#ICYMI | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

strychnynegirl · 9 hours ago

Text

Chapter 4 of my darling @madamechrissy 's amazing Pornstar Satoru! She is so amazing. If you love Gojo, you don't want to miss out on her fics! 🥰😘💕💞

Baby You're a Star

Art in the banner by Kerravi on x!

Pairings- Pornstar Satoru x shy f!reader

Summary- You meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, insanely out of place, waiting for your friend to show up. The two of you hit it off, spending time together, and share a kiss, but you're a good girl, and you just don't do this, but he is the top pornstar there is, and the top .01 % on OnlyFans. Once you find out, you know there's probably no match, as Satoru doesn't date, and you don't sleep around, but after meeting, you keep in touch- and soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!?

Warnings- This has a LOT going on, heed the warnings - filming porn, oral (f receiving) spit kink, creampie, cum swallowing, multiple rounds, biting, back shots, SO MUCH jealousy especially from Satoru, honestly this situation is toxic be warned, say hi to Nanami and maybe kiss him? Obsessed whipped ass Gojo, he's becoming a little yandere, this chap is ANGSTY asf, mutual pining, idiots clearly in love but stupid asf, MESSY WC this chap- 13.8k (Monster chap my god)

A/N- Taglist closed- Happy Mother's day to me and all the moms have some smut and angst lol - please comment/rb if you enjoy <3

<<<Chapter Three - Masterlist- Playlist- Chapter Five>>> (coming soon)

Chapter Four

How could you get it off your mind?

Sitting at your desk in a lull at work, your fingertips trail down the side of your neck, lashes fluttering as you remember Satoru planting firm kisses across it, the memory itself makes your tummy clench with hot desire, goosebumps rising as your fingers dance along it. Remembering his teeth sinking in as he shoved his thick cock so deep, burying it inside you.

Remembering how he cleaned you up, kissing your breasts where he’d sucked and bitten like little apologies, his boyish smile as he whispered his little ‘sorry’ murmurs along your skin. The thorough way he’d lavished your body in his shower that night, how he washed and conditioned your hair, rinsing it until it was as silky as your hair has ever been with whatever fancy products he had.

He’d made sure you had breakfast, taken you down the elevator and made sure you got in the car okay - fuck he called and texted later that night just to check on you. There was no mistaking Satoru was perfect when it came to fucking, but also above and beyond with the aftercare, but that made it all even worse for you.

Cumming with him was intoxicating, it was fucking insane, but moreso the sweetness of him, the thoughtfulness, that’s what sunk deep into your veins, in an unmistakable rhythm just whispering over and over in your mind. The days without him have only shoved the reality further down your throat - that you think you’re falling in love with him.

Are you just foolish?

You’re always led by these deep fucking feelings, you don’t think before you plunge or follow them, either. Yet, there was no other explanation for it, for what you feel when you’re under him, from what you feel when he kisses you, far beyond your cunt drooling - god, it squirted - down his cock, or his mouth, or his fingers. Far beyond being appreciative of his aftercare.

It was all too much.

So much, you’ve turned down coming back over for days, as you’re still so fucking disoriented and confused, you can’t separate sex like Satoru does, like Jenna does. You wish you had the ability, to let go and have fun - and not full of a fucking inner turmoil while your cervix is being kissed by the prettiest pink tip. You wish you could take it for what it is, and not crave more.

Selfish, maybe you were selfish?

Foolish and selfish for carrying on knowing better.

You hadn’t texted him back yet today, you don’t know how to be casual in your messages, not when you remember his arms around you in your sleep, not when you crave their warmth. You have a life and a career to focus on, you can’t let him consume all your waking thoughts, fantasies of him wanting more, of him asking you to be with him flitting like day dreams.

“Miss…” Your attention is drawn as a colleague says your name, knocking on your open door then. “A potential client is here, are you available?”

“Oh, yes. Sure!” You shake yourself out of it, smiling and then faltering as you see him, right in your office, and the secretary walks off, whispering about the handsome, tall white haired man to her friend, earning giggles as Satoru stands there, drop dead fucking gorgeous in front of you.

“No greeting, kinda rude pookie.” He says with a little playful smile, stepping further inside your office now, as you try to gather any of your wits.

“Satoru? What are you doing here?” You ask softly, curious how he knows exactly where you work, aside from maybe seeing it on your socials.

Satoru Gojo is standing right in front of your desk with a grin on his face, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, white dress shirt unbuttoned just two little rows, revealing some of his well muscled chest, where that necklace he always wears lays flat. He’s got on black, round shades, blue eyes glinting as the floor to ceiling window shines light in your office, filtering around his frame.

The man looks unfairly good.

“Well, sweets, I really need a good OF banner and some promo pictures all done for me, thought I’d come here. Support your hustle, since you support mine.” He smirks a bit as he speaks, sauntering closer, hands now resting on either side of your desk, the veins popping out of his forearms and drawing your attention. “You’re the best at it, aren’t you?”

“Oh I doubt all that, but I can definitely help you.” You stand up now too, and Satoru sees your cute little work outfit, a pretty blouse he’d like to rip off you, a pencil skirt that he’s aching to see from the back, and a little belt to cinch it. Your glasses match your blouse today, he has to wonder how many pairs you have, these have this cute little cat eye shape to them.

You bend over in front of him, giving his eyes just the view he was dying for, before pulling one of the gray office chairs over next to you, patting it with a soft smile at him. “I get to see it in action?”

“You do, come on.” He sits next to you, arms resting casually, while you cross one leg over the other and start typing away on your keyboard, clicking that mouse and pulling up your program, trying to ignore how good he smells, his cologne so familiar and intoxicating, filling your little office then.

“Look at you, so professional. So cute.” He teases softly, a hand brushing against your bare thigh then, making you clench them together and shift, biting on that lower lip at the sensations.

It’s been a few days since you were under him, but the thoughts wrack through your fucking mind every night before bed, several times throughout the day, cunt responding right along with your nipples pressing against your bra. Just one brush of his fingers and you come undone, you can’t stand how deeply little things affect you from him.

You have to focus.

“What all were you thinking?” You murmur softly, he hums to himself a bit, looking at his phone now, still not removing his hand, burning your skin casually while he scrolls, leaning back in the seat.

“You did the one for Jenna, right?” You nod, and he pulls it up, it’s all brightly lit with a neon glow, Jenna’s in the sexiest little outfit, little kisses covering around her body. “It’s really cute.”

“Thanks, I loved doing that one. So we will need a somewhat safe photo, they do have banner guidelines.”

“Yeah, I think I have some, help me pick?” You nod, leaning close as he scrolls, your shoulders brushing together, he can feel your heat even mid thigh, thumb running in tantalizing little circles as he scrolls through his photos.

You blush furiously at some of them, some are his cock, covered in cum, some are of him fully nude, others he’s precariously got something barely covering his cock. “You have a lot of photos, Satoru.”

“Part of the job I guess.” You sigh, as he keeps scrolling, pulling up a couple photos where he’s laying on the bed.

“Those are really good, email a couple to me?” You hand him the business card with your personal email, he types it in, removing his hand and allowing you a breath, as you pull up your email on one of your monitors, you catch Nanami talking to one of your coworkers and eyeing you with a smile, which you return with a wave.

Satoru glares at you as you do, he’s showing you him half naked and you wanna wave your cute little fingers at the boring business guy? Who is smirking at you again, and boy does Satoru wanna wipe that smirk off his face. He clears his throat then, earning your attention finally, you look at him curiously, blinking a bit, letting your hand fall.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, and he goes to just say it - he wants all your attention, just like he can’t help but give you all of his - but that’s fucking nuts.

You’re friends.

You’re his friend, a friend he wants to bend over this desk right now and fuck your insides up, have your pussy only know his shape and no one else’s. A friend who he jerks off too rather than focus on his career, who he has to picture to do anything, a friend he just had his cock deep inside the other day. A friend he wanted to bust inside and fill up till she couldn’t walk.

Maybe if he filled you with cum now, you wouldn’t giggle and smile at the blond dude giving Satoru a fucking side eye across your office, maybe you’d be so fucked out you wouldn’t give him the time of day. He throbs behind his boxers thinking of it, of cum drooling from your pretty little hole, all while you blink at him curiously, so fucking innocent and not knowing how you’re killing him.

“Satoru, you good?” You tease, as his jaw clenches, a thin blue vein popping out under his thin pale skin.

“Great, sweets, sorry. Want any of these?” He scrolls through the rest slowly, until you see pictures of Satoru with women, making you tense as he casually moves through. “They’re from a while ago,” he murmurs, but it doesn’t make you feel any better, seeing videos unplayed of certain shoots he’s done. “I usually post clips for the paid members and then charge them for the full vid.”

“Right, no that makes sense.” You look away now, the sight of Satoru with someone makes you far too uncomfortable, and it shouldn’t. “Um, these in the email will do great.”

“Yeah?” He looks at you, feeling how tense you are next to him. “I’m sorry, did that make you… uncomfortable?”

“What!? No way. It’s so cool with me.” You smile brightly, but it doesn’t hit your eyes, even behind the glass where he can see his own reflection. “You know I’m still a little um… shy about that stuff. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” He repeats softly, and you give a quick nod.

“I’ll get more used to it helping you out, plus Suguru’s um… I think she’s his friend or co-star? She asked me to do a shoot and a design too.”

“Oh shit, look at you.” You smile again, relaxing a little. “You’re just diving into the industry.”

“I wouldn’t say all that,” you start expanding the photo on the computer, flustered at just how sexy he was, shirtless and glistening with sweat, vivid images smacking you of the other night. “I guess I am getting a little involved, though.”

“Yeah you are, oh, we made more money by the way.” He transfers it to your app then, and your eyes widen.

“That much!?”

He leans close, too fucking close, lips right against your ear, which are pounding with the rate your pulse is racing. “I told you, that pretty body is made for porn.”

You tremble just a bit, trying to focus, pulling away and taking a breath - you are at work. You can’t just be soaking wet next to a pornstar you have stupid feelings for, who’s eyeing you like you’re already naked, the way only he can ever. You try to gather yourself, clearing your throat and swiping away the screen, to think you made more in ten minutes with Satoru than a month at your job was ridiculous.

“I see why you enjoy the perks I guess of your business.” You say softly, still remembering those girls on his phone and hating how you feel. “Any shoots coming up for you?”

His jaw tenses once more, eyes bright as they study you. “You wanna do another shoot?”

“What!? No… I mean, no. I just meant… with someone else.” You stare at the screen, clacking away on your mouse as you start to add colors and overlays to the pretty banner.

“I got my manager to calm down a bit finally, so none currently, but… of course I will have shoots coming up eventually.” You hate how the thoughts rush, and he eyes you carefully. “Why do you ask?”

“Just making conversation while I do this.” You’re lying, through your fucking teeth, but you don’t want to fuck it up, being around him, being near him, with your feelings.

Your whole life is that - feeling so much, too much, for friends, family, strangers even. You were prone to donate even when you were broke because someone got your feelings, some people took advantage over the years of that kindness, but you never could guard yourself properly, not when it was a core part of who you were. Not when there was no other option for you but to care, and care deeply.

Does Satoru Gojo care?

Were you just a co-star to him now? A co-star and a friend?

What did you expect from this?

Too much.

“You’re very quiet, sweetheart, what’s on that smart mind of yours?” You look back over, his hand is back on your knee, he’s tilting his head just a bit, a heartbreakingly handsome face watching you.

“Sorry just a lot of thoughts in my head today, also I am a pretty quiet person at work especially,” you put a hand on his, squeezing gently and earning a quirk of his pouty lips. “With you I’m a little more open than usual.”

“I like that, you opening for me,” his murmur is too fucking seductive, and you’re sure he knows it as he studies the color dancing across your cheeks. “You open up so good for me too.”

“Do I?” His words are met with fingers slipping up between your thighs, you bite back a gasp as he touches you over the already damp cotton of your panties, thighs trapping his hand there involuntarily.

“Mmhmm, you’re a good girl, look at you,” his words are like silky, snowy lashes low over dilated eyes as he sighs just a bit, feeling your slick coat his fingertips. “Did she miss me already?”

“Did you miss me?” Your counter question makes him pause because fuck he missed you - but it terrifies him that it’s not just the sexual need, the desire, it’s so much more than that.

He did miss you in just a few days, your smile and your scent, your sweet little giggle and the way you pressed your glasses up your nose. The very energy near him that emanates from you, the way you look up at him like that, the way he feels near you. He craves it like no drug he’s ever tried, your taste and the way your skin feels, the cute little sighs you make.

He’s fighting the inevitable fact that you’ve already sunk deep, that he’s becoming obsessed with you, and he’s not sure you feel the same. Clearly you enjoy him too, but you’re no where near his level, you’re not looking his workplace up and finding him like he just did, no Satoru doesn’t even know what the fuck in possessing him lately.

All he knows is he needs you around him, near him, on him…

Wants to bury inside you but that’s not even enough.

A quiet knock sounds on the door as Nanami walks in with a silver tablet, smiling as he walks inside, barely acknowledging Satoru then. “Hey darling,"- Hey Darling - he's gonna hey darling his fucking face - "Could you check this one for me, I’d love your opinion.”

“Of course I can.” Satoru’s hand falls and his fists clench at his sides, as you lean over the desk, and your breasts spill just a bit from your neckline, he sees the hazel eyes darting down and up quickly, wanting to smack him for even looking at you. “Oh Kento, it's so good!”

“Kento?” Satoru asks softly, and Nanami clears his throat, smiling over at him like an annoyance.

“That’s my first name,” he says, Satoru glares over at you now, and you tilt your head curiously. “Something wrong?”

You call him Kento.

He does not like it.

“No, no, sorry, go ahead sweetheart, I’ll wait.” He purrs those words, winking up at you, scrolling back through his phone, zooming right in on the picture he took, his favorite, where you have cum painted all over your ass and pussy.

Kento would never fucking have that from his darling.

“Your designs are so good,” he says, shoulder to shoulder with you now as the two of you peer at some of your work. “You need to give me a little advice.”

“What, no you’re so good at everything! You’re just being sweet,” your teasing giggle infuriates him, he wants to snatch you up and show who the fuck you are under, who gets to be inside you - but he holds it in.

It’s absurd.

He’s being so stupid and the worst part is he knows, but when Nanami’s big hand brushes against your back, leaning closer and murmuring something, it takes everything in him not to crash the fuck out. He tries to remember what you two are - but what the fuck even are you both?

You’d probably want someone like this Kento dude, wouldn’t you? You’d want someone with a career like yours, who clearly wants something serious, some ‘gentleman’ or so he seems. Even though Satoru is pretty fucking sure dude is not a gentleman, judging by the way his fingertips slip down your spine before his hand falls finally.

That’s when Satoru realizes he’s been holding his fucking breath.

“Are we still on for tonight?” He asks then, and Satoru’s stomach twists in knots as he watches you, shifting a bit, your weight on one foot, you look at him for a moment, eyes unreadable.

Say something, Satoru.

You want him to, fuck you want him to, but you wonder if you’re delusional when his lips turn up at the corners, and you turn back to Kento now, clearing your throat. “Um of course, dinner at eight right?”

