Fushiguro cry would single-handedly give you bragging rights over Satoru for the rest of your lives.

He hums when you sit again. “Go on, get as creative as you want.”

“I doubt you even have a family.” you bite “God knows what Zenin lab near Fukushima you escaped from."

“Weak but creative, I’ll give a tick for that. So, what I’m getting here is that you get along with him, then.”

You frown, confused.

“You couldn’t pretend to give a shit when I mentioned the fiancé, but you looked like you would’ve blown my brains if you had a gun on you the second I brought your brother up.”

He sounds suspiciously genuine. You don’t feel like elaborating.

“I know him,” he mentions offhandedly, leaning back. “Flashy cottonhead prick, doesn’t like me very much.”

“Can’t imagine why, enchanting as you are.”

“Probably gonna like me a lot less after this.” he reasons, more to himself.

He turns to you before you can dwell on what he means by that. “So, you’re two peas in a pod then? You and him?”

“I don’t see him that often.” you think out loud, your dinner plans fell through after a sudden change in his schedule. “He’s on some getaway in Osaka, performing some corporate sacrificial ritual.”

“And you’re too cool to involve yourself in such bland, boring affairs.”

You’ve had a bad feeling since your father announced he’ll be stepping down from his position. With the board and investors spiraling and Satoru suspiciously playing your father’s game, you see havoc brewing in the future; your father closing his fist around his leashes, children crying, kittens separated from their mothers and blood spilled on the floor.

And you want none of it.

“I’m an outsider. You don’t need me to explain how it goes, do you?”

He nods at you like he’d tip his drink at you if he had one, deep in thought.

You prop yourself up on your wrist and bring a leg up to rest your feet on the rough wood, inadvertently knocking over your empty glass. You both watch as it tumbles, rolling in a circular path until it meets the edge and drops out of sight, vanishing beneath in the inky water, as if it never existed.

“Water looks nice.” he says.

You hum uncommittedly.

“Wanna take a dip?”

His eyes are already on you when you look up at him. There’s not nearly enough alcohol in you to ignore the distance between you, or the lecherous dip under the friendly, harmless veneer. You wonder what triggered this change so abruptly.

You gaze down at your attire, a deconstructed, stretchy fabric ensemble unsuitable for water activities.

"No, but you can go ahead. I'll watch from here and look the other way if you start to drown."

He dips his head slightly, his frown implying you're a buzzkill. "Come on. You've never gone skinny-dipping?"

“That’s a very lame attempt to get me naked.”

He points at the party with a tilt of his head

“No one’s gonna see you. I will, but I’ll behave, 'cause you’ve had a rough night” The vague fucker carries on again before you can ask what he means by that. “I didn’t think you’d be this shy.”

“And I don’t think Haibara knows he’s friends with an old man that likes to creep on girls a decade younger.” you retort.

He's momentarily silent, and you believe he's finally relented.

Yet, he hooks a finger beneath a thin strap of your top that slipped down your shoulder at some point, deftly guiding it back into place. His nail barely grazes your skin, causing a shiver to course through you. He grins wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours, darkness flickering from beneath his lowered lashes, tantalizing.

“Like you’re some innocent little lamb who doesn’t know better? I don’t buy it.” he mocks you, voice dangerously dropping. “Your cover’s blown, sweets. I see you. You’re a lot darker than you look.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. You’re a little fucked up, ain’t ya? Got some real violent impulses tucked in there.”

That’s rich, coming from him.

"So perhaps you should tread lightly around me."

“I don’t mind.” he says succinctly like you didn’t just witness the black completely eclipsing the green of his eyes. “Tell you what, you’re more than welcome not to hold back around me. Consider me your safe space. Let it all out, you sure look like you need it.”

“How kind of you.” you croon, he blinks, slow and warm for you, lashes coming to rest on the sinking blue-tinted skin of his under eyes.

“You wanna go back and do drugs, Toji?”

The sea roars, a particularly violent wave crashing under you. He looks over his shoulder like he’s thinking of it.

“With your friends?” His tone is derogatory at the last word, unaffected, but you have a theory that if you were to put your hand on his chest, the rhythm of his heart would tell a different tale.

Cute. He’s cute. You want to chew him up.

