#Jjk fanfiction

[itsafairytalekay]

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙇𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙊𝙁 𝙈𝙔 𝙇𝙄𝙁𝙀!

Desc: The jjk men are insecure but, reader reassures them, 'cuz they're the light of her life!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Hiromi, Sukuna, Toji!!

Warnings: Insecurity, Fluff, Comfort!!

[rokonrrc2]

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This is so Satoru coded

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 16

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

summary — he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart — and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

word count — 11.5 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance and alcohol abuse, dark and themes, unhealthy relationships, codependency, trauma, medical content and mentions of death, illness, abuse, and blood. full trigger warnings available on the masterlist. reader discretion is advised.

previously — unable to watch satoru turn to his abusive family for help with naoya's massive lawsuit, you're heading to his party against satoru's wishes, hoping to find something, anything, that might help his situation. but what happens when satoru decides to crash the party? and what will you find in that locked room?

author's note — hello lovelies, welcome back !! this chapter picks up right where we left off, but through satoru's eyes this time. also important note: this chapter contains a brief mention of SA concerning a background event not related to any of our main characters. as always, please mind all trigger warnings. and now enjoy the chaos <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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I saw her the moment I stepped into that goddamn party, and everything inside me went still. 

Like that moment right before you drown, when the water first fills your lungs and the world goes quiet. Terrifying and so still.

She stood there under those cheap neon lights, looking scared and yet so beautiful—beautiful in that terrible way that makes you want to destroy something, that makes you want to tear it apart just to prove it's real.

Every fiber of my being screamed to go to her, to grab her and get her the hell out of here. Away from this place, away from him, away from all of it. 

But I couldn't move. Couldn't let the mask slip, not here, not with all these eyes on me. So I plastered on that easy smile and played the part of the mildly annoyed professor who just happened to crash a student party.

As if my skin wasn't crawling with the need to use again, veins begging for something—anything—to take the edge off. As if the mere sight of her didn't make me feel like someone had reached into my chest and ripped my fucking heart out, her next breath away from something I might regret.

She looked up at me with those pretty eyes of hers, and I saw the guilt there, swimming just beneath the surface. And for one horrible moment I thought, Good. Let it pull her under like it's pulling me. Let it fill her lungs the way fear is filling mine.

I almost hated her then — for lying to me again and again, for doing stupid things behind my back again and again, for making me feel this goddamn helpless again and again and again and fucking again.

But what lay beneath was worse. Because I knew why she was here. Always trying to save me, even if it meant throwing herself into the deep end, drowning right alongside me. And that's the worst kind of torture, isn't it? 

Watching the person you love cut themselves open on all your broken pieces, bleeding themselves dry, yet still reaching for more. And that thought made me want to scream.

"We'll talk about this later," I said, forcing that easy smile back onto my face though everything inside me was screaming to get her out of this goddamn house before she got herself into more trouble. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a drink."

I pushed past her, shoulder grazing hers, and I had to clench my fists to keep from turning back. Had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood to keep from saying something I couldn't take back. She had no idea what she did to me. Or maybe she did, and that was even worse.

Love and hate tangled together in my chest until I couldn't breathe. Because that's what she does to me — makes me feel everything at once, until I can't tell what's real anymore. Until I can't tell if I want to love her or ruin her. Until I can't remember which one would hurt more. Who I was before her. If I was anyone at all.

And it hit me then, as I left her standing there, all defiance and reckless stupidity and so unbearably precious it physically hurt—this must be what they mean when they say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. Because I loved her so much it felt like hatred. Hated her so deeply it could only be love.

Always on the razor's edge. One wrong step, and we'd both bleed out. Maybe we already were.

When was the last time I even went to a party like this anyway? Years ago, probably. Back when I could still pretend I had my shit together. Before I understood what it meant to love someone so consuming that self-destruction became a form of worship.

I needed a drink. Maybe ten. Maybe something stronger. 

Bass thundered through the floorboards as I shouldered my way deeper into the house, some shitty pop track slamming in my skull. Or maybe that was just the rage still burning in my bloodstream.

Sweaty bodies pressed in on all sides, but I barely noticed, lost in the chaos raging in my head. Lost in the desperate need scratching at my throat to turn back, to find her, to make sure she hadn't slipped away like every other good thing in my life.

I ordered vodka. First sip burned, but not enough. Never enough to wash away the fear, to forget that she was here, in this house, with him. The same bastard who'd tried to—My grip tightened on the glass. Yeah. Definitely needed something stronger. Here's hoping these kids still remember how to party.

"Professor Gojo! No way!"

A group of my students appeared beside me at the bar, their faces flushed with alcohol. Aoi, of course—that kid was everywhere. And Miwa, looking starstruck as always. Just my fucking luck.

"Is this what you all do instead of studying for my exams?" I asked, letting that easy smile slide into place.

"Come on, Prof, we've been killing ourselves over your damned hard exams," Miwa chimed in, all bright eyes and alcohol courage. "We deserve a break."

I let myself slip into the familiar role. The cool professor. The guy everyone wants to hang with. It was easier than I expected, letting their drunken energy wash over me, cracking jokes, making them laugh. Almost enough to wash out the withdrawal that made it nearly impossible to think straight. Almost enough to forget why I was really here. Almost.

Aoi was rambling about something, but I wasn't listening. Instead, I turned slightly, catching her gaze across the room. She looked at me like she wanted to kill me. Funny, how we wanted the same thing sometimes.

My woman. My stubborn, reckless, absolutely infuriating woman. Even now, with me watching her from across the room, I could see that defiance bright in her eyes. Even now, even here, in defiance of everything I'd asked of her, she stood her ground. 

It was admirable, really. And sometimes, that very defiance made me want to break her. Perhaps only to prove I could. To prove she wasn't in control. Perhaps because I was terrified that I wasn't. That I never was.

It's terrifying how thin that line is.

"See? Fucking legend!" Aoi raised his beer, at something I said, I think. I can't remember. Something clever, probably. Something that fits the role. "To the coolest professor on campus!" 

I raised my glass, I think. I can't remember. And that's when I caught sight of them by the front entrance. Suguru walked up to her, still standing where I'd left her, and cradled her face in his hands, tilting it up to meet his gaze. My god, could he be any more obvious about it?

I knew that look in his eyes. Had seen it countless times before, during all those long hours in the lab when he thought I wasn't paying attention. The way he'd lean in close to check her work, his hand lingering on her shoulder a moment too long. The way his eyes would follow her every move.

My best friend, in love with the love of my life. What a sick fucking joke.

He was examining her face now, probably making sure she was alright, being the good, caring friend he always was. His thumb brushed across her cheek, and something violent stirred in my gut. Because she didn't pull away. Of course she didn't. She never did, not with him.

They looked good together, standing there in the dim light. The brilliant researcher and his gifted student. No addiction between them. No sharp edges that sliced you open if you got too close. And I hated that.

I watched as she placed her hand over his, the gesture unbearably tender. Watched as he smiled down at her, that gentle smile he reserved only for her.

And just for a moment — one single, agonizing moment — I let myself picture a world where I hadn't reached her first. Where she'd chosen him instead. The better man. The one who'd never drag her down into his own personal hell.

The thoughts spiraled darker, louder, until I could barely breathe through the noise. Glass creaked under my grip. I needed a fucking pill. Needed something, anything, to make this stop. To make everything just fucking stop.

"Professor?" Miwa’s voice. "You okay?"

More students crowded the bar, blocking my view of them. One of them—what was his name? Third-year, not a complete idiot—shoved another beer into my hand. I chugged it in one long pull, their chatter fading to background noise.

"Well." That voice. That fucking voice. "Look who decided to crash my party after all."

I turned, meeting Naoya's scarred face with a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "Zenin. Quite the gathering you've got here."

"Indeed." He signaled the bartender. "I gotta say though, I'm surprised to see you here, Professor. Don't tell me you're playing chaperone tonight?"

His words stripped away any pretense. He knew. Of course he fucking knew why I was really here. Not that I'd been particularly subtle about it.

"Just felt like reliving my youth," I said, taking the drink he offered. Anything to keep my hands busy, to keep myself from finishing what I'd started with his face.

Zenin's smirk widened, the scars pulling his flesh into something even uglier. "Ah yes, the good old days. Back when teachers knew their place and didn't go around screwing their students."

The fake smile slid off my face, the glass creaking in my grip as I pictured how easily his windpipe would crumple under my hands. How satisfying it would be to watch that smirk disappear for good.

"Careful, Zenin. Your face is already fucked up enough as is. Would be a damn shame if something happened to what's left of it."

He laughed, the sound grating on my last nerve like nails on a chalkboard. "Always so protective. But tell me, Professor, does she know the real reason you're here? Does she know about the—"

"Enough," I bit out.

"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" His eyes flicked across the room, landing on her. The way he looked at her made my vision bleed red around the edges. "She really is something else, isn't she? Too bad I didn't get a chance to get her alone that night—"

My hand lashed out before I could think, fisting in his collar. The fabric bunched in my grip as I hauled him close enough to see my own fury reflected in his eyes. "You fucking—"

Then Suguru was there, his hand slamming down on the bar between us. Silent, steady—a wall between me and a one-way ticket to unemployment. He didn't say a word, just fixed me with that look. The one I'd explicitly asked for earlier. Stop me before I do something I'll regret.

Fuck, I was really starting to regret that request right about now.

Then I felt her—her touch impossibly gentle as she laid her hand on my bicep, the heat of her skin seeping through my shirt. She leaned in close, "Satoru, can we talk for a minute?"

Her soft plea sliced through the haze, and suddenly I became acutely aware of the deafening silence that had fallen over the room, of the countless eyes boring into us.

I uncurled my fingers from Naoya's collar one by one, even though everything in me screamed to finish what I'd started. To paint the walls with whatever was left of his face. But I couldn't. We both knew. So I stepped back and followed her.

─── ·✧· ───

She led me through the crowd, her fingers still wrapped so gently around my arm. We pushed our way past the prying eyes, down a hallway, until she found what looked like an empty office. Probably belonged to Naoya's father, judging by the dark wood and that rich people smell.

For a moment, we just stood there, neither of us willing to shatter the fragile silence. Moonlight sliced through the blinds, turning everything silver and strange, like we were underwater. Maybe we were. I wasn't sure anymore. Her hand slipped from my arm, and suddenly I felt cold.

I collapsed into the chair behind the desk, the leather groaning under my weight. She stood silhouetted at the window, arms wrapped tight around herself, and I had to look away. Had to focus on something else, because I knew one glance at those eyes and I'd break.

My fingers found the pill on their own. Out of habit, really. Without thinking, I snatched up the silver letter opener next to me and crushed the pill beneath it, watching the powder scatter across the polished wood like fresh snow. I bent down and let the burn fill my nose, sear through my brain, numbing everything in an instant. 

When I looked up, she was staring. Always fucking staring, with eyes that flayed me to the bone. And she did it so effortlessly. Saw through everyone around her with that unnerving precision. Or maybe she saw through everything so clearly because she looked for the very things she wanted to hide from others.

"That's new," she said. Not an accusation. I was glad it wasn't.

"It's faster."

I averted my gaze and sank deeper into the chair, letting my head fall back against the headrest as warmth flooded my veins and the ceiling blurred and shifted above me. And then everything went soft around the edges, like looking through frosted glass.

A long exhale escaped my lips. Finally—fucking finally—the constant noise in my head, all that shit I can't shut up—the love, the hate, the fucking terror of it all—it faded to a whisper. The world got a little quieter, a little less sharp. A little more bearable.

For one perfect moment, I could actually breathe. Could almost convince myself I was in control. That this wasn't killing me. That I could walk away if I had to. That I wasn't fucking terrified of losing her. Of becoming him. Of everything.

I groaned, fingers raking through my hair, pulling, needing the pain. My hands were shaking again. Or maybe they never stopped. I couldn't tell anymore.

"You're angry," she said.

"No shit. What gave it away?" I scrubbed my hands over my face. "You showing up here after I specifically fucking told you not to? Or me nearly rearranging Zenin's face again?"

"Satoru—"

"Don't." I squeezed my eyes shut, fingers yanking at my hair again, trembling worse now. From the drugs, the rage, the fear, who the fuck knew. It all bled together these days. "You have no idea what he'd do. If something happened—" I stopped. Couldn’t continue.

"I'm not alone," she said, like that made a difference. "Maki, Yuta, Toge—they're all with me. We're being careful."

"Careful?" I sat upright, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "There's nothing fucking careful about this! It's reckless! You shouldn't even be—"

"I'm doing this for you—"

"Don't." I cut her off. "Don't make this about me."

"But it is!" She stepped closer, eyes blazing. "What, you expect me to just stand by and watch? While you fall apart?"

"This isn't your problem to fix—"

"Like hell it isn't!" Another step. Her eyes seared into mine. "I can't fucking take it anymore. You're in this mess because of me. Because you protected me that night. So don't you dare tell me this isn't my problem to fix."

I stared at her, something in my chest fracturing. "You think that's why I'm doing this? Because I feel obligated?"

"I think you're trying to protect me, like you always do."

"Then don't make me protect you all the goddamn time!" I shoved up from the chair and braced my hands on the desk. "I beat him within an inch of his life that night. I would've killed him if—" My throat closed around the words. "And I'd do it again. In a fucking heartbeat. That's what scares the shit out of me. What I become when it comes to you."

She went still.

"And if he hurt you again," the words scraped out of me, "I—I don't know what I'd do. So please. Just please don't make me find out."

I said the words I'd been turning over in my head for what felt like eternity. Don't make me find out, don't put yourself in danger, don't break my fucking heart. Which really meant break me all you want, just don't leave. I wouldn't survive it.

Her gaze dropped briefly to my hands, and she said, "You done?" 

Her question threw me. Done? God, this infuriating woman. But then I followed her line of sight and saw my hands clenched into white-knuckled fists around the desk’s edge. I slowly released them, my knuckles cracking in the sudden stillness.

I slumped back into the chair, exhausted, defeated, throwing an arm over my eyes. "God, I fucking hate you." The way she stood there, unflinching, unafraid—it made me insane. "I hate that you make me feel like this—so fucking terrified all the time."

"You don't hate me," she said.

"Sometimes I'm not so sure anymore," I answered.

How does it never get easier, I wondered. Loving her. Needing her. It just cuts deeper, spreads further, until I'm drowning in the ache. Until I can't breathe without feeling it in my lungs. And yeah, I hate her for that sometimes.

I couldn't look at her. I knew she'd be there, unyielding, waiting, enduring everything I threw at her, as she always did. Never breaking. Maybe that's what I hated most.

"You're so fucking stupid," I breathed, but it came out wrong. Too soft. Too much like 'I love you'. Too much like 'Please don't leave.' 

"I think that's mutual." She crossed the room then and leaned against the desk, arms folded over her chest. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

I lowered my arm and looked at her. "No, you're not."

"I am sorry for worrying you," she tried again, and I almost believed her, wishing desperately that she'd never have to worry about anything the way I worry about her. "Go ahead, say it. Tell me how stupid I was to come here. I know you're dying to."

"Why would you think that?"

She kept her eyes fixed on the floor. "Because it's true. I make the wrong choice every fucking time."

I watched her, this brilliant, stubborn woman that I love so much, beating herself up over choices that weren't really choices at all—just impossible situations with no right answers. Like there was ever a right answer. And sometimes she reminded me so much of myself. As if I hadn't spent years doing the same thing, and probably still do.

But seeing her do it—it was like staring into a mirror and seeing not just my reflection, but the reflection of everything I hated about myself.

"I think that's mutual," I echoed her words back to her.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed up from the chair, gripping the edge of the desk for a second. Then I reached for her, hands landing on her hips, tugging her close, needing her close. My lips ghosted over hers. Hesitant. Unsure. When she didn't pull away, I kissed her. My hand came up to cradle her face, thumb skimming her cheekbone as I deepened the kiss.

"Alright, what's the plan?" I murmured against her mouth.

She told me about the locked room upstairs and her plan to get it. So calm. She told it so calm. Like it was that simple. Like this wasn't the most insane thing I'd ever heard. But I knew she'd go through with it no matter what I said.

"You seriously think I'm gonna let you anywhere near him with alcohol involved?"

"No," she said. "I think you're going to help me."

"Times like this, I'm really feeling that age difference between us," I said, but we both heard the resignation in my voice. The moment I'd already lost this fight.

"So you'll help?" she asked, ignoring my comment.

Before she could celebrate her victory, I yanked her closer, fingers twisting in her hair. With a sharp tug, I forced her head back until she had no choice but to meet my gaze, her throat bared. Our eyes locked, and I saw the instant her breath hitched.

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

"When we get home, you're gonna make it up to me for all the stress you've caused. Got it?"

"Is that really how you want to play this?"

"Oh, love, I think we're way past propriety at this point."

A shiver ran through her — one that made me almost smile. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips, could feel the way she melted into me despite herself. It almost made this whole mess worth it.

"Now then." I pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. "let's have some fun, shall we?"

─── ·✧· ───

So, here's the fun story about how I ended up playing beer pong with my arch-nemesis (besides Sukuna, that is) against my future lovely wife and some chemistry nerd who wouldn't shut up about covalent bonds. Not exactly the Saturday night I had in mind.

I mean, here I was, standing next to Naoya — yeah, the same guy whose face I'd rearranged a few months back — trying to aim at red plastic cups while you were absolutely wiping the floor with us. Turns out that whole '10 years of grief training in alcoholism over your dead father' wasn't just a cute phrase you threw around. Who would've thought?

But really, trying to out-drink an opioid addict? That's like challenging a fish to a swimming contest. Except the fish is in heavy withdrawal. So like, with no fin. Not my finest analogy. I blame the alcohol. What was my point again?

Anyway. Most annoying part? This chemistry department kid with these wide, bright eyes wouldn't stop talking to you about molecular structures. And you were actually entertaining him. At a party. About electron transfers. Of all the insufferable things.

"So if you consider the aromatic compounds—" he was saying, and I swear on my medical license, I didn't mean for the ball to hit him. And I definitely didn't mean for it to hit him that hard. Pure accident, really. 

The ball bounced off his shoulder, effectively shutting him up. They both turned to look at me. "Molecular restructuring in organic compounds? Really?" I shrugged. "At a party?"

She shot me that look. You know the one. The classic 'I-can't-believe-I'm-sleeping-with-this-idiot' glare. It's become quite familiar these days.

"Trouble in paradise?" Naoya said beside me, and I briefly considered rearranging his face again. For symmetry's sake, of course.

But then she bent over to pick up the ball, and suddenly organic chemistry was the furthest thing from my mind. I definitely shouldn't have let her leave the house in that skirt. Though knowing her, she probably wore it just to torture me. 

"Getting distracted, Professor?" she said, straightening up with that little smile that never fails to make me want to do wildly inappropriate things to her in very public places. She leaned across the table, deliberately tapping one of our cups with her finger, giving me her most innocent eyes. Because apparently, driving me insane was her new favorite pastime.