“Mmhmm, also thought maybe go grab drinks somewhere after? If you’re still up for that.”

“We’ll see, I do get sleepy.”

You weren’t sleepy at four in the morning riding his cock the other night.

“No worries love, sounds good.” He presses a little kiss on your knuckles, walking out now and shutting the door behind him with a resounding click, leaving you both in the now quiet of your office, no noise but the shuffling of seats as you sit back down next to him.

“Where ya going?” Satoru asks, feigning ease and putting down his phone, you tense a bit, flustered.

It feels wrong to go on a date with Nanami when you just were getting Satoru’s cum spurted all over your body, doesn’t it?

But you and Satoru are not together, and he’s made it fairly clear when he has turned down two opportunities to stop you from it, that perhaps he doesn’t care. You still plan to be open with Nanami about this, because you don’t think it’s right not to share that sort of thing, but to close yourself off completely to a potential match in life for just sex wasn’t something you think was good to do either.

It’s a mess. Your mind, your feelings, your heart.

“I don’t know where we’re going, he is picking me up.” Your answer makes Satoru’s jaw tense, eyes flashing for just a moment over the sunglasses that have slipped down his nose just a bit.

“Oh?” His question just lingers in the air between you both, while you bite on your lip, clicking a little more.

“Yes, somewhere nice he said but I guess it’s a surprise. Do you have any plans tonight?”

“We’re all supposed to go to a party, maybe you should swing by after your date with Kento.”

“I guess I could.” You wonder if you’re imagining the inflection in his voice and in his tone. “Does he rub you the wrong way or something?”

“Just… no, I just…” Satoru never stutters, he never falters, but he can’t think of any good fucking reason he is so upset, so angry about it. He clears his throat and settles back in the chair a bit. “Be careful, though, you know?”

“Are you so worried about me?” You peek at him, hair falling across your face, Satoru brushes it back for a moment, lips parting, aching to say it.

Don’t go.

But he has no right to do that to you, to ask you to come with him instead, to have you so weak and fucked out you wouldn’t make it to your stupid date. In fact he’d love to have cum pouring from your pretty pussy, just in case Nanami touched you at all, which he very much doubts. But if he did, the thought of him just fingering Satoru’s cum gives him a sick and possessive thrill.

“Maybe I do worry a bit.” But you should be most worried about him, he’s the one that is truly not good for you, and he knows it. But how the fuck does he stay away when you’re pulling him in like gravity?

“He seems to be a gentleman. I think I’ll be perfectly safe, but it’s nice to know you care a little.” Your soft voice breaks off, he glares now at you.

“Think I don’t at all?”

“I don’t know your feelings, Satoru. You don’t… say anything really about them.” He looks away again, because before all of this, Satoru was once ‘in love’ and that girl destroyed him.

She was a pornstar herself.

It’s why he got in the industry, but her games and lies had left their mark, he knew then he didn’t wanna feel that way - to be hurt like that. But what he feels for you is different, it’s too much to explain, the obsessive nature of his thoughts were just burning up his brain. But he doesn’t need to spill it all, to explain it all - especially when he doesn’t even know what to say.

You just sigh a bit at his silence, tilting your head this way and that, fingers clicking the mouse as you adjust everything, trying to avoid the tension. “Look, what do you think so far?”

“It looks great, sweetheart.”

“Yay!” Your cute little smile and how you push up those glasses almost end him then and there. “I’ll make a couple different so you can alternate them. Want me to send them to your email later?”

“That would be amazing, how much?”

“Oh please, don’t ask me that. It’s nothing.” He frowns a bit at you.

“It’s your job.”

“Still, you’re my…” You trail off, the tension so palpable in the room as he stares at you it’s difficult to breathe. “Friend. Um, friend and family rate applies.”

“I’ll pay full price, sweets.” He pats your head affectionately, standing then and sending you far too much money.

“Satoru!”

“What? I looked up your rates online.” You roll your eyes at him, then frown as you stand as well, and his hand drifts down your arm slowly, achingly slow, in a ‘friendly gesture if anyone could see, but it felt far more than friendly.

“How did you find my work by the way?”

“Socials showed the company, I figured it was the one closest to where you said you lived.” He shrugs, as if he didn’t do a deep dive into you, and found that fucking Kento guy on the company site too, he was apparently your ‘superior’ so it’s odd he’s asking you for help, too.

He can’t reveal just how much he cares, how upset you haven’t come back over, how your replies were a little too short, even if they were sweet. Because if he said all of that he’d look like a whole fucking idiot, if he said casually ‘hey, think I’m absolutely obsessed with you and my dick is otherwise broken’ what would your response be, to a guy you still barely knew?

He needed to try to keep some of his obsession shoved down.

“Oh of course, you are probably on IG huh?” You peek then, looking him up, eyes popping out. “Oh damn, you’re IG famous too.”

“They’re thirsty is all.” You smile a bit, scrolling and seeing his sexy photos with millions of fucking hearts and thousands of comments.

“I’ll follow you, I don’t know why I didn’t think of looking you up. I’m social media clueless I’m afraid. I have like three selfies, the rest is just all the things I bake.”

Your three pictures at awkward angles are the prettiest things Satoru has ever fucking seen.

Your manager walks in then, smiling over at you. “Meeting in thirty.”

“Oh, thanks!” Satoru sighs now, realizing he needed to leave, and you put a hand on his shoulder softly. “Thank you for coming in, I’ll have the rest of these done later.”

“No rush, and of course,” he leans down, pressing a kiss on your cheek, feeling it heat under his lips, sighing as his hand presses against the small of your back, where Nanami had touched, splaying the expanse of it and hearing your catch of breath. “If you want, come to the party after, hmm?”

“I might be too tired,” tired from what!? Satoru pulls you so tightly you wince, and he loosens his hold when he realizes. “But if not I’ll for sure come.”

“Be careful tonight, though will you… just tell me when you get home?” You pull back curiously, looking up into his unreadable blue gaze, nodding then, earning a more casual smile that seems forced. “Good. Have a good… day then.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You press a kiss of your own on his cheek, on your tiptoes, that contact alone sends him, his eyes fluttering for a moment before he pulls back, slipping his sunglasses back up.

“Bye sweetheart.” He walks out, glaring as Nanami clacks away at his own keyboard, pressing his dark green shades down and smirking over at Satoru again, and he is even more firm in his opinion - he thinks he hates that man, even if he doesn’t know shit about him.

Just having touched you is too much. When he’s in the back seat of the black car and his driver closes the partition, he can’t help but suck on his thumb, which has just the hint of your taste. He brushes it along his lower lip like a gloss, sighing at how good you taste. It takes him moments to try to calm his racing heart, palming his hardness and wincing.

All he can think of is you, constantly. It’s not getting any better since he had you cumming on his cock - it’s just gotten worse, the thoughts maddening, making anything else impossible to focus on. He peers at your photo in his phone, not just the one where he’s coated you in his cum, no it’s the one that’s just your pretty face when you’d been knocked out that morning.

He’s now a creep who takes photos of sleeping girls.

But you were so precious and peaceful, he had to capture it, craving you in his arms every night was even more palpable, as his thumb brushes down the cool glass of his phone, as if to trace that cheek. He can’t picture not having you again, but he also can’t picture how the fuck to be selfish enough to ruin your life with him.

******

The date with Nanami is perfect, as dates go.

He’s surprisingly so funny, he’s an avid listener, the two of you get along so well it’s easy being out together, taking nibbles of each other’s plates and sips of each other’s glasses of wine. His hand is on your thigh under the table cloth, he murmurs sweet little things in your ear, the two of you tease and gossip about the crazy people at your job.

It’s perfect, really. Nanami Kento is perfect, handsome and sweet, gentlemanly but he’s also not too gentlemanly, hazel eyes darting across your collarbones, where a pretty glittery necklace decorates it. His fingers brush up high on your inner thigh, his lips press against the shell of your ear, he’s too perfect. It’s too easy, the time just flies as you two spend time together.

Satoru texts you as Nanami goes to the bathroom, and you curse him internally, since he’s been in the back of your mind the whole fucking date. He’s texted you three times during the date, one is just a selfie, one is a little meme, and one is asking how it was going. You assumed he’d be busy with women all over him at the party, not texting you.

You get another asking for you to tell him when you’re home safe.

You like it too much, the attention, the messages, the fact that he thinks about you - but then you hate it, because all it was doing was forcing the obsession you so clearly have. Jenna told you not to lose yourself, she warned you, but you’re fearing you’re far, far past it all.

All you can think of is kissing him again.

His teases in the office left their mark, you found yourself aching in your shower after work, caving in and touching your puffy clit and sensitive cunt, whining out and leaning against those tiles, picturing his fingers instead. You’d been more frustrated than anything, unable to capture whatever it was he does to you.

You were never like this before you met him.

Satoru awakened a part of you, but if it was just a part of you and nothing else, then why weren’t you turned on by Nanami? He’s made you comfortable, you enjoy him, all the reasons you asked Satoru are right here, yet the thoughts don’t cross your mind, the feverish ones that consume you with Satoru - the filthy ones that make you blush as they dance across your mind.

You don’t write him back, you can’t focus if you do and it’s not fair to give Nanami a chance if you have that white-haired sex demon blurring your mind.

When the dinner is done, Nanami is driving you back home, a hand over yours, it’s nice and warm, as the two of you drive through the night, your hand grips his right back, entwining your fingers together. “Nanami, that was so fun!”

“I had a lot of fun too, doesn’t hurt you’re looking that gorgeous.” You giggle a bit, flustered now, as he pulls into your driveway and parks the car, still gently humming in the night.

“You look handsome too,” your little whisper is met with him unsnapping your seat belt for you, his cologne in your senses, musky and heady, you can’t help but inhale it. “And you smell so good.”

“Do I now?” You nod and he chuckles, cupping your face with his warm palm, a huge hand taking over the entirety of your face, your heart quickens at the contact as his hazel eyes dart to your lips.

You’d explained it all, the ‘friends with benefits’ thing that you suppose Satoru and you were. Nanami also has a similar situation, which instantly eased any sense of guilt, and his open mind surprised you, a lot of him surprised you, just how open he is when he seemed so ‘straight laced’ along with his touches, bold yet respectful.

You should be open to this.

What was the future with Satoru? More shoots in secret? Sneaking around and fucking in his penthouse and getting pampered after? Where was more - where were the dates where you weren’t ‘friends’ where you were his date. Where if a co star came up he ignored her politely, and if a man came up to you he firmly said ‘she is mine’.

It’s all a fucking fantasy is what it was.

Your eyes flutter shut, leaning forward and feeling Nanami’s exhale, as he presses his lips to yours, and it feels good, they’re firm and delicate in how they move across yours. Your lips part and his tongue sweeps inside, while your fingers grip his suit jacket, earning him dragging you closer against him, so big and overpowering yet so gentle.

It does feel good, tongues dancing against each other, his hand wrapping to your nape, entangling softly under where your hair is elegantly done up, drinking up your little sighs as you kiss. You feel delicate butterflies arise at it, but what you don’t feel is the insanity, the ridiculous need, the obsession you felt when Satoru had kissed you, touched you, fuck just that night when he blew smoke into your mouth.

You keep trying to explain it away, so you’re not hurt, so you won’t be so fucking hurt when he gets tired of you, but how can you get over this? When he was just at your office, fucking your mind up, making you soaked from his touch? How can you keep denying it, the irrevocable truth that you wish was not true.

Nanami’s hand trails down your waist now, and you moan softly, it feels good, when you’re overheated already, when the man clearly knows what he’s doing, breaking apart a bit to sigh, looking at you, his hand trailing down your thigh. “You taste so sweet, darling,” he whispers, making you flush even more. “And you’re so cute, you know that?”

“Oh, stop,” Yyu giggle again, gasping as he kisses down your neck, his hand slipping between your thighs. “Nanami…”

“You’re so hot there, fuck,” he’s moaning now, thumb toying with the elastic of your panties, making your thighs tense.

“Um, this is too fast, I’m sorry.” You whisper, easing back, seeing his lidded gaze now.

“I wasn’t going to… I was just going to please you.” He murmurs softly, sexy handsome face even sexier when he bites his lip. “I wasn’t going to do more than make you cum.”

“Oh… oh… I…” you trail off now, gently taking his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm, he tenses a bit, clearing his throat.

“I was way too forward, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You ease his hand down, leaning forward and kissing the cleft on his chin.

If it was Satoru you’d have spread wide for him.

The frustration builds at this, your heart is hammering in your chest, it wasn’t just being comfortable with Satoru, it wasn’t just being his friend - there was no fucking way that was it. Now you have the proof in front of you, your body is reacting to Nanami, your nipples are pressing hard against your dress, your cunt is clenching at his touch, it wasn’t physically you wouldn’t enjoy it.

It was the case you’d always had - without more you couldn’t go through with it.

Nothing’s changed in how you feel or think of sex, like you thought, the only thing was the fucking feelings for Satoru.

Deep feelings.

You can’t even think of it right now, smiling and cupping Nanami’s face now, as your lips dance across his. “I loved tonight.”

“Thank god, I was worried I just ruined it.” You shake your head with a soft smile.

“Not at all.”

It wasn’t his fault you’re obsessed with a goddamn pornstar.

******

Parties aren’t fun when the girl you can’t get off your mind is with some boring ass business guy named Kento.

Satoru can hardly focus, sipping on his drink and sighing while Suguru kisses all over his favorite co-star. Sartoru is pretty sure at this point they’re together, considering the only time she’s not over at the penthouse is when Suguru is at her house, and she’s all Suguru talks about. He’s envious of the way the two freely do just that, be together, do shoots together more than not.

His other co-stars and friends are drinking, smoking, Sukuna is over there snorting a line off his favorite girl, leaving Satoru…

Alone.

He ignores anyone who comes up to him, how can he pay anyone attention when he knows you exist? When he wants you on his lap, your lips against his for everyone to fucking see, he wouldn’t even care if rumors went flying, he’s dealt with them before for lesser things, for little flings and favorite costars.

He just wants you here.

He checks his phone for the millionth time when Toji comes up, smirking over at him. “What do you want?” Satoru asks, pouting and looking at his phone.

“Saw that co-star of yours going viral, shit, why are you keeping her a secret?” Satoru’s jaw locks at Toji’s question, and Sukuna strolls up with his girl in tow, throwing back a drink.

“Wonder if she got your dick to work though, or you still need the viagra?” Sukuna asks, his girl gasps, smacking at him.

“That’s so mean!”

“What, he couldn’t get hard for you? That’s a problem,” Sukuna’s murmuring, and Satoru sighs, throwing back the rest of his drink.

“That why you’re just eating her out, then, but fuck that pussy is pretty,” Satoru almost punches Toji in the face as the black haired man grins. “I’m way older than you and don’t need viagra.”

“You are old as fuck.” Satoru says, standing and shoving at Toji then, who just chuckles, people are all looking, Suguru comes over, putting a hand on Satoru’s shoulder now.

“What’s going on, you all are always running your mouths.” Suguru glares over at Toji and Sukuna now, who snort in laughter.

“Well, well, it’s your girlfriend.” Sukuna earns Suguru raising a brow, cracking his knuckles. “Girlfriend is angry.”

“I’m about over you two running it.”