He hit the spot about you not being the lamb, but another thing entirely. The thought makes you want to laugh in his face, but instead, you smile and pop a dimple, swinging your feet and imagining yourself dropping a handful of rice in front of him.

“No. Just you and me.”

#toji fanfiction #toji x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jjk fanfiction #toji fushiguro

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pathetickuroo · 2 months ago

Text

fukutora hcs bc theyre funny

- fukunaga shohei #1 lover of badddd bad bad bad movies. terrible films. not good. we're talking sharknado snakes on a plane willys wonderland velocipastor that one thanksgiving slasher film that i cant remember the name of rn (dont think abt the mechanics of it being a thanksgiving movie too hard). generally not a movie enjoyer i think but most certainly clocking in for shit that is Not Good

- tora is baffled every time but definitely not opposed to it (this guy loves cuddling on the couch i think he hits the fake yawn arm around shoulders maneuver like. regularlyyyy and fukunaga doesnt even pretend to think its silly anymore)

- "shohei this movie doesnt even make any sense" "🤷"

- tora the hugger from behind of All Time he is finding any possible excuse. "u look cold" or "makin up for lost time" or "i have practice in an hour plsss plssssss just let me have this PLSSSSSSS" (he uses that one in particular a lot) (fukunaga wouldnt have said no in the first place) (he thinks its cute so he doesnt say anything abt it)

- repressed-as-hell hs tora did not quiteee know what to do w whatever tf he had goin on so he didnt get the guts (ha) to say anything until a couple years after graduation (which he then said over text bc yokohama -> tokyo = long distance)

- fukunaga conveys thoughts in as few words as possible (which is fucking awesome btw if fukunaga has no fans it means ive died) BUT in order to preserve the meaning it sometimes takes a second to respond

- tora did Not have a good time attempting to navigate this when he was trying to confess

- bro immediately started freaking out to yaku "DUDE WHY DID I DO THAT THAT WAS SO STUPID" "omfg its fukunaga give him a second. impatient ass" "I THINK IM DYING" "jfc"

- meanwhile in tokyo fukunaga was staring at "i rly like u dude" trying to figure out if tora meant like (homie) or like (w/gay intent)

- fukunaga only ever calls tora by his full government given name when he is Displeased. tora used the pan he needed for dinner tn so now he has to wash it? taketora. tora rearranges his living room w no warning? taketora. doesnt even say it in a mean/angry tone or anything j matter of fact as all hell. honestly i think if fukunaga was ever genuinely angry abt smth hell would probably freeze over

- tora does get extremely pouty abt it tho. "shoheiii what did i do :(" "the pan" ".......OH FUC—"

- when tora first moved to yokohama he got a cat bc of course he did he graduated from nekoma. tf else was he supposed to do, get a dog? (maybe in the future)

- very very fluffy very cute very sweet tuxedo girl. her name is "destroyer" (yes really) he calls her badass on the reg and she is sooo cuddly w him. fukunaga finds all of this extremely funny

- in fact when fukunaga starts visiting suddenly destroyer doesnt gaf abt tora anymore. worse than pain of death in his opinion it is So Not Fair. first thing fukunaga does after he meets the cat is send a pic to the old nekoma gc "top 10 cats that like me more than they like their owners" tora throws a pillow at him "i RAISED her from a BABY" "did u rly" ".....NO BUT IT AINT RIGHT"

- after theyve been together a few months toras thinkin abt how fukunaga used to Never Talk Ever and he makes a joke "ha i guess i learned how to speak BODY language am i right. right shohei. thats funny right"

- fukunaga calls him taketora for a week. tora retires that joke permanently and they never speak of it again

- tora morning person fukunaga not-exactly-a-night-owl-but-doesnt-love-being-awake-at-5:30 person. one time fukunagas in yokohama for the weekend he wakes up at 6 annoyed as hell (tora got up at 5 and left for a run) bc wtf his pillow literally got up and walked away. falls back asleep wakes up again at 10 tora made not only coffee but pancakes too AND heated them up for him hes immediately like ok nvm this is fine actually no complaints (<- still gets annoyed when his human teddy bear ditches him)

- TORA BABE SAYER. hey babe thanks babe i missed u babe. but it took him foreverrrrrr (forever) to get comfortable actually saying it instead of thinkin inside so there was also (and still is) a lot of dude (romantic) bro (romantic) man (romantic).