"Me?" I lifted the red cup she'd tapped to my lips, taking my sweet time with the drink, my eyes never leaving hers. "Never."

And somewhere in the haze of beer and the way she was looking at me, I tried to remember why the hell we were even here. Oh right—something about stealing keys. Real professional operation we've got going here. The medical board would be so proud. Their star surgeon, reduced to playing beer pong as a distraction tactic. 

Naoya's keys were right there on the table, practically screaming to be grabbed. But between her legs in that skirt and the way she kept biting her lip every time she lined up a shot, I found myself giving fewer and fewer shits about saving my career and more about how quickly I could get her alone. Priorities. I clearly had them. Alcohol might have scrambled them a bit, I guess.

I caught a glimpse of Suguru standing off to the side of the beer pong table. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting back and forth between me and her like he was watching the world's most stressful tennis match. I really owed him one for putting up with this shit.

Near the chemistry kid, a girl approached who looked a bit like Higurama's intern—though I wasn't entirely sure. She looked different, wearing makeup and dressed up. But that couldn't be her. She'd avoid places with flashing lights because of her epilepsy. I must be seeing things.

Then Naoya, because clearly this shitshow wasn't enough of a disaster already, decided to "level up the process." He snapped his fingers at a passing bartender, and before I could process what the fuck was happening, there was a tray of perfectly lined up tequila shots on the table. Complete with cinnamon and orange slices, because apparently, we're keeping it classy while trying to get my future wife drunk.

"New rule," Naoya announced, his scarred face pulling into what I can only assume was meant to be a grin. "Next shot I sink, you drink both. Beer and tequila."

I glanced over at her, my gut churning. Not from the alcohol—it'd take a hell of a lot more than this to get me there—but from the way she met Naoya's challenge with a nod. That stubborn tilt of her chin that always meant trouble. My palms started to sweat.

Of course, Naoya's ball dropped perfectly into her cup. Because the universe really does have a sick sense of humor.

Watching her reach for both drinks, I found myself wondering what the medical board would be more pissed about — me playing drinking games with students, screwing one of my students, or the fact that I was seriously considering murder. Again.

Then, by some physics-defying miracle or sheer dumb luck, the chemistry kid actually landed a shot. He looked as shocked as the rest of us when the ball plopped into Naoya's cup. But it was her next shot that really got my attention — perfect arc, clean landing, like she'd been doing this her whole damn life.

"Drink up, Professor," she said, but there was something different in her voice.

She reached for the tequila, and then—fuck me—propped one leg up on a nearby beer crate, the motion making her skirt ride up just enough to flash a strip of skin above her tights. Wait. Those weren't tights. Those were fucking stockings.

My brain short-circuited as I realized she'd been walking around all night in stockings. Actual stockings, with what I knew had to be a garter belt hidden under that criminally short skirt. The same spot where she was now deliberately sprinkling cinnamon.

The sight of that exposed sliver of skin between stocking and skirt made my blood boil. When the hell had she even bought those? Had she worn them just for tonight, knowing they'd make me lose my goddamn mind? Was she trying to get herself killed?

Because right now, watching her purposely dust cinnamon on that band of exposed skin, I wasn't sure if I wanted to murder her or fuck her. Probably both. My mouth went dry, and it had fuck-all to do with the alcohol.

"Well?" She tilted her head, all innocence except for that knowing look in her eyes. "Coming to get your tequila?" 

Like she had to ask twice. Yet I hesitated. With all these people watching? What was she playing at? It was reckless, careless, like she was deliberately trying to expose us. It was power play, a challenge. And I knew, that she knew, that I couldn't resist.

A slow smile spread across my face as I sank to one knee before her, the crowd fading into a blur of noise. All that mattered was her—the way her breath hitched as I gripped her calf, the way she tensed as she realized that I made a whole show for her (poor girl didn’t expect that now, did she?)—the feel of her skin on my tongue.

I took my sweet time with the cinnamon, letting my tongue glide over the exposed strip of flesh, feeling her shiver. My teeth grazed her skin, just enough to draw a soft gasp from her lips. If she wanted a show, I'd give her a show. And part of me wanted to shove that skirt higher, to chase that taste of salt and cinnamon further up her thigh until—

Focus. Fucking focus.

I straightened, stepping into her space. She held an orange slice in one hand, the shot glass in the other, and I couldn't help but notice how her pupils had blown wide, how her chest rose and fell just a little faster than normal.

I plucked the orange from her fingers with my teeth, my lips brushing her skin, then took the shot glass, using the movement to press closer, my mouth right by her ear, "What exactly is your plan here?"

"Create distraction," she breathed back.

God help me, but it was working. I was definitely distracted. Whole damn crowd was distracted. And watching her play this game—watching her play me—was probably the hottest and most infuriating thing I'd ever experienced. And I'm pretty sure everyone could see I was hard too.

"You're distracting the wrong audience," I whispered before knocking back the shot.

In the midst of trying to control my homicidal urges over those goddamn stockings, she caught my eye and subtly jerked her head. I turned, making it look like I was just checking something, and spotted them—Zenin, Okkotsu, and Inumaki hovering on the other side of the table behind Naoya, waiting for their chance. 

Right. The keys. The whole reason we were here. I almost forgot.

The game continued, the tension building with each shot. We were down to the last round — winner takes all. That's when she decided to really test my patience.

"Let's make this more interesting," she announced, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Losers jump in the pool." A pause, then because apparently she was hell-bent on giving me a coronary. "No clothes."

"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.

"Try me," she replied. 

I shot her a warning look. She subtly chewed on her bottom lip, meeting my gaze with an unnerving calm, perhaps her way of saying everything's gonna be okay. It did little to ease the knot in my stomach.

One shot left. If she made this, Naoya and I would be stripping down for a midnight dip. If she missed—

I tried not to think about her in that pool. Tried not to think about those stockings getting soaked. Tried not to think about murdering every sorry bastard who might lay eyes on her. Either way, this woman was going to be the death of me. If I didn't kill her first.

Naoya landed his shot, fucking prick. I missed mine for obvious reasons. Chemistry kid missed too, leaving everything on her shoulders. The ball left her hand, arcing through the air in what felt like slow motion. It circled the rim, then rolled away.

The crowd went wild. Naoya's victory smirk made me want to punch his face in. I glanced over at her, wondering for a second if she'd missed on purpose. But there was no time for that.

"Well?" Naoya's voice. "I believe the losers owe us a show."

"The game wasn't exactly fair—" I started, but she cut me off.

"Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted, Naoya?" She turned to him, her words sharp. "To see me undress without having to drug me first?"

The crowd went dead silent. Naoya's scarred face contorted into something ugly. "Watch your mouth, little girl. You're not as untouchable as you think."

"And you're pathetic," she spat back, then turned away from him. "At least I get to choose when I undress, right?”

She started walking toward the pool, each step deliberate, commanding. I followed, caught between pride and sheer terror at what she was about to do. At the edge, she turned back to me.

"Don't," I pleaded, but she was already reaching for the hem of her skirt. It fell, revealing the dark lace of her stockings. Then her top followed, and I stepped closer, trying to shield her from the leering eyes.

"This is insane." But my protest died as she stood there in only black lace, and then I saw them—the bruises from the fire still painted across her waist and ribs. Dark purple and yellow marks that hadn't yet faded, cruel reminder of how close I'd come to losing her.

The sight sobered me instantly. Something twisted in my chest, sharp and painful. The bruises I'd carefully tended to, the ones that still made her wince when I changed her bandages—on full display for this crowd of drunk idiots, turned into a spectacle.

"Please," I begged, my voice barely audible. "Don't do this."

She met my gaze, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I’d reached her. But then that smile—the one that sealed my fate—touched her lips. "Sorry, Professor," she whispered, and then she was gone, falling backward into the pool, taking a piece of me with her.

The splash echoed in my ears like a gunshot, and I was already shrugging off my jacket, ready to either dive in after her or use it to cover her when she surfaced. A cold, hard fury settled in my gut. Naoya was going to pay for this.

The crowd roared as she surfaced, her hair plastered to her face, water tracing the curves of her body beneath the soaked lace. Our eyes met across the distance, me standing at the pool's edge, and I didn’t bother to hide my disappointment. Something flickered across her face—regret maybe, or shame—before she looked away.

Hell broke loose. Bodies crashed into the water, sending waves across the pool. Even Naoya stripped off his shirt and dove in, reveling in the attention. The whole party seemed to shift to the pool in a matter of seconds — clothes flying, drinks splashing, the pristine water turning into a churning mess. 

Perfect distraction.

But I barely registered any of it, my world had narrowed to her. I watched as she climbed out, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the concrete, practically sprinting past me, her gaze fixed on the floor, while water dripped from her hair, her skin, the dark lace clinging to her form.

Behind her, the pool had turned into chaos — exactly what she'd planned, I realized. 

I gathered her clothes from where they'd fallen and followed her inside. I caught a glimpse of Okkotsu's quick movements near the discarded clothes by the pool. 

Well played.

─── ·✧· ───

Her dripping form drew curious eyes as we moved through the foyer. Each step felt like a penance—hers for the recklessness, mine for letting it happen. Heads turned, conversations died, the sudden silence punctuated only by the soft drip, drip, drip of water from her hair.

Kento’s face flashed past, but I barely registered him. No doubt he'd give me shit about it at the university later, like he didn't already know something was up with me and her.

I wrapped my jacket around her shivering shoulders, fighting the desperate urge to reach for the opioids hidden in my pocket. Withdrawal, guilt, and fury burned together in my veins, making me want to crawl out of my own skin. 

I stepped in front of her, partly to block all those eyes on her, partly to hide how bad my hands were shaking. None of it was worth it. Not the keys, not avoiding my parents, none of it. How did we end up here? How did I allow things to get to this point?

Upstairs, she dressed quickly, water still dripping from her hair, leaving damp patches on her clothes.

"Are you cold?" 

"I'm okay," she said, avoiding my gaze. 

She was shaking. I could see the goosebumps on her arms. "You're shivering," I said and reached for her, but she pulled away.

“I’m fine, really.”

Despite her words, I pulled her close. She didn't resist this time, tilting her face up to mine. Her eyes were bright, and for a second, I thought she might cry. The world could have been watching, for all I cared. If those tears fell, it would be my undoing.

And then I thought of everything she'd done, everything she'd had to do—for me. My twenty-four-year-old student, forced to protect me from my own damn parents, to beg for my own money. Because I’d hit a guy who tried to hurt her. Why was it all so fucked up?

The high was long gone, leaving this gaping hole. My limbs felt heavy, detached, like they belonged to a stranger, unable to reach out and fix what I’d broken. And we were so far from where we started.

"You're disappointed," she finally said. She wasn't asking.

"We should leave." Because I couldn't bear to watch her sacrifice one more piece of herself for me.

"You can leave."

Before I could say anything back, Zenin came bursting into our corner, Okkotsu and Inumaki right behind her, her eyes all lit up. "That was fucking insane!" she yelled, waving something around—Naoya's keys. "But it worked! I can't believe it actually—" She stopped short, finally noticing the tension between us.

The win felt empty. Yeah, we got what we came for. But what did it cost? Looking at her, still shivering a little in my jacket, I wasn't so sure it was worth it. I was supposed to protect her. Instead, I just kept watching her throw herself in the fire for me. 

Some professor I was. Some man I was.

Strange how winning can feel so much like losing, especially when you realize you're not the one paying the price.

─── ·✧· ───

I stayed outside Naoya's room, playing lookout. At least that's what I told them. Truth was, I couldn't stand being in there, couldn't bear being near her, watching her fight my battles while I was barely holding myself together.

The itch under my skin had spread, making my whole body crawl with invisible insects while she did the dirty work. Even after everything, she was still trying to save me. 

And I was still letting her.

I slid down the wall, my head hitting the floor. How did we end up here? What the fuck were we doing? What the fuck was I doing?

I'm thirty-five years old, for fuck's sake. Why was I acting like a goddamn teenager? I should've stopped her, shouldn't have let her leave the house to begin with, should've been the adult. But instead, I let it happen, standing by and watching where it led. Again.

This whole situation was insane. We were in too deep, and I knew it. But I couldn't seem to find my way out, couldn't seem to stop this trainwreck we were on. It was like I was watching it all happen from outside my own body, powerless to change course.

What kind of man was I? What kind of professor? I was supposed to be her mentor, her… something more. Instead, I was dragging her down with me.

I thought back to that night, the one that started it all. The night I found her in the lab, working late, hunched over her microscope. She looked up at me with those eyes, those damn eyes that seemed to see right through me. And I was lost. I knew it was wrong. I knew I should have walked away. But I didn't. I couldn't. Drawn in. Consumed.

And now, here we were. Trapped in this fucked-up situation of our own making. I wanted to blame her, to say it was all her fault for being so reckless, so damn stubborn. But I knew that wasn't true. I let this happen. I didn’t stop it. But why? 

I could replay the events in my mind, frame by frame, but the crucial moment, the point where I should have intervened, remained a blur. It was as if some part of me had wanted to see where this ended.

Music still drifted up from downstairs, the bass thumping through the walls. It felt wrong, out of place. Like we were in a different world, a fucked-up one, while everyone else was living their normal, happy lives.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it all out, trying to pretend, just for a moment, that this wasn't happening. That we weren't here. That everything was okay. But it was happening. And I was in it, and I knew I couldn't hold my breath much longer.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. Kept seeing things in the corners of my vision. Shadows that shouldn't move but did, faces that weren't faces at all. The wallpaper breathed. In and out. In and out. Like a lung.

Stop it. Just stop all of it. Make it stop. But it won't stop, can't stop, because she's in there right now, digging through his things, trying to save me save me save me why won't she just stop trying to save me?

Everything felt wrong, sick, twisted. Too bright and too dark all at once. My skin didn't fit right anymore. Nothing fit right anymore. God, I needed a goddamn fix.

A cough. I pressed my hand against my mouth. When I pulled it away, my palm was red. 

Huh. That's new. 

I stared at the blood, watching it pool in the lines of my hand. It looked wrong somehow, too dark, too thick. The longer I stared, the more it seemed to move strangely, crawling along the creases of my palm.

Was blood supposed to move like that? Like it was alive? Like it was trying to tell me something? I couldn't remember anymore. I couldn't remember a lot of things lately. The blood kept moving, kept spreading. 

Maybe this was it—maybe I was finally losing whatever scraps of sanity I had left, sitting here on a dirty floor watching my own blood drip down my palm.

A part of me wondered if he'd been right all along, that I was becoming him, the very thing I’d always feared. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be better, different. Not this—huddled on a filthy floor at a college party, watching my blood move as if in psychosis, while she risked everything for me. Again. 

The door handle turned. Shit. I wiped my palm against the dark carpet, smearing the blood into the fibers where it vanished like it was never there. I scrambled to my feet just as they emerged. She moved quickly, shoving something beneath the waistband of her skirt. Before I could speak, she grabbed my arm.

"Let's leave." There was something like panic in her voice. "I'll tell you outside."

I gripped her hand, my own pulse quickening, and we went downstairs and pushed through the mass of drunk students. But then the music cut abruptly, plunging us into a moment of strange silence before panicked voices filled the void. 

"What the hell—?" Okkotsu’s shout cut through the din from behind us.

Then I saw the flashing lights—red and blue strobing through the windows. Fuck. 

"Cops!" Someone shouted, and the whole house erupted into chaos as people scrambled in every direction.

"Everyone freeze!" A voice boomed through the foyer. "Nobody moves!"

We reached the entrance as two officers shouldered their way through the front door. The bigger one looked like he benched trucks for fun, taking up almost the entire doorframe as he planted himself there.

"Listen up!" he bellowed, one meaty hand resting on his belt. "Party's over. Nobody leaves until we check IDs."

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

I felt her tense beside me, those things hidden in her waistband might as well have been burning her skin. I could practically feel her panic.

"Look, officers." I stepped forward, forcing my voice into something professional. "There seems to be some confusion—"

"No confusion here," Truck-Bencher cut me off, the scar on his lip twisting as he frowned. "Got noise complaints, reports of underage drinking. Everyone stays put."

"I'm faculty at the university. These are my students and they're all over twenty-one. You're wasting everyone's time—"

"Nobody leaves until we say so."

"You really want to process IDs for over two hundred students?"

"You telling me how to do my job?" He shifted closer, chest puffed out despite me having two inches on him.

Withdrawal crawled beneath my skin like insects, each bite feeding the rage that built vertebra by vertebra up my spine. "Depends. Are you actually doing it, or just power tripping?"

"Back the fuck up." His hand dropped to his belt. "Last chance."

I felt her fingers digging into my arm, trying to pull me back. But the rage was a living thing now, burning away anything resembling sense or restraint. "Or what?"

The punch came fast. I dropped, and heard the sickening crack of bone against flesh—not mine. Some poor student next to me. For a heartbeat, everything stopped. Then chaos.

Bodies everywhere. Screaming. Shoving. Radio static cutting through the roar. Her hand in mine as we pushed through the surge. Her friends somewhere behind. Everything blurred. I can't remember when she let go of my hand.

I just remember the scream. Different from the others. Then her voice, "Get her on the ground!" I shoved through the mass of bodies. Saw the girl on the floor. Ice flooded my veins.

I knew that face. Higurama's intern. My patient. My responsibility.

I dropped beside her, my hands shaking so violently I could barely feel them. Her eyes rolled back. Withdrawal made everything too sharp, too bright. I couldn't think. Couldn't—

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. It was her voice. Fingers gripped my arm. "Satoru, look at me." I met her eyes. Steady. Unnerving. "Focus."

Everything snapped back into place. My phone was in my hand before I realized I'd moved. "This is Dr. Gojo from Jujutsu Medical. Twenty-six-year-old female, epileptic, pre-seizure presentation. We need immediate assistance."

My voice was mechanical, professional. Inside, my mind screamed. Why was she here? Had she been drinking? Were her meds interacting with something? I should know this. Should be better than this. Should be fucking better. 

Nausea rose in my throat and I'd never felt more like a failure in my entire fucking life.

Behind us, the fight continued to rage. A man’s voice bellowed, trying to restore order. Then Suguru was there, kneeling beside her, his hands gentle as he cradled her head. He murmured something, soft and low. The tenderness in his movements caught me off guard. 

"The ambulance is taking too long." His voice cut through everything. Before I could process it, he had her in his arms, head protected against his chest and moved.

─── ·✧· ───

I can't remember how we got to the hospital.

Everything blurred into fragments. Flashing lights, squealing tires, the weight of everything crushing my chest. Each breath scraped like broken glass. My hands wouldn't stop shaking until I swallowed three pills. Maybe four. I lost count.

The fluorescent lights overhead were too bright, too harsh, making my skull feel like it was splitting open. I wanted to crack my head against the wall.

Some part of me was still moving, still speaking in that detached doctor voice — rattling off medical history, medications, possible interactions. Years of training overriding the screaming in my head. But they never trained us for this.

