#CAN WE NOT JUST CELEBRATE WHAT HE WAS AND WHAT HE DID AND HAVE SOME FUN | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stellamarielu · 21 hours ago

Text

mr. o'hara

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: in an attempt to play wing woman for your best friend, you end up with the job of distracting her father. your inability to lie and the sexual tension between you has your mouth getting into trouble in more ways than one.

content: nsfw, 18+, best friend's dad smut, mutual pining, age gap, dirty talk, blowjob, praise, thigh riding, fingering, unprotected sex, did i mention dirty talk?

author's note: nothing but 6k words of mutual pining, flirting, sexual tension and smut! I think best friend's dad!declan might just be my favorite thing to write. like taggie girl I am so sorry but I need to fuck your dad.

—————————————————

The night was coming to an end as you joined Taggie in the kitchen. You were helping her clean the massive pile of dishes that had accumulated from an evening of dinner and drinks with the venturer employees.

Declan had somehow ended up hosting the dinner party for his company, filling the priory with music, laughter and loads of alcohol. The celebration of their newfound success was almost completely organized by his eldest daughter.

You insisted on helping Taggie with arranging the event because you knew without Maud, Declan was sure to throw a sad excuse of a party. He was thankful for the two of you and your incessant need to meddle in his life after his wife left. In this case, it meant he wouldn’t have to plan a dinner menu or worry about a guest list, and for that, he was eternally grateful.

“Thank you again, I really couldn’t have done it without you.” Taggie was pulling you into her side as you worked next to her, scrubbing a plate in the sink.

“Oh whatever, I barely did anything. I’m only here for the free food.” You joked, returning her embrace.

The two of you were interrupted by a deep sultry voice gushing from the doorway of the kitchen.

“That’s the only reason I show up to these things as well.”

You didn’t even need to look over your shoulder to know who the voice belonged to.

Rupert Campbell-Black was behind you. Clad in a perfectly fitted black suit and a white button up that was undone just enough to see the smallest bit of chest hair peeking out from underneath. he stood with that signature smirk he always wore plastered on his face.

You could feel Taggie buzzing beside you.

It was endearing how utterly obsessed with each other they were.

You were the only person who knew about their secret romance, and you had to admit it made even you feel like a hopeless romantic. It was nearly impossible not to root for them.

“I thought maybe you could walk me home.” His voice was tender as he took a number of steps forward, one of his hands landing on Taggie’s hip.

“Have you gone insane? Daddy would lose his mind if he found out I just waltzed out of here with you.” Her voice was filled with concern as she swatted his touch from her body.

“Taggie, c’mon. Are we really supposed to follow your dad’s orders for the rest of eternity? Live a little. I’ll deal with ‘daddy’ tomorrow.”

You could see Rupert’s silk voice enveloping Taggie and tempting her deeper into the British man’s desires, but it wasn’t enough.

You knew her well, and a look of worry was still written on her features. She wouldn’t take what she wanted if it meant going against her father’s wishes.

“I’ll keep him distracted.” You spoke up causing both Rupert and Taggie to look to you in surprise.

The truth is you felt bad for them.

Having to tiptoe around Declan all the time had to be exhausting. Not to mention Taggie recently confided in you about her lack of a sex life. Her and Rupert had barely done more than some kissing and heavy petting due to the impossible challenge of getting somewhere alone together.

She longed for him, to know what it felt like to be touched by him. She was your best friend, and you owed it to her to be their wing woman.

“I mean he’s had a few glasses of whiskey, two or three more and I can just sit him in front of the tv. he’ll probably just knock out.” You give the pair a reassuring smile as you divulge your plan to keep the nosey irishman out of their way.

“Are you sure? I-“ Taggie begins before you interrupt her.

“Yes, now go. Sneak out the back.” You’re practically pushing them out of the kitchen catching the apologetic smile Taggie throws your way.

You hear the faint shut of the back door and you allow your body to linger in the kitchen.

standing alone for a few seconds, you soak in the calm. The home is nearly empty. It’s quiet, the only sound is the subtle murmur of music coming from the living room.

You were alone in the house with Declan.

Declan O’Hara; Taggie’s dad and part-time owner of a thriving televison station. Declan O’Hara; a powerful, somewhat mysterious man, that drew your attention more often than you would have liked to admit.

He was so mesmerizing, everything about him intrigued you. Your hidden fascination with him had been impossible to deny from the moment you met him, and it had become quite the guilty pleasure.

You planned to take your little crush on your best friend’s dad to the grave with you, never telling a soul and trying to remain as nonchalant around him as possible. It was always doable– pretending you felt nothing for him. Until his wife left a few months ago.

Ever since then your obsession with him had been kicked into full gear.

He was just so obviously available; it was almost as if you felt the need to fill his loneliness deep within your bones. Seeing how he poured into work to distract himself from solitude or when he would sleep on the couch to avoid the bedroom he once shared with his ex-wife. It was heartbreaking, and a little bit tempting if you were being honest. You wanted to help him and comfort him and maybe even fuck the loneliness right out of him.

You had assured Taggie that you could distract her father, but truthfully you had no idea what your plan was.

It couldn’t be that hard right? Feed him some more alcohol and get him talking about Yeats, you could do this.

You mustered up all the courage you could manage and began your journey into the living room.

Declan was picking up after the guests that had now long departed. Gathering empty glasses and straightening throw pillows. The radio on the mantle was playing a Fleetwood mac song that he could barely recognize yet still found himself humming along to.

In his quiet tidying his silent singing was joined with another, this hum was several octaves higher than his own and so much sweeter.

He turned to find you strolling through the entryway, humming along to the radio and finding a seat on the couch in the middle of the room.

Declan had to fight with himself to keep from looking at your backside as you walked past him. Your dress hugged your figure perfectly, a body he had memorized over months of watching you frolic through his house in short skirts and skintight t-shirts.

You had become quite the temptress in Declan’s mind.

He had always thought you were a beautiful young woman, but you were Taggie’s friend and nothing more. You were polite, easy to talk to, fun to have around– he was never one to mind your presence at family meals or special occasions. In fact he quite enjoyed when his daughter brought you around, he had always felt like you helped brighten their otherwise dim home with your lively personality.

He was entertained by you– amused. However soon after Maud left; casting him aside for a new life in London, his feelings for you shifted to something a little less harmless.

It started when he saw you sunbathing in his front yard.

You were joined by his two daughters, but he didn’t even notice. all he could do was gawk at the image of you sprawled out on a bright red pool towel in nothing but a skimpy bikini.

He had to peel his eyes from your body, reminding himself that you were only a few years older than his eldest daughter, young enough to be one of his children. Before he could rip his gaze from your bare skin, your eyes met his.

“Mr. O’Hara!” you were sat up waving in his direction, your chest bouncing ever so slightly with the movement and of course his eyes caught it.

He cursed himself at the strain in his jeans that only tightened upon hearing you call him that. Mr. O’Hara, it made you sound so innocent– so good-natured. The opposite of how Declan viewed you in that very moment, nearly naked on his front lawn.

“Wanna join us? They say Vitamin D is good for your mental health. You know, boosting your mood and all that.” You were half yelling to ensure that he could hear you, a broad grin on your face.

Declan had never realized how cute your smile was.

“I think I’ll have to pass on the invitation today.” He kept his voice pleasant and warm, speaking to you like he would his own children.

“If you girls need me, I’ll be inside.”

And with that Declan rushed to the kitchen to fix himself a glass of brandy, hoping to chase away the image of him pulling the tiny swimsuit off your body and fucking you into that cute little pool towel.

“I didn’t picture you as a Fleetwood Mac fan Mr. O’Hara.” Your voice was sugary and playful in his ears, bringing him back to the present where you were sat on his living room couch.

“British rock band with a dicey love triangle, what’s not to like?” His own deep voice was now matching the playful tone in yours.

“And I’ve told you a hundred times to call me Declan.” He continued cleaning up the room, trying his best to act as if he wasn’t phased by your presence.

“Did you abandon my daughter in the kitchen to come have a chat with me about Stevie Nicks?” He was joking with you, but the question about Taggie made you nervous.

You had never been a good liar.

“No we uh, finished the dishes. I just wanted to come see if you needed help with anything.” You were trying to keep your composure and act as natural as possible.

You were not doing a good job. Not one bit.

Maybe it was the tone of your voice or the way you stumbled over your words, but Declan was privy to your strange behavior. He stopped what he was doing and turned his body to face yours, brows furrowed.

“Why are ya actin’ weird?”

The question was filled with curiosity- hardly accusatory, but you felt your palms begin to sweat.

“I’m not acting weird.” You countered, sitting up straight.

Declan’s eyes squinted at you in question.

“Tag!” He yelled toward the kitchen but kept his stare on you.

“Taggie!” This time his yell was much louder, and you winced at the upcoming interrogation you were sure to receive.

Declan slowly closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Where’s Tag?”

With his eyes still closed you could tell Declan was trying to remain relaxed, but you had a feeling he knew exactly where his daughter was.

“She went to walk Rupert home.” The words flew out of your mouth in one quiet stream.

Declan let out an aggressively loud sigh. his eyes finally opening to meet yours, the anger palpable in the deep brown of his iris’.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t fucking trust either of them.”

He was doing his best not to yell but his voice was pushing out strong and harsh. His hands were in the air motioning in rage, still holding onto half full glasses left behind by party goers.

“I can’t fucking stand Rupert, he knows exactly how I feel about this! I’m going down there.”

And now he was yelling.

He shoved the glasses in his hands onto the coffee table, creating another mess out of the already dirty cups. The clinking and crashing sounds only accentuating the anger exuding from him.

Just as he was turning to leave the room you jumped up off the sofa, rushing to grab his forearm.

“Declan don’t.”

your eyes were pleading with him, he had never seen you look so desperate. It stopped him in his tracks seeing you gaze at him like that.

Why was it turning him on?

“She’s an adult. Let her make her own decisions.” Your grip on his arm was still tight, you weren’t going to let him ruin this for Taggie.

“Yeah, and he’s an adult too. almost twice her age. He shouldn’t be interested in gettin’ her alone.”

He wasn’t yelling anymore, and he also wasn’t fighting your effort to keep him from leaving the room.

“It’s really not that big of a deal.” Your voice was calm and quiet in an attempt to deescalate the situation.

“Well of course you would think that.”