- fukunaga doesnt like saying pet names or anything (but to be fair does he like saying ANYTHING most of the time) but does not mind being called them at all (that's a lie he thinks it's awesome and so so so sweet but when tora asks if it's okay he says he doesn't mind)

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#nekoma #yamamoto taketora #fukunaga shouhei #fukunaga shohei #fukutora #torafuku #not sure what their tag is. hm #hq #hq!!#a bonkutoe classic #love fktr find em whimsical :)#can i talk my shit. how are this and kaiyaku so underrated bro WHAT!!!!

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missyandthemisfits · 8 months ago

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Tokyo Rev X Apathetic!GNReader

Part II And I Already Know What To DOOO-

Souya Kawata

He more than anyone understands that looks can be very much be deceiving, but he absolutely doesn’t judge a book by its cover, he’s not that type of guy. You guys are desk mates and greet each other everyday - or everyday he can get away from his brother long enough to attend class. You don’t speak to one another much but you guys enjoy the quiet company the other provides. No one at school dares bother either of you honestly, one of the perks of having a near constant unapproachable look. Takes a few weeks after the semester starts for you guys to have an actual conversation, though it did come about only after you managed to trip and fall face first in gym class.

“Are you okay?!” He looks to be scowling but you know better. Unsurprisingly, most of the other students keep their distance, some snickering. But surprisingly, Souya is at your side in a matter of seconds. Sitting up slowly, you blink.

“I think so.” By the time you respond he’s already pulled out band aids, cute ones no less, placing them tentatively over your scrapped knees. It’s hard not to blush at the thoughtfulness. Suddenly, you feel a warm liquid dripping from your nose. He looks up and immediately starts freaking out.

“Your nose!”

“Huh?”

Apparently there was quite a bit of blood, so much so that the next thing you knew, you’re waking up in the nurse’s office, dazed and pretty confused. You blink twice, peering over to see Souya twiddling with his fingers anxiously. He looks over, relieved to see you awake. You try to sit up and he motions for you to take it easy.

“How long was I out?” You finally ask after a few moments of silence.

“About 30 minutes..,” he verifies with a glance at his watch, brows knitting together, “How are you feeling?”

“Well that depends; did we miss gym?” He raises a brow.

“Um… yes?”

“Then I feel fantastic.” He snorts and shakes his head. There’s another few moments of silence before he speaks again, nervous somehow.

“I um…I could take you home on my bike, if you’d like. O-or actually it might be better to take the train in your condition-“ You shoot up so fast you make yourself dizzy again, startling him.

“Your bike? As in…your motorcycle?” You’ve got stars in your eyes at the thought, leaning in close and warranting a blush.

“Yea. Is that okay?” It’s your turn to snort.

“Okay? It’s more than okay - clearly I need to break my nose more often-,”

“What?”

You guys are very fast friends after that day, though it doesn’t take long for certain other feelings to start developing. It was awkward, it was sweet, it was first love hidden under the familiar guise of friendship. But, it would be a while longer before either of you would confess.

Nahoya Kawata

It was strange how well you meshed together.

You with your deadpan expression and monotone voice, him with his wicked and untamed grin, neither of you ever as serious as you needed to be, with anything. It’s was like life was a game to you guys, all of it meant as entertainment at best.

“Hey (Name), look it! Doesn’t this dude’s face look fuckin’ hilarious?” He gestured to 1 of 3 plebs who attempted to jump him not 5 minutes ago, said perpetrator’s face bruised and bloodied mercilessly. He might’ve gone just slightly more easy on these losers had one of them not grabbed your arm roughly with a disgusting smirk. That really set him off, big time. You crouched next to him, blinking briefly before nodding.

“Yea, you really beat the breaks off him. You angry about something?” His smile wavered slightly, though seemingly unnoticed. Your face would never tell, nonchalant as ever, but it was like but you were an expert at reading people - even more so once you were close to them. He smiled 90% of the time but after being acquainted for a few weeks, you knew exactly what he was feeling - the straining of his smile translating anywhere from awkwardness to anger, the smaller grins anywhere inbetween. It was pure insanity, he thought. It ticked him off too, at first. Still it was nice to have someone, besides his brother of course, just… understand him without having to spell it out. He wasn’t one for words. Fists were another story.