Never trained us for how guilt tastes like acid in your throat while watching your mistakes breathe shallowly on starched white sheets.

They taught us to make clean incisions, to suture arteries, to restart hearts. But not how your own heart would seize when you recognize the face on the floor. Not how your girlfriend’s hands would be steadier than your own worthless trembling ones as you fumbled for your phone, your throat closing around the words "this is my fault", "please" and "I'm sorry."

Didn’t prepare us for withdrawal turning your hands into treacherous strangers while someone seized at your feet. For the shame that festers in your gut as you come down, struggling to remember basic fucking dosages through the need scorching through your veins.

They never warned us how love would carve you open worse than any scalpel, making you both butcher and victim, instrument and incision. Never warned us about loving someone while you’re falling apart. How it feels like drowning in open air, your chest cracked wide and your beating heart wrenched out into daylight, desperate and terrified and somehow still pumping, still fighting, still so fucking afraid.

Higurama's intern lay still now, the steady drip of the IV marking time like a metronome in the silence. I watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest, my mind replaying the medications, the dosages, searching for the mistake I must have made. There had to be one. There was always one.

Perhaps he was right about me after all. Funny how even now, even here, I could still hear his voice so clearly.

"You okay?"

She sat across from me, swallowed by my spare clothes—an old t-shirt and sweatpants that draped loosely on her frame, a blanket draped over her legs. Anything was better than those clothes from before, those fucking stockings I'd personally thrown in the trash.

"Satoru?" she tried again. "You okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

"Talk me through her meds again," she said, resting her head in her palm. Her eyes, piercing and unwavering, never left my face as she waited.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus through the exhaustion. "Standard anticonvulsants. Levetiracetam, 500mg twice daily. Added phenytoin after the first seizure." I fell back into my chair, scrubbing my hand over my face. "She couldn't tolerate the Levetiracetam, so I switched to Topiramate, 500mg thrice daily."

She was quiet for a moment. "Side effects?"

"Minor. Tremor in her extremities sometimes, but nothing she couldn't handle. It was working." I paused. "It was supposed to be working."

"EEG results?"

"Showed mild abnormalities. Nothing that would explain a seizure this severe." I scrubbed at my face again, harder this time. "I should have seen it. Should have caught something."

"Satoru." Her voice held that gentle firmness I knew so well. "You did everything right."

"Then why did she seize?" I stood abruptly, the chair screeching against linoleum. I turned away, unable to bear her gentle gaze. Outside, dawn was breaking in shades of grey. No color, no warmth, just an endless stretch of concrete and clouded sky bleeding into each other. "If I did everything right, why is she lying here?"

"Because sometimes that's just how it goes. You know this better than anyone," she said. "Medicine isn't perfect. Neither are we."

My reflection stared back at me, ghostly and distorted in the glass. Dark circles, stubble, hair a fucking mess. A doctor coming down from a high while his patient lay in a hospital bed.

"I should have increased the dosage earlier. Run more tests. I should have—"

"Seen the future?"

"I should have been better."

"You are already the best," she said, but it felt like a lie to me. "But even the best can't control everything."

Higurama's intern stirred slightly in her sleep, and we both fell silent, the moment stretching taut between us. I dragged myself back to the chair, sinking down with my face in my hands.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she whispered, leaning forward to brush a stray strand of hair from the girl's forehead. "Sometimes life just happens, and all we can do is be there to pick up the pieces."

I wanted to believe her. God, how I wanted to. But the truth sat like stones in my stomach.

"I hate this," I whispered.

"I know."

Silence.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?"

Because it's stupid, you know this. I could feel them in my bones, the words forming on her lips before she could speak them. "How did that ever change anything?" I said before she could start.

She leaned back, the chair creaking slightly. "Do you think we are terrible people?" she asked, her voice so soft I almost missed it.

I turned to look at her then, really look at her. Even exhausted and worried, wearing my old clothes, she was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Like a drug I couldn't quit, a high I'd chase until it killed me. 

And what did that say about either of us? That I wanted to crack her open, crawl inside her skin and nestle myself in her marrow? Wanted to consume her, devour her, until there was nothing left but the two of us, fused together in the most depraved way possible?

It was as if we were always meant to find each other. But it was a penance, for both of us.

"I think I am what I am because of you," I finally said.

And it was the truth. She'd molded me, shaped me, just as I'd shaped her. We'd ruined each other for anyone else, stripped away the innocence and left only the filth and grit behind.

Her hand fell from her face, her eyes meeting mine. "And I am what I am because of you."

"Does that scare you?"

"I think one gets used to it."

"Yeah," I said finally, my voice rough. "I guess you do get used to it. Until you don't."

She frowned, but before she could voice something, Suguru stepped inside. 

He said we should leave, and maybe that was for the better anyway, though I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was an edge to his voice. Anger, perhaps. But I couldn't blame him. Not really.

I grabbed her things, my hand finding its familiar place at the small of her back as we headed for the door. Suguru's voice followed us down the corridor. "What did you find in Zenin's room anyway?" he asked, as if it were something to be discussed in the doorway.

I walked ahead.

I didn't need to hear again about the unconscious women on the Polaroids. 

─── ·✧· ───

Too quiet.

He was never this quiet.

"How bad is it?" I asked, perched on the edge of the exam bed where the paper sheet betrayed every nervous shift of my weight with stupid crinkles. Pale morning light filtered through the blinds, casting thin stripes across the linoleum floor.

I'd coughed up blood again earlier this morning. More than last night. The metallic taste had filled my mouth before I even opened my eyes. I'd stumbled to the bathroom, careful not to wake her—she needed the rest after we spent the whole damn night at the police station.

I stared at the red running down the drain. Way more than there should be. I'd blamed it on stress and alcohol last time. But now? It meant my liver was probably failing faster than I'd thought. Coagulation system breaking down, blood vessels becoming fragile. Textbook end-stage.

I called him then. He was still at the hospital, had slept there while looking after Higurama's intern. His face had gone pale when he saw me walk in. Guess I looked as bad as I felt.

We ran tests. All of them. Blood work, chest X-rays, the works. And now here we are. I watched him reading what I assumed was my death sentence, waiting for him to finally look up, while the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds.

But he kept his eyes fixed on the test results, holding himself with the careful rigidity of someone handling explosives. Another bad sign.

"Suguru."

He exhaled slowly, finally meeting my gaze with eyes that said everything before his mouth could form the words. "You should have started treatment sooner. We talked about this months ago."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." I tried to wave off his concern. "What do the results say?"

His fingers tightened on the papers until the corners creased. "Your liver enzymes are through the roof. AST over 1000, ALT even higher. Bilirubin's climbing while albumin's dropping. Your PT/INR values—" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. Not just damaged anymore—failing."

I let the clinical terms wash over me. The doctor in me understood the implications perfectly. The addict in me wanted to laugh at the irony.

"Well," I said, forcing lightness into my tone, "guess I should have listened to you sooner, huh?"

Suguru's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke. Without immediate intervention—" He caught himself, but I could read the rest in his eyes as clearly as any lab report.

Without immediate intervention, I was dying. Fitting, really. That my body would choose to betray me just when I'd finally found something worth living for.

"How's the withdrawal going?" Suguru asked, setting down the test results.

"Managing." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how even that simple movement felt like too much effort. "Reduced the hydromorphone gradually. Down to about 5mg now."

"Satoru." His voice carried that familiar note of frustration, the one I'd heard a thousand times before. "You need to stop completely. Not reduce—stop. Your liver can't handle any more strain."

"I'm trying," I snapped, then immediately regretted the harshness. "Sorry. I know you're trying to help."

Suguru pulled up a chair, sitting down with a heavy sigh. "We need to start treatment immediately. The protocol won't be pleasant—high-dose corticosteroids, immunosuppressants, possibly plasmapheresis if things get worse."

"Sounds fun."

"It'll be brutal," he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. "The side effects alone—you'll need to be monitored constantly. Multiple blood draws daily, frequent imaging. And absolutely no narcotics—your liver won't survive it."

I absorbed this, the clinical reality of what lay ahead settling into my bones. "So basically, I get to feel like shit while you stick me with needles and watch me suffer."

"That's about right. But it's either that or start planning your funeral."

"At least you're honest." I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll admit you tonight, get you set up in a private room," Suguru said, already reaching for admission forms.

"Monday morning."

He looked up sharply. "What?"

"I have a family dinner on Sunday," I shrugged. "Can't skip it."

"Are you insane?" Suguru's voice rose to fill the small room. "Your liver is failing, Satoru. This isn't something you can postpone for a damn dinner party."

"Monday morning," I repeated firmly. "I gave my word I'd be there."

"Your word won't mean much if you're dead."

"I can manage two more days."

"No, you can't." Suguru slammed the test results down with enough force to make me flinch. Since when is he always so fucking tense? "Your numbers are critical. Every hour we delay treatment increases the risk of complete liver failure."

"Monday."

"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"

"I said Monday. I need to do this, Suguru. Please."

He stared at me for a long moment, jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding. Finally, his shoulders slumped.

"Fine. Monday morning, first thing. But if you show any signs of deterioration—any at all—I'm admitting you immediately. And no alcohol at that dinner. Not a single drop."

"Deal."

"I mean it, Satoru."

"I know," I said, trying to inject some levity into the heavy atmosphere. "You can do all sorts of things to me on Monday. Not like I have much on my schedule anyway."

"So Yaga has exempted you?"

"Temporarily relieved of my teaching duties until further notice." I tried to keep my voice light, but the words still choked me. "Apparently, licking your student's leg in public view isn't considered acceptable behavior. Who knew?"

"Everyone would have known that."

"Most people were too drunk to remember anyway, or too busy dealing with the police raid afterwards to care." I shrugged. "Silver lining?"

"This isn't funny. Do you have any idea how serious this is? Your career—"

"My career?" I almost laughed. "In case you missed the memo, my liver's failing. I think my career concerns just got bumped down the priority list."

Suguru fell silent.

"Besides," I added, "maybe it's for the best. Can't exactly teach while going through treatment, can I?"

"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"

"No, and he's not going to. As far as he's concerned, I'm just taking some time to... reassess my professional boundaries."

"And when he asks why you're not fighting this?"

I sighed. "Let him think what he wants. I've got bigger problems right now."

"Like a family dinner you're insisting on attending despite being on death's door?"

"Exactly." I flashed him a grin, this one a little more genuine despite everything. "See? You're getting it."

"You're impossible."

"That's why you love me."

"That's why I'm going to enjoy sticking you with needles on Monday."

"Kinky."

His expression sobered, eyes searching my face. "You should tell her."

The mere mention of her sent a knife twisting in my gut. "No."

"Satoru—"

"I said no. She has enough to deal with right now. This stays between us."

Suguru shook his head but didn't argue further. He knew me too well to waste his breath.

"I will," I added softly, more to convince myself than him. "When I'm a bit better."

"This will kill her."

"I know."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed. "For being an asshole. For everything. And... thanks for coming to the party with me."

"You already apologized."

"I mean it." I met his gaze. "You've always been there, even when I didn't deserve it."

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of the friendship we'd shared before everything got so complicated. Before I'd dragged us both into this mess.

"Just don't die on me," he said. "I've invested too much time in keeping your stupid ass alive."

I pushed off the bed, steadying myself against the sudden dizziness that threatened to knock me over. "See you Monday."

"You're a stubborn idiot," he called after me. I didn't disagree. 

I stopped at the door, turning back. "Hey, what's going on between you and Higurama's intern anyway?"

Suguru stiffened slightly. "Nothing. Just concerned since she's my patient now too."

I studied him, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze shifted slightly left—his tell when he wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Sure," I said, too exhausted to push it further. "See you Monday."

As I walked away, I wondered if he knew how obvious he was. Then again, who was I to judge? I was hardly an expert at handling matters of the heart.

─── ·✧· ───

I paused outside our apartment door, my hand trembling on the handle. Withdrawal clawed through me, a living thing twisting my gut. Each breath was a struggle, my lungs constricting as if they'd forgotten their purpose. Just breathe, idiot. In, out. You're almost there.

Relief flooded through me the moment I opened the door. Her shoes were there, neatly arranged next to my scattered ones. Her coat on the hook. She was home.

Strange how that simple fact could lift the weight crushing my chest, made breathing a fraction less painful. No matter how bad things were, coming home to her felt like breaking the surface after being underwater too long.

Dog bounded up to greet me, tail whipping back and forth, before darting off toward the bedroom. Smart boy knew exactly where to find her. I kicked off my shoes, let my jacket fall where it would, and followed.

She was there, sprawled across our bed in a sea of papers, bathed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. The sight of her stole what little breath I had left. Hair messily pulled back, drowning in one of my old t-shirts, completely lost in whatever she was reading. Beautiful. It was a beauty that made my heart ache.

Without a word, I crawled onto the bed, dragging myself up until I could rest my head on her stomach. I paused, remembering the bruises on her midsection. But before I could pull back, she gently tugged me closer and I surrendered, resting my head against her warmth. 

I wrapped my arms around her waist and her fingers found my hair instantly, like they belonged there, gentle strokes that made my eyes flutter closed and I thought, this was home. This was peace. Even as my body screamed for relief, even as guilt gnawed at me, here with her, I could almost believe everything would be okay.

"What are you reading?" I mumbled against her shirt, already knowing the answer. Why did she still throw herself into this project? Did it even matter anymore? But I already knew that answer too. Distraction.

"Research papers. For our project." Her fingers never stopped their magic. "Everything okay at the hospital?" I wondered for a second how she knew where I went, but then she said, "Antiseptic smell."

Did I always smell like that? Like the harsh, sterile scent of the hospital? I hated it. Hated how it seemed to cling to my skin no matter how many times I scrubbed my hands raw. Hated the way it reminded me of sickness and death.

I hugged her tighter, breathing in her familiar scent as that was so unlike the clinical smell of the hospital as I crafted the lie. Yeah, everything's fine, I told her. Had to check on something with a patient. Normal stuff, nothing to worry about. Standard procedure.

But even as I spoke, the guilt in my stomach twisted. The truth was, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep going like this. I could feel myself slipping, losing my grip on the things that mattered most and I couldn't help but wonder if I'd even make it to the end.

If I'd be there to witness the results of our research, to stand by her side as we perhaps do something great. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the feel of her beneath me, the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Her fingers paused momentarily in my hair, and I knew she sensed something off. She always could read me too well. But then she resumed the gentle stroking.

"You'd tell me if something's wrong, right?"

"Of course," I whispered, another lie to add to the growing pile.

I tightened my arms around her waist, as if by holding her close enough, I could somehow make up for my betrayal. As if loving her fiercely enough could somehow balance out the pain I was about to cause her. Monday felt both too far away and not nearly far enough.

Desperate for a distraction, I asked about how it went at the police station. She said it was fine, her friends were with her as they'd needed to clarify their statements, she explained, her fingers still weaving through my hair. Everything had been too hazy right after the party.

She mentioned they needed me to verify my own statement again too. I bit back the urge to say that they'd likely have to come to my hospital bed for that. Instead, I just hummed in response. Whatever it took to make that little shit pay for what he'd done.

"He won't hurt anyone else," she added. "We'll make sure of it."

Something about her struck me as odd. How could she be so unaffected by everything that had happened? Like we didn’t just discover that Zenin Naoya was—

"You're so calm about it." 

"And what would you have me do?"

I didn’t know. Maybe I should be grateful that at least one of us could keep it together. 

I turned my head, pressing a kiss to her palm. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her, how sorry I was for dragging her into this mess, how I feared the rumors that would follow her through university halls. How fucking terrified I was. How much I loved her. But it all just crowded in my throat, tangled with all the other truths I couldn't voice.

Instead, I just held her tighter. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

"For what?"

I didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Or lie again. I clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping me from falling apart, pressing my face into her stomach, trying to blur myself into her very being. "Satoru,” she winced, a small sound escaping her lips. "You're hurting me."

"Please," I pleaded, tears pricking at my eyes. “Just… bear it for a moment. Please.” But then, a sudden tickle rose in my throat, and I sat up abruptly, he movement sending the room spinning.

"You okay?" she asked, sitting up as well, her hand cradling her side.

"Yeah," I managed, before another cough clawed its way out. I stood, turning away from her, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. When I pulled it away, blood glistened on my palm.

"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"

"Everything's fine." I curled my fingers into a fist, watching red seep between my knuckles. "Just need some water."

I should call him again. Should probably head to the hospital right now. Every logical part of my brain screamed at me to seek help, to stop this madness before it was too late. 

But Sunday's dinner loomed in my mind. One last chance to fix things with her, to make things right before everything inevitably crumbled around us. Just two more days. I just needed to hold on for two more days and then I could let the chips fall where they may.

Even as blood painted the back of my throat red, I clung to that desperate hope, that foolish notion that I could make this right. I knew I was being stupid. Reckless. Playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. 

But then again, what did it matter anyway?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — welcome back, i hope this wasn't too intense, even tho i went through all stages of grief writing this chapter, but i'm quite happy with how it turned out. hope you all survived seeing things through satoru's eyes once more. writing from his perspective is always both challenging and thrilling in some strange way.

quick note, as this is somehow not obvious to some people: i understand that this story deals with controversial topics and might not be everyone’s cup of tea but this is purely fictional work, and i'm just here to enjoy a stupid little hobby. i am not looking for criticism. if the story makes you uncomfortable, feel free to block me and move on.

for those following the spin-off: yes, this chapter runs parallel to remedies and reasons chapter 04 ! if you want to see how certain events played out from a different angle, definitely check out the suguru spin-off.

and i want to thank you all for your incredible support. your comments, messages, and theories continue to blow me away. seeing how deeply you connect with this story and catch all the little details i sprinkle throughout brings me so much joy. your thoughtful analyses and wild speculations make writing this stupid story so much fun !! :''))

also a massive thank you to @/nanamis-baker who beta reads all these chaotic chapters, listens to my rambling about plot points, and talks me down whenever i'm convinced everything i write is terrible <3

& second quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

next chapter we'll be back to our regular pov as we deal with the aftermath of... well, all of this. until then, take care of yourselves ! and as always, thank you for joining me on this chaotic journey and being patient with my slow updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @browrm @panteramarron @starlightanyaaa

@myahfig4 @rosebluod @bloopsstuff @depressedemosantaclaus @nanamis-baker

@tofumiao @shoruio @s3vtrue @rosso-seta @bnha-free-writing

@chiyokoemilia @bonequinhagojo @janbannan @mikkmmmii @yeiena

@coeqi @faustina @glenkiller338 @yenmrtnz @buni-bunnydoll

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[logoleptic-since-06]

-Truth, Dare, Spin Bottles

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Content: Fem!Reader, Basketball AU, Reader is an Author, They are in their 20's, Twitter/Texting AU, Profanity, Crack, Fluff, Not Proofread

Context: Satoru Gojo is one of the biggest basketball players in the NBA; only at the age of 28, he has taken the entire world of basketball by a storm. Apart from his impeccable talent, his fans are enamoured by his irresistible charm and the ability to connect with his fans— whether that is online or in real life. Y/N and literature have gone hand in hand since she was six years old. Growing up an awkwardly introverted girl, she's alway found solace in pouring out words on pages. At the age of 18, she published her debut novel; and now at 24, she is an internationally known author and a popular literary influencer online despite her aversion to social cues. Their worlds are neither connected and nor could their lives ever be destined to intersect, until two fan accounts of each decide otherwise. See the introduction post for some more information.