Declan practically spit the words out, but you could tell by the wince in his eyes that he wished he hadn’t.

“and why do you say that?” You challenged, taken aback by his comment.

You were searching your brain for the reason behind Declan’s accusation when it hit you. He had to be referring to the time you hooked up with Basil Baddington. Only you never actually hooked up with him. The two of you madeout in his parked car outside of bar sinister one time and the next day there was a nasty rumor going around that you got caught giving basil head in his brand new 86 corvette.

You could distinctly remember later that week Declan asked if you were seeing Bas.

He never mentioned the alleged sexual act or the other heinous things people were saying about the two of you, he just asked if you were dating.

It was such a harmless and casual question, one that you answered confidently, assuring him there was absolutely nothing going on between you. “Good he’s a prick and way too old for you” was Declan’s short and sweet response.

“Oh last summer. With Bas?” You were grinning now. Almost amused that Declan was comparing your two-week fling with a man barely 10 years older than you to his daughter’s love affair with a retired Olympian.

“First of all, he’s not even that much older than me. And second, you of all people should know nothing even happened between us. We made out and I barely felt him up through his jeans, nothing past a PG-13 rating.” You were almost laughing at the memory.

Declan felt a pang of jealousy in his chest at the mention of the younger man’s name on your lips.

“He isn’t my type anyway.” The words tumble from your mouth and you see Declan’s eyes fully soften. His gaze intently watching you.

“Even if I am a bad influence, at least Taggie won’t be getting caught giving someone a blowjob in a tiny pretentious sports car.”

There’s a giggle in your voice and Declan closes his eyes once again, shaking his head at your words.

“Please don’t say my daughter’s name and the word blowjob in the same sentence.” He’s rubbing his temple, and you let your hold on his arm relax.

“Oh come on! It’s just sex. Blowjobs are a perfectly normal part of life.” Your sentiment is serious but there’s still a teasing tone in your voice.

Declan can’t handle hearing such dirty things come out of your mouth.

You talking about sex was not something he had on this evening’s agenda. He didn’t think he could handle much more before he would need to excuse himself to his bedroom to relieve the tension building in his pants. Imagining it’s your lips wrapped around his cock, with the sound of your voice still echoing in his head.

You watched with a coy smile on your face as Declan’s cheeks displayed a slight hue of pink. He was looking everywhere but your eyes and it was fun to see him so flustered.

Your hand still lingered on his arm, and you realized you’d never touched him before. You had imagined it many, many times, although, those scenarios were often much raunchier– involving your hand holding something that definitely wasn’t his arm. You had fantasized about touching Declan, feeling the warmth of his skin on yours. Your heart rate quickened when you remembered the two of you were alone.

Something about your current position coupled with the idea that it was just the two of you on your own in this big house, had you behaving in a way you barely recognized. Possessed by a craving that could only be satisfied by the man at the other end of your touch.

“When was the last time you had a woman on her knees for you?” The question left your lips quietly- a soft and smooth whisper.

His eyes are on yours quick, but you can’t read his expression. He’s staring you down, not even attempting to open his mouth to give you an answer to your question.

“I mean it’s had to of been months. I’m around enough to know you haven’t seen anyone since maud left and I-“ Your continuing your cross-examination when Declan’s harsh accent interrupts you.

“Years.”

The one word is all he says.

It takes you a minute to understand, but once you do you have to try your best to keep the shock from showing on your face.

“Years Declan?” the surprise in your voice is unmistakable.

“It’s been years since the last time someone gave you a blowjob?”

Declan just raises his eyebrows at you in defeat. There’s a hint of embarrassment in his eyes and it makes you feel sick to your stomach.

“Maud wasn’t much of a giver.” He shrugs.

“Lucky for her I was.” You’re glad to see the playful glimmer in his gaze as he jokes about his ex-wife.

Declan’s words insinuate that him and Maud’s intimacy completely revolved around her pleasure.

What a selfish bitch. You think to yourself.

You had never liked Maud. The way she treated her family made you irrationally angry and this was just adding fuel to the fire.

“That’s not fair.” Your voice is faint.

If it wasn’t for the way your eyes were staring into his, Declan would have sworn you were talking to yourself.

“You deserve to feel good.” This time you open your mouth, and the words sound almost like a purr.

Declan can feel his eyelids growing heavy with lust and he can’t stop himself from watching as you take your bottom lip between your teeth.

You’re biting down on the pillowy flesh and all he wants to do is replace your teeth with his, gently nipping at your skin and finally getting a taste of those pretty pink lips.

You see Declan’s gaze fall to your lips and something in you snaps. It’s almost like you’ve lost all logical thought and replaced it with feral desire as you sink down onto your knees for the man in front of you.

Declan’s voice gets stuck in his throat as he whispers your name causing it to come out in a husky groan.

He’s completely lost in his head right now. He can’t focus on a single thing, only you kneeling beneath him.

“What are you doin’?” He finally comes to his senses enough to string a sentence together.

“Giving you what you deserve.” You state sweetly.

He shakes his head in disagreeance but can’t form the words on his tongue to tell you to stop.

“This is wrong.” He says it but he’s making absolutely no effort to get you off your knees.

“Let me do this for you Mr. O’Hara” You look up at him, doing your best to keep your gaze wide-eyed and innocent. Your fingertips toying with his belt buckle.

Seeing you looking up at him through your lashes like that, using his surname in such a sensual tone– he would let you do anything you wanted to him. He had never had a woman so ready to give to him like this. You were practically salivating, so hungry and greedy to have him in your mouth, it was like something out of a wet dream.

“Yeah, Okay.” He gives into your joint desire with a whisper of two simple words.

The satisfied smirk on your lips as you hear him agree to the lewd act has him going weak in the knees.

He’s mentally searching his surroundings for a stable piece of furniture to grip as you undo his belt with your nimble hands.

If you keep acting so desperate to have your lips around his cock he won’t be able to stand on his own two feet.

You take your time with his belt, pulling it from the loops on his waist one by one until it finally hits the floor.

You’re staring at the tent in his dress pants, seeing how hard he is in anticipation. The evidence of his arousal has you wet between your legs and you can’t help but lift your hand to get a feel of him through his pants.

Your touch on him is soft but the second he feels your hand meet his concealed erection he’s sucking in a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut in shameful desire.

You move your fingertips to the button of his pants, popping it open and trailing his zipper down at a painfully slow pace.

Declan was doing his best to remain calm but you could hear his erratic breathing with every movement of your body beneath him.

His hands were hanging at his sides and you desperately wanted them tangled in your hair or around your neck.

You had his underwear hooked in your grip ready to slip them, along with his pants, down to his ankles.

You looked up at him once more only to see his eyes still closed.

He wanted to look at you, to see you inches away from his cock, but he couldn’t. There was no way in hell he could stand to watch you taking his clothes off, looking at him with those pretty eyes. He would cum in his pants right away.

He was focusing on steadying his breath as you pulled his boxers and slacks down his thighs, allowing his agonizingly hard member freedom from its constraints.

You were now face to face with a part of Declan you thought you would only see in your dreams. You bit down on your lip again at the sight of him, bigger and even more alluring than you had imagined it to be.

You trail your fingertips up his thigh earning a groan from the man above you.

Very gently taking his length in your hand you pump him once, then twice, wondering how on earth anyone could neglect this man of such pleasure for so long.

It was a crime, you thought– to sleep next to Declan O’Hara every night and never give him this type of gratification.

You leaned in to place a handful of soft kisses to his lower abdomen in a path to where he wanted your mouth most.

A quiet groan left his mouth when your lips met the base of his cock, your tongue coming into play as you traced up the length of his shaft with one long kitten lick, kissing the precum off his leaking tip.

Taking just the head of him through the threshold of your lips you decide to look up again, hoping to see a state of bliss taking over his features.

You take him deeper into your mouth and peer up at him. His stare is completely fixated on you, his mouth parted in pleasure.

When his eyes catch yours it’s game over, he doesn’t care that you’re his daughter’s best friend or that you’re nearly 20 years younger than him. The only thing he can think of is the feeling of your sweet mouth around his cock and how utterly gorgeous you look taking him like this.

“Fuck darlin’.” He’s moaning out as you slide him deeper past your lips.

You moan back when his hands find your hair, intertwining his fingers in it gently, careful not to grip or pull too hard.

You wouldn’t mind though.

You had imagined fucking Declan multiple times in multiple different scenarios. Many of those visions involved his rough hands gripping your neck, slapping your ass, and pulling your hair.

You needed him in every way possible and you wanted him to know he could use you however he pleased.

You kept a slow pace as you continuously enveloped him in the warmth of your mouth. In and out.

The attention of your lips is on the head of his cock when you bring a hand up to wrap around the rest of him, your mouth and fingers working together. You feel his body shutter and for a second you think he might lose his balance.

“Christ that’s good.” His voice falls on your ears in a throaty moan.

“So good for me like that darlin’.”

His words are driving you to a place of overwhelming carnality.

In that moment you felt as though your one and only purpose in life was to be on your knees for Declan O’Hara. You were determined to show him exactly what he’d been missing all those years.

“Touch yourself.” His voice is no longer a moan, instead it’s strong and stern.

You pause your movements for just a second to process his command.

Here you sat thinking you were the one with all the filthy thoughts, but Declan’s brain must have been equally as corrupt.

He was asking to see you touch yourself for him– to see you get off with his dick in your mouth.

And it just might have been the hottest thing anyone had ever said to you.

Without so much as a second thought, you were hiking your already short dress further up your thighs until you were able to easily reach underneath. Slipping the silk material of your underwear to the side, your index finger found your clit circling it lazily as you continued to focus on Declan’s pleasure.

“Good girl.” Declan praised and you could hear the faint smirk in his voice.

He had wanted to call you that earlier in the night when he watched you bend over his dining room table. Helping to clear dirty dishes, leaning over to grab a plate with your short dress riding up far enough to send Declan into cardiac arrest. You were just trying to help, to be a good girl, so sweet and innocent not even realizing how dirty you really were.

The sight in front of him now was far more arousing. You bowing in front of him, immersed in his gratification with your own hand hiding between your legs. He didn’t want to admit how close he was at the sight alone. That’s not even to mention how good it felt.

It had been so long since anyone touched him like this, it was a near out of body experience. The hug of your wet lips mixed with the smooth strokes of your hand had profanities dripping from his tongue.