“Eh, m’alright.” He moved to stand upright, subtly glancing down at your wrist to make sure it hadn’t bruised before placing his hands in his pockets. “Hey, you wanna hit the arcade before we head to your place?”

You were relieved to see his true smile back in its place, granting him a small one of your own with a light shrug.

“Fine with me, but don’t you have homework?” It was his turn to shrug.

“No clue what you’re talkin’ about, (Name)!”

He totally did.

What we’re you gonna do with him?

…

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x you #souya kawata #souya x reader #nahoya x reader #nahoya kawata #souya headcanons #souya kawata x reader #tokyo revengers souya #nahoya headcanons #tokyo revengers nahoya #kawata twins #tokyo revengers hcs #🫶🏽#souya is an angel #nahoya is a bittersweet devil

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kitashousewife · 1 year ago

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we're in trouble now

an: Halloween vibes? but not really? idk sort of kind of based on bad, bad, bad by LANY

pairings: geto x fem!reader

warnings: MANGA SPOILERS (vol 0, geto's past/high school years) mentions of: killing, curses, death, blood, police, crime, throwing up/gagging. sorcerer au, reader is not a sorcerer. established relationship, pet names, angst to comfort kinda? geto is just a little troubled, lowercase intentional

geto has been...off lately. and you're not sure why. he's been coming home later and later each night, causing you to lie awake in your shared bed, staring up at the ceiling, worried out of your mind.

it must be his job.

you've been dating for three years now. you knew before you started to date that he was a jujutsu sorcerer. he told you one night at the fanciest restaurant in tokyo, flushed cheeks and stuttering over his words. you couldn't care less, though. if anything, it was fucking hot to have a sorcerer as a boyfriend.

his job never got in the way of anything, though. he had amazing friends, who you've spent lots of time with. he was always home before dinner, never leaving on missions any longer than two days, even offering to take you along.

the last time that happened was about five months ago.

now it's 3:30 am, and you've found yourself in bed by yourself. again. calling him again, the line goes to voicemail almost instantly. you huff and throw your phone on the bed, watching it bounce before it lands face up. to your surprise, he's calling you back. rushing over, you leap onto the mattress, answering as quickly as possible.

"s-sugu? baby, are you alright?" your voice shakes. you're not sure why your chest feels so tight, why your breaths seem harder and harder to take.

geto feels the same way. he always does after he finishes off another one.

phone between his ear and shoulder, geto stands in front of a public restroom sink, scrubbing his hands for the third time in a row. the cheap soap does nothing to get rid of the blood that stains his fingers, deep in every crevice of his skin. looking at himself in the mirror, he feels an incredible sense of guilt.

"yeah, i'm fine baby. hey can you do me a favor, sweetheart?"

you can hear his voice echoing, almost as if he's in a pool.

"s-sure, where are you?"

geto feels guilty. he doesn't mean for you to be this upset. he also doesn't want to lie to you.

the four bodies behind him in the open stall are making it a little tough.

"oh i've just been finishing up work," one of the bodies, eyes still open, stare right at geto through the reflection of the mirror as he speaks. "i'll be home soon though, darling. i promise."

he hits mute as a shaky sigh leaves his lips. he peeks at his reflection once more, watching as the shirt worn by one of the dead bodies soaks up more blood. one of the bodies lets out a liquidy gurgle that echos off the tile walls. geto can almost see the last bit of life escape them, floating up into the air to join the rest of those that died the same way these ones did.

"what was the favor you needed?"

geto feels sick now. your voice so sweet, so innocent and airy. he can't you're with someone like him.

a killer.

sneaking out of the bathroom and to his car, he unmutes himself.

"could you grab a couple suitcases from the closet? pack up enough for a few days, and could you pack a little for me as well?" he buckles himself in and just as he starts his car, the sound of sirens appear in the distance.

"yeah, i can do that," you stand up, heart still racing. did you have a trip planned?

turning down different back alleys, stalling for a second as the sirens get closer, geto takes a deep breath.