Part 1

A/N: Sorry for not posting for a while, I've been busy with some high school events.

Tags: @k-kkiana @n1vi @itsinherited @sorilyae @moncher-ire

[sukuna-ryo]

Jjk Men In Fairytale Retellings Masterlist

Explicit Sexual Content, MDNI.

»»———-　....................　———-««

𝕮𝖎𝖓𝖉����𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆 𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔

𝓒𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓢𝓸𝓸𝓷...

The Honest Woodcutter (Gojo and Sukuna)

Rapunzel (Gojo)

Red Riding Hood (rrd Sukuna and fox reader)

Beast in the Beauty (Sukuna)

Ursula Geto and Ariel

Captain Hook Toji and Tinker Bell

Jasmine and the Shapeshifter Tiger (Nanami and Toji)

The Nutcracker (Reader as Clara's mother and Nutcracker Prince Nanami)

The Frog Prince (Hiromi)

Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Toji, Choso, Nanami, Hiromi)

»»———-　....................　———-««

Main m.list

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

[coffee-and-geto]

THE SPACE YOU LEFT BEHIND

“Will you stay with me?” It’s like a wish waiting to be granted. “Forever.”

pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer! reader

summary: indeed, after suguru has defected, you’ve been trying to heal yourself and to not loose your mind. but healing ourselves is always harder than helping others, isn’t it? but don’t forget the goal of a sorcerer: protect humans at the risk of your life. and sometimes, death is closer that we think it is.

warnings: heavy angst, injuries, mention of death, blood, depression, eating disorder, pinning, mention of vomit, mention of cigarettes, mei mei, nanami & shoko make and appearance, mention of yaga, the lion king movie mentionned, jujutsu sorcerers’ life sucks, the story takes shape after suguru's defection, bittersweet/happy ending.

wc: 5,039

When you committed to the world of exorcism after middle school, you hadn’t realized just how much you had underestimated the darker sides of this life, where exorcists dedicate their lives to protecting humans — the primary source of the curses’ existence.

Suguru was right, wasn’t he?

It’s because of them that your classmates died. It’s also their fault that your best friend deserted school after massacring an entire village during a mission.

That put an end to all the memories you cherished so dearly, kept, and illustrated in a diary.

Sunny afternoons after class, eating ice cream with your friends Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru. The setting sun signaling the end of a fulfilling day, leading into sleepless nights of sleepovers, where Satoru brought piles of sweets ready to infest your mouths with cavities as Suguru told scary stories about his hometown.

Or shopping days with Shoko, dragging the two boys along to test makeup products on them — the ones you’d never buy considering their outrageous prices.

Or those dangerous missions where you hunted curses, tracking them down to uphold your values: protecting the weak to maintain order and peace.

Such a beautiful motto, isn’t it?

A motto meant to help you, guide you, and support you so you wouldn’t lose sight of your goals.

So why did it fail so much that your once-beloved diary now sits open on your desk, collecting dust since the last time you opened it — not to add a new memory, but rather to look at the last ones you wrote.

Suguru’s departure left a void far more significant and meaningful than you had expected, didn’t it?

Life feels duller. The sky no longer seems as sunny — replaced by a grayish one, heavy with dark clouds threatening storms that mirror your emotions. If you had no tears left to cry, the rain would suffice to push you into your room after classes and missions, both as exhausting as your mind, consumed by draining thoughts.

The silence left by Suguru’s absence is far louder than all the times you screamed into his voicemail after he stopped responding to you. Of course, eventually, you gave up. Not out of choice.

Simply because he had blocked you.

And when changing SIM cards proved futile, you quickly realized through the automatic response that the number you sought was no longer in service.

It felt like all your regrets had come crashing down at once. But in truth, they had only arrived right on time.

If you had helped Suguru the way he needed, he wouldn’t have left. 

He wouldn’t have been condemned.

You wouldn’t have stopped eating, stopped living your life the way you were told you should, or started losing your friends one by one.

Suguru was the first.

Shoko isn’t the second. The brunette seems to hold up much better — although the number of cigarettes she smokes daily has doubled — she doesn’t withdraw into herself the way you do. So, you’re sure you won’t lose her... right?

And as for Satoru… Will he be the next to leave, one way or another?

Or will it be you?

Either way, you’re losing yourselves. It’s been a while since you stopped keeping track of how long it’s been since you last saw Satoru after Suguru’s departure.

Mr. Yaga confirmed that he hadn’t assigned him a single mission — the situation critical, delicate, and as fragile as a flower filled with poison that could make The Strongest falter at the slightest misstep or careless move.

He could very well be dead, and no one would know.

“So… you haven’t heard from him either?” Nanami murmurs, his deep, low voice almost swallowed by the muddy ground and heavy rain that poured as much as your overwhelmed mind.

You shake your head. “Not a single sign of life,” you mumble with the tip of your lips.

The two of you are on your way back to the school after a long mission assigned by your teacher, Yaga. It took you the entire day, but at least your mind feels lighter, despite the constant fatigue weighing on your shoulders like the weight of the world.

As the rain falls harder on you both, Nanami takes the initiative to open his black umbrella, holding it over your head as you stare at your mud-stained shoes.

“Almost three weeks.”

Your friend’s voice sounds distant, like hearing someone underwater.

Your head jerks up. “Hmm?”

“He hasn’t been out in almost three weeks,” Nanami repeats, his gaze fixed straight ahead. The crunching of your shoes and his on the gravel fills the silence before he continues. “Yaga gave him some time, but it’s getting harder to assign missions to others who are on Satoru’s level, you know.”

You don’t react to his words. Of course, he’s right.

Just as he’s wrong.

While Satoru’s behavior of shutting himself away without contact for so long isn’t responsible, his reasons remain entirely valid.

He just lost someone dear to him.

So, can you blame him?

But perhaps it’s time to bring your friend back, even if it means risking losing him — and yourself — in the process.

~~~~

You knock three times on Satoru’s dorm door.

A dead silence answers you.

You try again.

The same response.

So, you try the handle, testing whether it’s locked. However, it gives way under your hand, and a moment later, you step through the doorway into an unrecognizable environment.

Indeed, your best friend’s room — usually adorned with decorations and elements that so vividly reflected Satoru’s lively personality — is now unrecognizable. The windows, typically allowing sunlight to flood in and brighten the room, now shroud it in an ominous darkness. On the floor, clothes, likely dirty, are scattered at your feet. Satoru’s desk is covered in a visible layer of dust despite the dim light. And finally, on the bed you’ve always known, rests a long shape wrapped in thick blankets.

With his back turned to you, Satoru seems to be asleep from where you stand, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Even when you call his name, he doesn’t show any sign of awareness.

So, you close the door and kneel by the side of his bed.

“Satoru?” you murmur, placing a gentle hand on a shoulder covered by your friend’s indigo comforter.

The slight shiver running through him proves he’s very much awake.

But was his mind equally present?

“Satoru, were you sleeping?” you ask, shaking him carefully.

He doesn’t respond, not even with a gesture.

Your throat tightens in the face of a situation you’ve never had to face with him before.

How do you help someone who’s in the same situation as you?

In fact, it’s even worse.

Satoru is Suguru’s other half. Their symbiotic relationship always stopped you from seeing further with Satoru, leaving you questioning what he truly felt for Suguru. Because deep down, you knew you didn’t stand a chance. You’d never hold a place as important as Suguru’s in Satoru’s heart.

So, you chose to fill the void in your heart with love for him. It’s far from enough, but you’d rather not dwell on it. Unrequited love always ends this way, doesn’t it?

You straighten up just enough to lie down on the small remaining space on Satoru’s bed, carefully rubbing your friend’s arm to avoid startling him while offering the overflow of affection that aches to be reciprocated but, for now, can only warm the albino.

You don’t dare complain about the stale smell in the room, prioritizing Satoru’s comfort above all else. You drape your arm around him as he breathes in and out with a shaky rhythm, ignoring the cold of the room that freezes you just as much as the rain from earlier did.

Perhaps half an hour passes. 

Maybe an hour. 

Or more. 

Or even just ten minutes.

The oppressive silence of the room quickly catches up to the sleep deprivation you so desperately need to cure. The cold vanishes. In the end, it doesn’t matter, right?

The only thing that matters is having Satoru in your arms, no matter what, his back pressed securely against you as your breaths synchronize, and your heartbeats merge in a way you’ve always dreamed of.

But when you flutter your eyes open, the absence of cold is quickly replaced by body warmth. Satoru’s thick comforter is draped over you, and his body is pressed against yours.

But what strikes you most is that he’s no longer facing away.

Satoru, his eyelids closed, breathes softly and slowly, the shadow of haunted dark circles staining his angelic face.

You’re about to sit up when Satoru, still without opening his eyes, slides a hand over your arm.

“Don’t move,” he mumbles.

And his raspy voice nearly gives you a heart attack.

There’s only one way for someone to have that effect.

And more than anything, the slight swelling and redness of Satoru’s pale eyelids confirm your suspicions.

Resting your head back onto the pillow, your forehead lightly brushes against Satoru’s.

“Can you look at me?” Your lips move in a near-inaudible whisper.

Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head.

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Satoru,” you insist, maintaining the same melancholic gentleness.

So you take the initiative to slowly raise your hands, bringing them toward his soft face to gently lift his eyelids. But what you see causes a crack in your heart, one akin to the shattering of ice under the raw heat of fire.

A small, wet pearl escapes from one of his eyes, deliberately rolling down his cheek, crossing his nose, and vanishing at the corner of his mouth.

Without a word, Satoru opens his eyes, and the embodiment of pain meets your distressed gaze.

His cerulean irises, usually alive with mischief, are as dark as an abyssal chasm. It’s as though a curse itself has taken hold of his gaze, condemning anyone who dares to meet his bloodshot eyes.

Your eyebrows slowly knit together, and with your heart already shattered, you decide to wrap your arms around him, pulling an unrecognizable Satoru against you as his chest releases a trembling breath and your neck grows damp from the occasional drops of warmth falling from his face.

“I’m here,” you mutter in his ear. “I’m here no matter what.”

Your eyelids close slowly, letting the tears you’d held back finally roll down your own cheeks.

Once again, perhaps ten minutes, half an hour, or even the entire afternoon passes before you finally decide to sit up, gently pulling an exhausted Satoru into your arms.

And to your surprise, he allows it.

You help him stand, supporting him with an arm around his body despite the height difference, and guide him to the bathroom. The decision had been made a while ago, even if your consciousness hadn’t fully caught up. After all, you would have wanted someone to do the same for you.

But aren’t we always better at caring for others than for ourselves?

Without protest — even though the idea of seeing Satoru naked might have made you blush last month — immersing him in the warm bath you’ve carefully prepared doesn’t feel as awkward as you’d expected. You’ve never seen him without at least his boxers, so out of respect, you avert your eyes as the poor boy settles into the hot water.

You grab a bottle of shampoo lying around in Satoru’s bathroom, squeezing out a small amount to wash his angelic hair. Despite having likely neglected his hygiene as much as you have lately, your friend is in desperate need of someone to care for him.

Satoru, his eyes still closed, seems almost asleep under your slow, gentle, and careful movements.

It looks like you’re washing a real dead man.

But perhaps part of him has been dead ever since Suguru left? Perhaps a piece of him vanished the moment Suguru was gone?

The faint hum vibrating from Satoru’s lips reassures you that he’s still conscious. You take it as a good sign that he’s relaxing. Your nails softly scratch his scalp, and he lets out a low groan of satisfaction. The foam grows thicker as you continue to massage Satoru’s head.

You rinse the shampoo from his hair with warm water, droplets trickling down his perfect face.

One of those droplets slides just below his eye, so imperceptibly that you wonder if you’d have noticed it at all if you weren’t gazing at his face with almost religious reverence.

Using a washcloth, you pick up Satoru’s body wash this time, lathering it across his skin, applying slightly more pressure to tense areas in need of a soothing massage. Soft sighs escape his nose, signaling that you can continue without bothering him.

After several massages where you pay special attention to certain spots, you fetch a robe, wrapping it around Satoru’s now-clean body. He’s like new, more ready now to hold onto a semblance of consciousness.

But one thing that strikes you is that Satoru, despite being entirely naked and in such a vulnerable state of weakness, allowed you to care for him without opening his eyes even once.

With a faint, gentle smile, you guide Satoru back to his room, grabbing some clean, comfortable clothes for him while he collapses onto his bed under the weight of the world on his shoulders. You help him into each piece of clothing, his body too weak to move as usual, almost lifeless. Then, you lead him to your room, crossing the school’s corridors so he can rest in the clean and organized space you’ve managed to create after pulling yourself together following your own depressive episode of endless, self-destructive days.

Your room is a true haven — tidy, clean, and orderly.

And so your freshly made bed with its crisp sheets seems to call to Satoru. The softness of the mattress cradles him as you drape your immaculate comforter over him.

Like laying a deceased loved one to rest in their coffin, Satoru keeps his eyes closed, his face void of expression, yet with a weariness that seems to have lifted ever so slightly.

~~~~

“How long?”

“I already told you.”

“Liar.”

Satoru pushes the food tray toward you, the arm of the mechanical table brushing against your torso. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

You sigh, the exhaustion of the past few days weighing on you like a heavy, unpleasant rain.

“First of all, you just got back from a mission where you were inches from dying if Shoko hadn’t been there. Second, you refuse to tell me how long it’s been since you’ve eaten — unless it’s been a month — and now you’re saying you’re not hungry?”

Satoru, lying under the pristine white sheets of his infirmary bed, simply turns his head away. It’s as if he’s acting like a machine. 

Mechanical movements, curt responses, and barely any signs of life.

During one of the recent missions assigned to him by Principal Yaga after weeks of absence, Satoru resumed his routine. He sleeps, does his missions, and returns to sleep in his room. Ever since you took the time to clean and organize his room, you haven’t exchanged more than a sentence. The only memory that still haunts you is the blood-red hue of Satoru’s eyes that night in his room.

The void left by Suguru has wreaked havoc.

And while you’ve managed to patch yourself up — or so you think — you’re now trying to help your friend in need. But how do you help someone who refuses to speak?

“And ��I don’t know’ isn’t an answer,” you add in the face of his silence, rubbing your face, which feels warmer than usual. Perhaps it’s the heat of the room? December is a month where illness comes quickly. But it’s nothing, you reassure yourself.

“You’re flushed.”

“I know.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

Both of you avert your gaze, equally annoyed and concerned with one another.

“When was the last time you even slept? You spend more time watching over my sleep and my meals than looking at yourself in a mirror. You look like a Halloween costume.”

Ouch.

You glance at your reflection in the mirror near the nurse’s desk, and despite Satoru’s harsh words, your state seems even worse than his.

You’ve lost weight lately. The dark hollows under your eyes mirror your grueling schedule, where you spend most of your day juggling missions, watching over Satoru, and helping the school with any task.

Like an escape, you’ve found any excuse to avoid being alone. Especially with yourself.

But isn’t that exactly what Suguru did? The poor guy had no one to talk to, and the one time he tried, you thought he was just exhausted from swallowing curses. That was when he broke down and sobbed in front of you.

The memory alone stings your eyes. And unfortunately for you, you’re not in any shape to hold back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You stand abruptly, turning your head away to avoid showing the cracks in your courageous facade to your best friend.

“Eat. I have a mission in half an hour. I’ll be back tonight.”

As you slip out of the infirmary, Satoru painfully sit up in his bed, opening his mouth to call after you, to say something. Anything. His words were harsh and cruel, while you’ve been patient with him, caring for him more than for yourself.

But he hates it.

Because you only remind him of what Suguru used to do. When he felt terrible, Suguru helped him despite his own pain, despite wanting to vomit up the curses he’d consumed or even die. Suguru cared about his appetite, just as you do now with Satoru. The same with his sleep, his recklessness during missions.

So he doesn’t want to lose you, at the risk of dying a second time.

~~~~

That same evening, you don’t return.

And Satoru notices immediately, because at bedtime, around 10 PM, you usually stop by his room — even more so now that he’s in the infirmary.

Missions take time. So Satoru reassures himself, thinking that you simply took longer and that by the next morning, you’d be by his side to check on him. He would apologize. He’d ask for forgiveness and try to understand the reason behind the instability in your voice before you left earlier.

Did he hurt you that much?

His train of thought is interrupted by urgent voices barking orders, and Shoko putting on her apprentice doctor’s coat as she grabs a spell manual on her way out, meeting Satoru’s confused gaze.

And he understands immediately who it’s about.

Despite his still weakened state and his inability to perform Reverse Curse Technique for some time now, Satoru pulls on his exorcist uniform, leaving his sunglasses on the bedside table, and follows Shoko and the team of medics heading toward a school car. But he swiftly grabs Shoko’s wrist.

If something happened to you, taking a stupid car would only lead to a certain death.

With a gaze as panicked as it is void, Satoru questions his friend.

“Mei Mei went to check on what happened,” Shoko murmurs gravely. “The mission was simple. She should’ve been back over five hours ago.” She points to the time on her watch.

1:20 AM.

Did he fall asleep while lost in thought? How had so much time passed since he noticed your absence earlier that night?

“And you think taking more time in this car is enough?” Satoru spits his words, his voice low but echoing nonetheless into the snowy night as flurries begin to fall around them. “Just tell me you want her dead now, then.”

Shoko glances at the waiting car.

“Then what do you suggest?” she asks, narrowing her eyes, scrutinizing her friend from head to toe before yanking her wrist back sharply. “Look at you. You can barely stand.”

“I can still teleport. You’re far more competent than these clowns,” Satoru replies in the same tone, grabbing her wrist again. “And let me remind you, we cannot lose her.” The warning in his voice sounds like a threat.

It’s only when Shoko finally relents that Satoru teleports them both after she gives him the location where Mei Mei last reported finding you. The pressure of the spell makes them feel like they’re being sucked through a narrow tube, or squeezed in a vice. When they finally arrive at your location, it’s with a pop sound, like a bubble bursting free.

Releasing Shoko’s wrist the very second they arrive, Satoru scans the surroundings — then freezes.

Mei Mei’s blue hair is bent over a body on the ground. In the dim light of the night, only the moon’s rays illuminate a pool resembling wine.

And Satoru would’ve prayed for it to be only wine.

He and Shoko rush toward Mei Mei, who steps aside to face them with a furrowed brow, her expression a foreboding omen.

“Internal bleeding,” she announces to Shoko.

The words ring like a gong in Satoru’s ears, now buzzing. His paralyzed body stands mere inches from you. Your half-closed eyes stare blankly into the void, your arms lying limply at your sides, and a streak of dried blood stains your cheek. Despite the presence of your friends, you don’t react.

Not even when Satoru says your name.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And as many times as it takes before Shoko and Mei Mei push him back, as he struggles to try to hold you in his arms, his hoarse voice cracking, begging you not to leave him.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Satoru Gojo, whose senses granted by his Six Eyes had long been dulled, awakens once again.

He hears your heart beating faintly. The pulse of your arteries, the successive waves of blood pushed by your struggling heart. Your shallow breaths slipping through damaged lungs. The warmth of your blood slowly leaking life away.

Please, no…

As long as it took for Satoru to recover a fraction of his powers, the same amount of time seems to pass while Shoko works quickly to stop your hemorrhaging.

He knows because he no longer hears the blood flowing out of your body. Your pulse has slowed, and though still weak, your heart beats with slightly more determination.

That determination, Satoru perceives as a flame.

A flame you refuse to let extinguish, because he knows you’re fighting not to pass on.

And if you no longer have the strength, Satoru will be the lighter forcing you to keep fighting. He will stay by your side as long as you need him.

And he will refuse to die a second time — unless it’s for you.