With every sound that slipped from Declan’s lips your fingers worked faster at the growing pleasure between your legs. Your pace quickened on Declan as well and you immediately felt his grasp on your hair tighten.

He was dangerously close to spilling into your mouth. He was trying to pay attention to his breathing and steady his mind.

He wanted so badly for this feeling to last forever but the fire within him was all consuming and he knew he had to stop you soon or the fun would be over before it had even begun.

He uses his hold in your hair to guide you off of him. Your hand is still buried underneath your dress and your hair messy from his hands. Your lips are plump and you have the cutest look of confusion and frustration on your face. Declan almost pushed you right back onto him at the look in your eyes, but he refrained.

“Stand up.” He was enjoying ordering you around more than he could have ever anticipated.

You stood slightly irritated. How rude of him to not let you finish the job you were working so beautifully at.

You had barely any time to be disappointed because as soon as you’re on your feet Declan is pulling you into a frenzied kiss.

It’s frantic, it’s turbulent, it’s sloppy. the kiss is raw and impassioned and you’re both lost in each other’s taste.

He broke the newfound connection of lips to reach under the hem of your dress. Finding the thin material of your panties and yanking them down your legs freeing your body of the wet and ruined clothing.

With his lips back on yours, he took a few steps backward brining you with him.

Once his body finds the living room couch, he’s sat, drawing you onto his lap.

You were falling onto him straddling one of his thighs as you continued assaulting his mouth with your own. You enjoyed the slight dominance you held in this position.

His kiss found its way to your exposed neck placing the most delicious wet touches on your skin.

You felt his hands grab your waist on either side pulling your body down to sit completely on his bare thigh. Your exposed core met the pure muscle of Declan’s leg and you both made equally lewd sounds of delight.

“Tell me,” Declan begins to speak but his voice is strained in excitement at the feeling of your wet cunt against his thigh.

“do you walk around my house in those tiny little’ skirts just to torture me.”

He’s smirking at you as he uses his hold on your hips to guide you, pulling you back and forth against him.

You’re in a trance at the delicious friction of him beneath you, all you can do is nod your head at his words, that innocent expression still in your eyes.

He’s going to go insane if you keep looking at him like that.

Your following his lead and grinding against his thigh shamelessly.

Declan’s using the dress that’s now bunched at your waist as leverage, griping at the material to influence your movements.

His eyes fall between the two of you, watching you use yourself on him. You’re letting sighs and whimpers fall from your mouth as your arousal slides continuously over the thickest part of his leg.

You catch his cock twitch out of the corner of your eye and all you want to do is maneuver your body so your sitting on it instead of his thigh.

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his member once again.

“Declan, please.”

Your begging to be on his cock at this point.

He can’t deny how much he loves hearing you beg for him. He’s ready to pull you down onto his length the second he hears your eager little whimper.

“Never knew you’d be so needy darlin’.”

He’s using his hold on your hips to lift you enough for you to subtly switch positions. You’re now straddling his entire lap, your center only inches away from meeting his.

“Would’ve done this a long time ago.”

His voice is raspy as he brings his hand between your legs.

Declan’s pointer finger finds your entrance and eases it’s way inside of you, causing a moan to spill from your throat.

“Declan…” His name falls from your lips, but he could tell his fingers weren’t what you wanted filling you.

“Beg for it.” He whispers between you, smiling like a pussy-drunk idiot.

His finger is curling into your walls hitting just the right spot, but you want his cock stretching you out and filling you up.

“Please” You’re asking him in the sweetest tone you can muster.

You still have a slight hold of his length, and you begin stroking it at a painfully slow pace.

“God I want this so badly.” Your confession is breathless.

“I think about it all of the time.” You continue making sure to give him your best doe-eyes.

That was it, he couldn’t take it anymore. You were too sweet, too perfect. He had been obsessed with you for months; watching you, thinking about you. He didn’t give a fuck how wrong it was– he needed you.

In an instant his fingers were gone from your core and his hold was back on your hips, sinking you down onto him.

You could feel his tip meeting your opening and you whined out in anticipation. The noise causing Declan to thrust into you, filling you with one deep push. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing from the stinging pleasure.

He waited a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size and giving himself a second to steady his breath.

“This,” He spoke in a grunt as he fucked up into you again.

“Is all I think about every time I see you in my house.”

His voice is spreading warmth through your body as his thrusts ignite a fire in your abdomen.

“You don’t even have to try. You’re just always so enticing.” The words coming from his mouth are intoxicating.

You’re swimming in a pool of ecstasy at his confessions.

“I can’t get enough.” He’s panting as his thrusts pick up their pace.

You’re grinding down onto him meeting each of his thrusts with a wet squelch, taking him deeper with each movement. The way he’s stretching you open has you clenching around him.

You lock your hands behind his neck leaning on his shoulders for some kind of control as you feel your body beginning to go limp.

The pressure building in you is almost too much to bear and it becomes even more difficult when Declan meets your exposed chest with open mouthed kisses. He’s licking and sucking at your skin greedily, causing your head to fall to the side in pleasure.

“So pretty.” Declan is murmuring into your skin.

Your movements mixed with his are perfectly timed and hitting just the perfect spot.

Maybe it’s the fact that you were already soaked long before you had his dick in your mouth, or maybe it was because you had been dreaming of this exact moment for a long time– either way, you were close. Really close. Your walls were desperately squeezing Declan’s cock as it slid in and out of you, your chest heaving under his kisses.

“C’mon darlin’.”

It’s Declan’s turn to look up at you through his lashes and the sight has you going feral. The tightening in your core finally letting loose.

“Let go for me.”

With his words you’re a whimpering, moaning mess. Your movements halt and your body tenses as you push through your release.

Your pulsating embrace around him has Declan following your lead.

He’s holding your hips in place and bucking into you at a fierce pace. Plunging deep, fucking you right through your orgasm. It’s taking everything in you not to scream out in blinding pleasure.

Then he grows sloppy as he lets his own release take over him.

He finishes with a string of moans that sound like music to your ears, and you think you might cum again just from the noises he’s making as he comes undone.

You’re sat on him, both of you catching your breath, your eyes are locked on one another. Neither of you can look away.

There was a shared energy between you. Maybe guilt or shame– or perhaps triumph.

You couldn’t help but remember the reason you were in this position in the first place.

Taggie.

She would be so disappointed in you but even more upset with her father if she knew what just took place.

She couldn’t be too angry though. You did exactly what you said you’d do– distract him.

Watching the man sitting beneath you struggling to steady his breath was a sign that you had done a pretty good job at your task of helping Taggie escape for the night.

You could only hope she’d had half as much fun as you did.

my masterlist

#i’m obsessed with this man send help #declan o'hara #declan o'hara x reader #declan o’hara smut #rivals fanfiction #rivals #rivals x reader #rupert campbell black #aidan turner #taggie o’hara #best friends dad #bfd smut #dilf x reader #dilf smut #age gap smut #praise k!nk

79 notes · View notes

commandershepardvasfuckit · 13 hours ago

Text

An Arranged Marriage, part 28

1.4k words

A much calmer Zen has a lot to unload.

(I am feral over my own character, ask box is always open for talking about my writing or just monster fucking in general!)

--------

Zen’s fluffy, shaggy hair tickled your nose as he stirred a bit and woke you. In the nearly two months you had been together you could not recall a single time when he slept in, seeing him still in bed was quite a surprise.

You kissed the top of his head and immediately felt him nuzzle against you, though you were not really sure if he was actually awake or if it was a subconscious reaction. His breathing was deep and even, and he seemed much calmer at least.

“Are you awake?” you whispered.

He nodded, apparently still not feeling quite up to speaking.

“Are you alright?”

Again he just nodded.

“Everything is alright my dear, I promise” you scratched the side of his head where his hair was cropped short, the only spot where you really could get through his dense hair to scratch his scalp.

“I ruined everything” his voice was so quiet as he spoke.

“No, no. You didn’t ruin anything Zen.”

“I hurt you the first time yesterday, then I went and did that.”

“And it’s ok, things happen, but you didn’t ruin anything.”

He stayed quiet and did not acknowledge you.

“I’m not mad or upset or anything” you tried to assure him, “I’m just worried about you, I just want you to be alright,”

“I am upset at myself.”

“I know” you kissed the top of his head again, “and we’ll figure it out together, I promise.”

That seemed to at least somewhat satisfy him, he gave another little nuzzle against you and you swore for just a moment that you heard him purr.

“How about I make us some breakfast? You’ve got to be starving by now, you never sleep this late” you offered.

“You are not good at cooking.”

“Then come sit with me and tell me what to do and keep me company.”

He nodded and shimmed off of you so you could get up.

Zen stuck at your side as you sat at the hearth, a blanket still wrapped around himself and his chin resting on your shoulder while he watched you closely. With a little guidance you were able to make a serviceable enough breakfast for the two of you.

It was a bit smothering how Zen chose to sit behind and a bit to your side so he could lean his chin on your shoulder. He decided to eat breakfast like that too, his arms wrapped around you as he reached for things, restricting how much you could move but you did not have the heart to try to get him to just sit next to you instead.

“It should not be like this” you heard him say softly.

“I know, but this is where we are, and we can go back to taking things slowly” you leaned against him and nuzzled him a bit, “and if it makes you feel any better, you felt incredible last night. But I can wait while we figure things out.”

He buried his face against your neck as best he could with his tusks getting in the way. It was faint, but you could hear his soft purring for just a moment.

“I am just so tired of waiting. I waited for so long for this war to end so I could just go home. And now instead I am here, where I barely get to speak my own tongue, my festivals are not celebrated here. I fought so one day I could go home, and I still cannot. And now I do not want to wait more to have you.”

It never occurred to you that Zen might be homesick. You knew he was not from the city, but he usually seemed happy. He knew so many people, always stopping to smile and chat with when the two of you were out, he knew his way around the city well, everything always seemed fine anyways.

“Have you gone back to visit recently?” you asked.

“Not since the end of the war. I went home to see everyone, and then almost immediately got summoned here and offered the position.”

Six months then you figured at least since he had been home. Six months since Zen had started living somewhere where everything was new and different, where he did not have his family, where he could almost never speak his own language. The irony that neither of you were home here was not lost on you.

“Why not go visit?” you asked.

“I do not have the time. There is just to much to do here” he said.