"you're an angel. i'll be there soon. i love you, my perfect girl."

you end the call and begin to do as you were asked. filling the suitcases as quick as you can, you don't pay much attention to the outfits you've created. you don't even know where you're going, anyway. you smile, picturing in your mind a quick little getaway for the two of you. sightseeing, sleeping in, and spending time away from work.

you still feel a little off.

where was he?

the door bursts open, presenting a very flustered geto. his bun is almost out, dark tresses barely hanging at the nape of his neck. the pieces that fell out stick to his face from what looks like sweat. his pupils are blown wide, mouth slightly agape as he breathes heavily. you drop the t-shirt of his out of your hands and scramble to your feet.

"s-sugu? oh my god, what happened to you? did you get mugged? d-did someone try to kill you? oh my god," you gasp, hands reaching for every part of his body to make sure he was in one piece.

geto swallows back the guilt induced vomit that sits at the back of his throat. "no, baby, not at all," he coos down at you, but his eyes look anywhere but your face. they check each window and door, before eyeing the suitcases. "thank you so much for doing this. we're going away for a few days, is that alright?" he says with a smile. cupping your face ever so lightly with his slightly stained fingers. he's thankful you forgot to turn on the lights.

"of course, suguru. are we going far? let me make something to eat," you pull him towards the kitchen, but he tugs you back.

"we can eat when we get there, i promise. let's just get going," he speaks quickly, eyes still checking the windows.

"is everything okay?" you say, copying his stares out the window. he notices and grabs his suitcase and yours, before heading towards the door. he almost throws up again, torn between telling you everything and keeping you in the dark. he swallows hard.

"the car is on, i can explain everything later. we'll be just fine, i promise." you smile, feeling a little more at ease. with a nod, you grab a jacket and head out the door.

as soon as you get to the car, geto opens the passenger door for you and puts the suitcases in the back with speed. you haven't even buckled your seatbelt by the time he starts to drive away.

"it's 4:30 am baby, we don't need to race! it's not like anyone is on the road," you laugh and reach your hand to hold his. he jumps when you touch him. "i'm sorry! i didn't mean to scare you," you mumble, and he gives you a small smile, which fades as soon as the faint sounds of sirens fill the air. his stare jumps up to the rearview mirror, and he takes a sudden sharp turn that has you jumping in your seat.

"suguru! what is going on?"

he turns down another street and speeds up a little bit.

"angel, i've gotten myself into a bit of trouble, okay? everything is gonna be just fi-"

"what did you do?" your voice is stern, but geto gives you a smile, eyes softening as he drives down a back road.

"i'll explain everything later, just like i promised. for now, i need you to trust me, okay?"

your mind and stomach scream no no no at you, but your heart takes over.

"okay, i trust you."

you must have fallen asleep at some point on the drive, because when you open your eyes you're met with sunshine and costal views.

"there she is, good morning darling. we're almost there."

blinking a few times and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you realize that you have pulled into a small town next to the ocean. geto appears to be more relaxed. you reach around for your phone, but you can't seem to find it.

"are you looking for your phone?" you nod. "i put it in my bag for you. i thought it would be good for us to stay off of our phones for the next couple of days. just time with each other, how does that sound?" his face beams at you from the driver's seat. you can't say no, especially not when he's being so kind and sweet.

"i think that sounds lovely."

you pull up to a motel, which looks as if it doesn't get a lot of business. you start to feel a little uneasy, and geto can sense that.

"wait right here, i'll get us checked in," he kisses your cheek and walks towards the motel office. now that you're a little more awake, you start to become hyper-aware of your surroundings. based off of the looks, you're at least four hours from home. you start to think a little more. was he running from the cops? what type of trouble is he in?

he returns quickly, room key in hand. he grabs the suitcases out of the car and you follow close behind him all the way to your room. as soon as you enter, he quickly shuts the door and locks it behind him. you have a seat on the old motel bed without a word.

feeling a little more relieved, he sighs and looks at you. worry all over your face, wringing your hands that are placed in your lap.

"isn't this nice? our own little place, right on the ocean. i know how much you love the ocean, we could even go check out the shops later!"

you don't say anything. geto begins to panic.

"are you hungry? would you like me to get some food for us? if you want, we could go-"

"why did you take me here?" your voice is nothing more than a whisper. you feel sick, you know something is terribly wrong. he kneels in front of you on the floor and grabs your hand.

"sweetheart, do you think humans are good people?"

you give him a confused look. "maybe not everyone, but most people i know are good people," you think out loud. geto's stomach feels a little uneasy.

"your asshole manager? you think that guy is a good person?"