~~~~

A few days later.

The roles have reversed.

Satoru, fully recovered from his mission for a while now, devotes all his time to your care. He’s moved his belongings to the infirmary, where you remain recuperating. He insisted on pushing a bed right up against yours to monitor your sleep, your eating habits, and your overall well-being. 

Every movement you make is instantly picked up by his Six Eyes.

Your survival after your mission was nothing short of a miracle for Satoru.

A prayer he made — and one that was answered.

“You tired?” he asks softly, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. His cerulean eyes linger on your still-fresh bandages, and a bitter pang squeezes at his heart.

You shake your head despite the telltale dark circles under your eyes. “I’m feeling better.”

“Bored?” he guesses then, raising an eyebrow slightly, his tone tinged with amusement. Is he planning something?

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Got something in mind?” you reply, curiosity sparking enough to make you want to laugh genuinely.

Lying beside you in his own infirmary bed pressed against yours, Satoru gently takes your hand in his. He lifts it to chest level, absentmindedly playing with your fingers. “I could put on a movie for us if you’d like…”

“What kind of movie? If you even think about suggesting that cursed Terrifier again, I swear I’ll strang—”

Satoru bursts into laughter at your disgusted expression. His chest shakes with every sound, lifting the weight of any lingering pain in his heart.

“I was thinking more along the lines of the new The Lion King movie,” he says with a mischievous grin.

“Mufasa, you mean?” Your face lights up for a moment. “But the movie has just been released,” you add, frowning slightly. “We can’t go anywhere.”

“Who said anything about going somewhere?” He wraps one long arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer just before planting a chaste kiss on your temple — a gesture that nearly makes your lungs give out.

Somehow, Satoru always manages to surprise you.

Despite the movie’s exclusive release at cinemas, half an hour later you find yourself watching it. 

Nestled against Satoru under some thicker blankets he brought, the two of you share snacks scattered across your laps. The only light in the infirmary is the soft glow of the film projector casting the movie onto a pristine wall.

Your cheek rests against Satoru’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat serving as the perfect lullaby to lull you to sleep. On top of that, his long fingers gently scratch your scalp, soothing you further into relaxation.

The moment feels so perfect you almost mistake it for a dream — but no.

Right now, it’s as if the depressive haze that had weighed down both you and Satoru has been blown away, replaced by a fleeting moment of happiness wrapped in the cocoon of this night.

Just like your feelings, the situation between you and Satoru is undefined and confusing. A shared closeness restored, mutual personal care, and a clear attachment to each other.

It seems like friendship, doesn’t it?

But then, why does your hand, resting on your friend’s chest, tremble at the thought of sliding around the back of his neck to pull him closer—close enough for your lips to finally meet his?

Feeling your trembling hand, Satoru shifts his attention away from the movie to look down at you. “Sweetheart?”

Your eyes meet his, drowning in the deep ocean of blue they hold.

With every passing second, you try to speak, to respond, to confess everything. To tell him everything. Yet, with your lips parted, all you can manage is a soft whisper:

“Nothing.”

~~~~

December 25th.

All of Tokyo Jujutsu High has gathered amidst the scents of warm food, the laughter of groups of friends, the unwrapping of gifts, and the feeling of family.

Yet, Satoru feels like something is missing.

This December 25th marks the first Christmas you, Shoko, and Satoru spend without Suguru.

So what’s the point of celebrating? What is Suguru doing right now? Is he spending such a special day all alone?

Alone, outside the school’s festive hall, Satoru stands bundled in a winter coat, snow as white as his hair delicately falling onto his frame. He’s leaning against a wall, as if that simple act could help him stay upright.

His throat tightens.

He wants Suguru back.

But he knows all too well that he won’t have him.

So Satoru doesn’t celebrate Christmas when the one source of his joy has vanished.

Inside the hall, you’re laughing wholeheartedly with a few friends, a glass of champagne in hand and a large scarf draped over your shoulders for warmth.

But amidst the small crowd, the one person who holds your heart is nowhere to be found.

Your smile slowly fades as your eyes frantically scan the room for Satoru. You excuse yourself hastily and begin to search — the hall, the restroom — before finally heading toward the door to the courtyard.

Almost sprinting, you step out into the biting December cold.

And there he is.

With measured steps, you move to stand beside him. He doesn’t budge, even as you gently wipe the dried tears from his face while he sniffles absentmindedly, his nose reddened by the sharp chill.

“Do you believe that he’s thinking of us right now?” Satoru murmurs, his voice rough and low.

“I’m sure of it,” you whisper softly in reply, pulling a tissue from your pocket and holding it to his nose so he can blow. A faint smile tugs at your lips as he thanks you with one last sniffle.

You’re about to put the tissue away when Satoru abruptly but tenderly pulls you into his arms, pressing you firmly against him.

“Satoru?” Your eyes search his, confused, as he leans his face as close to yours as possible, nearly sending your heart into overdrive when his long, slender nose brushes against yours.

“I love you,” he whispers, his tone carrying a small smile.

Those three little words leave you speechless, your lips parted in shock at the confession and the sincerity behind it.

It’s as if your entire being comes alive again, breaking free.

After so long without crying, it only takes those words to bring tears back to the surface. Salty streams trail down your cheeks as your face twists, trying to hold back sobs.

“I love you too,” you cry, your voice trembling all the same.

Satoru, his own smile tinged with fragility, wipes your face just as you did for him. His thumbs gently rub your cheeks in a bittersweet comfort.

And in a synchronized motion, your lips connect, pressing against each other with an intensity that makes your souls whirl like the wind does with the falling snow.

Every time your lips part to end a kiss or catch your breath, you find each other again in the next second, as if eternity had tried to keep you apart. The cold ceases to exist around you; the warmth of your finally united souls is enough to melt the ice that had formed within you since Suguru’s departure.

Reluctantly, you break the kiss to catch your breath, your eyes no longer shining with tears, but with love this time.

Neither of you pulls away from the closeness you share. Your bodies speak for you, the silence between you filled with mutual understanding.

Satoru clears his throat. “Will you stay with me?”

It’s like a wish waiting to be granted.

“Forever.”

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422

@drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @cybersomniq @sanemistar

@monokaix @moonlitwitchdaisy

a/n: hello everyone :)) this fic was special to write thh. it’s the one that came out of an episode of impostor syndrome where i just wrote without thinking. i’d been wanting to write angst about satoru for a loooong time, so here it is :) (why do i secretly hope i’ve made all of you cry?). anyway, we can finally breathe after big exams! i’ve never looked forward to the christmas vacations as much as this year, lmao. take care of your little faces <3

reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated <3

[osohchoso]

Under the Mistletoe

bf!Choso x Reader

“I just don't get what the big deal is about this Christmas thing.” He admits, his eyes flicking back to the screen for a brief second. Then it hits you. Sometimes you forget that there are still many things that feel foreign to the half-curse. Things that you grew up with and felt natural to you. Your sweet boyfriend has never experienced this magical winter holiday.

Content: fluff, fluff and more FLUFF, reader has no given gender or description, no use of y/n, established relationship, reader is homesick, reader is implied sorcerer, comfort, christmas and winter activities, pet names (baby, babe, love), found family, a bit cheesy, links to Twitter for visuals :)

SFW!

WC: 7.2k

December 1st

You and Choso are cuddling together on the couch as your fireplace crackles in the background, filling the house with a comfortable warmth that contrasts from the chilly outdoors. Eyes glued to the TV screen as you watch the first Christmas movie of the year. A large quilt wrapped around both of you, hands locked together beneath the blanket. His calloused thumb caresses the back of your hand, the only sign he was still awake. The warmth from his body acts as your personal heater as you lean your head against his shoulder. You exhale a pleasant sigh, this is exactly what you needed.

This would be your first year spending the holidays away from family. Now that December has come, you can’t stop thinking about how much you miss them. Christmas was always such a big deal back home, but you weren't able to accrue enough time off to fly back home. Last year you moved across the country for a job position at Jujutsu Tech, personally picked by Satoru Gojo himself. So you picked up and moved, essentially starting a whole new life. As scary as it was, you were welcomed into their community, making friends quickly with the other sorcerers and students. Through them, you also met your loving boyfriend Choso. Whose cheek is currently pressed against the top of your head as he stares at the TV screen. 

“I just don't get it,” he mutters suddenly, more to himself than you.

“Get what baby?” You ask as he lifts his head, your gaze meeting his conflicted brown eyes.

“This” he waves his free hand wildly toward the movie you put on in hopes of curing your winter blues. 

“Oh? You don’t understand the movie?” You ask, cocking your head. You thought it was a pretty straight forward story, it was a children’s movie after all. Before you can open your mouth to break down the plot of the animated film, he interrupts you.

“I just don't get what the big deal is about this Christmas thing.” He admits, his eyes flicking back to the screen for a brief second. Then it hits you. Sometimes you forget that there are still many things that feel foreign to the half-curse. Things that you grew up with and felt natural to you. Your sweet boyfriend has never experienced this magical winter holiday.

“Oh! Christmas? It’s a holiday Cho. It happens once every year during December. It’s a special celebration where you gather with your loved ones and make lots of memories.” 

“And…you're required to bring the trees in the house?” He points to the screen as the characters decorate a Christmas tree, a skeptical look on his face causing you to giggle. 

“There is more than just that. It’s baking cookies and giving gifts, parties and hot cocoa!” As you gush about your favorite traditions, you feel a spark set off inside you. Igniting the Christmas spirit that the dreary weather had locked away from you, thawing the excitement you used to feel toward this season. “Most importantly, it's about spending time with family.” You add.

“I still don't think I fully understand.” He sighs, scratching the back of his neck as he processes your words. 

That's when you realize, you don’t have to fly all the way back home to celebrate. Choso is your family now, and he’s right here. With the cutest confused look plastered to his face as he waits for you to reply. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll show you.” You smile warmly before leaning in to plant a light kiss to his cheek. 

After 150 years, Choso would be celebrating his first Christmas.

December 8th

Both you and Choso were lucky enough to only work a half day today. Warnings of a looming snowstorm caused the school to close early, wanting the students and staff to take necessary precautions. The two of you decide to head back to your place together after leaving Jujutsu Tech, snow already lightly falling. He opens the front door for you, always such a gentleman, and follows you inside.

“Can we watch another Christmas Movie?” He asks slightly excited before he's even finished sliding his boots off. His sudden interest in the holiday catches you by surprise. You have both been so busy with work the past week you haven’t had any time to relax together, let alone indulge in some holiday festivities. 

“Sure Choso.” You smile as you lead him over to the couch, throwing a couple blankets over the two of you. You find another holiday classic and press play.

“Yuji told me about Christmas,” he mentions, eyes glued to the screen. “It sounds very fun and I can’t wait to celebrate it with you.” He whispers as he presses his lips to your temple in a soft kiss. His sweet words warm your soul. 

“Me too Cho. I’m glad I get to spend my Christmas with you.” You melt into his embrace as the movie plays. 

“I've been researching it. Christmas” he explains. “It’s something you love, so I want to know all there is about it.” He admits. How did you end up with such a thoughtful man?

As the movie continues, you notice Choso paying attention less and less, his eyes drawn to the heavy snow falling outside your window. Eventually, he ignored the movie completely, the movie he requested to watch. Mesmerized by the falling specks of white. You reach for the remote to pause the film. 

“Baby, you aren’t even watching” you laugh slightly, elbowing him in the side.

“Sorry. It's just…look.” He doesnt turn back to you as he speaks, eyes still watching the window. His index finger pointing. “It’s beautiful.” He exhales dreamily. The way he speaks about the weather, something so common this type of year, makes you smile wide. 

“It is isn't it. Do you want to go outside and watch?” You ask. 

“Yes! Can we?” He nods furiously, excited with the chance to see his first snowfall up close, to observe it fall from the sky. 

The two of you stand and move toward the door. He reaches for the door handle to rush out but you stop him. He looks at you, confused and cocking his head to the side. First you offer to go outside and now you're telling him no.

“Wait, you need to bundle up first. I don't want you to catch a cold.” You grab a knit beanie and slip it over his pigtails, making the hat bulge awkwardly from the amount of hair stuffed underneath. Then wrapping a red scarf around his neck and face, making sure it stays snug against his cheeks. You repeat the same process for yourself before allowing him to exit the house. 

Once outside, he stares up at the sky. Snow collects on his dark lashes as he watches it fall from the source. Struck by fascination. He doesn't speak a word, just watches the powder fall to earth, and you can't help but watch him in return. The way he gazes up with child-like wonder. 

A light bulb flashes in your head. You walk across the yard, Choso not even noticing your disappearance. Reaching down, you scoop up a handful of snow. An icy chill spreading through your bare fingers. Smashing it together to form a tight ball and tossing it directly into his side. He flinches and turns at you, an almost startled look on his face.

“What the heck was that for?” he tilts his head to the side, almost looking offended by your attack.

“Time for a snowball fight!” you declare as you reach down and grab another handful, packing the ball and launching at his stomach. He lets out a small huff before bending down to mimic your actions, tossing it back. Of course, his aim is perfect. Not once failing to miss his target, you. No matter how much you try and dodge, they all land. While you throw them with all your might, Choso tosses them gently. Like he's afraid one wrong throw would break you. Treating you like you're more fragile than a glass sculpture.

“Ok truce, truce!” you throw your freezing hands up, he drops the snowball he had been preparing in his hands. You jog back to his side, seeing his bangs poke out from under the beanie, caked in the falling snow. Reaching up, your fingers brush against the brown strands, shaking it free of the white powder clinging to it. The scarf loosened, revealing his smiling face, his nose and cheeks tinted a bright red from the winter wind.

“Let's go inside my pretty boy.”

December 10th

You enter Jujutsu Tech in the morning, walking to the break room and making a pot of coffee for you and the other staff members. Once it is brewed you pour yourself a mug and walk down the hall toward the classrooms. You notice Yuji as he enters the building, alone. Him and Choso always arrive together. Seeing him walk in alone is just odd.

“Yuji? Where is your brother?” You ask, sipping from the mug, trying to distract yourself from the concern brewing in your stomach. 

“Um…Choso caught a cold.” He says sheepishly. Your instincts were right to worry. Of course he did, and of course he wouldn't tell you. He has a bad habit of hiding his issues from you so you won't worry. He hates to see you worry, especially if it’s about him. Probably even begged his younger brother not to tell you, but Yuji knew better than to keep secrets from you. 

“Thanks for telling me” You say softly to Yuji, smiling as you pat his shoulder. 

You decide to just work another half day today, dismissing the students early. They have been working hard these last few months, and with Christmas break fast approaching you decided to take it easy on them. They deserved some rest time too. Gathering your things, you leave quickly and make your way to Choso’s place. 

You stopped at a convenience store on the way, making sure to pick up some cold fighting essentials. You can’t help but feel partially at fault. Just two days ago you were both outside playing in the snow. While you made sure to layer him in winter clothing beforehand, you may have stayed out a little too long. 

You unlace your boots and shed your winter layers when you enter the front door, tossing them onto the bench in the entryway. An earth shattering sneeze coming from the bedroom makes you jump out of your skin, the noise leading to Choso’s bedroom. Walking down the hall to his room, plastic bed crinkling in hand with each movement.

Peering into his room, you see him lying in his bed, bed sheets pulled up to his chin. Noticing your footsteps, he turns on his side to look at you. The poor boy is in a rough state. His hair messy as it lays spread over his pillow and his cheeks slightly flushed. His nose is red and angry, raw from the tissues. A big, dramatic pout on his lips when his eyes fall on your form.

“You got sick?” You ask as you walk forward and sit on the edge of the bed, placing a hand on his back through the blankets. He nods, almost disappointed looking.

“Yuji said I have a cold.” His voice is so rough and raspy it makes you wince. “What if I'm not better in time for Christmas?” he looks up at you, wide eyed and slightly panicked. 

“It’s common this time of year Cho, the cold changing weather seems to bring it on for a lot of people.” You speak softly as you continue to rub his back through the blanket. “Don’t worry, it should only last a few days.”

“You shouldn’t be here, you could get sick too,” he frowns. While that is true, you don’t care right now. Not when your poor boyfriend looks as miserable as he does, fighting the first cold of his lifetime. Catching his sickness was a risk you were willing to take. 

“I’m here to make you feel better.” You whisper, pressing your lips to his forehead in a feather-light kiss. No fever, that’s good. He opens his mouth to protest again but breaks off in a fit of painful coughs. Your hands firmly rubbing his back as he works through it. Once he stops, he looks at you with glassy eyes. A look of defeat and acceptance as he shifts over in his bed to make room next to him.

“Here, sit up” You ask, and he complies. Adjusting so his back is against the headboard. You rustle around in the bag and pull out some medicine and a cold bottle of water. When you place the pills in his hand, he looks at you with unease. This is all a new and unpleasant experience for him.

“Trust me, it will help.” You murmur, holding out the water bottle for him. 

“I do trust you” He rasps, popping the pills in his mouth and washing them down with cool water, easing his throat.

“Try not to talk so much, you're just going to make your throat worse.” He responds with a nod. 

After he eats a bowl of warm chicken noodle soup, the two of you lay down in bed as yet another animated Christmas movie plays on the screen. The fatigue must have finally caught up to him. His head resting against your shoulder as the rest of his body leans on you like dead weight. Congested snores leaving his open mouth. 

As you look at him, it's hard to believe that a man so big and strong can look so small and vulnerable at this moment. You lay him down to settle comfortably on his bed, tucking him in nice and tight. 

“My poor big baby” you whisper to no one but yourself as your fingers brush a strand of hair out of his face. For a slight moment, you catch his lips twitch into a quick smile, reacting to your touch even in his sleep.

December 14th

Thanks to your care, Choso is back to normal in no time, and luckily you also dodged the bullet of catching his cold. He joins you back at work by the end of the week, sitting in the breakroom together on lunch break. A few of the other teachers and staff are also eating with you.

“I just feel bad.” Shoko’s voice catches your attention. You notice her shoving a tomato in her salad bowl around with her fork. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask her, taking a bite of your sandwich. 

“A lot of the students here won’t be able to go home for the holidays, and some just don't have family to return to if they wanted.” She lets out a long sigh.

“It’s not just the students.” Satoru continues. “I know neither of you are going home, and I’m staying right here too.” His fingers drum on the table in thought.

“It’s rough. I really miss my family, Christmas was such a big thing for us” You pout, setting your sandwich down. Suddenly you don’t feel hungry anymore, the homesickness striking your stomach. While you were thankful you get to spend the holiday with your boyfriend, you still yearn for the comfort of home. You can feel Choso’s gaze on you without even looking at him.

“Who says we can’t celebrate Christmas with friends?” Choso asks quietly, chewing his food. Everyone turns to look at him. Noticing he has everyone’s attention, he freezes. “Did I say something wrong?” he asks quickly with pink tinted cheeks. Looking from Satoru, Shoko then finally to you.

“No! That's a great idea Cho!” You exclaim, throwing your arms around him in a hug.

“Yeah, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. Let's throw a party! And do something nice for the students too!” Satoru jumps up from his seat and yells. 

“Great idea, we are practically all family here anyway” Shoko gives a small smile.

“I'll host it at my house!” You offer, excited to have everyone over and celebrating with you. This will fill the void of missing home. 

At the end of the day, all the staff and students who are staying home this holiday gather in one room. You and Satoru seem to have the most excitement out of anyone here, explaining the plans quickly and watching the smiles grow on the student’s faces. 

“And no presents, just show up and have a good time with everyone” You tell them, not wanting the students to have to spend a dime. You and the rest of the staff will have everything covered, you just want everyone to enjoy each other's company. The way the holidays should be spent.

And you will do everything in your power to make sure they have the perfect Christmas. 

“But what if we did secret santa?” Nobara questions, hand on her hip as she looks directly at you. Yuji stands next to her shaking his head vigorously in agreement. 

“Great idea!” Satoru chimes in before you have a chance to respond. You have to admit it’s not a bad idea. As long as everyone keeps it simple and no one goes overboard, it should be fine. 

“Sure, we can do secret santa. But no other gifts! And keep it under 25 dollars” you explain as Shoko passes around a slip of paper for everyone to write their name on and a few ideas of things they want. 

“Um…what’s secret santa?” Choso whispers in your ear so only you can hear, likely embarrassed by yet another holiday activity he doesn’t understand.

“It’s kinda like a gift giving game” you start to explain, writing your name on the paper. “You will randomly get assigned a person to bring a gift for, but you have to keep it a surprise. Don’t let them know it’s you though.” He nods his head then starts to scribble his name on this slip of paper. Satoru then collects everyone’s and puts them inside a cowboy hat (why he had that in his office, no one knows). He walks around and holds the hat out for everyone to draw a name.

You reach inside, feeling around and plucking out a paper between two fingers. Opening it, you see the neat letters spelling out NOBARA inside. Along with a lengthy list of items she wants.

Choso reaches in next, dark brows drawn together as he focuses. It’s almost as if picking out the paper slip was more important than any mission he’s ever been sent on. Finally, he picks one. Pulling it out and slowly unfolding the note. You watch as he reads the name, a wide toothy grin spreads across his face. 

Wonder who he pulled?

December 16th

With Christmas barely over a week away you have been spending much of your free time preparing your home. Dusting every nook and cranny, polishing the windows until they were shinier than the north star. It was a bit excessive, but it was the first time you would have everyone from the school in your house all at once. You needed it to be perfect. 

All that's left to do is decorate. Red and green totes sit in the living room unopened. All filled with Christmas decorations your parent’s sent with you when you moved. You haven't even peeked inside, no clue what sort of things they may have given you. You were waiting on Choso and Yuji to come back, that way the three of you could decorate together. 

You forgot that this is also Yuji’s first Christmas with his big brother, you needed to share. The two of them need time to create their own special memories. Which is why today, you sent the pair on a mission. A mission to find and bring home the perfect tree from the Christmas tree farm. Even though Choso still thinks it's a bit ridiculous to bring nature inside.

While today wasn't particularly snowy, it was still chilly. Hopefully they won’t come back as two human popsicles. You stand at the stove stirring a pot of chocolate and milk, watching the ingredients swirl together. Preparing a sweet surprise to warm them up when they return. You also prepared the fireplace for them to thaw their frozen fingers. 

As you finish the hot chocolate and pour it into three mugs, the front door opens. The brothers carry the tree in together, then lean it against the wall so they can take their boots and coats off. As Choso peels off his layers, he reveals the purple knitted sweater underneath. The one your mom sent as an early present for him, a little too small as it clings to his sculpted muscles. It makes you smile to see him wearing the handmade gift. 

“Hot chocolate!?” Yuji exclaims as he runs over to you, your hands extended out with a mug for each of them. You nod, and Yuji takes it. Eagerly taking the first sip and letting out a relieved sigh. Choso walks up to you, taking the mug from your hands and wrapping his fingers around it.

“Thank you” he whispers, pressing his icy nose to your cheek to nuzzle against your warm skin. Even with his still frozen body, you can feel the warmth of his happy smile radiate on you. He takes the first sip, a low hum as he savors the taste. “Mmmm…this is really good” 

Once the boys were thoroughly warmed up, it was time to begin decorating. They set the tree up in the corner, a beautiful blue spruce. Its large triangle shape fits perfectly in the spot you picked out for it. 

“What do you think?” Yuji asks you, taking a step back as he admires their tree. Choso still adjusting it so it stands the way he invisions. 

“It's perfect, the best Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.” You smile at the pink-haired boy.

“Choso picked it out. He saw this one and said ‘it’’s the one’” Yuji imitates his brother’s deep voice as he copies his words. Choso overhears and quickly looks away, pretending to still be busy with situating the already perfect looking tree. The tips of his ears turning pink.

You leave the boys to decorate the tree, letting them rummage through the boxes of Christmas ornaments and fumble with the tangled string of lights. The two of them smile and laugh amongst themselves as they work. An occasional cuss as they poke their finger on a needle.  

A Christmas playlist emanating from the speakers. You sing along as you put up the other decorations. Hanging up garland and strings of dried oranges in the hallways, lights in the window and wreaths on the door. Three stockings hung up on the fireplace, your name along with Choso and Yuji’s printed on the front. Even though you three agreed to no presents, that wouldn’t stop you from filling their stockings to the brim. You already planned to spoil them with their favorite snacks and other things they enjoy. 

A surprised gasp from Choso catches your attention, you rush over to him and see him cradling a small ornament in his hands. Looking down at it with a big smile. 

“What is it?” You ask, trying to catch a glimpse of what he's holding so delicately, but he moves, holding the ornament out of view as he continues to stare with a big goofy grin. 

“Babe…” He trails off, his eyes looking from the ornament then to you. “Is this you?” He finally turns it around to show you. A printed baby picture of you inside a snowman shaped frame, you weren't even a year old yet. Red letters at the bottom have your birth year and ‘First Christmas’ written on it. 

“That is so embarrassing” you mumble, honestly you thought your parents would have kept that for their own tree instead of sending it with you. “You don’t have to put it on the tree.” You try to swipe it out of his hand but he holds it up higher.

“Nu uh. This is so cute. It’s definitely going on.” He steps away from your reaching arms and hangs it up high, admiring your baby face with a smile. 

Once all the ornaments are hung, you plug in the lights strung around it. The three of you standing back to admire it. Twinkling brightly in the corner of the room. Choso stands in the middle, wrapping an arm around you and Yuji. His two favorite people in the world. 

“It’s beautiful” You smile as you gaze on the most perfect Christmas tree you ever set eyes on, the star shining brightly at the top.

“Yeah” Is all Choso manages to say, though his eyes are on you instead of the tree. 

After a moment of silence, Yuji speaks up.

“Let's take a picture together!”

December 24th

Christmas eve is here and everything for the party is ready for tomorrow. You felt like a little kid who couldn't wait until morning to see what Santa brought. To make things more exciting, Choso decided to stay the night tonight. He said Christmas morning wouldn’t feel right if he didn't wake up with his family. 

Yuji had also planned to stay the night, but decided at the last minute to have a sleepover with Megumi and the other students instead. You could tell Choso wanted to tell him no, but let him anyway. He can never deny his brother anything. Plus, Yuji promised to be here first thing in the morning.