“Even just for a week or so?”

“We are rebuilding after a war. It is a puzzle of constantly changing and moving pieces trying to figure out what is needed and where.”

“And no one on the council ever takes time away?”

“Some do.”

“So why don’t you?”

He stayed quiet, his face still buried against neck.

“We can go visit together, if you want” you said.

“Maybe.”

‘Maybe’ was better than ‘no’ at least you figured. Though it felt odd that for someone who seemed to be homesick to also be so resistant to visiting home.

“I haven’t met any of your family, well except Bira. I think it would be nice if we went and visited.”

“I did not tell my family I got married.”

You pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eye, “What?”

“It was decided pretty fast, and at the time it did not seem like a big deal, so I did not say anything.”

“Zen! We’ve been married for almost two months! What do you mean you never actually told your family? When you found out you were getting married you didn’t send them a letter or anything?!” you could not believe what he was saying.

“I was told I was getting married in a month’s time, but at the time I did not consider it real. It was just another thing I had to do. It did not seem worth making a big deal of and getting my family involved.”

You really were not surprised that it was not something he made a fuss over, he already had told you that arranged marriages were not a thing here, it was just another duty to him on par with anything else really. But it did surprise you that months after he still had not told his family.

“So they really don’t know?” you asked.

“No, just Ba and Bira, and I asked them not say anything.”

“And you’re sure they haven’t said anything?”

“If my mother knew I was married and she was not here for the wedding she would have made the trip here to yell at me in person by now. I would never hear the end of it.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to somehow never tell your family that you’re married?” you snapped a bit at him.

“No! No” he tried to press his forehead to yours, frantically tugging at you so he could face you and reach you. “I just do not know what to do now.”

“Tell your family” you answered him flatly.

“I know, but now I do not know how to do that now. I do not want to just show up and surprise them, ‘Hi mother, I have not seen you in months. By the way this is my wife, we have been married for two months and I never told you’ because that will go well.”

“Why not send a letter? Just explain the same thing you told me” you suggested. His family would probably still be annoyed, but at least it would help smooth things over.

“It is not easy to send a letter that far” he protested.

“So you would rather just show up and surprise them?”

“No.”

“Then send a letter.”

He sighed and nuzzled his forehead against yours, “I will send a letter.”

“And perhaps we’ll visit for the next festival?”

“Maybe.”

“You can’t avoid your family forever.”

“Not forever, just long enough to not be yelled at too much.”

“Zen” you pushed back.

“We will go for the next festival” he finally conceded.

--------

Tag list

@blushycadaver @mochalyluv @hazyspacefairy @littlelovebug98 @tufflepuff23 @lets-imagineastory @emonatural191 @after-laughter-come-tears @plathsotherib @krayziee @zaqnette @graveblanketgreen @lovingbadguys @nogoatsnoglori @bunnibabylilly

#monster fucker #teratophillia #monster lover #terato #monster x reader #monster smut #monster boyfriend #monster husband

56 notes · View notes

mostly-marvel-musings · 2 days ago

Text

First Date - Christmas with you

A/N: A little one shot from our Christmas with you universe. Let me know your thoughts!

Pairing: Tony Stark x Single Mom! Reader

Christmas with you masterlist

“You know I will take you out on a proper date. You know the whole wine and dine thing.”

He had said as you walked home with Noah from the coffee shop. You felt comfortable walking with him, it didn’t feel like you’d only met him a few times before. Noah, the little matchmaker, had invited him over for cookies and he’d instantly agreed.

“You know a date doesn’t always have to be dinner and drinks at a fancy restaurant. It can be any activity you choose to do together.” You smiled as your hands brushed against each other, on purpose of course, but you knew Tony wouldn’t admit.

“Right..”

Feeling bolder, you slipped your hand in his, taking him by surprise.

“What do you say to a cookie decorating date, Iron Man? Interested?” You giggled, explaining that you had to give away some holiday-themed cookies at the shelter. It was something you always did, apart from volunteering to help out any time you could.

“I’d say prepare yourself to be impressed, Ms Y/L/N. I am freakishly good when it comes to all things frosting and decorating.” He smirked, lacing your fingers together as you headed home.

Along the way, Noah had wormed his way between you, insisting on holding both your hands and jumping along the path, humming loudly. Your thoughts wandered to how less-than-ideal all of this was, but then you brushed it off quickly. You’d see how it goes before worrying too much.

Back home, you got to work after showing Tony around the kitchen. He had taken keen interest in everything you’d said and had limbered up for the task ahead, making you laugh at his antics.

Having baked some sugar cookies ahead of time, you took them out along with the piping bags with icing. Noah sat in his high chair at the breakfast bar with one of his toys that quickly caught Tony’s attention.

You watched them together, Noah giggling at Tony’s remarks, his eyes wide with wonder, the scene tugged at your heartstrings. It was a revelation that Tony Stark was such a natural with kids.

“Alright, I have everything I need right here. Look at some pictures if you need to but basically we need all Christmas themed cookies, you know?” You set the cookies in line as you spoke, heart fluttering as the man stood close to you, his presence equal parts comforting and exciting.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tony did a mock salute, slipping on the apron you handed him, looking rather domestic and cute.

While you observed him tackle a piping bag that almost got away from him, you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. The so called ‘cookie decorating expert’ fumbling in your kitchen was adorable. It was funnier when Noah reprimanded him for not a good job.

It was only fifteen minutes in before Noah was bored and wanted to watch his cartoons on tv. Tony celebrated internally, not that he’d wanted your son to leave, but he’d get you all to himself, for him to impress you..perhaps kiss you even. He’d been wanting to for some time now.

Setting him up with a movie and some snacks, you returned to the kitchen, Tony was busy attempting to decorate a perfect holiday wreath, cursing as the icing ran down the cookie.

“Okay, can I just show you first?” You intervened, placing your hand on his shoulder, the contact making Tony’s heart jump.

Handing you the piping bag, he stood behind you, a little too close but you certainly weren’t complaining, neither was your rapidly beating heart. You could almost feel his breath over your shoulder, his chest inches away from your back as you decorated the cookie expertly.

“See? Apply gentle pressure to the bag, so you control how much icing actually comes out of it.”

“Mmhmm.” His voice hummed right next to your ear, making your heart flip. You turned to find him gazing at you, his eyes dropping to your lips before looking back up.

You really wanted him to kiss you. Unconsciously, you leaned in, mere inches apart now before you heard your son call for you.

Damn it!

You both shared the sentiment before stepping back, the moment dissipating quickly as you went out in the living room.

Tony had managed better than you expected after you returned, soon you were done with enough cookies for the shelter, the moment that passed still lingering at the back of your minds. You brewed some coffee while chatting with the man who seemed more at ease now.

“Here. Taste test.” You offered him a cookie that you’d made, grabbing one for yourself too.

While you packed the rest of the cookies in a container to bring them over to the shelter later, Tony sat on the couch with your son, interested in the cartoons he’d been watching. The cookies were less than perfect, but you were certain once the people knew they’d been decorated by the Tony Stark, it wouldn’t matter as much.

Joining the boys on the couch, you took a seat next to Tony, your legs almost touching. With a sigh, you closed your eyes for a moment.

“You know as far as dates go, this was the best date I’ve ever had, Y/N. God knows I’ve had my fair share of em.” He blurted before he could stop himself. Why’d he have to go on and say that? He didn’t want to blow his chances here.

But you weren’t surprised, he had a reputation that was pretty much available for the whole world to know. Famous affairs and scandals.

“Fair share of them huh? I bet none of them remotely included decorating cookies and a precocious three year old.” You chuckled, reaching out to wipe some frosting that had stuck to his cheek. The little gesture stirring something inside him, making him wish you’d do that again.

“No. This was way better. Wine and dine is overrated anyway.” He shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“You know Tony, I’ve had a good time too. And I know it wasn’t exactly an ideal date, but, I could be convinced for the whole wine and dine too someday.” You smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Definitely. Not had too many of those, I’m afraid. I just don’t know how I feel about being fussed over.”

It was the truth. You didn’t remember the last time you went out on a proper date. Not since Noah. It had been the two of you. Always. And you hadn’t met a man who was comfortable enough with a single mom.

“I’d be honoured. And you deserve to be fussed over, Y/N. Both of you.”

He admitted, reaching out to clasp your hand in his and lifting it to press a soft kiss to the back. The simplest of gestures made your cheeks warm, especially since his big brown eyes bore into yours, conveying he’d wanted to kiss more than just your hand.

But Tony was willing to wait for the right time. To him, you were worth waiting for too.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fluff #tony stark x you #tony stark imagine #the stark squad #mostly marvel musings #marvel fanfiction #tony stark #single mom! reader #iron man #iron man fanfiction #iron man fic

40 notes · View notes

volturissideslut · 2 days ago

Note

Can you do one with george weasley based on But Daddy I love him by Taylor swift

𝕲𝖊𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖊 𝖂𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖑𝖊𝖞

George and ced are two of my fav boys

"Now I'm running with my dress unbuttoned"

Literally. Georges hand clasps at yours desperately as you two bolt down the hallways in fits of giggles. Your faces flush red as you finally make it to his dorm successfully - at least you thought so. Little did you know that professor Snape was well and truly ticked, fed up, and ready to end your antics. He sat at his dest with quil in hand writing a letter home. You and George just lie there in his bed, chattering away, and him roping you into his next silly little scheme

"Screaming "But Daddy I love him!""

Your fathers' response letter didn't tak lone to reach you at all, absolutely at his wit's end, and adamant you leave George in the past and 'grow up'. Back and forth back and forth your letter went, telling him you love George and can't leave him. Ever so the traditionalist, he demands you marry wealth and should look for a partner with better prospects - someone suited for the ministry perhaps. George kisses the back of your neck and you put the letter down.

"I'm having his baby"

But it's summer break now so your forced to go home. Your last year is done and so you don't have the safety of the walls of Hogwarts to protect that spark we call love anymore. You're isolated from George really, ntil one day you blurt out your pregnany. Then your father's song and dance changed, saying you must marry George this instant and not have a baby out of wedlock. You finally see George, but the visit to the burrow is an awkward one with Molly staring at you how she is. Your man just takes you into his arms, glad your back.