"no, not him. but my other coworkers are great people, remember? you've met them!"

of course he has. he's been to many work dinners and events.

he also killed one of them last night, but he won't tell you that.

"darling, why do you think there is so much crime in the world? so many good people like you say, having their lives ruined by these terrible humans. wouldn't the world be a better place if they just...went away?"

your mouth opens slightly and you blink at him a few times. you start to sweat a little bit, and the room feels like it's caving in on the two of you.

"what are you suggesting?"

he comes to sit next to you on the bed and holds you in his arms.

"do you know what i do for work?"

he feels you nod into his chest. "you fight curses, right?"

"that's right. do you know why curses exist?"

you shake your head.

"because of humans. regular humans, like you, who can't fight or see curses. curses only exist because of them. they are able to flow through people and hurt them, which makes my friends and i come in to save them. that doesn't seem very fair, does it?"

you disagree. you know deep down that this isn't right, what he's implying is evil.

"w-well no, but-"

"do you know hard it is to fight curses? to even be around curses?" he stands up, voice raising. hot, angry tears fill his lash line. "do you know how disgusting my cursed technique is?"

your mouth opens and shuts, unable to form any words at all. you want to speak, but you simply cannot find the words to say. you know there is nothing. you can say to help him feel any better.

"i don't know but i want to, i want to understand you better," you mumble, lip quivering and voice cracking slightly. you feel terrible, you had no idea how much pain geto has been in. he paces back and forth in front of you, wiping his tears with his hands. suddenly he stops.

"you'll think that i'm gross, that i'm a monster," he rambles. you stand up, grabbing his hand and holding him close.

"i promise i won't. i love you,"

he takes a deep breath and backs away, leading you back to the bed to sit down. you continue to hold his hands in your own, attempting to provide any sense of comfort.

"i can summon curses. i can call them to help me fight, whenever i need them," he starts, glancing at you to see your reaction. to his surprise, you're completely neutral.

"that sounds really cool, sugu. what do they look like?" you ask, eyes wide and full of curiosity. geto can't help the smile that grows on his face at how innocent you are.

you are exactly why he wants this perfect world.

he raises his hand and a small curse appears. something kind of silly looking, much like a kids drawing with wings. you look at it for a second, before he interupts.

"can you see it?"

you nod. "that's good. some humans can see them, and some can't. this little guy is harmless," he waves his hand and the curse flies away, out the door and into the world.

"can you make bigger ones?"

he chuckles. "yes, some ten times his size, maybe even bigger. they all have different abilities, some are stronger than others," he looks at you once more, relieved to see that you're smiling.

"how do you get them, do you make them?"

geto doesn't say anything, but continues to stare at the carpet at his feet.

"i swallow them," noticing your confused face, he elaborates. "it turns into a ball, fits right in the palm of my hand, almost looks like a crystal ball," he swallows hard. "then i just...swallow it."

you nod and stroke his back. he shivers a little at the thought.

"it tastes so vile, so disgusting. i can't even describe the taste," he shakes his head, tears brimming his eyes once more. "tastes like death. which make sense," he sniffles.

"why, sugu?"

he looks at you, tears streaming down his face at this point. you brush them away with your thumb, but they keep falling.

"i'm a killer. you don't deserve me. i try to make this world a better place, one where i don't have to watch my friends die. one where i don't even have to worry about curses, one where i don't have to think about ever losing you," he raises his voice, each word coming out through choked sobs.

"i want to keep you safe. i want to be away from this, from everything. i want to protect you," he cries, and you pull him close. "god, everyone probably thinks i'm so fucked up. they probably thing im ruining your life,"

you shake your head. "people can think whatever they want." with a nod, he lays back down on the bed. you push the fallen strands out of his face, playing with them a bit to help him calm down.

"how long do you want to stay here?"

he wipes his face and props himself up on his elbows. "i dunno, couple of days at least,"

you nod. the two of you sit in silence. geto has run out of things to say, as have you.

it’s light outside, sunny and bright. the exact opposite of the mood inside of the dingy motel room. seagulls sing outside as they perch, happy tunes that almost make you laugh. you’re not sure what to think, what to feel.

“are we gonna be alright, sugu?”

he sighs. “i think so.”

#this has been sitting in my drafts for an entire year #geto x reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto angst #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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