“We were just talking about his mysterious co-star.” Suguru frowns a bit, he’d seen the stream and put two and two together, and hasn’t spoken about it. “Wondering if his dick will work.”

“You’re really obsessed with my dick, Toji, you want it that bad?” Satoru’s blue eyes are glinting when Toji scowls and Suguru chuckles.

“It’s the ongoing joke of the industry- the biggest star and his broken dick. We should thank you though, making room for us to take the spot.” Sukuna says, Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, you wish.”

“I’d say that title would go to me, anyway.” Suguru’s co-star comes over, and he wraps an arm around her, looking over at Satoru. “Wanna go home with us?”

Satoru pauses, staring at his phone again and sighing in relief when he sees you typing, three dots moving. “Um… wait a sec…”

Sukuna and Toji finally leave, and Suguru is watching Satoru curiously. “Is she coming to the party?”

“No, guess she’s tired.” Satoru’s face falls, he catches his best friend’s all too knowing gaze. “She had a date.”

“Why don’t you ask her on one?” Suguru’s co-star asks curiously, Satoru frowns again.

“How could I?”

“We can still date, Gojo. Can’t we, Suguru?” She asks, and Satoru looks to see his friend’s blush then, eyeing the two of them, blue gaze narrowing with his white lashes lowering.

“It’s easier when you’re both in the industry I guess.” Suguru admits, sighing. “I was fully against it, but we still deserve to be happy, even if our career is a little out of the norm.”

“That’s a quick change.” Satoru says, Suguru shrugs a bit.

“I know it is. Satoru, nothing's changing in our friendship because of it.” Satoru’s seething with jealousy, now. Suguru and him began this together, and something about him having a girl and them looking so happy makes him long for you.

Toji’s comment made Satoru want to kill him.

In fact he doesn’t even want to know what anyone thinks, all the comments had gotten to him as he scrolled through - the men in there, saying how badly they wanted to lick your pretty pussy. But he’s the one who did this, who put you in that position, who the fuck was he to get upset that people commented? That’s what porn was, but at the same time, it was you.

Was he changing you? The shy, sweet girl he feels such a pull toward, was Satoru Gojo changing that? The thoughts make him dizzy, suddenly the entire party just feels like the worst place to be, people he used to enjoy and have fun with, now he wants to disappear, he doesn’t want to see them, hear them. He swallows down the nausea as he peers around yet another mansion.

What was the point of it all?

“Satoru, let’s go. You look like you’ve had too much.” Suguru murmurs, a hand on his shoulder, he finally looks at your messages.

Good Girl🫦 - Sorry Satoru, I am really tired and don’t think I have any more social battery for a party. I hope you’re having fun though! I am home and safe.

Satoru hovers over the screen now, contemplating.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Do you want me to come over to your place?

You nervously look at the phone then, finishing slipping off your heels and hanging up your purse.

Satoru at your place?

Good Girl🫦 - You probably want to stay there I’m sure. Maybe we can do lunch or something tomorrow? I don’t want to ruin your party.

🌽🌟 Satoru - You don’t ruin anything. Ever.

He feels sick even typing it, being vulnerable, fuck he wants to see you, just you, not in an office or at a party or even with a friend. He just wants to see you.

Are you not alone, he wonders then, sicker and sicker, thinking of that man around you, he knows you’re a good girl, but did you invite him back for a drink? The thoughts won’t stop, he can clearly see him kissing you, touching you, maybe he’d make love to you where Satoru fucked you, maybe that’s what you deserved over him, but he’s too selfish to admit it.

Satoru wants to just worship you.

Maybe he should show you.

Maybe you’re already over him.

Maybe-

“Satoru, you’re just standing there, dude. Are you good?” He blinks into realization that he’s having an entire existential crisis mid party, blinking a bit as he waits for your response.

Good Girl🫦 - I don’t mind if you want to come over, if you’re not too far away you’re more than welcome to.

You send it after deleting three messages.

Satoru, will you ever… want more than sex?

I want you to come over so bad, I do, but I’m afraid of my feelings…

Are you sure you want to come over to see me or just have…

You had deleted them immediately, you can’t fucking say all that. You sit down now on your living room couch, tucking your feet under yourself and sighing, hair falling softly as you unclip it, setting the pretty gold butterfly pins attached on your little black table. What would Satoru think of your place?

It’s tiny, it’s neat and homey surely, but it’s nothing like his luxurious penthouse, LA was expensive and you were doing good enough to afford it. You frown a bit, wondering what he’s going to say.

🌽🌟 Satoru - Shoot me your address.

You nervously nibble on your thumb, doing just that, when Nanami texts you, the feelings of guilt come clawing. Though you were very open with Nanami about the situation, you’re not sure you can even be open to anything with Satoru fucking up your brain and heart.

Nanami - Thank you again for such a good night, I hope you had fun.

You smile at that, touching your lips carefully, remembering his kiss, passionate and surprising in its intensity. He is handsome, funny, he’s sweet, and the kisses felt nice, you were comfortable with him, all the things you tried to explain why you were so open being intimate with Satoru. It was just that, right?

Wrong.

If it was, then what was stopping you from letting Nanami please you earlier, when if Satoru touched you, you melted, you let him do anything he wanted. You’d let him do whatever, you’re not even sure he himself knows the power he has. How can you explain it all, how can you tie it in a neat bow, knowing the underlying reason is brimming to the surface?

Knowing the pain that was soon to come from it, from being in love with someone that will never see you as more than a friend or someone to fuck. To him, this is some physical connection - surely it’s enough that he only wants to sleep with you, but would that really be enough, when you can’t stop remembering how it felt to wake up in his embrace, to watch him asleep?

You- I had so much fun, thank you for tonight. I would love to spend time again with you.

It was the truth, you couldn’t completely close yourself off, that was what Jenna was warning you about. You had to still keep your ideas and options open, to learn from Satoru and enjoy him, this was ultimately your idea, and to have more expectations of Satoru, or to change him? It wasn’t fair to ask or want, you have to shove it all deep, deep inside instead.

Nanami - Good night then, I can’t say I won’t think about that kiss tonight.

You feel your cheeks heat up at that, giggling alone in your quiet townhome, sighing now.

You - Good night.

The doorbell rings, it’s far too fast from anywhere in LA to be Satoru, you tense a bit as you walk over barefoot to your door, over your soft carpet onto the little tile of the entryway, hand on the knob. You unlock it and swing it open, to see a serious Satoru right in your doorway, bathed in moonlight, his eyes looking right at yours, like he’s looking for something, anything.

“Satoru, that was stupidly quick, how?” His eyes flit down your pretty silver dress, glittering like the stars themselves, looking far too fucking pretty on you, clinging to your curves.

“Fuck you look beautiful,” you heat up, looking down nervously, you don’t have your glasses on, you are wearing some pretty silver eyeshadow too, glittering as the light reflects along your skin.

“Thank you, Satoru, you’re always being too sweet to me,” he wants to laugh at that, how is he sweet to you? He’s probably not shit, if he’s being honest, his hands sweating just slightly at the rush job he’d done to get here. “Come in.”

“That okay?” He looks around a bit, and you smile, nodding, shutting the door behind him and clicking the lock, when you feel him right against you, his hands sliding down your bare arms, making you tremble. Just a touch and you fall apart, you wish you weren’t so pathetic for him. “Your skin, it’s so soft,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder now.

“Is it?” You look back, he cups your chin, a thumb brushing against where your pulse races for him.

“Very, it always is. The softest, like your lips.” You swallow nervously as he speaks, as his thumb rushes across it, and you can’t hold back your fears.

“Did you come to fuck me?” He exhales at that, blinking then, the words feel so foreign from your lips. “I want you to, so you don’t have to… act like you want to hang out. We can just do it.”

“What?” His word cuts through the air, and you reach around, tugging on the little bow around your dress, letting it fall, looking up at him under your lashes.

“Unzip me, Satoru. If you want to.” This was what he ‘wanted’ right? To fuck you, to be inside you, but to hear you say it…

Like that…

He…

“You think I don’t enjoy spending time with you?” He turns you around instead, huge hands on your delicate shoulders, pressing tightly. You look away, shaking your head. “You just said that.”

“It’s clear you wanted to fuck me at work, so… I just figured you came over to do that. It’s what we do, and I enjoy it, I’m not complaining.” He doesn’t like a single fucking word from your mouth, especially the next ones. “Or did you want to do another shoot? I do have a ring light.”

Is that all you think he wants?

He’s sputtering now, when your hands slip down his front, over his soft black shirt, his strong abdomen tenses as you do, as one slips under, fingers touching his hot skin. “I will do another one if you want to.”

“Yeah, why?” He’s leaning so low, lips hovering. “Are you all horned up from the date?”

“Would you care if I was?” Your whisper almost ends him, he’s pressing you against the hard, cool wood of your door, his soft white hair falling over a brow, jaw so tense you can see it. “Don’t you get excited from your co-stars?”

No he sure the fuck doesn’t.

“How’d that date go?” His whisper dances across your lips, hands slipping to your waist now, thumbs pressing against the swell of your breasts over satin. “Have fun huh?”

“I did have fun,” you look right at him as you whisper. “He was sweet.”

“Was he?” He presses his forehead against yours, breaths mingling as they come out in little exhales. “Did he kiss you?”

“Yes, he did.” He glares now, leaning back up, a hand slipping up your back and entangling in your hair, making it fall back.

He has no right to be jealous, his job was to fuck women.

He has no right to be jealous, you’re not his.

He has no right to feel this way.

“Did you like it, his kisses?” Satoru’s words are met with him tugging harder at the nape of your neck, and your heart hammers in your chest, body aching for him, but it’s more, and you can’t let it be more.

“He was a good kisser, yes.”

“Oh, that so?” You nod, and he traces your lips with his thumb, seeing they’re soft and glossy. “Huh, when we kiss, they get swollen, red, they look so perfect.”

“Do they?” You raise a brow, acting like you’re not dying for him, like you don’t need him, with a longing that is frightening. He is so close you can taste the mints on his breath, mixed with the faint taste of liquor. “Need a drink, Satoru?”

“I do, I’m thirsty.” You go to move when he shoves you back against the door once more, sinking to his knees, you gasp at the action, when he shoves up your dress and glares at you. “Hold it up, now.”

You do just that, with shaky hands, when he looks at your white lace panties, moaning at the dark wet spot forming before his eyes, fingers brushing across it. “Satoru…”

“Need a drink, you’ll be a good host to your guest, won’t you?” His whisper is met with his tongue lapping over lace and silk, and your hands drop the dress, clinging to him instead. “I said hold up the dress.”

“Satoru, we- ah!” He grips your hands, shoving up the silver dress again, then slowly slipping those panties down your thighs, blue eyes almost black with desire, while you can hardly function or form a thought.

It’s all need, deep and hot.

Satoru bares your pretty cunt to his face, groaning at the sight, breath hitting your clit as he spreads your plump lips, eyeing your twitchy little clit and flicking his finger across it in slow circles, making you pour out of your little hole. “Is all this wetness from that hot date, sweetheart?” He asks, knowing it’s toxic, petty, stupid, but he can’t stop himself from it.

What the fuck do you do to him?

“No, it’s not.” Your answer is what he needed, latching his mouth on your clit and sucking it into his mouth, humming on it and sending vibrations of pleasure, you scream out at it, head thwacking the door while he hoists a thigh over his shoulder, one hand gripping your ass while the other holds your hood up. “Satoru!”

He moans as you cry out his name, slurping you up as you go boneless in his fucking hold, hips bucking up as the pleasure is blinding, you’re gasping out as the dress is bunched up in one hand, the other clinging to his other shoulder. You’re rolling your eyes back in your skull, pleasure so fucking exquisite you can hardly stand, can hardly see, while Satoru worships you on his knees.

It’s what it felt like.

How he looks at you, how he drinks you, tongue lapping at the juices that pour down his face, and you can’t form a word or a thought, just how much you love it, how much you love-

Fuck.

You tried, you tried to pull back, to make it just sex, but how the fuck can you when you’re lost in those blue and black storms of eyes, when he’s got you in a bruising grip, working your body like he’s always known it? You’re cursing internally as you rock against his face, earning his moan of pleasure as he works you into an orgasm, hitting you so hard your head smacks the door hard.

“Fuck, fuck! Mnh!”

“You’re a good girl, where’s that mouth coming from?” He yanks you down then, you almost fall on him as you lose balance, cunt pulsing from aftershocks as his eyes are unreadable, and he’s gripping your face tightly.

“Satoru…” Your words are cut off with his kiss, his deep, brutal kiss, not teasing and playful, or passionate and intense, no he’s bruising your lips with his, flipping you on your back right onto your carpet, now hovering on top of you. “We… I have a bed, Satoru!”

“We’ll get there,” his voice is hoarse as you sink into the carpet under him, and he’s yanking down your top, seeing where his marks still litter your pretty breasts, making him fucking feral as he sucks one peak into his mouth. Your hands entangle in his hair, hips arching up for more. “Look, sweetheart, your tits are so bruised, I’m sorry I left so many…”

“You’re… I…” He’s sinking his teeth into your nipple, the pain making you cry out, cunt gushing wetter and wetter when his fingers find you, two sinking right in down to the knuckle, and your cunt greedily sucks him in, despite the stretch, the burn. “Mnh!”

He presses sloppy kisses to your other breast, before biting and sucking in more places, knowing what the fuck he’s doing, the thoughts of if that man got to see your breasts, they’d be marked by him, filling his addled mind. The thoughts of marking you fucking everywhere driving him insane while he slots his fingers in your gummy, drenched walls, hearing the squishing in the room.

“Kiss me, please,” your sweet plea ends him, he’s kissing lips he wished didn’t kiss anyone else, tongue slipping into your mouth in a mess, knowing you need it, fuck he just knows you, all of you, where to curl those fingers so you cum again, as he’s curling them against your spot. “Ah! Satoru!”

“Fuck,” the way you say his name, your moans, your cries, he’s lost in them all, in your scent in his nostrils, in the taste coating his lips and tongue. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart, use your words.”

“Ngh!” How do you find the words, desperately shoving up his shirt, knowing you’re falling deeper for him, all him, he’s all you can fucking think about.

You’re going to get hurt.

Worse if you fuck him again.

He pulls his fingers out, sucking you off him and making you weak, before pulling the shirt off, his necklaces brushing against your collarbones as he leans over you, grinding his clothed cock against your heated cunt. “Please!”

“Please what, baby?” Satoru is calling you baby, and your thighs are shaking as he presses again, making you grind desperately for friction. “Use your words.”

“In me, please, in me.” You manage to spit those words out, in between gasps and moans, he has his heavy cock against you in moments with quick, precise tugs on his buttons and belt, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of his cock against your inner thigh. “P-please…”

“I’ll give you anything when you ask like that,” his vulnerability spills out before he can swallow it, looking at your heartbreakingly beautiful face, at the way the soft lights overhead glitter on your skin, while his cock presses on your entrance. “Want all of me, baby?”

“All of it - f-fuck!” He’s slid in one stroke to the fucking hilt, stuffing you so full you’re twitching under him, gasping for breath as he moans at the feeling, of your cervix kissing his tip that’s already leaking pre, watching the way your eyes go black from desire, how your nostrils flare, how you bite that lip.