You and the other staff decided to each make a dish for the party, you and Choso getting assigned dessert duty. Tonight, the two of you planned to bake gingerbread cookies together. All the ingredients are laid out on the counter as you reach for two aprons. You tie one around yourself first, then grab the other and turn to Choso who is standing in the kitchen watching you with a way too serious look. You throw the loop around his head then move behind him, reaching your hands around his waist to tie the strings in a neat little bow. 

“I look ridiculous” he grumbles, his fingers tugging at the slightly frilly ends. 

“No, you look cute” You wrap your arms around him in a hug, chest pressed against his back. 

“Are you sure this is necessary?” He asks, looking over his shoulder at you with uncertinty. 

“Yup. Don’t want your clothes to get dirty.” The clothes could easily be washed after, you know this. But seeing Choso in the pink and frilly apron just makes your heart flutter.

“Whatever.” He sighs, leaning into your hug and relaxing a bit.

The two of you work away at making the cookies. Holding a hand mixer, you mix the molasses into the batter. The thick and sticky substance dancing around the bow with the other ingredients. 

“Next we need the flour mixture, can you add that, Cho?” With the mixer still in hand, you angle your head toward the glass bowl containing the flour and mixed in spices. He nods and reaches for it, tilting the bowl to pour it into the one you're stirring. A little too fast it seems as a puff of powdery smoke hits you right in the face. 

“Too fast Choso!” you cough out the flour as you slow the mixer to a stop. He laughs and grabs your chin gently with his fingers, turning you to look at him. The thumb on his other hand wipes away the flour clinging to your face. 

“Sorry” He struggles to stop his laughter as he cleans your face off.

Once the dough is complete, Choso uses the rolling pin to flatten it. His forearm muscles flexing as he rolls it out. The two of you cut out the gingerbread and place them on a cookie sheet, into the oven they go. The fragrant smell of cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg wafting through the air as they bake.

In the meantime, you prepare the icing. Whisking together milk and powdered sugar to create frosting thick enough to pipe. You set the whisk into the sink, only turning your back for a moment but when you look back you caught Choso red handed. His finger in the bowl as he scoops out a glob, then quickly pops the finger in his mouth to taste the sweet icing. He doesn't realize you were watching and his finger darts back in for a second taste.

“Hey!” you smack his hand before it makes contact for the frosting. His face turns red as he gives you a sheepish smile, caught in the act. “Save some for the cookies Cho!” you laugh. 

With the cookies now cool, the two of you begin to decorate. Piping eyes and cute little smiles on their gingerbread faces. Adding hearts as buttons. You had to admit, they were looking so cute. Looking over at Choso, who has remained quiet for some time, you notice the intense concentration on his face as he decorates. His eyes narrowed and brows furrowed as his hand delicately squeezed the piping bag. You want to ask what he's creating but you are afraid of breaking his focus and messing him up.

“Look” he finally says, turning the cookie around to reveal his masterpiece. It was a cookie version of Yuji! An almost perfect replica. Complete with his spiky hair and school uniform. Even a crack in the cookie to replicate the scar over his eyebrow.

“Wow! That's so amazing, I had no clue you were an artist Choso.” You exclaim with a smile.

“Thanks” he says shyly, setting cookie Yuji with the rest of your completed cookies. He picks up the next one, his focus returning as he creates more. Probably wanting to make Megumi and Nobara too. 

You grab another blank cookie, an idea forming in your brain. Using the icing as glue, you stick together matching spikes crafted from cookie scraps on either side of the gingerbread man’s head. Choso is off in his own world, not even paying attention. Leaving you to work on your creation unquestioned. You carefully piped the icing, occasionally looking up to glance at your muse across the table. Once you finished, you turned it over to show him. 

“Choso, look what I made” you say to get his attention, his eyes widen as they scan the details of the cookie. The line across the face, the twin pigtails. 

“You made…me?” he says surprised, pointing at himself. 

“Yes” You smile, and watch as he unveils his most recent creation to you. Your own cookie mini-me. Every detail was placed with care, and you have to admit, he did a great job replicating you.

Once all the cookies were decorated to the nines and the kitchen cleaned, the two of you started to unwind in bed, yet another Christmas movie playing on the TV. Changed into a pair of matching pajamas. Red fleece with a pattern of tiny snowflakes and snowmen. It was kinda cheesy, but you wanted Choso to experience the full Christmas morning experience. To your surprise, he absolutely loved the idea of wearing matching pjs with you.

Cozy and warm, Choso drifts to sleep under the mountain of blankets before reaching the halfway point of the movie. A peaceful expression on his face, leaving you to wonder if visions of sugar-plums danced in his head. 

As quiet as a mouse, you crept out of bed. Grabbing the items hidden away in the closet and walking out to the living room. There by the fireplace, three stockings hung with care. You fill Yuji’s with his favorite snacks and a couple gift cards. Inside of Choso’s you place the same, but with the addition of one extra special wrapped gift. 

You can’t wait to see the look on his face when he opens it tomorrow.

December 25th

“Wake up!” Choso’s excited voice jolts you awake, peeling open your sleepy eyelids. He has you caged under him, a giant smile plastered to his face and his bed hair falling messily around him. Like a child waking up their parents on Christmas morning. “Good morning sleepy head” He coos, bending his head down to pepper your cheek in kisses. 

“Good morning Cho” you say groggily, stretching your arms out. 

“You gotta get up! It’s Christmas!” He pokes your cheek a few times, like it’s a button that will make you move faster. As he looks down on you with his charming smile, you can’t help but smile back. His happiness is infectious. It’s hard to believe that 25 days ago, this man didn’t have a clue what Christmas was. Now look at him.

“Okay okay, get off me so I can get up” You laugh, he immediately steps off the bed and holds a hand out for you. You place your hand in his palm as he hoists you up and out, pulling you into his chest and wrapping you in a tight hug. 

“Merry Christmas, love” he murmurs onto the top of your head..

“Merry Christmas” You echo, savouring the warmth of his hug.

“Come on! I have a surprise for you!” He breaks the hug and reaches for your hand, dragging you out of the bedroom. He pulls you past the illuminated tree and into the kitchen. The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls fills the air. The smell transports you back to your childhood, your mother always would bake a batch of cinnamon rolls with orange glaze every Christmas morning. But that was something you never mentioned, Choso couldn't have possibly known that. Right?

He hands you a plate with a large cinnamon roll, your mouth watering. You don’t even wait to sit down for the first bite, fingers sticky with icing as you lift it to your lips. Teeth sinking into the still warm baked good. The sweet flavors coat your palette, and somehow they tasted exactly like your Mom’s famous treats. Her secret recipe that she refused to pass onto anyone, not even you. 

“Choso…” you trail off, setting the cinnamon roll down on the plate and turning your gaze to his. He watches you full of pride and love. “How..” you start to ask, wanting to know how on earth he knew to make these, but he cuts you off.

“Come on” he says, one hand on your shoulder as he leads you over to the dining table. Your laptop propped open in front of two chairs. The second you can view the screen, you see them. Your parents.

“Merry Christmas honey!” they exclaim as you take a seat in front of them. A few tears spilling from your eye you didn't know were forming. 

This was Choso’s big surprise. Ever so observant, he saw how much you were missing home and how much you wanted to see your family. He set the whole morning up, with help from your mom of course. He wanted you to be able to eat breakfast with your family just like you used to, no matter how far away they were. 

His mom even taught him how to make her cinnamon rolls you loved so much, that way all of you could enjoy the same breakfast at the same time. Separated by a computer screen that felt barely there in the moment. It was like you teleported back home, eating with the family again. 

After breakfast, it was Choso’s turn to get emotional. 

The two of you sit on the floor in front of the Chtistmas tree, feeling like two little kids digging through your stockings. You were surprised to see he filled yours as well. Candy and your favorite collectable trinkets. He digs through his, making sure to mutter a ‘thank you’ for every little item he finds inside. 

He pulls out the last item, the small wrapped box you placed inside last night. He holds it up, tossing a skeptical look your way.

“Thought we agreed to no presents?” he asks.

“I think it’s a bit too late for that.” you point to the contents from both of your stockings. He says nothing in response, knowing you're right. Neither of you ever had any intention of following the ‘no presents’ rule. “Just open it” you urge him. 

His fingers slowly pull on the delicate ribbon until it falls away, then ripping away the wrapping paper. A small red box inside. He lifts off the lid and he stops. Momentarily stunned as he stares at the contents inside. Then, the waterworks start. Drops slipping from his eyes as he holds up the small ornament. 

“Thank you! I love it.” he sniffles, wiping away the ever falling tears. You found the small snowman ornament online, one that was identical to yours and able to hold a picture inside. Inside the frame was a picture of you and Choso, standing in front of the freshly decorated tree. Your hand writing at the bottom saying ‘our first Christmas’ in red.

Your intention wasn't to make him cry, and you almost felt bad seeing him in this blubbering state. But your worries melt away as he pulls you in close, burying his face into the crook of your neck until the tears slow. He was always such a big softie, even though he pretends not to be.

“Thank you, this means so much to me” he whispers once he's calmed back down. Standing up to place his gift on the tree next to your matching first Christmas ornament. 

Later that evening, the party is in full swing. Yuji and Nobara each with an arm linked around a grumpy Megumi, matching sweaters on the three of them. Maki and Yuta watch as Toge and Panda dance wildly to Rockin’ around the Christmas tree. Shoko scolds a tummy-aching Satoru for eating too many sweets after dinner. 

Dinner was phenomenal, it was so fun to get everyone together in one place for a feast. A wide variety of food brought by the other staff, enough for everyone to get their fill and then some. You couldn’t believe how full you were, and judging by the look on your boyfriend’s face, he may have overindulged too. Even with the full bellies, everyone was excited to find the cookie versions of themself that Choso created.  

Sitting in the living room, everyone starts to find their secret santa gifts. You watch as Nobara opens the one from you. Her eyes lighting up as she pulls out the tube of lipgloss. It’s from a brand she hasn't stopped talking about for the past four weeks. Yes, it may have been a tiny bit over the 25 dollar budget you set, but you wanted to splurge on your students. Nobara says a thousand thank yous as she applies it immediately, the color looking perfect on her. 

You open your gift next, a large box with blue snowflake wrapping paper. Inside, it was filled to the brim with all sorts of candy. Many from luxury brands you have never heard of. While it wasn’t exactly what you wanted, you are still thankful. You are also excited to try the fancy chocolate bar with a name you can't pronounce. You know exactly who this is from, you spot the white haired sorcerer who is mouthing ‘you're welcome’ in your direction with a smirk.

Yuji opens his, pulling out a shirt with the letters spelling out ‘#1 LITTLE BROTHER’ across the front. Plastered on the back is a picture of him and Choso together, both making equally silly faces. Yuji breaks out in laughter as he holds the shirt up to show it off.

“Oh! I wonder who my secret santa could be!” He says sarcastically, smiling at his older brother.

It’s ironic really, as Choso pulls out his present. A red mug with the words ‘#1 BIG BROTHER’ across the side. Of course those two would get each other. 

As the party starts to wind down, Choso stands up and waves a hand, beckoning you to follow him down the hall. You excuse yourself from the conversation with Shoko and trail after him. He stands in the middle of the hallway, the sounds of laughter getting fainter as you join him.

“I have one more gift for you” He whispers, pulling a small rectangle box behind his back. It’s beautifully wrapped, the paper resembling the bark from a birch tree. A neat green ribbon tying it together. 

“You shouldn't have” You murmur, taking the gift from his hands. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Well…I wanted to.” He waits for you to open it. Part of you doesn’t want to disturb the expertly wrapped paper, the other part is dying to know what's inside. You tear it open, revealing a velvet black box. You hinge open the lid, inside is a pretty silver necklace. The charm at the end is a teardrop shaped gem, your birthstone. 

“It’s so pretty” You say as you lift it out of the box, dangling the pendent in front of you. Your eyes catching on the way the gem dances in the light. “Put it on me?” you ask, holding it out for him. He takes it from you as you turn around, wrapping the chain around and gently securing the clasp, his breath hot on your neck. You turn back to face him, adjusting how the charm sits against your neck.

“How does it look?” You ask, he eyes you up and down.

“Beautiful, it looks amazing on you. I knew it would.” He smiles softly, taking a step closer, a hand placing itself on the small of your back. You suddenly feel a little guilty. The necklace seemed expensive, and you didn’t get him much in return. Just some treats and the Christmas ornament. 

“Choso…I wish I would have gotten you something more in return.” you frown, but he just shakes his head.

“No, I don’t need fancy things. Besides, you already gave me the best present of all. You gave me the gift of Christmas. And I spent the whole day…no, the whole month, making precious memories with you. What more could I ask for?” His words touch your soul, burning hotter than the warmest summer day.

“Look up,” he says suddenly, pointing toward the ceiling with the hand not on your back. A small bundle of green leaves and white berries hang, tied together with a red bow. Mistletoe. You didn’t put this here when you were decorating, it must have been his doing.

“Did you do this?” you laugh looking into his eyes. He nods.

“When I was studying Christmas stuff...” he trails off sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink. “I read that this is a symbol of love. You know what people do under the mistletoe, right?” He asks, his eyes traveling to your lips as they curve in a smile. 

“Yes, I know,” You say, wrapping your hands around his neck. One hand cradling the back of his head as you pull him closer. He keeps his hand pressed to your back while the other cups your cheek, his thumb stoking your soft skin as his lips close the distance. His lips moving against yours in a sweet and tender kiss. Pouring all of his burning love into the moment.

He pulls back, hooded eyes roaming your face. Hot breath as he whispers your name.

“I love you” He whispers against your lips before he goes in for another kiss. “I’ll always love you”

A/N: I hope all of you lovely readers have an amazing holiday!! :)

The linked pictures of the cookies were made by me. Feel free to follow my twitter!

If you enjoyed this fic, I have two ongoing JJK fanfics you may also like. Check out them out here.

dividers by: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

[spidercat2099]

goodnight 'n go pt. 2

tw: smut, mutual masturbation, semi-public sex

You came into Jujustu tech with one thing in mind. That was Nanami. Was this really gonna be a one time hook up thing? Would he pretend it never happened?

After the long day of errands you had, you found Nanami reading in the break room. Straight faced as ever. You gather up the courage to go on. Man this was much harder without the alcohol.

You passed by him to the coffee machine, hoping for some kind of reaction. But as far as you could see, there was none. And that ticked you off for some reason.

On the other hand, Nanami was fully immersed in the book he was reading, that was until he smelled that familiar perfume. The one that drove him crazy last night. Luckily, he didn't move a muscle, except for his eyes that slightly widened. You passed by him, maybe you wanted to pretend nothing happened, he thought. He'd tend to your wishes, after all, you were both tipsy and been deprived for a while. He hadn't noticed how he zoned out and began to think of his hands on your soft and warm skin. A comfort he hadn't been used to.

"Is the book that interesting?" Your voice broke the silence as you leaned over his shoulder with your coffee cup in hand. "It's..." he came back from his thoughts. "...alright." He said simply.

You weren't satisfied with that answer. You were trying to strike up a conversation, but he didn't bite. You set your coffee down on the table next to him and rested your head on the back of the couch over your crossed arms. "Are we going to talk about last night?" You said bluntly, but you didn't know how else to put it.

"What about last night, Miss y/n?" he asked, with no hint to his emotions in his voice or expression as he continued to read, or at least look like he did.

"You left." you stated.

"I had to catch a train back home." he flipped a page. That was all he was going to say?

"You could've stayed over..." You muttered, now picking as the sofa.

"If I stayed over, we would've gotten into something deeper. You and I know that in this profession, it's not good to get attached." he stated bluntly. That wasn't the answer you wanted.

"So what? It was just a hook up?" you asked, a bit of frustration seeping into your tone.

"Hook up?" His eyebrows furrowed in irritation and offense as he closed the book and turned to you. "I don't do hook ups, miss y/n."

You lifted yourself off the back of the couch and leaned closer to him. "You don't do hook ups, but you don't do relationships either. So what do you do?"

"I..." he was at a loss for words for once.

"Look. We're friends, right?" Your hand rested on his shoulder. "We're just two adults who need to destress sometimes. We can help each other in that sense, no?" You walk around the couch to be right in front of him, trapping him with your hands on either side of the armrests.

"What are you suggesting?" He raised an eyebrow at your forwardness, but he didn't stop it. He didn't want to.

"I'm suggesting... we continue this little thing. No attachments, just... sex." you said bluntly. Your hand gently grazes his thigh with just your fingertips. He could feel his cock twitch with just that.

That wasn't him. He's not the type of man to give into this arrangement. He didn't need to have sex. He was perfectly fine without that. And you... you deserved much more than that from him. But with you it was different, you were fogging up his brain with even the slightest touch and proximity. How could he say no to you?

"What do you think?" Your lips practically ghosted his as a gentle tease. Then suddenly, his hand reached for your face and drew you into a deep kiss. That was definitely your answer. He couldn't understand why he was so hungry for you.

You felt him pull you into his lap and your eyes widened. But that only lasted a second until you went back into the kiss. Your own hand came to rest on his face while the other rested on his shoulder. "Fuck... we gotta stop..." You whispered into his mouth.

"Mhm.... someone could walk in..." He replied, but neither side made any effort to stop. Instead, you moved your head to the other side for the kiss. Your hand ran down his shoulder and torso until you made contact with his belt, undoing it in one swift motion and dipping your hand in. You began to palm him through his boxers.

"You're driving me crazy..." He whispered. He takes off his glasses, putting them on the table beside you, before placing a hand on your lower back and kissing you even deeper. His other hand came to rest on your thigh, slowly inching upward, under your dress. He roamed your ass until his hand crawled under your panties, feeling your wettening lips. Do you really just get wet from kissing? He asked himself.

His fingers went up and down those lips, and then he plunged a finger into you easily. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, trying to keep up by palming him. He took that opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting as much as he could.

His cock grew harder at your touch and you followed the growing tent. Man, if anyone walked in right now, you'd never hear the end of it, especially from Gojo's loud mouth. That thought only made you speed up. You decided to put your hand in his boxers, now running up and down his length. He tensed at the raw contact, leaning forward into you.

His own finger began to move in and out of you quickly as well, to match your pace, as if you two were fucking right then and there. He added another finger, plunging deeper. You couldn't help but move your hips against him, he was reaching the spots you could never reach on your own. It began to get so intense, you forgot to even kiss him. It was just soft, quiet pants so as to not draw suspicion.

His hips began to buck into your arm, signaling he was close. Suddenly, you felt him lunge forward, his cock throbbing with each spurt of cum that came out. You looked down at the mess created in his boxers as you pulled your hand out. Your eyes slowly came back up to meet his. He looked at you, his face flushed and his mouth hanging open as he tried to catch his breath. God he looked beautiful. You'd never get tired of it.

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

Suites & Sweets

freshman year at Jujutsu University Tokyo seems like it will be uneventful. and, well, that's true... until you meet the boys in the suite across the hall, and one in particular piques your interest.

satoru gojo x reader | jjk college au | no curse au | fem! reader | fluff, angst, & slow burn | SMAU & writing <3

introduction | previous | next PSA: *look HERE to see their private instagrams!*

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

ˋ°•*⁀➷˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 18. 𝓡𝓐𝓖𝓔𝓑𝓐𝓘𝓣 ⍣ ೋ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ... wc: 0 (just smau!)

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

TAGLIST (currently open!):

@kentozwife @inthedarkshadows000 @yoimiya-m @makeshiftproject @frogfishie

@therealanxiety @kaged-kitty @pellucid-constellations @fuckisthatahotghost

@harryzcherry @briezy04764 @ohio-gyatt-mega-sigma-rizzler @babysoo-meu

@sorenflyinn @raquel12 @ermbehindyou @bxnfire @muli-wam @emlient

@diearama

₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.

[everythingseasoning]

You can comment under this linked post to be on the tag list! Limited spots. Please note that this fanfiction will be particularly long, I’m talking 10K in the first chapter. It’s worth it for those who want slow burn romance, plot, & character development! That’s what this fic is all about, after all. Hope you come along for the ride!!

Something More - Series Masterlist

Pairing: Sorcerer Geto x Non Sorcerer reader. Sorcerer Gojo x Non Sorcerer reader. Only one ship will prevail, and this is the story of Suguru being saved. (Pushed back a few years, with 21+ characters). It’s riddled with angst, it’s messy, and it’s so difficult, but it’s realistic.

Author’s Note: Pre Series: Hey all! We will be exploring: Satoru starting to learn about connection beyond Jujutsu and Suguru; We’ll deal with the tide of darkness that threatens to overtake Suguru, exploring what it takes to save Suguru; And Satoru is beginning to learn that he’s more than a weapon. Includes: grief, hurt/comfort, angst, ego death, coming back from a spiral through support & love & time, breaking free from what you were conditioned to be, jealousy, developing self-identity & dreams, and more. Satoru heavy in the beginning, Suguru heavy in the middle. Chapters will be lengthy, but it’s worth it. My second series will follow up with a new reader x Satoru, and it will be a continuation of this story, but with different main characters. Hope you come along for the ride :)

Premise: Suguru never stopped loving you. He’d broken up with you, but that was to protect you. He wouldn’t involve you in his dangerous life anymore. One year later, and it’s evident that he’d still ruin himself for you, in every single way. Satoru, on the other hand, is annoyed. He wants Suguru to get his head back in the game, as they’re both teachers now. Determined to figure out a solution to the problem of you, Satoru starts to secretly visit you at your workplace, the local cafe. But as he spends time with you, Satoru gets an unexpected surprise when he realizes he’s catching feelings for you, too.

Status: ongoing

Word Count:

Warnings: Swearing. Canon violence. Eventual smut (chapters 13, 17). Mature themes, viewer discretion is advised.

[JJK Masterlist]

ch. 01 | The Person In The Cafe

ch. 02 | Second First Date, Question Mark

ch. 03 | Warm / CLASH

ch. 04 | Weaknesses, Weaknesses

ch. 05 | Cursed Either Way

ch. 06 | ‘You’re A Shitty Teacher’ - First Lesson

ch. 07 | Sudden Death. What Was I Made For?

ch. 08 | Picking Up The Pieces - ‘Just Hold Them In Your Hands’

ch. 09 | What Are We?

ch. 10 | Slaughter Of The Lambs / Crushed To The Darkest Depths (Suguru’s POV)

ch. 11 | Don’t You Dare

ch. 12 | —Saved.

ch. 13 | Put One Foot Forward (mature)

ch. 14 | A Hundred Kilometers Backwards

ch. 15 | I’m Going To Get Them Back

ch. 16 | Bodyguards And New Fates

ch. 17 | Sunrise And Acceptance (mature)

ch. 18 | Back To Everything And Nothing / Forever Love, Tied Knots

[bonus chapter] ch. 19 | Don’t Give Up Anymore / Chance To Be Me / Evermore (Satoru’s POV)

NTS: ^chapter titles and chapter numbers are subject to change as I write the story

Reblogs, Feedback/Comments are Highly Appreciated!

Tag List ( Comment on this linked post to be added :)

Background Info || Asks || Feedback and Love

Author’s Note: Post Series:

I: Canon Suguru did defect. And this story is for him, the version of him that suffered so much, and broke. This story is for everybody who was once caring, but got traumatized deeply, used over and over, and consequently turned bitter and disillusioned. You deserved better. Please try to remember there is goodness out there, and that being kind and good to others is still of utmost importance.

Spinoff Series: Story’s Not Over (ft. Satoru x new reader)

[azuramarigold]

Underground Dealings

Synopsis: You were a typical office worker that one day gets fired at your job at a smaller office ran by Naoya Zen'in, but your friend, Yuji Itadori, who works at a small coffee shop that you discovered a year ago on your way to work, suggests that you apply to his uncle's company. What you didn't realize was that your assets were going to be important to the company in every department, and that every head, from the CEO to legal has their own underground dealings on what keeps the company afloat.

Characters: officeworker!reader x CEO!Sukuna, officeworker!reader x businessassociate!Gojo, officeworker!reader x salaryman!Nanami; other pairings to be added

Other characters: Yuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki, Naoya Zen'in, Maki Zen'in, Mai Zen'in, Uraume; other characters to be added.

Genre: modern au, eventual smut, 18+, angst, violence, gore