"No, I'm not, but you should see your faces"

Georges family are the only people you tell that it was a lie for your freedom, and most of them are relieved, yes. But it ignites something within George, a want he never knew he had, to have you in his own home for him to look after. His business is going well, children loving 'Weasleys Wizard Wheezes', and he uses the money to get you a quaint little flat in London. You help out at the shop sometimes, interviewing for jobs you studied for other times, but little do you know the world grows suspicious.

"I'm telling him to floor it through the fences"

It's not long until your family and the rest of the world found out you told a lie, but with the pre-paid for wedding in a week you were holding out hope that things could still go smoothly. Not so much the case, as your father's and families' recent appearances would suggest. George reaches for a knife from the draw to cut a carrot, the both of you working on dinner together. It's a peaceful bliss, spending time with the one you love. Little chatter fills the air, from him still flirting with you to the both of you testing out awful pick up lines and jokes. He breaks the peace, only for a moment, and asks 'what if we eloped?'

"No, I'm not coming to my senses"

You put down the wooden spoon, and nod with a gentle 'okay'. Words fail you at the moment so you settle for lunging forward into his embrace. Georges arm's wrap around you and pull you tight.

"I know he's crazy but he's the one I want"

First thing in the morning he puts on his suit, and watches longingly as you get all dolled up for him in the mirror. You two get there before it even opens, and by 9:25 on the 18th on March you're legally married. And sure, you'd still have your celebration or 'proper wedding' in a weeks time, but now you were safe to call him yours forever, and nobody could get between that, not a soul. You have a few drinks, and yes it's the morning but you just married so who cares! It's time to celebrate. But them you're right back at home, in your little London flat, George above you and kissing down the nape of your neck. "You ready for some fun, Mrs. Weasley?"

#x reader #harry potter blurb #harry potter x reader #george weasley fluff #george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x you #weasley #volturissideslut

26 notes · View notes

httpsserene · 3 hours ago

Note

Hello hello! How are you?

I wanted to request a Yuki Tsunoda one-shot before you close your inbox.

I was thinking of a GN!Driver!Reader (if possible) and Yuki going out for a stroll after the Japanese GP in which the reader got P1. Yuki is showing them around, local places to dine and such... Seeing them be so interested in his ramblings he starts to realize some stuff and decides to act on it!

Please and thank you! Have a nice day! ☀️

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 - 𝐲𝐭. 𝟐𝟐

summary: yuki's private tours include exclusive features, just for you. pairing: yuki tsunoda x gn!driver!reader (reader's race/ethnicity/appearance is not described but, they're bi-poc < 3)

2.7k words. oneshot & smau. yuki pov. fluff. feelings realization. pre-relationship. explicit language. alcohol consumption. flirtation. horny thoughts. author's never been to suzuka (or anywhere in japan) but did a little research for this. i apologize for anything that's incorrect or inaccurate :) requested by @anicega < 3

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. serene returns with a yuki fic/smau she was hoping to post in celebration of him being promoted to RB...have this as consolation instead. belated happy holidays and happy new year, 2025 will be all you wish it to be x

title inspo from one direction's why don't we go there (miss u liam🕊️) they were my #3 artist of 2024 and i'm not ashamed to admit that. when i read this request for the first time i instantly thought of this song and it just had the vibe of realizing you're crushing on somebody.

in other news, my 3k followers celly will serve as my v-day special this year and will last the entire month of february (this is how u properly celebrate black history month) !!! so, trying to finish writing the last of my requests so i can focus on doing the 3k celly requests :) more fics and info coming soon but in the meantime, enjoy reading xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | table of contents ↻

twitter • april 7th, 2024

Yuki watches your expression bloom with awe as you take in the endless sprawl of Sakura trees within Suzuka Flower Garden. Your hand grasps his forearm gently, tugging happily and exclaiming in delight as pink and white petals float through the sky. The flowers (while not as novel to him as they are to you; he’s seen many Sakura seasons growing up in Japan) make him feel nostalgic, memories of his youth—before F1, before karting—tingling somewhere at the back of his head. It feels like a lifetime ago.

Your mouth remains open in amazement until you end up sputtering around a mouthful of blossoms, and Yuki laughs.

“Take a picture of me, please?” Yuki accepts your phone, not complaining as you make him take hundreds of photos before you find two or three that you deem acceptable.

Yuki remains silent during your stroll underneath the trees. He allows you space to inhale the vanilla-like scent, to marvel at the image of graceful, falling petals. Every so often, the comfortable silence is interrupted by a passing fan sharing congratulations. They smile kindly while praising your first-place finish, but grin wildly while cheering for Yuki’s first home-race point.

“She sounded happier about your point than she did about my win,” you remarked, not offended or annoyed, but charmed.

Yuki denied the idea, but his pink cheeks undermined his credibility. The earlier silence is absent, but not missed as Yuki begins to explain the significance and traditions of cherry blossom season in Japan.

“The sakura is our national flower. It symbolizes Spring—the time of renewal, life and death, beauty and violence, the fleeting nature of life. The blossoms only last for two weeks, which tells us to appreciate what we have,” Yuki relays, recalling what he was taught in elementary school verbatim.

“We have cherry blossom parties,” he grins at your envious gasp, “—called hanami. The translation is ‘watching blossoms.’ It can be just a walk like we’re doing now, but we also have picnics under the trees with family, friends, and even colleagues. There is also something called yozakura, which is doing the same thing but at night. My middle school held a hanami every year.”

You come to an abrupt start, turning to look at him with pleading eyes, “Let’s do a yozakura! Can’t we have dinner here? I want to see the trees at night—it must be beautiful! ”

Sympathetically, Yuki frowns, “We don’t have enough time to have dinner here if you still want to make it to the shrine before it closes.” His resolve weakens at the growing pouty downturn of your lips, “…I guess, we can have a snack here before leaving.”

He lets you drag him to the closest takoyaki cart, pleased to see the vendor’s patience as you order in choppy Japanese. While the food is being prepared, Yuki tasks you with finding the perfect tree to sit underneath while he stays near the cart.

“The two of you make a cute couple,” the vendor comments, smiling adoringly.

Yuki chokes on his exhale.

The two of you are far from resembling anything near a couple. Or, at least, Yuki thinks so. He thinks of you as a close friend but, do you see him as a friend? What if you view him as a colleague, or worse: just another annoying, backfield, competitor? Banishing his spiraling thoughts, Yuki considers there is no need to correct the kind lady. She doesn’t seem to recognize him. And, if she did follow Formula One, she would know you two aren’t a couple.

“Arigato gozaimasu,” he utters after a beat, reaching for his wallet as she begins plating the snacks.

She refuses to accept payment, ushering him to grab the small plates, “You’ve earned this meal; for your point and their race win—it is free.”

Yuki nearly exhausts himself expressing his gratitude to the vendor as he thanks her and deeply bows. When he finds you sitting underneath the chosen tree, he realizes he forgot to correct her assumption about his relationship status. Instantly, he forgets again, as you reach toward him to tuck a blossom behind his ear with a smile.

“Kawaii, Yuki-chan~,” you tease, grabbing your takoyaki dish off his stunned-still hands.

“Shut the fuck up,” he flusters eventually, cheeks burning at the sounds of the word cute and his name leaving your mouth in quick succession. Even if the grammar is incorrect and it’s nothing more than a joke.

Yuki practically swallows his snack in one bite. He didn’t know he was terribly longing for authentic street food until his first bite. Not wanting to rush you to finish, he busies himself by searching for the most unblemished flower he can find on the ground.

Yuki waits for the perfect moment when you're distracted by brushing away the petals clinging to your clothing and tucks the near-perfect blossom he picked behind your ear.

“Now we match; kawaii desu~,” he chirps, his grin deceptively innocent. “Close your mouth, it would be a shame if you swallowed more petals.”

Yuki snorts at your offended gasp and dodges the soft punch you throw out as you both dispose of your trash and head back to the car.

The drive to Tsubaki Grand Shrine is filled with anecdotes about his childhood mischief on these very streets you're passing by and questions about shrine etiquette. He didn’t realize you were so concerned about acting respectfully in the temple until you forced him to quiz you on appropriate manners and the important steps. Your dedication to having the perfect etiquette makes him think you’re one of the kindest people he’s ever known. It’s characteristic of you to be mindful of different cultures and kind overall; the fact that you willingly chose to celebrate a win by letting Yuki show you around Suzuka is telling.

Yuki parks smoothly, and soothes your worries calmly, “You have no reason to panic. It sounds like you have it memorized—and if you forget anything, that’s what I’m here for. I would be a terrible tour guide if I let you fuck around and get cursed.”

With a healthy amount of side-eye, you quip, “I will write an extremely negative review and give you one star on Yelp. If you decide to fuck around, be ready to find out! Is this your intricate plan to get me cursed with bad luck so I don’t win another race this year?”

With an appalled expression, he earnestly denies, “If I had to pick any driver to win besides myself, I would pick you,” Yuki sees your eyes soften sweetly and he swallows nervously, needing to deflect the attention, “And, maybe Pierre. Only because he would be mad if he found out I chose you over him.”

The soft tinge of your stare remains even as you roll your eyes at him and giggle, “Of course! I could never compare to your lil’ boyfriend Pierre.”

He shrugs, the two of you exiting the car and making your way to the entrance. Feeling devious, he speaks loftily, “Hey. we both know there’s nothing little about Pierre.”

Yuki can admit he deserved to be deafened by your shriek of disgust. His ears continue to ring as you adamantly state that you don’t need any image of the Frenchman in your brain besides the view of his car shrinking away in your mirrors.

The distraction was effective, your earlier panic about proper manners is nowhere to be found as you confidently navigate purifying yourself at the chozuya, only looking toward Yuki once for reassurance. While you’re busy being awestruck by the architecture and natural beauty, Yuki carefully makes sure you don’t stray into the middle of the pathway and finds himself taking candid photos of you. He knows you’ll be disappointed that you forgot to take any, but he doesn’t want to interrupt your reverence. Hopefully, his idea of what makes a beautiful picture satisfies you. He pauses at the thought, wondering if it’s odd that you’re in the forefront of all the images.

You’ve always been attractive—photogenic, to him.

The two of you reach the shrine and Yuki lets you pay your respects first. He offers you a handful of coins to choose from, reminding you that the amount doesn’t matter, any coin will do. You decided on a 5-yen coin; Yuki’s certain you’re unaware of the belief about that coin increasing your chances of finding a significant other. Although, he is aware that it’s an urban legend. It doesn’t stop his chest from tightening when he thinks about you in a relationship, with somebody who isn’t him. He tosses a 5-yen coin in the offering box to match.