“Can you even take me? Tiny little cunt, is she able to?” He’s taunting you, but all you can do is nod weakly, when he slides out, then fully back in with a loud, squelching smack of his hips, your screams are hoarse and weak after three thrusts, nails digging into his back and making him hiss as you mark him yourself.

A petty fucking part of you hopes if he does a shoot a girl will see them.

See your nails that press again, into his biceps this time, and you just urge him on, fucking into your cunt harder, faster, leaning up on a hand while his other grips your chin. “Look at me when I fuck your perfect little pussy, huh?”

You barely find the ability to open your eyes, knowing your done for, knowing when you look into those pretty eyes you’re fucked worse. But you obey, earning his moan, his plump lips parted as he slams hard, now releasing your face and holding a thigh up, slamming even harder, while you fall apart under him, cunt spasming around his length as he works you.

“Fucking feel you, god you’re perfect,” he loses his control then, how can he keep any semblance of it up when he feels you, when he looks into your pretty eyes, glittering with tears as he presses so deep and rolls, and he brings you to another orgasm, one so intense you grip him like a vise, crying out as it works over you. “Good girl, god you’re so good for me huh?”

You weakly acknowledge him, but you’re already fucked out, he drags his canines along your collarbone, leaving imprints of his teeth, all while you’re helpless under him, shattering with every stroke of his huge cock stretching you. “Mnh, S-Satoru… fuck…”

“She’s taking me so well, she’s already learned my shape, hasn't she?” His whisper confuses your overheated mind, but your nod makes him go harder, faster, leaning up to watch what the silver dress has done, scrunched and wrinkled, giving him a sick satisfaction.

Nanami shouldn’t have seen you like that.

He is furious he kissed your perfect lips, but he can’t say it out loud, he can just make sure you forget that kiss, replacing his lips with yours as he lays over you, hands now on your ass, shoving in and bottoming out as much as he can. “Satoru!”

God, the way you moan his name.

“Cum again, for me, you can again baby, huh?” You answer by convulsing, all while he holds back from busting inside your cunt, images flitting through his mind, when he finally pulls back, jerking his cock slick from your drooling cunt and cumming all over your pretty pussy. “Oh f-fuck… oh my god…”

You watch Satoru fall apart, trying to collect your breaths, as you watch his cum shoot all over, hot messy white ropes, even some on your pretty dress, while he’s all pink cheeked, his lips pursed as he whimpers and looks down at you. The way he looks at you, before kissing you again, letting you drink in his breathy whines, it all feels too intimate, too much.

This can’t fucking be normal.

You can’t let it go, though.

He’s kissing you desperately, pinning your wrists to the soft carpet, as he takes lips hostage, they’re sore, tingling and swollen, just making you want more, as his cum dries sticky on your slick cunt. “Fuck you’re perfect, god, every part of you, so perfect for me,” he’s whispering, kissing you in between insane fucking words. “So perfect.”

“No,” you shake your head and he laughs, without humor, cupping your face with one hand, swiping tears that fell from pleasure. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you fucking are, it’s all I can think about, looking at that pretty face like this again.” You shake your head and he kisses you again, luring you to lose yourself, it’s all you can do to stay tethered. “I don’t just want to fuck you, I love spending time with you, and we never have to do another shoot.”

“Don’t say all of that.” You whisper, he sighs now, shaking his head.

“Say what, you’re the best I’ve had?”

“There’s no fucking way, you’ve had how many women?”

He blinks then, hearing the tone of your voice. “That makes me know even more.”

“It’s just… maybe different because… it’s not business.” Your insecurities scream out without you wanting them too, and he frowns, looking down and cursing then. “What’s wrong?”

“Your dress, this material, fuck…” He curses at how inconsiderate he’s already been, this is clearly expensive and he’s bunched it up and came all over it. “I need to clean it now or it’ll be ruined.”

“Oh… it’s fine I’ll toss it in a washer.”

“You dry clean this material, sweetheart.” He helps you up carefully, you get whiplash from him then, all sweet and caring like he didn’t just fuck your insides up, like he didn’t fuck your brains out. “Let me try?”

“Sure… just help me…” You turn around, and he eases that zipper down, fingers touching the marks left from it carefully.

“Was I too rough with you?” He asks hoarsely, seeing the marks from the door and carpet indented in your skin.

“No, I… loved it.” Your answer earns an exhale of relief, but you curse softly in your mind, knowing what you were about to say.

“You’re inexperienced, and I was really...”

“I’m good, Satoru.” You turn, dress slipping down your body, leaving him to eye you naked, and his cock damn near gets hard again under the hastily half zipped pants. “You can be rougher with me.”

“Rougher?” His brow raises, as he takes your dress, pressing little kisses across your thighs as he picks up the material. “You like it rough, sweetheart?”

“I like anything you do,” you curse then, shaking your head. “I need a drink. Here, I’ll show you over to the sink to rinse this out.” He blinks as he follows you, sighing now, and you show him the neat stainless steel sink. “It’s not a big deal, it was a dress I bought forever ago.”

“It’s still really beautiful, I bet he was dumb from how pretty you looked.” His words are hoarse, your eyes meet again. “You looked beautiful when we went out too, fuck you always do.”

“Thank you, Satoru. You always look… gorgeous too.” You expect a playful agreement, a smirk, but he’s quiet now, cleaning the white cum while you realize you’re still naked, so comfortable it was like you hardly noticed. “I’ll grab some pajamas real quick. I have nothing that would fit you I’m afraid.”

“Are you asking me to stay the night?” Your eyes lock again across the kitchen.

“It’s late, you should stay. If you want.”

“Yeah?” You just nod again, so much left unspoken, both of you aching to say things, both of you unsure of your worlds anymore.

“I meant it, about a shoot, if you want.” You say then, and he exhales, looking back at the wet silver material in his hands.

“Don’t do it just for me, don’t just… change for me. I’ll be fine if we don’t do one, okay?” You hate the feeling then - he’ll be fine.

With other girls. His career. His job, his life.

How would it ever include you?

“I didn’t do it just for you, it was hot, okay? It was sexy when we watched it together…” You trail off again, and he turns off the sink, gripping your naked body with wet hands, making you squeak as he does, when he slowly walks you back, until your back is against the counter.

“You didn’t hate doing it?” His words confuse you now.

“What, no. I wouldn’t have if I hated it.”

“Would you have… for anyone else?” His next question is met with a shake of your head as your answer, eyes darting to his lips. “No one else?”

“No one else. It was for you. But I enjoyed it all. I promise you didn’t pressure me into it, okay?” He sighs in relief, kissing you again, hands all over your body until he picks you up, and you cling to his neck, thighs around his waist while your dress hangs across the sink.

“Know how bad I wanna cum inside your pussy?” He says softly, you swallow as he pulls back to look at you, your breaths coming faster.

“Do you do that?”

“No.”

You bite your lip again, taking a breath for courage.

You want him, any of him, all of him, until you can’t have him.

“Thinking of cum pouring from your pussy? God you know how much we’d make, baby? But it’s… that’s a lot to ask…”

“You want to cum inside me?” He moans, nodding desperately, and you cup his face, pressing a kiss where his cheek is burning. “I’m on the pill, if you want to.”

“Are you… sure?” You nod, letting him carry you to the bed, he’s cleaning you all up with his tongue, lapping all his cum off you, off your tummy, thorough as he feels you shaking under him.

“Favorite co-star then, huh?” You tease softly, he nods weakly, words stuck in his throat when you sit up. “What position, Satoru?”

Fuck… he doesn’t deserve to have you like this, bent over as he adjusts his phone on your light, hitting record. He’s got it angled just so it’s your ass and pussy showing, the arch just so, your face buried into your pillows, which he’s covered up with a black sheet so nothing personal shows.

“You sure, baby?”

“Yes,” is your soft whisper when he’s leaned over you, your eyes meet his, away from the camera’s view, locking. “I want to do this for you.”

“Fuck, baby…” He kisses you before he pulls back, tip brushing between your folds, before sinking in, hearing your gasp, feeling your grip. “God, you’re so tight, so pretty, look at you…”

You wonder how much is for camera, but the way he fucks you is desperate, his rhythm is off as his fingers press into the dimples on your back, as his hands slap and grip your ass, and he rocks inside you. You’re gripping the black sheet and arching for more, his balls slapping your clit with wet smacks that echo, mingling with his husky breaths and moans.

“Gonna fill you up, you want that, huh baby?” Satoru forgets he is on camera then, he forgets he’s just fucking, he can’t help but whisper how good your cunt is, how you’re the best he’s fucking had, just hoping those whispers don’t get caught, that they’re drowned out by your screams of pleasure.

He’s pulsing inside your walls, as you bury your face further, getting pumped full of his thick cock over and over in a maddening pace, the way his tip drags then ends you, your orgasm leaving you weak and breathless, and he pauses at it, whining out, something he did not do on camera. He’s hesitating, he’s never cum in someone, and he’s not sure he’s deserving of it.

Not of you at all.

You’re so perfect, so fucking pretty, so tight - and he doesn’t deserve it, any of it, having you bend over for him, spread wide, taking back shots like you were fucking made for it, for him. He’s lost as he presses your head down with one hand, muffling your breathy cries while you arch more, taking his mean strokes as he falls apart, his other hand trembling as he clings to your hip tightly.

Satoru has never felt this, losing himself, uncaring how the fuck he looked on the camera or even that there was a camera, all he can think of is filling your perfect pussy with him, of doing the one thing he has avoided all these years, but that he can’t imagine not doing. Undeserving or not, he’s closer and closer, when you’re pulsing around him from another orgasm, and your cunt is dripping more and more.

He takes a breath, feeling his cock thickening inside you, leaning back over you again, mouth whispering in your ear as he delicately brushes damp strands of hair from your forehead. “Sweetheart, are you still sure?” His soft question just sinks it further, when he looks at you like that, and you feel his cock thickening more.

You’d do anything for him.

Plus you want him to.

“I want you to cum inside me, Satoru,” your whisper ends him, he kisses your cheek, your temple, nodding as his snowy lashes lower. “Please.”

Your plea destroys Satoru, as he pulls back and grips your ass, fucking into you hard for just a few more strokes before moaning so loud, his head falling forward as he cums inside your perfect cunt. He’s never felt anything like it, like your gummy walls fluttering and milking his cock, like cumming inside you, fuck he knows then he couldn’t ever do this with anyone.

Creampies on set were notorious, but he never felt okay with it, but now he fills you so fucking much, while you’re cumming from that, the warmth of his white hot cum coating your walls, shooting against your sore, bruised cervix. You’re sobbing into the pillow, pussy pulsing as if she’s sucking up all he’s got, hearing his whine, so sexy as he slows his strokes.

“God, you took it all too, you’re such a good girl, pussy so hungry for all my fucking cum, huh?” You nod desperately, thighs shivering as he pulls out, squelching sound so filthy as his cock pulls out, swirled with your gossamer slick and his white ropes spilling already. “Oh fuck, let’s see how much you took, hmm?”

“Mnh…” you’re delirious, unable to even focus, as you feel his cum start oozing out of your hole when he spreads it, you’re sure to get the shot. You can’t even feel embarrassed, not when he has you feeling so desired, so full of him, all you can do is arch that ass more for him, lost in your high. “Y-yes,” your soft words only hit his ears just barely.

He spreads your puffy lips, groaning at the sight of his own cum pouring slowly in drips from your tiny hole. “Look how much she took, she’s so full of all my cum,” Satoru angles the camera now, catching the sight of your perfect cunt leaking his white seed slowly, his fingers drifting down to collect some of it, shoving it back inside and watching your greedy cunt suck his fingers up. “Keep it in there, sweetheart.”

“Ngh…” Your thighs shake as he shuts off the camera, flipping you now, cupping your face delicately, eyes drifting across your face, sighing as he looks at you, the imprints of the sheets against your cheek. He gently touches it.

“You sure about sharing this? I want you to make sure you know, none of this is for the fucking camera,” his words are husky, devoted, as he hands you the phone, hands you the control, all while he’s slowly leaking from your cunt.

You look at the video then, blushing as you watch it, hips shifting as you see the sight of him pounding your cunt from the back, hearing your cries and the smacks, but mostly when you see the look on his face, it halts you. The lost, mad fucking look written all over his handsome face, the way he whimpers for you, the trembling of his hands you didn’t notice.

Satoru looks as lost in you as you were in him, and you’re addicted to it.

He’s pressing kisses delicately along your breasts, your tummy, where he’d left marks along your ribs, he kisses your hips where his fingers already have left bruises from your grip. He’s spreading your thighs, eyeing your face, as your thighs shake from his kisses getting higher, he worships you, every inch like he’s wanted to, wondering what you’ll say.

A part of him wants you to say no, to say it’s just for you two.

But a part of him wants to show you how perfect you are, how sexy you are, let you fucking see it.

He’s so torn, so lost in you, in the sight of that cum still leaking from your hole.

“Creampie, that’s what you titled it? What is that?”

He chuckles now, shaking his head at you as he leans up a but, and your fucked out eyes glance at him. “It means I came inside you, sweetheart. You’re cute. You really don’t know what that means?”

“No… I didn’t.” You’re all blushing again, leaning up on your elbows now as his grin is white and brilliant, again all sweet like he didn’t just fuck you twice, and bust inside you. “Is it popular?”

“Very, very popular. Just never… something I wanted to do, until you.” The more words are left unspoken, while he presses a kiss on your soft tummy, fingers dancing across your thighs. “What do you think?”

“It’s… really hot. You look so good, it’s crazy to see this angle,” he nods a little, kissing your inner thigh, as you brush a hand along his hair. “You think it’ll please your manager?”

“Oh god, baby that is the best shot I’ve done,” you bite that lip now, before pressing share, and covering your face with a breathless giggle. “Fuck, look at you, gonna be a pro.”

“Oh god,” your hands are gently pulled off your face now, while he leans over you, kissing your lips softly. “Am I like a whole pornstar now?” You ask nervously, he sighs then, he gently brushes your hair back.

“Baby you’re a star already, didn’t you know?” Your lips are taken over, while the video goes insane on the bed next to the two of you, and Satoru’s fingers are shoved in your cunt again, already so sore, but you’re fucked up off it, the pain and pleasure, the need for him in every fucking way.

He’s sucking the mix of the two of you off his fingers, he’s sharing that cum and spit in your open mouth, moaning and eyeing the comments.

“I wish I was cumming inside her… excuse me?” You giggle a bit at his glare.

“What do you care about the comments, haven’t you read yours?”

“Yes but… bet her pussy is so tight - yeah it is but…” he’s pausing, scowling at the numerous comments, and you’re blinking at him, a bit confused. “I don’t want to read them, actually.”

The dollar signs wrack up, insane amounts - way more than before, as he shakes his head, back between your thighs, tongue hitting your overstimulated cunt, making you cry out for him, when his phone rings. “You know, Satoru, I hate your phone.”

“I hate my phone.” He picks it up, while still lapping at your cunt, drinking up the taste of his cum and yours like an insane man as he answers the phone casually on speaker. “What?”

“Gojo, that girl… she’s made for porn, what the fuck? Where have you been hiding her!?”