He doesn’t believe in the myth, but if there’s any chance it helps him get together with you he’ll take it.

Burning incense at the temple comes without any more romantic realizations. Buying omamori, on the other hand, has Yuki thinking that what he feels for you is more than a simple crush. He forces himself to not stare at your selections and focuses on his purchases. An en-musubi (for finding love) for himself, and he’s chosen two for you: kotsu-anzen (for safe driving—he thinks it’s a little ironic) and katsumori (for success and victory—he knows you don’t need it).

On the way to dinner, Yuki notices your shuin and asks needlessly, “Is that to remind you of visiting?”

He can feel your gaze as he watches the road in front of him, hearing you ponder over your response, “Of visiting the shrine with you? Yes. Um, I don’t know if this is weird but, I bought you a couple of omamori, if that’s okay?”

Your tone is bashful and when he spares a glance, you avoid eye contact, fiddling with the shuin anxiously.

Yuki sighs giddily, relieved, “It’s not weird because I bought you a couple too. We can exchange at the restaurant?”

He sees the shock on your face from the corner of his eye, as if you weren’t expecting him to do the same. It angers him slightly, his previous obliviousness. If you didn’t ask him to show you around tonight, he never would have been aware of his budding feelings for you, nor the feelings he thinks you already reciprocate.

You’re overwhelmed with the number of choices at the hole-in-the-wall sushi establishment Yuki chose for the night, eventually slamming the menu shut and asking him to order for you. He sits up straighter at the responsibility, rattling off the plates he’d like to the server, mindful of any preferences and dietary restrictions you have.

A flight of sake samples is brought to your table, and Yuki finds it fitting that you enjoy the sweetest flavor because it compliments you. The alcohol loosens the tension gathered in him, helping him maintain a semblance of a regular conversation while he refrains from thinking about the shape of your lips, your attentive shining eyes, the length of your neck, your inquisitive questions as he recalls his childhood, the dip of your waist—Yuki doesn’t take another sip after he feels his eyes straying. He’s enamored with your undivided attention and it makes him feel hotter than he was in Qatar last year.

He asks to see the omamori you’re gifting him before you can comment on the flush spanning from his cheeks down to his collar. Receiving kotsu-anzen (for road safety) and katsumori (for success and victory) from you only serves to make him redder. He thinks about asking for your hand in marriage when he reveals he’s bought you the same and your flush blooms to match his.

With impeccable timing, the server begins to deliver the endless amount of plates Yuki ordered and the moment passes without being addressed. He almost whimpered aloud when your eyes fluttered shut at your first bite of food, moaning appreciatively at the taste.

Desperate to distract his hindbrain, he stutters, “W-What was I talking about before?”

Yuki feels like you know what he’s trying to hide, your eyes omniscient. He spots the corner of your lips tilting upward into a smirk, but it vanishes before he can be sure and you remind him, “You were talking about beating Natori in Motegi to win the F4 title in 2018.”

The rest of the meal remains lighthearted, intrigued chatter flowing around bites of food as you compare and contrast your junior careers and hometowns. It carries to the final stop Yuki brings you tonight, Isozu Beach. The vast, dark ocean is bathed in moonlight, the salty breeze cooling the air, and the coastline is lit up with buildings. The sound of waves crashing against the shore melts away as the heart-to-heart you’re sharing becomes his sole importance. He’s holding both pairs of your shoes in one hand, listening to your occasional giggles as the tide slips high enough to wet your feet and tickle your ankles. Your lilted and somewhat slurred speech tells Yuki you’re tipsy, but you’re insistent on simply linking your arm with his to prevent yourself from stumbling as you continue to walk the length of the shoreline. The stroll resumes and you slowly lean more of your weight into him; your head nestled on his arm, hand wrapped around his bicep, and Yuki feels you shiver at the next wind gust.

Like a gentleman, Yuki pulls off his sweater and helps you into it when your arms prove to be too clumsy to manage on their own without ending up stuck. Briefly, he squeezes his eyes shut to regain his composure after you bury your nose into the collar of his sweater with a pleased hum.

“Okay,” he says, sounding strangled, “Let’s get you back to the hotel—you’re more drunk than I thought.”

He suffers quietly during the short trip to the hotel you're staying in. The way you’re humming quietly as you play with the hem of his sweater has his grip tightening around the steering wheel, stopping him from reaching for the handbrake to halt the car and leaning over the console to kiss the tiny grin on your lips. Yuki escorts you to your room door, making sure you arrive safely.

He takes the keycard from you and unlocks the door after you fail at your first few attempts.

The door clicks open and Yuki speaks, “This was…nice. It’s the best celebration I have had in a while. We should do it again, sometime.”

You smile shyly, agreeing quietly, “I think so too. Thank you for showing me around.”

Nervously, Yuki’s voice wavers, “But, next time, I want it to be a date.”

“I think…I think I would like that,” your small smile grows into an unrestrained grin, pupils wide with infatuation.

He exhales roughly, the tight pressure in his chest lightening as it sounds like you like him, want him, too, “W-wait—really?”

Yuki looks on as you hold onto the door for stability as relieved-sounding laughter overwhelms you. Your amusement quiets when you straighten up to meet his eyes once more, probably seeing how he’s honestly shocked at your returned feelings.

“Yuki, babe—” Oh. He’s going to sing in the shower when he gets back to his hotel room. “—I tucked a cherry blossom behind your ear and called you kawaii. I know the 5-yen coin has that myth about relationships, and I bought an en-musubi omamori for myself because it’s for finding love. Obviously, Yuki—I would like to fall in love with you.”

Lost for words, and with his mouth gaping, stunned, he says, “...You do?”

You’re kind enough to spare him with a roll of your eyes, “I do.”

“I bought the en-musubi, too,” he reveals for no other reason than not knowing what to say.

“I know, babe,” Yuki’s heartbeat skips, “I saw it in the bag during the drive back here.”

“When is your flight scheduled?” He asks suddenly, a plan beginning to form in his mind.

“Tomorrow morning?” Your brows are furrowed in confusion at the change in topic, glancing down at your phone screen to confirm, “—Or this morning, I suppose, since it’s the next day already.”

He swallows, eager again all of a sudden, “Is it too soon if I ask you to cancel your flight and spend the rest of the week here with me?”

instagram • yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, f1, selenagomez and 652,113 others

yourinstagram missed my flight because i got lost in suzuka. not because i got hammered 👍🏽

view comments

user1 when i put "two f1 drivers start dating e/o" on my 2024 bingo card, i meant for it to be lestappen… happy for you though haha...

user2 WHERE HAVE YOU BEEEEN ???!!!

user3 BEDS EMPTY 😡 user4 NO NOTE 😵‍💫 user5 CAR GONE 😫 user2 i was going quoting rihanna but this works too LMAO

danielricciardo well well well

yourinstagram are YOU doing well 🤨 danielricciardo i’m not the one who told their team that they needed to reschedule their flight bc of food poisoning yukitsunoda0511 it’s me! i’m food poisoning 😁🙋🏻‍♂️ user6 YUKIII PLS 😭😭😭

user7 no shot u missed your flight when u told your team to be ready for it on the radio 🤡

yourinstagram do as i say, not as i do—is the phrase, i believe :) user7 okayyy mother gothel since u know what's best 😝

oscarpiastri hey you never gave yuki his sweater back, in case you forgot 😀

yourinstagram oscar please stfu i’m never telling u anything again landonorris hey don’t speak to osc like that…he’s just a boy :( yourinstagram lando u can stfu too? tf ??? these hands are rated e for everyone 🤺 user8 the threat of violence almost distracted me from the sweater exchange…keyword being almost

user9 no post about the race win and no tag for yuki on the last photo…

-yourinstagram hey i won the suzuka gp in case anybody forgot :p -yukitsunoda0511 hey i’m in the last photo in case anybody didn’t know :3

instagram • yukitsunoda0511

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, nicorosberg and 739,926 others

yukitsunoda0511 i do private tours 🇯🇵🍣⛩️🌸🌊🌖😚🥇

view comments

pierregasly no point in asking who took that last photo 😏

yukitsunoda0511 your mom did pierregasly yuki please yukitsunoda0511 is what your mom said last night user10 your honor, my client pleads: boy best friends

user11 that’s a lotttt of emojis yuki-san

user12 he graduated from the charles leclerc school of emoji usage with honors 🧑🏻‍🎓 charles_leclerc i am a very good teacher 😊 user12 chuck legleg responded i can die happily now

yourinstagram do you have any tours available in shanghai next week?

yukitsunoda0511 there’s a spot open at a discounted price! yourinstagram how much will it cost me 🥴🤧 yukitsunoda0511 five or six kisses should cover it :) yourinstagram payment is on its way rn 🏎️💨💨💨 user13 this could have been a private whatsapp message… user14 going to say taylor swift sucks on twitter so death comes faster

visacashapprb when you tell your driver to have some decorum and he decorates his caption instead 🫠🫠🫠

user15 WAITTT WHY WAS THIS ACTUALLY A FUNNY JOKE💀💀😭 user16 when you tell your driver to score a point and he decides to score a date as well 🫠🫠🫠 pierregasly when you tell your driver to stop harassing pierre and he cyber bullies him instead 🫠🫠🫠

general taglist (ask to join):

@saintslewis/@cherry2stems/@lorarri/@mindless-rock/@biancathecool

@barnestatic/@darleneslane/@lovingaphroditesworld/@smoothopz/@vetteltea

@tallrock35/@spideybv28/@loomiscorpse/@hiireadstuff/@namgification

@gg-trini/@multi-fandom-rando/@landoslutmeout/@love-simon/@iloveyou3000morgan/

@rexit-mo/@oscahpastry/@sweatrevenge5436-blog/@bokutos-babyowl/@oliviah-25

@evermoreandroyalblue/@riveristhebest1/@xylinasdiary/@ashiekins/@flowergirl1134

@hearts4robs/@c-losur3/@bloodyymaryyy/@awritingtree/@lammys-thinking

@nikfigueiredo/@bbreezyxoxo/@catreadsthings/@princessminjikwon/@il0vereadingstuff

@nissaimmortal/@justaf1girl

29 notes · View notes

opheliachoi99 · 16 hours ago

Text

Troublemaker 𖠌

FEATURING : Kunigami Rensuke, Chigiri Hyoma, Barou Shoei, Oliver Aiku, and Itoshi Rin

ABOUT : You were the type of partner who was so sweet and delicate at first, but as time goes by, your personality soon bursted into true colors, in which they had to handle your irresistible behavior.

note : there are more bllk characters in this au, I'm excited for you guys to read! Enjoy!

ᐕ Kunigami Rensuke

— You were jumping on your seat as you saw your boyfriend Kunigami had scored a goal for the team again "THAT'S MY MAN Y'ALL! THAT'S. MY. MAN!" You screamed "Damn woman- can you get down from your seat?" An old man who was sitting next to you had scolded you "Uh- can't I just be proud of my boyfriend down there?"

The old man found it quite disrespectful, so he grabbed his cane and points it at you "One more word woman!" You were flabbergasted, "Chill, if you can't handle me as your seatmate then I'm finding another spot to sit" You walked out feeling pissed.

"I LOVE YOU KUNIGAMI!!!" A couple of girls screamed. Your head slowly turned to them, "Oh, fuck you." You went to them and started to pull one of the girl's hair "HEY! What was that for?!" "That's for saying I love you to Kunigami" You rolled your eyes as you were about to walk away from them, she pulled your hair back as revenge.

"BITCH?" You suddenly felt the urge to start a fight, so you did.

Your fight with the girls caught half of the crowds attention, but then Kunigami scored again, which meant they won. You released the girl and screamed "THAT'S MY BABY!!" The girls' faces were pissed "What are you? His girlfriend? Tsk-" You sassily turned to them and answered "You got that right, now well if you excuse me, I'm going to him right now." Suddenly the girls ran "Not until we get there first" You were so irritated by them that you played along with them.

"Great. First the old man, now these pick-me wannabes"

As Kunigami was celebrating with his team, Isagi noticed a couple of girls running towards his direction "Uh- Kuni- some ladies are heading your way-"

"What- huh? WOAH!" The girls squealed "KUNIGAMI RENSUKE WE LOVE YOU! YOU DID GREAT!" The girls squealed "Uh- thanks? One at a time ladies-" He tried to control the girls not until he saw you approaching flaming with anger.

"Baby!" Kunigami called out and approached you "Baby?" The girls questioned, but soon dropped their jaws as they saw who Kunigami was referring to "I hate those girls so much, it ruined my day." You said as Kunigami carried you with one arm "Ahh, those girls? Why?" He laughed "What's so funny?! An old man hated me as his seatmate, then I heard these girls screaming your name and saying I love you?!! How can you not be displeased?!"

He suddenly kissed your cheek "Oh baby, how can I ever tolerate your 'warfreak' attitude? Hmm?"

"Heh-"

ᐕ Chigiri Hyoma

— You and Chigiri were having a day-off in your apartment, you wanted to do your skincare routine for the night, but you realized that most of your products had ran out. "Tch- how am I supposed to do skin care now?" You thought for a moment, then soon checked Chigiri, who was peacefully blow drying his red silky hair.

You were contemplating on using his products instead, since you two use the same product brand. "He wouldn't mind right?"

— Timeskip —

As Chigiri finally finished blow drying his hair, he noticed silence in the atmosphere "Honey?" There was no response, he called again "Honey? Angel my love" Still no response, he soon furrowed his brows "Where the heck is this girl?" He soon search the living room, then the kitchen, the balcony, and the bedroom, as he was about to leave the bedroom, he soon heard some music from the bathroom.

As he slowly opened the bathroom door, there he saw you singing along with the bluetooth speaker while using his skin care.

"Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one! But girls, they wanna have fu-hun~ Oh girls just wanna have—"

You paused as you startled yourself from seeing Chigiri leaning against the door frame "I've been calling you Honey, you wouldn't respond, and- is that my cosmetics?" You soon felt guilty and your eyes widen as you tried to hide the products "Uh- what products—?" Chigiri game himself a face palm "Honey, you know I wouldn't mind you using my cosmetics right? Just ask next time okay? And do tell me so I could do night routines with you" He frowned.

"Sorry Honey, I ran out of skin care and it was way too late to go out and buy new stocks, so I used yours instead.. Sorry.."

"Goodness, how can I ever handle you, you cheeky girl~" He pinched your cheek filled with cream "Let me join" You two soon sang along with the song while doing skin care.

The night was indeed fun, cause you have a boyfriend who can do things with you, even if you were quite the cheeky type of girl.

ᐕ Barou Shoei

— While you were gone for your business trip, Barou was left alone in the apartment, he missed you, a lot. He couldn't contact you because the place you went had no signal, so the lease he could do to satisfy his boredom was to clean.

He tied his long hair, he couldn't gel up his hair at the moment because he was too excited to clean the place.

He grabbed his apron and soon started cleaning from top to bottom.

While he was cleaning, he played the playlist you made for him on Spotify "She's right, these songs to make cleaning more fun... I miss her more now." He sighed but continues his cleaning session.

Two hours passed since he nearly finishes cleaning the place, he made sure when you get home, the atmosphere would be squeaky clean. He soon receives a messaged from you, updating that you would be home in a while.

My Queen <3 : [ Heu ny kinh Im on mt wsy homw hihe ]

He noticed the way you type, it seemed she you tipsy, but he just shrugged it out because he was more excited of you coming home "Finally, my queen is coming home" He said with relief.

— Timeskip —

He patiently sat in the couch, tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch. It was already dim outside, he started to overthink that something might've happened to you on your way home.

But then you heard keys from outside, unlocking the front door, but it seemed you were struggling in inserting the key in the doorknob, he was about to open the door but you opened first "My queen! Welcome hom—" He noticed you looking dizzy "Bed.. I need bed.." You went in with muddy shoes, which made Barou gasped in despair "I just mopped the floor!!"

You cared less as you went to the bedroom dropping all your bags and taking off your muddy shoes and plopped into bed. While you were finally peacefully sleeping, Barou seemed pissed. "I missed you a lot and this is how I am welcomed? I even cleaned the house" He cried.

As he was picking up your stuff he glanced at you, even though you look like a mess, he found you so beautiful, he simply sighed.

"How can I stay mad at this beautiful queen of mine.." He decided to sleep next to you.

Now the two of you were now peacefully sleeping, satisfied from the days you two haven't been together.

ᐕ Oliver Aiku

— Aiku was the type of guy to be a bit too friendly towards other girls, which bothered you, because you were the type to be intimate, and what's yours, will be only yours. That includes your boyfriend, Aiku.

There was one time you had enough because you and Aiku went to a beach party, Sendou was hosting. Aiku was talking to three girls, and he seemed to be entertained and having some fun.

"So that's how it is huh?" You mumbled.

So what you did, you went to Sendou and told him about your plan. Sendou immediately agreed.

The party soon became a disco session, Aiku started looking for you cause he wanted to dance with you, but you seemed to be out of sight.

He passed through the crowd looking for you, it was an advantage of him because he was a tall man. He soon saw you dancing with Sendou, he felt like his heart was pounding, not out of love, but out of prompt, he hated seeing you dancing with another dude, you soon stepped on the long table amd continued dancing so sexily.

"Fuck, what's up with this woman?!" Aiku quickly approached you.

"Hey, I think it's working" Sendou stated "He's coming over" He added, your eyes soon landed on an envious Aiku approaching, you simply smirked.

You continued your plan, you were about to offer your hand towards Sendou, Aiku grabbed first. "Get down mi amor, you might hurt yourself." He spoke with concern in his tone.

"But I wanna dance!" You whined.

"You stubborn girl, you won't listen to me?" He soon grabbed your waist and carried you down back to the ground, you were easy to scoop because Aiku was your 'big boy' type of boyfriend. "Put me down!!"

"You wouldn't listen to me. Now dance with me, why would you dance with Sendou and not me?" He asked "Well you were having fun with other girls, then why can't I?"

Sendou slowly went out of the scene, leaving you two.

He soon kissed you, "That's proof that you are mine. Yeah sure, I talk to other girls, but you're MY girl" You rolled your eyes.

"Red flag energy." You snobbed "I know you still love me~" He teased.

The lights were too colorful but you could see his face clearly "I know I do, I just don't like sharing what's mine" "Oh? Is my chiquita jealous?" You rolled your eyes and walked out.

"Gosh, she's so stubborn. I love it"

ᐕ Itoshi Rin

— You were the type who would be cheeky and whines a lot, and clumsy too.

There were lots of times where Rin had to defend you, follow your trail just in case you would do something stupid, and fix all this you caused because of your clumsiness.

But there was one time where Rin bursted when you were in his soccer match. You were left inside the stadium because Rin told you to grab something from his locker, but it seems you couldn't tell which was his locker because there wasn't a name on it and all the lockers looked the same.

"Shit- which one is his locker?! I'm gonna miss his game-" You overheard the crowd cheering. You simply sighed, but you didn't want to disappoint Rin, so you proceeded in finding Rin's closet.

— Timeskip —

The game finally ended, and Rin's team won, but he noticed you weren't in the crowd, he sighed because he knew where to find you.

He soon went into the locker room, and his jaw dropped "Love?! Seriously— why are you crying?"

"I finally found your locker but I missed your game" You sobbed. "Oh my love" He sighed "Look at the mess you made, the boys will be pissed about this" He coldly said "I-I'm sorry.." You two soon cleaned the locker room.

The timing where you two finished cleaning and arranging all the lockers, the boys went in and saw you two "If it isn't the lovebirds, what are you two doing in here hmm~?" Bachira teased "Nothing!" You defended "It's none of your business you lukewarm head." Rin coldly spoke as he dragged you out of the room.

"Rude much-" Reo stated.

As you two were now outside, "I'm sorry... I keep messing things up.. I'm too clumsy, too sensitive, too dumb, too—" You paused as Rin kissed you out of nowhere.

"Continue speaking, I'll be biting those lips twice." You went silent. "Yes, you're all that. But that what makes you unique" He added.

"Sure I had been defending and cleaning up the messes you make, but I can tolerate you. No one else can, but me." You soon felt emotional and cried.

"Rin.. I'm so lucky to have you" You hugged him "Even though you're airy.. But I love my man nonchalant" You chuckled. He kissed you again "That's for accusing me being airy" You pressed your lips.