He glares at the phone, as you cover your mouth, hiding a giggle, his blue eyes narrow when he flicks his tongue up your milky slit again, grinning as you can’t hold back your moan. “She’s my secret star.”

His words bring out too much pleasure, the way his hands grip you, the possessive way he fucking speaks. “Well, if she wants a manager, please tell her about me. You two could make so much money on a real set.”

“She wants to keep a low profile, and she’ll only do it with me.” Satoru says, the thought of you on set with a camera crew makes him unreasonably annoyed.

“All right, that works for now, but talk to her about it.”

“Sure, whatever.” He hangs up then, and eyes you carefully, lapping more of you up as he does, you’re hissing at the sensation, whining out softly. “Don’t worry or listen to him, mmkay?”

“Would I um… not be ideal on set?” He scowls now, pulling back, strings of his cum and yours falling off his lips.

“What?”

“I’m not LA hot.”

“You’re right, you’re fucking beautiful, hot doesn’t describe you.” He is kissing you again, cupping your face as he does. “You want to be anonymous.”

“I do.” But what if he still was with other girls?

The thoughts eat at you.

“Baby we could never do another shoot, and I’ll cum inside you any hour of the fucking day, yeah?” His words mean too much, you nod shyly, before gasping as he’s back at your entrance. “I’m always hard for you, you’re always soaked for me, pussy she’s made to take me, say it.”

“Satoru…”

“Say it,” he desperately pleas, and you nod, knowing it’s fucking foolish. “Words, sweetheart.”

“Made for you, ah!” He’s back inside you, gentle and slow, knowing you’re sore, and it’s all making the lines blur more and more, his kisses, his slow fucks into your cunt, the way he looks at you, all while the money racks up.

But he couldn’t care less about it.

He wants to make sure you’re so sore and full of him that man has no chance of touching you, he wants to tell every commenter he gets to cum inside you, he’s selfish, he’s stupid. He doesn’t deserve you, he knows he doesn’t, yet he wants to drink up every moment before you realize he’s not good enough.

Meanwhile your heart breaks, as you’re in his arms later, wondering how long until he will realize you’re not enough for his career, how long until he’s inside another woman, and you know you won’t be able to take it. Kissing him softly as he tugs you closer, too intimate, too much.

You’ve fallen too deep.

*****

Jenna frowns as she studies you the next afternoon, you’re disheveled and your hair is a wreck, you’re covered in marks, and she just saw Satoru leaving in the back of his limo. You’re nervously trying to fix yourself, and avoid her knowing gaze, when she peeks at her phone, with a stream of Satoru, and puts it all together, shaking her head now.

“Jenna…”

“You’re letting him change you, for what?” You blink back tears at her harsh words, glaring now.

“You don’t get to judge me.”

“I’m not baby, fuck I’m worried!? This isn’t who you are, and I don’t want you to lose yourself because of him. What’s he giving you, besides backshots?”

“You know what, you can go.” You blink more tears now, and she sighs, coming up to you and cupping your face.

“I’m sorry, I just have known you since we were kids. Is this what you want to be, a… pornstar? Like me?”

“No, I don’t want to be that. I just… want to be enough for him.” She blinks back her own tears now, swiping at yours.

“That’s my worry, you are enough for anyone. The way you are… the way you were, more than enough!”

“Jenna I need to be with him, however I can be.” She sighs now, as you tug your hair into a hasty ponytail, grabbing a drink from the fridge and throwing the coolness down your throat. “I know you just care.”

“I do. Can I ask, has he changed one bit for you?” You pause, shutting the fridge and looking at your best friend, who has her arms crossed.

“Why should he? It was my idea to… join his world. I can’t ask him to change, how is that fair?”

“But you change yourself, lose yourself, for him?” You hate how the words sink in, how you grip your glass and lean against the counter, feeling every word she’s saying, but knowing you’re too far gone. “Men like him don’t change.”

“You don’t know him, Jenna. You don’t.”

“Don’t I? Baby that’s all I know. You’re… you’re still a good girl, okay? I’m not gonna continue, I don’t want our friendship strained. But please just think for a moment, is he going to change, commit, anything?” You sigh now, you have been so obsessed with him, with how you feel, you can’t think of anything else.

“I don’t know.” Is your answer, when she pulls you into her arms, and you feel the tears falling. “I’m in love with him, Jenna. I am so in love and it hurts.”

“Shit,” she holds you as you sob against her, letting the words finally fall from your lips. “Honey…”

“I’m fine losing myself if it means I’m with him.”

“You can’t lose yourself for anyone.” You know she’s right, deep down, you know her words are dead on, but there’s no hope for it, there’s no denying it.

You’re in love with Satoru Gojo, the pornstar, the unattainable bachelor, and you’re losing yourself in him.

And the angst is actually more ahead as these two dummies make my hands hurt with how much they force me to write :') I can't believe in 4 parts I'm already at 46k and they're as dumb as before. More mess to ensue, I am glad you all love this one and look forward as ALWAYS to your comments!!!

Taglist 1 - @juicu @kalulakunundrum @gojoswaterbottle @aldebrana @simp-plague @wedojustbevibin @lucciferr0 @officialholyagua @privthemis @coffee-and-geto @homesickes @msniks @emi311 @mai-505 @ren-ren23 @yihona-san06 @emochosoluvr @sylvermoon @bunheadusa @karvokr @starmapz @queenexplosonmurderr @musiclover2119 @saitamaswifey @reagan707 @midorissi @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @itsinherited @maisiefrancesca @gyarubunny @theonlyhonoredone @chosslut @simperisksksk @xlilycoco @howlsdarling @femaholicc @maymaymarch @miseryyouth-99 @swoozleee @zeunys @cryingdevil @leafynightmares @princess-bblgm @gojosconsort @insomnicshello @joonunivrs @myahfig4 @silviscosplay @iluvjjkmennn @nutellajade

3K notes · View notes

emonaculate · 6 days ago

Text

Looking Out for You

Modern AU!

Pairing: Teenage!Satoru Gojo x Black!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Y/n is awkward and painfully unaware of her crush on Gojo, Gojo is SMUG, mentions of grief, miscommunication, Gojo is pining so bad lol, Black cat x Golden retriever trope, SUPER CLICHE, found family trope, ANGST

Plot: Yn is grappling with the humbling experience of being gifted kid burnout, burdened by family turmoil, and the weight of her inner demons. Just before her senior year of high school, she's reluctantly roped into volunteering as a counselor and teacher at a winter camp. There, she formally meets Gojo Satoru—an aggravatingly handsome hockey player with an ego to match his skill, all charm, smirks, and know-it-all energy. Y/n doesn’t realize that beneath Gojo’s confident exterior lies a storm of his own—wounds he’s hidden just as deeply as she has.

Chapter Synopsis: Y/n’s resolve is slowly but surely shifting. What started as a reluctant stay at a winter camp she never wanted to be part of has begun to spark something deeper. After a hidden moment on the ice where old instincts awaken and memories blur into motion, she remembers why she’s really here. Not for the camp. Certainly not for the kids. And definitely not because of the irritatingly charming, white-haired boy who watches her like he knows a version of her she hasn’t met yet. Y/n is determined to uncover the truth about her father—piece by piece, story by story. And if that means stepping into a role she never asked for, then so be it.

The week leading up to the kids’ arrival had been more or less a big blob of events and activities. For someone who spent their time and energy avoiding people and making connections like it was the plague, to say the past few days for Y/n had been hell on earth would be a total understatement. She was exhausted—and just when she thought she was finished with one task, another would pop up like some cruel game of emotional whack-a-mole. Yet, amidst the madness, something unexpected had begun to take root. Choso.

Y/n wasn’t sure how it had happened—if it was the way he always seemed to be nearby without forcing his presence, or the quiet way he spoke to her like he wasn’t expecting anything in return. But somehow, in the slivers of downtime carved between mandatory bonding sessions and endless counselor prep, she found herself drifting toward him. And he never made her feel like she had to earn her space. It was nice... calming even.

Choso, with his low voice and warm, slow blinks, talked to her about small things: how he wanted to be a tattoo artist, the best snacks to sneak from the pantry when Shoko wasn’t watching, or how the moon looked best when reflected over the frozen lake. He listened to her without pushing, and spoke like silence didn’t bother him. For a girl whose walls were always up, Y/n found herself resting easier when he was nearby. It surprised her how fast it became natural—this quiet friendship with the boy who felt more like a shadow in the best way possible.

And still, even with that fragile connection forming, she couldn’t shake the pressure of the coming storm—of kids arriving with expectations, of being called “Counselor” like she had earned it, of skating lessons she still felt unworthy of giving. That gnawing anxiety drove her to the ice rink every night after lights out, hoodie zipped up and skates slung over her shoulder.

The first few nights were painful. She fell. A lot. The sting of cold against her skin became familiar, the bruises blooming across her knees like angry warnings. But she kept going. She practiced turns and footwork in clumsy, crooked lines, and every time she got it wrong, she took a breath, cursed like a sailor, and tried again. What she didn’t know—what she never would have guessed—was that someone else was watching.

Satoru Gojo leaned quietly against the edge of the dark viewing platform, his silhouette lost in shadow. He never said anything, never moved to make himself known. Not once. But he was there. Every night. At first, it had started as pure coincidence. He’d gone to check on the rink out of habit, bored and curious. Then it became routine. He told himself it was just for amusement. Watching the same girl who rolled her eyes at every camp tradition stumble and curse her way through pirouettes and backward glides was admittedly entertaining. But the more he watched, the more the humor slipped away.

There was something about her on the ice, it was so different from the usual 'i can't be bothered to care' attitude she walked around camp with. She came alive out here. Her movements, once clunky, were becoming fluid. Confident. And when she skated just right, with the wind catching the loose strands of her hair and the moonlight carving out soft curves across her focused face, she looked... pretty free.

Her usual aura was nothing other than dim, withdrawn, heavy with some invisible burden, flared into something radiant and infectious, like a spark too long buried finally meeting air. Gojo, against his better judgment, slipped on his prescription glasses, the ones he rarely wore unless he wanted to really see something. And he did. Every sharp turn, every gentle landing. The furrow in her brow as she concentrated. The way she’d laugh softly and cheer to herself when she got something right, like she didn’t even know she was doing it.

All he could think was wow. He didn’t understand it, not fully. Not yet. But something about the messy, dry, and perpetually indifferent girl with bruised knees and a too-small hoodie was starting to take root somewhere in the back of his mind.

That morning, as the camp woke to the smell of breakfast and the distant crunch of frost outside, Y/n sat at a corner table in the mess hall, toying with her spoon as her thoughts spiraled. Today was the test. The skating evaluation that would decide if she was fit to instruct children on the ice. Choso sat across from her, already halfway through his miso soup. He didn’t speak at first, letting the silence stretch until it no longer felt suffocating. He simply watched her, the way her brows drew tight with worry, the subtle way her leg bounced beneath the table.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he said finally, voice low but clear.

Y/n blinked, looking up like she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.

“I’m... just nervous,” she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur. “It’s one thing to skate. It’s another to be responsible for teaching it.”

Choso tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. Then, without a word, he leaned forward and reached out—his silver decorated fingers brushing gently against her temple as he tucked a stray strand of her thick hair behind her ear. The gesture was soft. Intimate. Y/n stiffened for a fraction of a second, caught between the comfort of it and the unfamiliar warmth it stirred in her chest.

But Choso’s expression didn’t waver. He simply said, “You’ve been practicing literally every night. You’re ready. You just need to remember to breathe and you'll be fine.”

Y/n swallowed hard, unsure what to say. Her throat felt tight.

At the counselor table across the room, Gojo’s chopsticks paused mid-lift. His eyes were locked on the quiet interaction, a look of something sharp flickering beneath his usually playful gaze. His usually bright azure eyes narrowed into a steely, cold blue as he glared at the unknowing pair.

“Someone’s getting real cozy,” Shoko murmured around a sip of coffee, following his line of sight without missing a beat.

“Mm,” Geto hummed thoughtfully. “Didn’t know Choso had it in him.”

Gojo scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a scoff that was too casual to be real. “It’s breakfast. He’s brushing hair, not proposing.”

Shoko arched a brow. “You jealous?”

Gojo didn’t answer. He just popped a piece of tamagoyaki into his mouth and chewed slowly, eyes never leaving the pair by the window. Back at the table, Y/n gave a small nod and finally took a bite of her toast.

The mess hall emptied, but Y/n remained for a moment longer, staring into the remnants of her now-cold tea. Choso’s words lingered like warmth in her chest—You’ll do great. Simple. Steady. Exactly what she needed. She muttered a quiet goodbye to him as he stood, watching him disappear through the doors like a calm tide rolling back out to sea. Alone again, she exhaled through her nose, clenched her fists for a second, then rose from her seat and headed toward her cabin. Each step felt like she was walking further into something she wasn’t sure she was ready for.

By the time she got to her room, her hands were shaking. Pull it together, Y/n. The door clicked behind her, sealing her off from the outside world filled with uncertainty. She paused, eyes scanning the quiet, dim space before slowly walking toward the mirror. Her reflection stared back—puffy-eyed, tired, curls flattened beneath the hood she hadn’t taken off since the night before.

She swallowed hard. If you’re gonna do this, do it right; go big or go home. Right? Dragging her stool over, Y/n sat in front of the mirror and stared herself. Her fingers hovered over the drawer before finally yanking it open and pulling out every neglected hair product that had been provided. They really had thought of everything. Leave-in. Curl cream. Oil. Denman brush. The holy grail lineup of hair maintenance that she hadn’t bothered with in too long to admit.

The routine took time; a really long fucking painful time. She spritzed water section by section, working the moisture in gently with her fingers. As the knots gave way to soft spirals, her frustration melted with them. One curl at a time, the image in the mirror softened. The brush glided through her hair with a satisfying rhythm. She worked in the curl cream and sealed it with a bit of oil, watching as each strand began to bounce, come alive, frame her face. By the end, her arms were sore. But her hair was pulled into a high ponytail that sat like a crown on her head, rich coils springing from the band and falling in elegant rebellion around her face and neck. Loose curls kissed the tops of her cheekbones and the base of her neck, escaping the slicked-back sides.

Next came her outfit: the black flare leggings she trusted to hug everything in place, paired with an oversized off-the-shoulder olive green sweatshirt. It teased just enough—a peek of her black bra strap at her shoulder—to remind her she was still her, still sharp under the softness. She checked herself once more in the mirror. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. Y/n actually looked like someone who gave a damn.

Y/n laced up her skates and slung them over her shoulder. With one last breath, she stepped outside, letting the door click behind her as she made her way to the rink. The walk was muscle memory for her at this point. As she neared the open-air rink, the familiar burn of nerves returned, climbing up her spine like a second heartbeat.

She saw them before they saw her—Nanami standing stiffly, clipboard in hand; Utahime and Shoko chatting beside the equipment table; Suguru adjusting the edge of a barrier. Mr. Soraoka stood tall at the center, his arms folded, face unreadable. But one face stood out. Satoru Gojo. He leaned casually against the railing, messy white hair ruffled by the wind, that damn grin already on his lips as she stepped closer. His eyes caught hers—hidden behind prescription glasses today (the glasses only amplied his charm somehow)—and the smallest flicker of something unreadable passed over his face.

Before she could pass by, he pushed off the railing and fell into step beside her. His long legs taking single digit strides to close the gap between them.

“You clean up nice,” he teased, voice low enough not to carry. "I'm a little shocked by how much I actually miss the fresh out of bed look you love to rock.”

Y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t answer, too focused on the ice and the people waiting for her to let herself be fully baited. Satoru didn’t seem to mind. He leaned in slightly, walking backwards now, effortlessly keeping pace with her.

“Hey.” His tone shifted slightly—still playful, but with an edge of sincerity. “Don’t let the stares rattle you. You’ve got this.”

She paused, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

“What makes you so sure?”

He smirked, eyes glinting behind the lenses of his glasses. “Let’s just say I’ve got a good eye for talent. Especially the kind that sneaks out every night to practice like no one’s watching.”

Y/n blinked, a rush of heat hitting her cheeks before she could stop it.

“You—? Were you watching me?”

Gojo just turned with a wink, hands in his pockets as he strolled away toward the others.

“I have eyes and ears everywhere. I'm called Six Eyes for a reason, short-pint.”

The rink loomed in front of her like a frozen stage. Y/n stood at the edge, the cold air biting at her nose and ears, her skates already laced but her knees wobbling in quiet rebellion. Just breathe. You’ve been practicing all week for this. The others watched from the sidelines: Shoko leaned back on her elbows beside Utahime, Geto stood with his arms crossed, and Nanami scribbled something on a clipboard with his usual meticulous attention. Mr. Soraoka stood near the center, waiting. And a few feet back, almost half-hidden in shadow, Satoru stood—hands tucked into the pockets of his baggy cargo shorts (did he ever wear pants??), ever-still, ever-watching.

Y/n stepped onto the ice… and immediately slipped forward with a sharp intake of breath. Her leg flailed before she barely caught herself, gripping the barrier with both hands. Laughter erupted from somewhere to the side—probably Geto, his mean ass—and Utahime hissed something sharp at him. She didn’t have to look to know Gojo was already grinning.

“I—sorry,” she muttered.

Mr. Soraoka raised a hand calmly. “No need to apologize. Happens to the best of us. Take a moment.”

He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice carrying clearly across the ice. “This evaluation is not about perfection. We’re not asking you to perform professionally. What we’re looking for is confidence, balance, and your ability to command the ice. The children will need a teacher who is steady, engaging, and most of all, patient—with themselves and others. Understood?”

Y/n nodded slowly. Confidence. Steady. Right. But she couldn’t find her footing. Her body felt stiff, like her limbs didn’t belong to her. She’d done this every night for the past week, hadn’t she? So why did the pressure now make her want to melt into the ice and disappear?

Mr. Soraoka stepped forward just slightly, his voice softer this time. “Don’t think too hard. Feel it. Let the ice meet you halfway.”

Y/n stared ahead. The world had gone too quiet. She closed her eyes. And then… she moved. One foot pushed off, and the other followed, gliding her forward. Slowly. Cautiously. But with a familiarity she hadn’t expected to return so easily. The cold air bit at her cheeks, but with each push and turn, her limbs loosened. Her arms moved with her torso, gently shifting to maintain balance. The sound of blades cutting into ice was her only companion—until it wasn’t. Because suddenly, there was something else. A memory.

Her father’s voice spoke clearly in her head “You lead with your heart, not your feet.”

His laugh echoing from behind her. “Come on, sweetheart, you got it. Just like that.”

And his hand, steady, warm, guiding her lower back, pressing with the gentlest of touches. She felt it again now, like a ghost trailing her spine. Y/n’s form shifted, blossoming into something elegant. She bent one knee, twirled outward, and spun once—twice—landing smoothly into a backward glide. The cold danced against her neck as her arms extended, catching the wind with an instinctive grace. She weaved across the rink in arcs and ribbons, her breath syncing to the rhythm of her motion.

A deep spiral. A toe loop. A clean spin with her head tilted back, curls flying out behind her like fire unraveling in the air; her hair band had snapped from the sheer force and speed of her movements. So much for a secure ponytail. Curls bounced freely against her face as she continued to move. Suddenly, she was that girl again. Not the tired, irritable, indifferent Y/n everyone had met. But the version her father once believed in. The girl who could fly when her feet were on the ice. To her right now, nothing else existed. She didn’t hear the murmurs from the edge. Or see the wide eyes. Or notice Utahime frozen mid-sip of hot cocoa. Or Geto’s mouth hanging open. Or Nanami lowering his clipboard, stunned. She didn’t even see Mr. Soraoka, who had stood up halfway through and was now clapping—no, applauding—like a proud father who couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

Only one person didn’t look surprised. Gojo. His glasses had been pulled down to the bridge of his nose, his crystalline eyes following every motion. His grin was softer now, curved with something that felt like reverence.

“...Amazing, isn’t she?” he murmured, more to himself than anyone.

Y/n’s skates slowed gradually, one leg extended behind her as she coasted to a stop at the center of the rink. And for a moment, she stood still—chest rising and falling, curls sticking to her sweat-damp forehead, arms relaxed at her sides. She hadn’t realized she was finished. She hadn’t heard the clapping. Or noticed the echo of stunned silence following the applause. She blinked, finally meeting the wide, teary-eyed gaze of Mr. Soraoka.

He nodded, still clapping. “Absolutely incredible.”

Y/n’s lips parted, confused. “...I-I did okay?”

Mr. Soraoka laughed. “You did far more than okay, young lady.”

From the sidelines, Geto finally spoke, breaking the stunned silence.

“Dude,” he whispered. “What the hell was that?”

Shoko, arms crossed and smirking, added dryly, “Ice skating this year is about to be interesting; that's for damn sure..”

And Gojo? He just smiled, watching her as if he’d seen it all coming from the very beginning.

The moment Y/n stepped off the rink and unlatched her skate guards, a wave of counselors swarmed her.

“Yo, that was insane,” Geto said, his usual aloof composure completely cracked. “You’ve been hiding Olympic-level skills from us this whole time?”

Utahime gave her a once-over before smirking. “I thought you hated this place. You looked like you were born out there.”

“I… didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” Y/n muttered, cheeks flushing from the barrage of praise. Her hands fidgeted with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, pulling them down over her palms. “It was just muscle memory or something…”

“Don’t be modest,” Nanami cut in, sliding his clipboard under one arm. “You executed three different mid-level competitive tricks. I’ve only ever seen that during actual competitions.”

Shoko sauntered up beside her, nudging her with an elbow. “Guess all those late-night vanishing acts paid off.”

Y/n blinked, eyes darting. “You knew I was sneaking off?”

Shoko snorted. “You think any of us don’t notice when someone’s creeping through the cabin halls at 2 a.m. with skates over their shoulder?”

Y/n pressed her lips into a tight line, looking at the floor. Compliments never sat right with her. It was like trying to wear a dress that didn’t fit, awkward and uncomfortable, no matter how well-intentioned. She felt exposed.

Mr. Soraoka clapped his hands together, regathering the group. “Alright everyone, now that we’ve had our moment of awe—let’s refocus. Monday, the kids arrive. That gives us three days to finalize preparations. You’ll each receive your assigned task lists by tomorrow morning. For now, enjoy what little freedom you have left. Sleep in. Relax. Because once those little demons—I mean angels—show up, it’s over.”

Laughter rippled through the group before they all started to shuffle out in pairs and clusters, leaving the cold rink behind with the warm chatter of voices echoing down the corridor. All except Satoru. Y/n stood frozen for a second, her heartbeat finally slowing, the adrenaline finally ebbing. He leaned against the wall just near the rink’s edge, arms folded, the faintest smirk on his lips. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Gonna pretend I haven’t been watching you practice every night?” he asked, his voice light and teasing.

She rolled her eyes and groaned, “God, you would be the type to spy on people skating alone like a damn cryptid.”

“Hey,” he said, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest, “I wasn’t spying. I was appreciating. It’s different. Classier, y'know?”

Y/n gave him a slow side-eye. “Appreciating? That’s what we’re calling peeping now?”

“You’re the one sneaking around the rink like it’s a forbidden temple. I was merely protecting camp property from potential trespassers.”

Y/n barked a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But I’m not wrong,” he grinned. “Besides, I finally saw you drop the whole ‘leave me alone or I’ll set you on fire’ act today. And I gotta say—kinda adorable.”

She narrowed her eyes but couldn’t fight the twitch of a smile on her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”

“No promises.”

They slipped into a rare, quiet pause. The kind that didn’t need filling. The silence stretched comfortably between them, like shared breath.

Gojo glanced sideways at her, his voice softer now. “Seriously though, that was... amazing. You’re a completely different person out there.”

Y/n looked down at her skates, suddenly shy again. “It’s easier on the ice. I don’t have to talk, or think. I just... remember. I used to skate with my dad, back when things weren’t a mess. It’s like he’s still with me, guiding me.”

Gojo studied her, his teasing smirk fading into something thoughtful. But before the silence turned heavy, she nudged him playfully with her elbow.

“So,” she said, shifting gears, “what’s this I hear about you being a hockey hotshot?”

“Oh?” Gojo perked up again immediately, eyes twinkling. “Thinking about switching teams already?”

“I’m thinking,” she said, tone dry, “you owe me a crash course. If I’m gonna be the Ice Queen, I might as well know how to play with sticks too.”

He laughed. “Careful, Y/n. That almost sounded like a flirt.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Gojo.”

“Oh no, you teasing me is already more than I ever thought I’d get from you. I’m gonna savor this. Might even write it down later.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite behind it.

“Fine,” she said with a mock sigh, “I’ll show you a few of my tricks. But only if you can keep up.”

He arched a white brow. “Challenge accepted. But just so you know, I’ve been skating since I was six, and I never go easy on beginners.”

She gave him a wicked grin. “Perfect. Neither do I.”

They stood there for another minute, the cold forgotten, the empty rink behind them echoing with the faint ghost of blades on ice.

The next day Y/n had found herself taking Gojo up on his offer regarding hockey. It was only because she was curious about the sport.. no other reason. AT ALL. The air still held the soft hum of applause from the previous day as Y/n and Gojo stood at the rink entrance. The other staff had cleared out, their chatter fading into the distance, but the quiet between the two wasn’t awkward—it was anticipatory.

“So," Gojo said, leaning over to snag a pair of sticks from the rack, twirling one like a baton before tossing the other to her. "Ready to learn from the best?"

Y/n caught it with a skeptical look. “Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?”

He grinned. “Impossible when you have a voice this sexy. But lucky for you, I'm also devastatingly skilled.”

They stepped onto the ice together, gliding with mismatched grace. Y/n, though better on figure skates, still wobbled slightly in her new borrowed pair. Gojo, smug and sure-footed, looped around her with ease.

“Alright, Ice Queen,” he called teasingly. “First rule of hockey: stance. You gotta look like you mean business. Bend your knees. Stick down. Don’t make that face.”

“This is my concentrating face.”

“It looks like you’re trying to calculate taxes in your head, short-pint.”

Y/n huffed and tried again, but the stick wobbled in her grip. Gojo skated up behind her before she could protest.

“Here,” he murmured, voice lower now, wrapping his arms around her to adjust her hold on the stick.

Y/n froze. His chest brushed her back, the warmth of his body bleeding through their layers. The scent of his cologne—cool mint, something slightly spicy, like cedar and clean linen—washed over her. It shouldn’t have made her nervous. But it did. Her brain blanked.

“Relax,” he said softly. “You’re holding it like a sword. This is finesse, not battle.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You’re not the one being hovered over like a damn hawk.”

He chuckled, the sound soft near her ear. “Maybe I like hovering over you.”

Y/n tried to ignore the flutter that stirred in her chest. She tried harder to ignore the feel of his large hand sliding down from her forearm to settle on her waist. A gentle, firm touch that guided her stance as he slowly moved them forward.

“Okay,” he whispered, their steps in sync, “now glide. Small push. That’s it.”

She nodded mutely, hyperaware of every place their bodies touched. Gojo, meanwhile, was grinning like a fool. He wasn’t sure when teasing the grumpy girl with sharp eyes and sharper wit became the highlight of his day—but being this close to her? It made his pulse skip. Her hair, which was styled into two low puffs, smelled like something sweet and soft. Her tanned skin was warm beneath his gloves. It didn’t make any sense. She was chaos personified. Always biting, always sarcastic. And yet—

He barely realized she was slipping until her skate twisted.

“SHIT—!”

He caught her in one fluid motion, one arm braced around her lower back, the other still holding her wrist. She blinked up at him, lips parted, breath caught in her throat. They were too close. She could count every silver lash framing his pale eyes. He could feel her heartbeat against his ribs. If Gojo stared long enough, he could make out the beauty marks on her face and how the placements of each one combined could appear to look like a constellation. Neither of them moved.

Until Gojo tilted his head and whispered, grinning, “You fall for me already?”

Y/n groaned and shoved at his chest, nearly slipping again. “You’re impossible.”

He laughed and let her go, skating backward. “So I've been told.”

Y/n’s breathing was finally starting to steady, her limbs no longer trembling from the rush of skating under pressure. But now? Now she was in Gojo’s world.

He backed away a few paces, twirling the hockey stick effortlessly between his gloved fingers before lowering his tinted goggles over his eyes. His trademark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Alright, now that you’ve shown me how pretty you are on the ice,” he drawled, “let’s see how tough you are.”

Y/n raised a brow. “Tough?”

Gojo’s grin widened. “First to five. You win, I’ll be your assistant for ice skating classes. I win…” he paused, tapping the blade of his stick against the ice as if thinking, “you owe me hot chocolate duty for a week.”

Y/n snorted, “That’s it? Sounds like you’re going easy on me.”

“I figured I’d save the real stakes for when you actually win something,” he teased, gliding backward effortlessly. “Game on, hotshot.”

And then—just like that—he was gone, a blur of white and navy as he bolted toward the puck.

Y/n blinked and scrambled after him.

For someone who avoided attention like it was contagious, there was something exhilarating about trying to keep up with him—like chasing a spark that kept darting just out of reach. Gojo was in his element: eyes sharp, reflexes perfect, every turn smooth and confident. His tall figure weaved across the ice like it was second nature, and Y/n found herself staring more than once, nearly crashing into the boards because of it.

But she was a fast learner. Her legs burned, lungs heaved—but damn it, she was determined. Maybe to win. Maybe to impress him. Maybe both.

They clashed over the puck, sticks meeting with a sharp clack that echoed in the empty rink. Gojo easily stole the first point, gliding past her like wind. “That’s one,” he called over his shoulder, smirking. “You blinked.”

“Oh, you’re so annoying.”

She came back with surprising force, faking him out with a turn and scoring. Her triumphant cheer echoed through the rink. Gojo gave a slow clap, skating lazily toward her. “That was almost convincing.”

Almost. The way he said it made her cheeks flush beneath the cold sweat. Y/n was drenched in sweat. The grey cropped sweatshirt she wore, now clung to her like a second skin, and her two low ponytails had all but fallen apart—curls bouncing wild around her flushed face. She was gasping for breath, legs burning, lungs on fire… but she wasn’t backing down. Gojo, on the other hand, barely looked winded.