"Only I can handle a troublemaker like you."

End

48 notes · View notes

risingsunresistance · 2 months ago

Text

my posts should stay nonrebloggable until everyone learns to behave

#I DONT GET IT WHAT DO YOU GET FROM CONSTANTLY TALKING TO EVERYONE ELSE UNPROMPTED ABOUT HIS DEATH #EVERY DAMN POST I MAKE IS I MISS HIM I WISH HE WAS STILL HERE #WELL DAMN ME TOO WHY DO YOU THINK IM STILL POSTING #CAN WE NOT JUST CELEBRATE WHAT HE WAS AND WHAT HE DID AND HAVE SOME FUN #FUCK OFF #MY NOTES ARE NOTHING BUT GRIEVING AND I TRY TO STAY POSITIVE DESPITE IT BUT THERE ARE A FUCKTON OF YOU #COMMENT AFTER COMMENT AND DUMP AFTER DUMP MAKE ME FUCKING MISERABLE

14 notes · View notes

bombshellsandbluebells · 1 year ago

Text

the Nate Shelley s3 arc reminds me of the s5 Murphy arc in terms of how much I actually loved it despite it not being widely liked by the fandom and was actually disappointed because it wasn't ugly enough lol

and it's basically the same arc. character with deep-seated wounds and a lack of true self-love has realistic, damaging coping methods and crashes and burns spectacularly by hurting other people around them and isolating themselves because it doesn't matter how good things get for you, deep-seated wounds that don't get addressed will eventually come out one way or another. and it will be ugly when they do.

the Murphy arc was disappointing because it got wrapped up way too easily with Memori getting back together which didn't actually address ANY of Murphy's issues and Nate's was disappointing because it just didn't commit fully to being ugly and didn't let him be enough of an asshole

#with murphy it's like. do the writers even reallly REALIZE what they had written on a character level and how much it made sense and added #to murphy's character or did they just develop a reason for Memori to break up for drama and then didn't care to actually go through the #work of character growth and just got them together at the end of the season no issues #and with nate it's like. yes I DO think the majority of audiences and the fandom would have absolutely villianized nate if he had been even #meaner in s3 and probably wouldn't have celebrated him getting back with the team. I just KNOW people would have been talking about how he #didn't deserve it or hadn't made up for it enough if he had been worse in s3 #which is so unfair when a) this show tries to show how hurt can make people ugly and b) other characters get the benefit of the doubt wa #more than nate. (jamie's a little different bc it's easier to accept asshole > redeemed arcs a little more than likeable > downfall to #asshole > redeemed again bc we see the transition to being an asshole #BUT also. still. jamie did some nasty stuff that people just forget or completely forgive. and he ends up fandom favorite #and it's not that nate needed to become the fan fave or anything #I just wish people would give characters who are realistically ugly and human and complicated more grace #especially when they're not the conventionally attractive fan fave pretty boy you know #or like with murphy it's like all his actual harsh edges got sanded down by fandom. same as with Jamie #so even when he had an arc where he was acting terribly in a self destructive unhealthy kind of way that hurt others #people made it ALL about his hurt uwu other people hurt him!! it was Emori's fault!! he did nothing wrong bc he has trauma!! instead of lik #accepting that hurt people hurt people is more than a simple phrase it is true and human and UGLY when it happens #anyways #why do i always ramble more in the tags and write like a full epilogue in here

2 notes · View notes

himalayaan-flowers · 2 months ago

Text

mental health experts are not a thing

#i don’t think anyone should claim to be one #as someone who has been through many many mental health trainings and has various certificates and volunteered for a suicide helpline #and whose job is v closely to do with mental health #no one really knows what they’re doing #we’re all just winging it #yes there’s some evidence for cbt helping some people but it’s not going to help with v deep seated issues #also i know my own personal experience is not everyone’s but it has not been good #i remember going to talking therapy for the first time and saying idk what I’m doing #and they said you need to remember WE know what WE’RE doing #i used the service twice & they did not #i’m sure they were kind #well meaning compassionate people and i admire them for that #but it’s frustrating being encouraged to trust people bc they’re ‘professionals’#and then seeing they have no idea how to help #a psychiatrist told me he could make my bdd go away #he just kept asking me if I thought he was delusional bc he thought I looked okay #no but that doesn’t make me delusional either #we just have different standards and values #one bdd ‘expert’ literally said nothing about BDD the entire time #he was nice though & we talked about his pets p much the entire time #had one meeting with a counsellor who gave me factually incorrect information then told me i was wrong even though i could easily prove it #one bdd ‘expert’ at least was honest with me that she couldn’t help #bc ‘you can only get better if you’re doing it for you not your parents’#another lady thought that if she could get me to retrain my attention that would solve everything #basically ‘just think about other things’#a lady at the counselling place at uni told me to read a book on social anxiety #one psychiatrist asked me what celebrity I’d like to look like #said oh I see it you look like her #I do not #then a bit later said I think you look way better than her

1 note · View note

gojonanami · 11 months ago

Text

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,”

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it.

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead.

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?”

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,”

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,”

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?”

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,”

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?”

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,”

Yup, you have a headache now.

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?”

Why were you considering this?

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?”

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?”

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble.

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor.

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it.

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life.

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this.

He said your name, “Well?”

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did.

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place.

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself.

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now.

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was.

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair.

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh.

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?”

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,”

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror.

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?”

“Gojo, this is—“

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,”

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?”

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,”

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way.

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion.

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed.

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most.

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event.

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did.

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn.

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,”

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?”

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate.

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them.

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled.

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,”

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,”

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours.

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,”

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?”

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,”

“No one can see us,”

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,”

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling.

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?”

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks.

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?”

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn.

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,”

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you.

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare.

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?”

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had.

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst.

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,”

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?”

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.”

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,”

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,”

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?”

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru.

And you really didn’t hate Suguru — it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him.

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs.

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend.

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?”

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it.

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?”

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,”

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?”

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm.

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.”

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,”

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.”

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there.

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious.

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point.

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended?

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge.

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later.

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you—

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?”

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,”

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?”

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter.

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?”

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,”

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it.

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,”

“Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them.

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t.

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one?

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again.

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy.

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept.

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen.

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?”

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?”

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,”

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?”

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly.

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?”

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,”

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?”

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,”

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts.

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,”

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”

You glanced at the time, he’s late.

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground.

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked.

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad.

It was probably the latter.

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel.

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,”

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?”

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh.

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch.

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?”

“A bad rom com,”

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,”

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,”

He sighs, running fingers through his hair, “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,”

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,”

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table.

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,”

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,”

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,”

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,”

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,”

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?”

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem.

It was unspoken.

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t.

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now.

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever.

Your neck hurts.

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed.

Or what you thought was your bed.

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear.

Gojo.

Gojo???

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears?

You really should have fucking known better.

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer.

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh.

Fuck. Your. Life.

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes.

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first.

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?”

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—”

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone.

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur.

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace.

“What is it?”

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?”

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,”

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan.

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,”

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,”

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?”

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long.

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding.

Fuck. You were so screwed.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything.

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress.

Another knock.

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?”

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?”

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square.

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,”

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,”

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair.

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,”

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?”

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,”

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,”

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks.

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,”

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this.

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan.

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over.

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it.

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?”

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips.

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,”

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in, “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his.

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—”

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?”

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?”

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you.

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,”

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh.

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—”

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips.

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—”

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?”

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act?

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins.

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru.

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him.

Like it always never was.

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,”

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours.

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—”

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—”

“My apartment isn’t—”

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do.

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away.

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo, “Gojo, what do you want me to say?”

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head.

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“

“But what you said—“

“I said what I had to—“

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room.

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?”

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,”

“You don’t have to—“

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,”

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand.

“Give you what?”

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop.

No, it was. It was, right?

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,”

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,”

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?”

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?”

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you.

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?”

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,”

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone.

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer.

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards.

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,”

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin.

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,”

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,”

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,”

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress.

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?”

Slap. It’s definitely a slap.

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest.

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?”

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance.

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you.

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,”

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders.

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away.

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.”

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name.

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side.

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate.

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you.

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —-

And he realized it was you.

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?”

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat.

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you.

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?”

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit.

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased.

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,”

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,”

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief.

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit.

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm.

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,”

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back.

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined.

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,”

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin.

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,”

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.”

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life.

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again.

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off, I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body.

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle.

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,”

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes.

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—”

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—”

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out.

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face.

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you.

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit.

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours.

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.”

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist.

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips.

Fuck, it was real.

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake.

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more.

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse.

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?”

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort.

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body.

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,”

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,”

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer.

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?”

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips.

“How about we make breakfast together?”

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good.

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?”

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,”

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?”

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,”

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck.

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,”

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile.

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,”

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?”

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze.

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,”

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.”

You didn’t know what to do with yourself.

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present.

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present.

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you?

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it.

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview.

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture.

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation.

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now?

There’s only one person who’d text like that.

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now?

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business.

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly.

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink.

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head.

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you.

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that.

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman.

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets.

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go.

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,”

“I was expecting to meet

I suppose we’re on the same page,”

He tilts his head, “Really?”

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,”

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,”

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her.

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her.

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?”

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you.

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways.

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back.

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen.

You needed to talk to him in person.

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet.

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt.

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,”

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,”

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line.

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,”

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,”

And he’s blinking, “Why?”

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—”

“But you didn’t—”

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,”

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?”

“No I don’t—”

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?”

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,”

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?”

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?”

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,”

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?”

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“

“But—“

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?”

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,”

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.”

And this time he doesn’t stop you.

It’s for the best.

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas.

It was for the best.

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories.

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them.

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru.

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did.

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing.

Fuck. You were home.

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye.

Gojo?

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name.

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops.

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address.

Satoru was…getting married?

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here.

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove.

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved.

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot.

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors.

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy.

Even if it wasn’t with you.

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now.

So you wait.

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom.

That wasn’t Satoru.

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding?

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were.

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head.

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows.

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands.

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?”

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze, “Satoru—”

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips.

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—”

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it.

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek.

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,”

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,”

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake.

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.”

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

#sab [mlist]#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo fluff

10K notes · View notes