He skated backwards lazily in front of her, twirling the hockey stick in one hand and flashing that infuriating grin. “What’s the score again?” he asked, all faux innocence.

“Four to two,” she growled.

“Right, right. My bad.” He gave a long, dramatic sigh. “Only one more point and I win.”

Y/n’s fingers tightened around the stick. She was fast, but Gojo was something else. Watching him move was like watching poetry in motion—lean, fluid, unshakably confident. She hated how easily he made it all look. Even more, she hated the giddy little thrill crawling up her spine every time his hand brushed her back or when his too-pretty mouth curved around a cocky tease.

“You ready?” he called out, puck already at his feet.

“Drop dead.”

He lunged forward. Their blades clacked. She pushed harder than she thought she could, nearly knocking into him—but he barely flinched. He stole the puck, only to skate slow circles around her.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. “You’re stalling.”

Gojo glanced over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. “Am I?”

“You are. You could’ve scored five minutes ago.”

He pivoted smoothly, skating backwards in front of her again, lowering his goggles with one finger so she could see the glint in his cerulean eyes. “Maybe I’m enjoying myself.”

Y/n flushed and looked away.

“Or maybe,” he leaned in closer, the words brushing her ear, “I just like watching you try so hard.”

That did it. She growled, barreled toward him with everything she had—but he dipped low, spun around her, and gently bumped her hip with his own. She stumbled slightly, and his large hand instinctively shot out to catch her by the waist, steadying her with infuriating ease. The heat of his palm burned through her layers. Y/n froze. So did he. Their faces were close. Too close. His breath ghosted over her cheek, warm despite the rink’s chill. Her hands were gripping the front of his hoodie, and neither of them moved. For a second, the world was silent, just the hum of the rink lights and the pounding in her ears. Then Gojo let out a breathless chuckle and straightened up, smoothing a gloved hand through his messy white hair.

“Well,” he said, tone light, “if you wanted to fall for me, you could’ve just said so.”

Y/n shoved him with a groan. “You’re unbearable.”

“And yet,” he pointed his stick toward the puck, “you keep showing up.”

She skated past him, grabbing the puck with a quick pivot, and before he could react, she actually got within scoring distance—but he caught up fast, laughing as he stole it right back.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically, “let’s wrap this up. I’ve got hot chocolate to claim.”

He moved, swift and lethal, and tapped the puck into the goal with a flick of his wrist. The sound echoed.

“Five.”

Y/n let out a sound between a groan and a growl. “You toyed with me.”

Gojo slung an arm lazily across her shoulders. “What can I say? You’re fun to mess with, short-pint”

“You’re evil.”

“But handsome.”

“Debatable.”

He laughed—full and genuine—and Y/n tried not to smile. She really did. She failed. She felt like a mess, standing beside him, flushed and sweaty. Gojo, in contrast, looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat. His hair was perfectly tousled, his hoodie clinging just enough to hint at the body beneath, and his grin—smug, bright, and infuriating permanently fixed in place.

“You’ll get better,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Especially if I’m your coach.”

Y/n tilted her head. “You offering private lessons now?”

Gojo winked. “Only for you.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, ignoring that flutter in her chest that had absolutely nothing to do with hockey. The sun had begun its slow descent behind the trees, casting the trail in long, golden streaks that filtered through bare branches and made everything glow with winter’s hush. The cold air bit gently at their cheeks, their breaths curling in soft clouds as Gojo and Y/n walked side by side along the winding path skirting the edge of the camp.

Gojo had insisted on the walk as a “cool down,” but if anyone had been watching, they would’ve thought it was a casual stroll between two longtime friends—except, maybe, for the way their hands kept brushing unintentionally. Or the way Gojo’s eyes flicked to her face every so often, like he didn’t want to miss a single expression.

He talked the whole time. Animated, expressive, teasing—Gojo filled the silence with tales of past camp years, of prank wars between counselors, of kitchen disasters and winter bonfire mishaps. Every person they passed on the trail: staff, counselors, even shy teenage volunteers—was greeted by name and with a radiant grin, some of which came with high-fives, a ruffle of someone’s hair, or a fist bump.

“Yo, Aiko!” he called out to a petite girl dragging salt bags toward the cabin steps. “Don’t forget to stretch after that or you’ll end up walking like Nanami.”

The girl giggled and waved, cheeks flushed. “Thanks, Gojo-senpai!”

Y/n watched from the corner of her eye as Gojo moved through the camp like a star in orbit, drawing others in effortlessly. Every kid seemed to adore him. Every counselor seemed to either admire him… or want to be him. And Y/n—messy, quiet, guarded Y/n—couldn’t help but feel the knot of something unfamiliar twist in her chest. Jealousy? No. Envy. Not of the attention he received, but of how easy it all was for him. How natural it seemed to connect with people.

“People love you,” she said, not quite realizing the words had left her mouth.

Gojo turned to her, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “Do they?” he asked innocently.

She shot him a dry look. Now you know damn well..

“Okay, maybe they do,” he admitted with a dramatic sigh. “But I can’t help being ridiculously lovable. It’s a curse.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, hiding her smirk by tugging the collar of her sweatshirt up a little. Gojo chuckled but let the silence stretch for a beat as the trail curved around the back of the ice rink, the lake barely visible through the trees. It was quiet now—just the crunch of their boots on snow and the occasional chirp of a bird lingering for winter.

Then Gojo asked, far too casually, “So… you and Choso.”

Y/n blinked. “What about us?”

He kicked a chunk of ice off the trail. “You two seem close. Breakfast buddies. Hair-touching level of close.” His tone was light, but his eyes… sharp.

Y/n didn’t answer right away. She just stared straight ahead, then shrugged. “He’s… easy to be around.”

Gojo’s brows rose. “Easy, huh?”

“Not like that.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “He listens. Doesn’t push.”

“Sounds like a catch,” Gojo murmured.

Y/n stopped walking.

He turned back, surprised, as she looked at him, the wind brushing stray curls into her eyes. “Are you asking because you’re curious,” she said slowly, “or because you’re jealous?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for once, Gojo didn’t have a ready quip.

He took a step closer, smirking just enough to play it off. “I’m just making sure my hockey protégé isn’t gonna ditch me mid-season for a guy with darker eyeliner and moodier playlists.”

Y/n huffed, lips twitching at the corners as she kept walking. Gojo fell into step beside her again, hands shoved into his pockets.

“But hey,” he added, peeking over at her. “For what it’s worth, I like that you’re starting to let people in. Even if it’s not me.”

Her steps faltered just slightly, the compliment landing softer than it should have. She didn’t reply, but this time, it was Gojo who stayed quiet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, smile faded but gaze still warm.

They walked the rest of the trail in a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled.

Y/n sat cross-legged on the floor of her cabin, a mountain of papers fanned around her like a storm had hit her clipboard. Her brows were knit tight, lips twisted to the side in concentration as she tried—and failed—to make sense of the week’s schedule. Behind her, Choso sat calmly on the edge of her bed, long legs stretched out, leaning back on his hands as he watched her silently unravel in real-time.

“Okay,” she muttered, flipping one sheet over and holding up another. “So, if I’m on ice-skating lessons in the morning, and Satoru’s running hockey drills right after, that means we need a break period between activities. But if I take lunch shift on Monday, I have to move the first-aid refresher to Tuesday morning. Unless—shit. Wait, no, I already have water safety Tuesday morning.”

Choso blinked slowly. “...Did you sleep last night?”

Y/n didn’t answer. She mindlessly twirled a loose strand around her finger and grabbed another paper. Her fading red curls were already frizzing at the edges, strands falling out to frame her stressed face.

“Y/n.”

“I’m fine.”

Choso didn’t argue. He never did. Instead, he sat up a little straighter, resting his forearms on his knees as his eyes followed her getting up and pacing around the tiny cabin. The air was thick with tension (hers— not his). He remained still, calm as a quiet lake, while Y/n muttered to herself about supply checklists, allergy forms, emergency contacts, and bunk arrangements.

“You know,” she said breathlessly, hands on her hips, “you’d think they wouldn’t just hand me a whole group of kids like I have the slightest idea how to do this. But no. Apparently if you can stand on ice and not die, you’re qualified.”

She flopped back onto the floor with a groan, landing in the middle of her paperwork. Choso’s lips twitched.

“Want me to take over ice safety briefing?” he offered softly.

She rolled her head to the side to look at him. “You’d do that?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I already memorized the handouts. And you’re spiraling.”

She huffed a half-laugh, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I’m not spiraling. I’m just... underprepared.”

“You’ve gone through the schedule six times,” he said, voice patient and even. “You’ve got this.”

She peeked at him between her fingers. “You sure you’re not just saying that to calm me down?”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” Choso replied without missing a beat.

That silenced her for a moment. The stress still curled in her shoulders, tight and tense—but there was something grounding about his presence. Something solid in the way he didn’t rush her or try to fix everything. He just sat there. Existing in her space. Listening. Letting her panic quietly.

“You’re weirdly good at this whole support thing,” she murmured, sitting back up and scooping the mess of papers back into a semi-organized pile. “You’d make a great therapist.”

“Too much school,” Choso said simply, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/n chuckled and got to her feet again, papers clutched to her chest. She glanced around the cabin, eyes lingering briefly on the skates at the foot of her bed before refocusing. “I just… I don’t want to screw this up. Not when I finally feel like I’m doing something that matters.”

Choso nodded. “You won’t. Just breathe. You’ve already done more than most people would.”

Y/n turned to face him fully now, her expression a mix of gratitude and nerves.

“Thanks,” she said, and meant it.

He stood and moved toward the door, brushing past her lightly—barely a graze of their arms—and paused before stepping out. “Let me know if you need help setting up later.”

“I will,” she said, smiling faintly.

As he left, closing the door softly behind him, Y/n finally exhaled. Her eyes dropped back to the scattered papers. She was gonna be okay. This was fine.

The sun was just beginning to dip behind the snowcapped treetops, casting long golden beams through the canopy and painting Camp Jujutsu in a warm, fleeting glow. The air buzzed with an odd cocktail of nerves and excitement—tomorrow the kids would arrive, and everything would change. The camp wouldn’t be theirs anymore. The quiet would be swallowed whole by laughter, screams, and chaos. But for now, it was still, and everyone was busy.

“Nanami, do we really need laminated chore lists in every single cabin?” Gojo called out from where he stood atop a wooden bench, hanging a directional sign pointing toward the mess hall. “We’re not running a military operation.”

“We are,” Nanami replied dryly, clipboard in hand. “And if you’d read your assignment sheet, you’d know you’re also late for inventory check.”

Gojo frowned slightly, before coughing into his hand murmuring something under his breath. “Killjoy.”

Utahime rolled her eyes as she hung fairy lights around the rec cabin with Suguru, the two of them forming an efficient, quiet team. Shoko strolled by with a cigarette in one hand and a bundle of name tags in the other, muttering under her breath about needing a drink stronger than coffee (Mr. Soraoka refused to bend his rules further for Shoko). Y/n was outside the main bunkhouse, kneeling in the snow with a bin of sports equipment in front of her, organizing helmets and shin guards with growing intensity.

“Hey,” Choso’s voice cut through her hyperfocus. “You’re doing it again.”

She blinked, looking up. “Doing what?”

“Organizing like your life depends on it.”

She sighed, brushing a curl away from her face. “It feels like it does.”

Before Choso could respond, a loud whistle pierced the air. Nanami, standing near the staff bulletin board, lifted his hand.

“Everyone—gather up,” he called, voice firm but calm. The counselors slowly drifted into a loose circle, all of them dusted with snow, paint, or glitter depending on their assigned prep task.

“Tomorrow’s the big day,” Nanami began, “and we’re as ready as we’re going to get. Good work today. We’ve done what we can. If anything explodes after this point…” He glanced sideways at Gojo. “...it’s probably not worth trying to prevent.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gojo grinned, resting his chin on Shoko’s shoulder. She elbowed him off.

“To celebrate our final night of peace,” Geto spoke up, voice smooth and relaxed, “we’re hosting a bonfire tonight. Hot cocoa, marshmallows, music. You know, all that classic cheesy camp stuff.”

“It starts in two hours,” Utahime added. “Dress warm, don’t be late.”

“Mandatory?” Shoko asked, speaking for everyone.

“No,” Nanami said, “but if you don’t show, we assume you’re dead and send a search party.”

Y/n bit back a grin, tucking her frozen fingers into her jacket sleeves. Around her, the group started to buzz with renewed energy—plans were made, side glances exchanged, a few people already deciding who was on cocoa duty.As the crowd began to break apart, Gojo fell into step beside Y/n, hands tucked lazily into his coat pockets. Cold enough for a jacket but still not cold enough for him to wear pants... what a weirdo.

“You coming to the bonfire?” he asked, voice casual.

“I mean… yeah. I guess,” she replied, still thinking of the to-do list she hadn’t finished. “Kinda seems like I have to or risk being declared legally dead.”

“I’d mourn you,” Gojo teased. “A little. Maybe. Depends on who inherits your skates.”

Y/n gave him a sideways look, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “You’re a menace.”

He gasped, mock offended. “You wound me. That’s the second time today.”

“Guess you’re not as universally adored as you think.”

“Oh, I am,” he grinned. “But your approval? That one’s just more fun to earn.”

Before she could come up with a reply, Gojo winked and veered off, calling something to Suguru across the field. Y/n stood in place a moment longer, watching as the camp glowed under the late evening sun, flickers of excitement starting to burn through the stress in her chest. A bonfire; the final night of quiet before the storm of tiny humans descended. She could handle that, probably?

The camp looked like something out of a postcard. The bonfire blazed tall at the center of the open clearing near the lake, its golden glow licking at the falling night and casting warm, flickering shadows across bundled-up teens and counselors scattered around its radius. Smoke curled into the sky, mixing with the crisp bite of the winter air, and the scent of toasted marshmallows, pine, and something vaguely alcoholic from the “punch” filled the space like an invisible fog.

Y/n stood at the edge of it all. Her bleach-faded, baggy jeans sagged just enough at the hip to look intentional, the ends fraying where they met her well-worn boots. The navy and black quarter-sleeve shirt clung to her just enough to reveal the curve of her waist beneath the number 67 emblazoned across the front, a sliver of her stomach exposed when she shifted too much. The layered grey vest and black zip-up hoodie gave her a bulky warmth she appreciated, and the navy blue beanie over her head completed the look. Her curls were parted into two sleek low ponytails, and silver clips adorned the sides of her head like little snowflakes, holding the shortest pieces out of her face.

Shoko and Utahime had practically dragged her into their cabin, forcing her to sit while they plucked, brushed, and styled her like two chaotic fairy godmothers. And while Y/n had protested at first—loudly—she couldn’t deny how… good she felt when she finally saw herself in the mirror. Presentable. Warm. Her fingers curled around the red cup in her hand, the liquid inside suspiciously fizzy and tart. She grimaced after taking a sip, unsure if it was a fruit cocktail or just cleverly disguised jet fuel.

As she scanned the bonfire crowd, her eyes landed on him. Gojo. Satoru stood near the fire, practically glowing under the firelight with his usual magnetic charm turned up to eleven. A girl stood next to him—tall, pretty, maybe older than her—with long lashes and flirty confidence in every move. She laughed at something he said, hand trailing too comfortably down his arm, lingering near his wrist before rising to smooth nonexistent lint from his sleeve. Again. And again. Y/n tried not to stare. Tried harder not to care. But that sour taste in her mouth had nothing to do with the drink.

She didn’t want to be annoyed. She barely knew him. Still—something about the casual, intimate way that girl touched him, leaned in close like he was hers to touch—it made her grip the cup tighter. She tore her eyes away before the ugly jealousy curdled into something visible on her face. No. Not tonight. She had made so much progress especially with how much she had learned regarding her father. So why did she feel like lashing out? She needed to get it together. She needed.. Choso. Where was—

Ah. There he was. Further off, his usual calm posture softening ever so slightly as he stood beside her. Yuki. His longtime crush, the one he only ever mentioned when his voice dropped half an octave and he pretended not to care. She was radiant in the firelight, smiling warmly, her body angled toward him in a way that made Y/n’s heart soar in happiness for her friend(?). She took a slow sip of the suspicious punch. Nope. She wasn't interrupting that.

Head down, Y/n weaved her way back through the crackling warmth and idle conversation until she spotted two familiar faces lounging near the firepit’s edge—Shoko, puffing on a vape pen she snuck in under her coat, and Utahime, wrapped in a scarf and aggressively roasting a marshmallow with laser focus.

“There she is,” Shoko drawled, exhaling a thin plume of vapor. “Finally decided to rejoin the rest of us humans?”

“Was that jealousy I saw brewing on your face earlier?” Utahime asked without looking up, her tone innocent but her grin sharp.

Y/n flopped down beside them, arms crossed over her chest, doing her best to look indifferent. “I was just looking for somewhere not drenched in hormones and desperate flirting.”

“That sounds like jealousy,” Shoko said around a smirk, eyes half-lidded. “We should take your temperature.”

“Don’t start,” Y/n muttered, tipping her drink back.

But she couldn’t lie to herself. Not really. Because despite the fire, despite the music, despite the girls by her side, her gaze flicked back to Gojo. And it burned her more than the flames ever could.

The fire crackled lazily, painting everything in a soft amber hue. The buzz of teen voices and distant laughter floated through the night air, carried on the scent of roasted marshmallows and pine. Y/n sat cross-legged on a log between Shoko and Utahime, hands wrapped tightly around her half-empty cup of overly sweet, suspiciously spiked punch.

She watched the flames dance, her face blank but her eyes flickering restlessly. Her lips were drawn in a thoughtful line—like she was chewing on words she didn’t plan to say aloud.

Utahime passed her a freshly toasted marshmallow sandwiched between two chocolate squares. “You okay?” she asked casually, but there was a note of curiosity beneath it.

“Hm? Yeah. Just thinking,” Y/n replied, voice flat, distracted. She didn't look at them, but they saw the way her gaze kept drifting across the fire—toward the noisy group where Gojo stood, holding court like usual.

Specifically, where she stood beside him. The girl. With her hand on his arm again. Y/n’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

Shoko raised a brow, following her gaze. “Lot of touching going on over there,” she murmured, tone light.

Utahime leaned forward, trying to peek discreetly. “What, her?” She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, she seems like the type to laugh too hard at his bad jokes.”

Y/n didn’t respond, choosing instead to sip from her cup like it had something deep and philosophical to offer.

Utahime nudged her gently. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Y/n blinked. “About what?”

Shoko hummed lazily. “Nothing specific. Just wondering if a certain ice queen might be feeling a little... warm?”

Y/n furrowed her brows. “You two are so weird.”

“We’re weird?” Utahime echoed with a grin. “You’ve been zoning out ever since you got here.”

“I’m just tired,” Y/n said, brushing a curl behind her ear. “And the punch is disgusting.”

Shoko let the silence sit for a beat before she tilted her head. “Mm. Maybe. Or maybe someone’s realizing they do enjoy company after all.”

Y/n side-eyed her, suspicion blooming. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Utahime said, drawing out her words with a teasing lilt, “you might want to admit that you're not as unaffected by tall, loud, white-haired men as you pretend to be.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but the tips of her ears were a traitor.

“He’s just…” She paused. “He’s a lot. And kind of obnoxious.”

“But funny,” Shoko offered. “And sweet when he’s not being a menace.”

Utahime nodded. “Plus, you’ve been stuck to his side every chance he gives you.”

Y/n scoffed. “That’s not true.”

Shoko smirked. “You sure about that?”

Y/n opened her mouth to argue—but instead sighed and looked back toward the fire, where Gojo was laughing about something, all teeth and charm. She didn’t watch long. Just enough to frown and turn away again. Utahime gave her a knowing look but said nothing more.

Y/n bit her lip, then mumbled, “I don’t know what you guys are trying to say.”

Shoko leaned over and bumped her shoulder gently. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know. We’re just watching the story unfold.”

Y/n blinked. “What story?”

“Yours,” Utahime said, smiling into her cup. “Whether you realize it yet or not.”

They fell into a quiet moment after that, letting the warmth of the fire speak for them. Laughter swirled in the air, and the music picked up in the background. Y/n stared at the orange glow, her features unreadable, but her fingers tapped restlessly against her cup. She didn’t look again—not at him, not at her, not at anything but the fire. But Shoko and Utahime just exchanged a glance over her head, the kind two friends share when someone is still a few steps behind their own feelings. And they didn’t press her. They just stayed with her. Letting her catch up in her own time.

The bonfire blazed brighter as the night deepened, casting a warm glow over flushed faces and echoing laughter. Music pulsed low in the background, blending with the sounds of crackling wood and the occasional pop of pine sap in the flames. Y/n had somehow wandered from her quiet spot with Shoko and Utahime, the cup in her hand refilled once... twice… maybe three times. The punch had gone from "questionably sweet" to suspiciously smooth, and now the warmth in her chest had spread to her limbs and made her brain feel like it was wrapped in cotton. She found herself beside Geto, who sat comfortably on a log near the fire, legs stretched out and cup lazily dangling in one hand. Y/n leaned into him with surprising ease, her head wobbling slightly as she spoke more freely than usual.

“I just think,” she said with a soft slur, “that squirrels aren’t real. Like—think about it. They're too fast. You never see baby ones. And they look like spies.”

Geto, always the picture of calm, blinked at her before letting out a soft chuckle. “That’s a new conspiracy.”

“I’m just saying,” she mumbled, turning her bleary gaze to the fire. “If a squirrel ever looked me in the eye I think I’d die. Like spiritually.”

From across the fire, Shoko and Utahime burst into giggles. Utahime had her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking, while Shoko openly laughed, clearly enjoying this rare glimpse at unfiltered Y/n.

Geto raised a brow and turned to them. “Okay, seriously. What the hell is in this punch?”

Neither answered. Shoko just waved her hand innocently, still laughing.

Y/n sighed and tilted her head against his shoulder, blinking slowly. “You smell like... incense. And sandalwood. That’s weirdly comforting.”

Geto looked down at her, surprised. He wasn’t used to Y/n talking this much—let alone offering observations that sounded suspiciously like compliments.

“You're way more talkative like this,” he noted with a small smile.

“I never talk,” she agreed proudly, pointing to herself. “Very mysterious. I’m like... an enigma.”

“An enigma that just gave a five-minute rant about undercover rodents.”

Y/n snorted. She wobbled again, and this time Geto instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her. She sagged into him without protest, warm and loose-limbed, her cheeks tinted from the heat or the alcohol or both.

“You’re not gonna throw up on me, are you?” Geto teased lightly.

“Noooo,” she slurred. “I’m good. I’m just... bonfire drunk. I think that’s legal.”

“Debatable.”

Y/n turned her head lazily toward him, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “You ever feel like... like everyone else just gets it? And you’re just kind of watching everything happen around you?”

That, more than anything, caught Geto off guard. He stared at her for a moment, surprised by the sudden depth in her tone.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “More often than you'd think.”

Y/n nodded solemnly, as if he’d just confirmed a great universal truth.

“Don’t tell Gojo,” she added in a whisper. “He’ll make a joke. He always makes jokes.”

Geto chuckled again, softer this time. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

From across the fire, Shoko leaned toward Utahime and whispered, “He’s gonna have to carry her back to her cabin at this rate.”

Utahime giggled. “She’s going to die of embarrassment tomorrow.”

They both smiled fondly as Geto kept his arm around Y/n, steady and patient, letting her talk until her words slowed into silence, the warmth of the fire and the buzz of the night lulling her into drowsy quiet.

Gojo's laugh was half-hearted at best as the mystery girl continued clinging to his arm, her hand sliding down to lightly graze his. Her fingers toyed with the silver rings that adorned his hand, but he barely noticed. Because across the fire, he finally spotted her. Y/n. Tucked into the crook of Geto's side like she’d been there a thousand times. Her head rested low against his shoulder, face hidden in the hollow of his neck. She wasn’t just tipsy—she looked completely at ease. Comfortable. Soft in a way Gojo had never seen firsthand. The kind of softness that made his pulse throb in his ears. His brows knit briefly before smoothing out into a practiced expression of amusement. His eyes didn’t leave the sight in front of him. Geto's hand was at her waist, fingers splayed against the hem of her hoodie like they belonged there. That hand should not look that natural there. Gojo’s teeth clicked together behind the stretch of his smile. His fingers twitched at his side, and the laugh that passed his lips was strained and hollow. His chest burned with something unnameable, bitter and hot.

The girl beside him tugged gently at his sleeve. “Satoru?” she asked, watching his profile.

Without glancing at her, he suddenly grinned—sharp and bright.

“Hey, wanna get out of here?” he said smoothly, finally looking at her with a tilt of his head.

Her eyes lit up. “Like… now?”

His smirk deepened, and he leaned closer, letting his voice dip into something lower, more playful—but unmistakably suggestive.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, watching her expression carefully. “I know a place… a little quieter.”

She nodded eagerly, flustered, and Gojo looped an arm around her shoulders like it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Because when he led her away from the firelight, his eyes flicked back—one last time—to Geto and Y/n. She hadn’t even noticed him. Didn’t see how his gaze lingered on her. Didn’t see how he tightened his jaw the moment she laughed at something Geto said. She didn’t see any of it. But maybe that was better… because even Gojo wasn’t sure he wanted to understand what this feeling was. All he knew was this: if he saw her in someone else’s arms again, he might not be able to keep pretending it didn’t matter.

Geto chuckled lowly, one brow raised in amusement as Y/n tried to wiggle from beneath the weight of his arm. “Whoa, where are you going?” he asked, his tone gentle, his grip attempting to anchor her in place.

Y/n huffed and half-laughed, cheeks flushed from the fire—or maybe the punch. “More juice,” she muttered, determined, brows furrowed in a mix of concentration and rebellion.

“Y/n—” Geto began, clearly unconvinced that she needed more of whatever was in that infernal bowl. But she’d already slipped from under his arm with a surprising burst of resolve. She stumbled a little as her boots met the uneven ground, but her focus didn’t waver.

Her solo cup dangled from her fingers, the last few drops swishing near the bottom as she made her way across the fire-lit clearing. It was only once she got to the table, however, that she noticed. Gojo was gone. She blinked at the empty space by the edge of the fire where he’d been not ten minutes ago, still hearing the echo of his too-loud voice and the way he’d cupped his hands to shout something at the DJ. Now? Vanished. And so was that girl. Y/n’s eyes swept the crowd, scanning the dancing silhouettes, the half-drunk counselors swaying to the beat, laughter rising like smoke. No sign of his stark white hair, his ridiculously long limbs, or that cocky grin.

Something buzzed in her chest—low and instinctual. Unsettled. Clutching her cup, she wandered further past the ring of firelight, steps guided by something that felt more than just tipsy curiosity. Her boots crunched softly over the pine-needle-strewn ground as she veered off the main path and into the shadows beyond. That’s when she heard it. A low, breathy laugh. A soft moan muffled into someone’s jacket. Y/n froze just as the clearing came into view. There—on a wide tree stump, nestled between two half-fallen logs—was Gojo. His arms were wrapped lazily around the girl from earlier, her fingers twisted in his hair, their mouths pressed together with the kind of ease that only came from practice… or too much punch.

Y/n couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t meant to find them. She hadn’t even known where she was going. But now, standing just within the tree line, half in shadow, she couldn’t look away. Her fingers tightened around her cup, the plastic creaking beneath her grip. It felt like her stomach had been scraped clean. The haze of alcohol cleared in an instant, replaced by a cold clarity that hurt worse than any hangover ever could. She stared a moment too long. Long enough to see the way Gojo’s hand slid down to the girl’s hip, how he whispered something in her ear that made her giggle and tug him closer. Y/n stepped back. Her foot crunched a dry branch beneath her boot, and the sound jolted her enough to finally drop the cup. It landed with a soft thud, rolling into the dirt, forgotten. She didn’t wait to see if they noticed. She turned on her heel and walked back the way she came, head down, hands in the pocket of her hoodie. Her heart thudded against her ribs, each beat louder than the last. The bonfire was still glowing in the distance behind her, laughter and music still echoing through the trees like nothing had changed.

The walk back to her cabin felt longer than it ever had. Maybe it was the way the music from the bonfire grew quieter with every step she took, swallowed by the hush of the forest. Or maybe it was the ache in her chest—dull, but spreading like wildfire. She didn’t cry. Y/n didn’t cry.

Her hands stayed shoved deep in her hoodie pocket, fingers curled into trembling fists. Her boots thudded dully against the worn path, the cool night air biting at her cheeks as she kept her gaze locked forward. When she reached her cabin, she didn’t bother turning on the lights. The darkness felt safer. The door closed behind her with a soft click. That was the only sound. She stood in the middle of the room for a long moment, eyes slowly adjusting to the familiar shapes around her—her unmade bed, the mess of clothes by the dresser, the skates still drying by the heater.

Then she moved. Her hoodie came off first, followed by her vest. She peeled her clothes off with robotic precision, tossing them aside carelessly before collapsing onto the edge of the bed in nothing but her tank top and sweats. She sat there, hunched over, elbows resting on her knees, fingers dragging through her hair—undoing the neat little ponytails that Shoko and Utahime had helped her with just hours ago. The clips clattered to the floor.

It hit her then. Not all at once—but slowly, like the way frost forms across glass. Cold, creeping realization. She had no right to be upset. She and Gojo weren’t anything. Not really. There’d been banter. Teasing. That stupid smirk he wore whenever she tried to act unimpressed. The way he stood too close, talked too loud, paid attention like she mattered in a way most people never did. But that was just… him. Right?

She let out a shaky breath and leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her thoughts a chaotic blur. It wasn’t just the kiss that hurt—it was how easily it happened. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like she was just another observer in the story he already knew how to write. Her hands found the blanket and clenched the fabric tightly. Why did it bother her so much? Why did it feel like something had been taken when nothing was ever hers to begin with? Y/n rolled over, burying her face into the pillow to stifle the soundless frustration clawing up her throat. The punch had worn off, but the haze it left behind was replaced by something worse. Clarity, and it hurt like a bitch.

Outside, laughter echoed like ghosts she couldn’t escape. But inside the cabin, Y/n laid still in the dark—wondering why it was so much easier to push people away than admit how badly she wanted to be wanted.

113 notes · View notes