WARNINGS: (eventual) smut, blood, violence, gore, using weapons, death, drug use, smoking, alcohol use, cussing.

Divider/Navigation made by: saradika

Ko-Fi Commissions AO3 Profile

Prologue Prev.

Ch 2. Word count: ~4.2k

Chapter 2: Tour of the Office

“If you can sign here, here, and initial here…”

            The attorney that sat in front of you was older, him with nice dark, disheveled hair and eyes with a large nose, but honestly was still quite attractive, and with a strong jaw. He wore a black tailored suit and black tie with a crisp white dress shirt, it wasn't too extravagant – simple and neat. He used a long finger to point at every spot for you to sign on your new employee contract – deliberate and to the point.

            “You'll also be given a personal work laptop and personal cellphone as well,” the attorney stated, he had introduced himself as Hiromi Higuruma. Said items were beside him, a simple thin black laptop and the newest model of the top-of-the-line smartphone – your own phone was a few models behind. “You’ll need to sign an agreement regarding these.” Higuruma then pulled out a couple of documents.

            The documents were simple enough. They stated that you would not use the laptop for personal use such as storing photos, personal data, etc. It was the same for the phone, the phone was to be used to contact clients, arrange things for Mr. Ryōmen for business trips, order necessary things for him, and for him to contact you directly; you were to not give that phone number to anyone unless Mr. Ryōmen gave permission.

            “So, no Candy Crush?” you joked with a slight smile after you read over the contract.

            Higuruma looked at you with tired eyes. “Mr. Itadori tried that on his phone…” he sighed. “Mr. Ryōmen didn’t approve.”

            “Wouldn’t go easy on his own nephew, huh?” you grimaced as you signed. You signed your name with semi-bad penmanship, something your teachers have scolded you for years for, but you never bothered to correct as your mind worked too fast to care for neat handwriting.

            “If anything, the boss is harder on him,” the attorney informed with a slight grin. “He wants Mr. Itadori to be successful.”

            “Yuji never talked about his uncle before…” you mentioned. “Only his grandfather… Is there a reason?”

            “That is not my place,” Higuruma replied stoically, his grin disappearing. He then slipped out another piece of paper. “I almost forgot… you also need to sign an NDA agreement.”

            You internally sighed. You were familiar with those in your line of work. Back when you were an intern during your college days you had to sign quite a few while you were at numerous offices. Then you had to sign one while working with Naoya.

            After a moment or two of reading over everything – which was quite standard stuff – you signed off on everything. Higuruma took the papers back and neatly put everything in his suitcase. He slid over the laptop and cellphone over to you.

            “You of course can put the laptop and phone in any type of case you like,” he told you with a sly smile. “You do get the luxury of having a company credit card as well.” Higuruma then handed you a red card, heavy in your hands as it was made of a heavier material than traditional credit cards.

            Sheepishly, you pawed over the card, noting that there was no significant bank name on it. Its red color was almost a metallic color, reminding you of freshly spilled blood. There was no name on it either, making you wonder how it could be proven to be used as a card, but sure enough there was a magnetic stripe and a chip reader on it.

            “Mr. Ryōmen doesn’t mind what is spent on that card,” Higuruma specified to you. “So, no need to go to him for approval, or do anything for paperwork regarding what you spent on.”

            You raised a brow in confusion. Many, if not all, companies expected receipts when something was bought. Or they expected a full ledger report on what you were going to use the money for just to deny you it and watch you squirm.

            Once you were done in Higuruma’s office, he led you out and standing in front of the door was the white-haired man from the day prior.

            “Why, hello there, Y/N!”

            “Ah, Mr. Gojo, it’s nice to run into you again,” you greeted with a smile.

            Gojo’s crystal blue eyes brightened. “Ah, it’s great running into you again, sweets!” he jested. His eyes darted over to Higuruma, who was getting another document from his briefcase. “Higuruma, I know you are not grabbing what I think you are grabbing!”

            “A sexual harassment form?” Higuruma deadpanned. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

            “Asshole, put that away!” Gojo hissed angrily. “She’ll get the wrong idea!”

            You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, trying, and failing to cover it up with your hand. “What brings you here, Mr. Gojo?”

            Gojo gave a large smile. “Well, you’re officially hired, so, I thought as a lovely gentleman I would give you a tour – HIGURUMA STOP FILLING OUT THE DAMN FORM!”

            There was the subtle sound of Higuruma’s pen haphazardly scratching at the paper on the surface of the wall, filling out the necessary, or in Gojo’s mind unnecessary, parts.

            “Just getting a head start,” the attorney mumbled. He then put the paper away. “Now, Ms. Y/N, the phone I gave you already has some numbers programmed into it. It of course as Mr. Ryōmen’s number, Uraume’s, Mr. Itadori’s, mine, and every department head in the company along with their secretary.”

            Gojo’s eyes sparkled mischievously behind his glasses. “Oh, that means you already have my number!” he informed teasingly. “Feel free to program it into your personal phone as well!” He gave a not-so-subtle wink.

            Higuruma’s hand twitched toward his briefcase again for the form.

            “I swear to any deity that is willing to listen to me, Hiromi, I am going to beat the fuck out of you if you keep doing that!” Gojo threatened, raising a fist and waving it at him.

            “Not very wise to threaten an attorney, Satoru,” Higuruma quipped back, a smile playing on his lips. “Anyways, we are finished here, Ms. Y/N. If you would like to go with Gojo for a tour, I guess I cannot stop you.”

            You gave Higuruma a bow, ignoring the slight hike in your skirt that you for sure Gojo noticed. The skirt you wore was a tad bit shorter than you’d like, but it was the only clean one that you had available.

            “Thank you, Mr. Higuruma,” you thanked. You then took the phone and laptop, cradling the laptop under your arm.ō

            Earlier when you arrived back at Ryōmen Enterprises for your new employee paperwork, the receptionist, Shoko, had set you up with your new employee badge. She took your picture, complimented your hairstyle and makeup, and printed it on a nice official badge. Shoko had given you a generic lanyard for it but informed you that you can use any type of lanyard you’d like.

            As Mr. Ryōmen’s personal assistant now, you have access to every part of the building. Basically, if Mr. Ryōmen, Yuji, and Uraume had access to something, you had access to something. In a way it was refreshing, you had a lot more access to things than when you were with Naoya.

            Gojo was trying to be a decent guide as he wanted to start from the ground up. On the ground floor he re-introduced you to Shoko first, stating that he and her had gone to high school together and in turn when to college together.

            “Actually, a lot of us went to school together,” Gojo pointed out with a smile.

            You quirked an eyebrow. “Just how old are you then, Mr. Gojo?” you inquired with a sly smile.

            He gave an over-exaggerated open mouth gasp, putting his hand to his chest. “My, my…! How rude asking a young man his age!” he dramatically stated while Shoko chuckled.

            “He just turned 32,” Shoko informed coyly. Gojo glared at her in return.

            “Keep smoking and your 32 is going to turn into 62 real fast!” Gojo quipped back.

            You tilted your head to the side. You didn't think Gojo and Shoko looked any older than yourself, mid-twenties. In fact, you wonder how old Mr. Ryōmen was, as he was Yuji's uncle, he didn't look very old either.

            “So, did you guys go to school with Mr. Ryōmen then…?” you then asked curiously.

            “We met in college,” Shoko explained lightly. “He's a few years older than us.”

            You nodded. “It's just… like you guys, he doesn't look his age…” you noted. “It's weird he has a 19-year-old nephew.”

            Gojo shrugged offhandedly. “I think his twin brother knocked up a girl like, right after high school…” he mentioned.

            “Explains why Yuji and he look so much alike…!” you nearly gasped aloud.

            “Yeah, no shit!” Gojo laughed. “I thought Yuji was his kid at first. I was told to shut the fuck up and get back to work.”

            “Which you should be doing right now,” a deep voice rumbled.

            Comically, it looked like shivers ran up Gojo's spine and tingled through his white hair.

            “Oh…! Boss!” Gojo greeted smoothly as he spun around to see Mr. Ryōmen large form behind him. “What a pleasant surprise~!”

            “Get back to fucking work, Gojo!” Mr. Ryōmen griped, his face flushed with anger, teeth gritted, a vein about to pop from his forehead. “I swear to fucking Christ, the Brat does more work than you do and I catch him looking at AI porn of Jennifer Lawrence on his damn tablet!”

            Gojo gave a low whistle, “Kid got balls, man…”

            “Satoru…”

            “Alright, alright…!” Gojo griped, raising his hands up in surrender. “I just wanted to give the new girl a tour is all!”

            Mr. Ryōmen seemed to finally notice that you were standing there awkwardly to the side, now clutching your new work laptop to your chest. You gave a sheepish smile and wave. Mr. Ryōmen narrowed his eyes at the white-haired man.

            “Did Higuruma already start paperwork on your ass, because if he didn’t, I’m-”

            “What the actual fuck…” Gojo groaned in complete dismay before finally walking away in utter defeat.

            Before he could say anything to Shoko, the phone rang, and she promptly answered it with a faux smile and peppy voice.

            “Y/N,” Mr. Ryōmen said to you.

            “Yes…!” you answered with an almost terrified squeak.

            “Come with me, I’ll show you around,” he then ordered.

            “Yes, sir.”

            Mr. Ryōmen started on the bottom floor, which made sense since that was where you were. The bottom floor had the few receptionists that were there, Shoko being the lead one. There were a couple of college aged students that were interns that ran the back office making copies of documents and ran a small office for filing.

            He then showed the small café area where the workers got their coffees and some snacks. There was one lone barista, and he wasn’t all too busy since the morning rush was done.

            “I’ll admit he doesn’t get too much business here,” Mr. Ryōmen grinned. “I’ll probably not renew his contract after its up.”

            “Oh, why is that…?” you asked politely.

            “Ever since I bought that coffee shop for the Brat and he’s been working there with his little friends, most of the employees here get their coffee from him on their way here,” he explained with almost a proud tone. “Some even go on their lunch break for more coffee or the little lunches they have – everyone says the coffee and pastries are better there and love the customer service.” He gave you a side glance, a smirk playing on his lips. “And I recall a little someone walking in this morning also carrying one of those coffees.”

            Your face immediately flushed red. “Oh… well… that coffee shop was how I met Yuji and the others…” You admit that it the coffee was indeed better there than most chains, and you always enjoyed the hand decorated desserts that Megumi and Yuji did together. After hearing that Yuji wanted to franchise it out after getting a business degree, you wonder if that nice charm would still be there.

            “So, I’m gonna be paying you to buy my nephew’s coffee?”

            “What…!? Oh, no…!” You were trying to quickly explain yourself when you heard that he was chuckling under his breath. You frowned, realizing he was playing a joke. “Oh, ha, ha…”

            The tour continued to a large staff break room that had a complete kitchen with state-of-the-art stainless-steel appliances. The refrigerator was stocked with bottled water, sparkling water, and soda, along with some employees’ packed lunches with their names written on them. A few microwaves were attached against the walls and quite large, proving to be better than an average break room's 300-watt microwave.

            The countertops were a nice dark granite, something you would see in a six-figure home and not in a break room. There were small towers in random spots that held condiments and seasonings, all available to twirl to get what you needed. A few spots had electric stoves, so anyone was able to reheat something on a stovetop instead of a microwave. And lastly a lovely double oven was in the center.

            “Once in a while for parties I have professional chefs come and cook for the staff,” Mr. Ryōmen said. “But anyone is allowed to use the facilities here to prepare their lunch – as long as they clean up after themselves.” He stressed that last line heavily.

            You couldn't help but chuckle at that. “You make it sound like you have a couple of children here that don't look after themselves,” you nearly laughed.

            “Yuji can cook very well, he's an excellent chef in the making, but the fucker can't clean up after himself to save his life,” Mr. Ryōmen stressed heavily, you took note that this is the first time he referred to his nephew by name. “And Gojo, he'll start a fire just looking at an empty bowl… in the sink that has water in it.”

            “Oh, dear…” you nearly laughed. “That’s bad.”

            On the next floor on the tour were sales. The sales department was run by a man named Suguru Geto, who had the longest mane of black hair tied up you had ever seen. He gave you a friendly smile and shook your hand while he introduced himself. He didn't wear a suit jacket, most likely had it hung up somewhere, as he was just sporting a black dress shirt and purple tie with black dress pants and shoes.

            You had a feeling that you would be working with Geto a bit more than other departments as sales connect with clients a lot more. So, you chatted with him for a moment before a young girl with caramel colored hair tied in a neat bun with part of her hair as ringlets framing her face, her light brown eyes wide with worry as she gripped a piece of paper in her hands.

            “Mr. Geto…!” the girl nearly wailed. “I just got news from the client…! They want another revision…!” She then fussed as her dark purple skirt and cream cashmere sweater while bouncing between her feet nervously.

            Geto gave you a smile and excused himself for a moment. “Nanako, you and Mimiko have done it four times already, yes…?” he pressed, clearly trying to keep his agitation to a minimum – clearly it was toward the client and not the young girl.

            “Yes…” Nanako tearfully replied. “But they want another…”

            Geto's eye twitched. “Damn monkey…” he muttered under his breath. “Nothing but a circus show here…”

            Mr. Ryōmen seemed to know when Geto got in the mood it was time to leave. He escorted you from the office and headed to the next part of the tour, you were looking over your shoulder to see an almost devilish smile on Geto’s face as he was on the phone with the client.

            The next floor was marketing, although you could tell by seeing Mr. Ryōmen’s face he would rather skip it since it was Gojo’s department. However, it was part of the tour.

            With marketing, Gojo’s job was to make sure the brand was profitable and to help team up with sales to create awareness for clients. Gojo and Geto were high school best friends, so they were very familiar with each other and worked well together.

            Speaking of the devil, Gojo sat at his desk, his head cradled with one hand as he was on the phone no doubt with a client himself. His brows were furrowed angrily while he had a couple of people bussing about with numerous papers.

            In your line of work from previous companies, you have also dealt with marketing. There was no doubt that you would be working with Gojo as well as Geto. Luckily, Gojo was very easygoing, and since he was close to Geto you were sure you would get along with the raven-haired man as well.

            Gojo, having no time to do his usual charms, uncradled his head and used the now free arm to give you a subtle wave. He went back to what he was doing, looking as though he wanted whoever was on the other line to explode.

            Mr. Ryōmen decided to skip the next floor, as you were already there earlier – legal. You have already met Mr. Higuruma and the attorney showed you around. There were only a few lawyers with the company, but Mr. Ryōmen trusted Higuruma the most as they were classmates in high school and were roommates in college.

            The next floor was finance, which was run by Kento Nanami. He was a tall, blonde man with sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline, his hair neatly parted. Like the other heads of their respective departments, he was wearing a suit, but he wore beige with a dark, royal blue dress shirt with a spotted yellow tie and a pair of brown dress shoes.

            He was not very sociable as his greeting was short and curt, his hazel eyes barely taking a glance at you. It seemed Nanami was busy as he was looking through papers and asking others in his area to go over the numbers once more, including his second in command, Yuu Haibara.

            Sales, marketing, and finance all work closely together in a business – and as the personal assistant to the CEO of the company, now it is your duty to make sure to get the details of each department and make sure everything was running smoothly. Again, you will most likely get along with Gojo and Geto, but Nanami seemed very intimidating.

            There were a few other departments that Mr. Ryōmen introduced you to as well, such as IT, run by Takuma Ino, who Mr. Ryōmen had to remind him apparently once again to remove his beanie while in the office. The young man, who was the same age as you, only gave a sheepish smile as he complied while he introduced himself. He had messy brown hair, messy from his beanie, and large brown eyes, making him look much younger than he was – it didn't help that his professional attire was a dark gray polo shirt and black slacks with black and white canvas high-tops. In a way he was cute, you could admit that but compared to the other men you had just met Ino was almost too “Boy Next Door” type.

            Several small administrative offices were in the building as well, each connected to the main departments run by each person you were introduced to. Many of the employees on the administration side seemed to be around your age, or even a couple of years younger, around the same age as the café trio you've come to befriend. They all seemed friendly and excited to meet you, although a but uneasy to see who you were accompanied by.

            After roughly two hours of touring the building, Mr. Ryōmen even showed you where the supply room was and smaller kitchenette areas were for mini-fridges and coffee makers, you were finally back at the top floor where his office was located. Uraume was at their desk, typing away at the computer, their eyes glancing toward the two of you exiting the elevator before quickly finishing and getting up.

            “Sir, I have Ms. Y/N’s desk prepared as you have asked,” Uraume informed with a slight bow.

            “Ah, good, right-on time,” Mr. Ryōmen smiled. He then proceeded to lead you to a decently sized desk that was across from Uraume’s, but still in front of Mr. Ryōmen’s office. You could tell that the desk was new and sturdy, a nice, sleek desktop setup already booted-up with a printout of your new log-in information on the keyboard.

            There was still enough room on the desk to put the laptop to the side and work on it. You didn’t have a desk phone as everything you would do as the CEO’s personal assistant would be through the work cellphone. While Uraume was the secretary and kept up with the paperwork in the office and meetings within the building with the staff, your job was more for his social meetings with clients outside the office.

            You settled at the desk, the chair contouring to your body with easy. It was ergonomic with amazing lumbar support, and it even helped support your head and neck. You could easily sit in the chair for hours without pain. It sure beat the regular $20 Wal-Mart chair that Naoya had for your desk…

            “You are free to put some personal objects on your desk,” Mr. Ryōmen informed you when he noticed you were in bliss from the chair. It sounded like he was trying to hold back a chuckle. “You know, like pictures, I know Ino and the Brat puts up little figurines on their desks.”

            You nodded in acknowledgement, still content in the chair.

            “I’m guessing you like the chair…?” your boss rumbled in amusement, you could hear the smile in his voice.

            “This is the best damn chair I’ve ever sat on…” you sighed blissfully.

            “Damn, getting a hard on over a chair?” the man nearly choked with a cackle.

            “I am but a simple woman… nice chairs and maybe a nice cheese platter…”

            Another low rumble escaped Mr. Ryōmen. “Well, I'll be sure to have a cheese platter for you as your official welcoming gift to the office.”

            His comment snapped you out of your trance as you clumsily shot from your chair, causing it to nearly fly out from behind you. “Oh, no!” you nearly shrieked. “That is not necessary at all!” you insisted.

            The man only laughed as he turned away from you to walk back into his office, waving overhead as he did.

            For the rest of the day you sat at your new desk getting your desktop set up, Uraume helping you through the system and showing you the scheduling software. It was a couple of hours later when Yuji showed up to the office, in another crisp looking suit tailored, looking excited to see that you were officially there at a desk with Uraume.

            “I told you I was starting today…” you nearly deadpanned to him. “This morning I did when I got my usual coffee…”

            “It's so different from being told versus seeing it though!” Yuji said excitedly. Giddily, he almost ran to your desk at your side seeing what you were doing. “Did you already meet all the heads yet?”

            You nodded. “Yeah, Mr. Ryōmen showed me around,” you replied.

            Yuji blinked in surprise. “Really? He didn’t even show me around. He had Nanamin do it.”

            You tilted your head to the side in confusion. “Nanamin…?” you repeated.

            “Oh, Nanami in finance,” Yuji elaborated with a grin. “I just call him that.”

            You honestly couldn’t imagine the blonde, stoic man tolerating that.

            Yuji then shrugged. “Well, hopefully my uncle didn’t make you uncomfortable,” he then said.

            The next hour was you finishing up all your login information, both Yuji and Uraume making sure you were all set. Mr. Ryōmen saw the two crowding you as he walked out of his office, raising a curious brow.

            “You all settled?” he called out.

            “She should be good!” Yuji answered for you with a thumbs up.

            “Then she can go home, and you can actually do what you’re supposed to do!” Mr. Ryōmen snapped.

            Yuji hung his head, and he groaned, “Dude, I don’t even get paid here…!”

            “I literally bought you a whole ass coffee shop,” his uncle deadpanned. “Suck it up, Brat.”

            “Ugh… yes, Uncle Kuna,” the young man grumbled.

            You chuckled at the sudden familial nickname Yuji called your new boss. However, you did notice Mr. Ryōmen’s eye twitch slightly.

            “Y/N,” Mr. Ryōmen then said, a devilish smile on his face. “You may leave now for the day. I have… some words to speak to my nephew.”

            You didn’t need to be told twice as you logged out of the computer and gathered your items. As you began to walk away, you did wave at Uraume goodbye and went to do the same thing to Yuji, only to see Mr. Ryōmen dragging the poor boy into his office by the ear.             All in all, you thought your first day wasn't too bad.

Special thanks to my Ko-fi supporters!

Basic Tier

Aostrele

Draconic Hermit

JadEDU

Jaune Arc

Zippy

Middle Tier

@genderfluidsgetguns AKA IdoInFactLikeDogs

[gojonanami]

content: drunk!gojo, clingy gojo, infinity acting up, pre-established relationship, down bad for you, mentions of having kids, poor Ijichi

“Hic— where’s my wife?”

You rub your temples, as you watch your husband whine, “how much did you let him drink?”

“Let him? He was a force of his own, he—“ Ijichi cuts off when he sees your glare, balking as he panics, she’s even scarier than Gojo when she’s mad! “I’m so sorry!”

You shake your head, “it’s fine, Ijichi,” and he scurried away quickly, leaving you with your very inebriated husband. The one who had drank one sip of alcohol too many and was probably liable to misfire a hollow purple any second, “Satoru,”

You approached him and were met with the resistance of his infinity, as he sat slumped over on the booth table, “Satoru, put down your infinity—“

“No,”

“Satoru, come on, you have to stop or I can’t take you home,” and he’s shaking his head, cheeks flushed.

“No, I mean I don’t know how to,” he sighs, “the infinity is all messed up, I can’t do it,” he rubs his eyes, and you’re sighing again.

“It’s just because of the alcohol, Toru,” you sit beside him, “you can do it

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, dead weight on his two feet, as he pulled you even closer, cheeks flushed and warm from the alcohol, “why didn’t you come? You told me you were gonna pick me up,”

“No, I didn’t, you said Ijichi was going to—“ you manage to say before he’s whipping his head up, eyes sparking with blue, but lips curled in a pout, as if he wasn’t two seconds from obliterating you and the entire block.

“Do you hate me?” And his eyes nearly glow in the dark of the night, infinity flickering as you drew closer, “do you not want me to have your kids?”

Your hand finally reaches him, as you are the only one who can pierce through his defenses, “first of all l, I would be the one having your kids, weirdo,” your fingers cup his cheek, thumbing away his tears, “and how could I ever hate my husband?”

He blinks at you, “You’re married?” And you have to bite back your laugh at his affronted expression, “to who? I’ll hollow purple them!”

You snort, “Well he has light hair, blue eyes, and is drunk off his ass,”

He blinks, furrowing his brow, “Nanami?” And you laugh, before kissing him hard. You can taste the alcohol on his lips still, mixed with the aftertaste of sugar and chocolate he had at the bar most likely.

“Get it now?” And he grins, nodding, as he hangs all over you as you get him into the car with you, leaning against you as you drive home.

“So you’re gonna leave your husband for me?”

“…I might, if you ever drink again.”

[itsafairytalekay]

Toji always puts you on his back when he's doing pushups, that man says you are his warmup weight even if you weigh 90 kgs, he will come into your bedroom with his protein shake and smirk like a teenager and you know what's about to happen, you're used to this. he's putting you over his shoulder to then directly put you on his back and start doing pushups, fast af too. You just latch onto his neck for dear life and he's laughing while doing his workout.

He will also make you a dumbbell for working his biceps.

Then while doing squats he will put you on his neck.

He just wants to get a good workout in but, also spend time with his girl.

You talk to him while he's getting his workout in, literally on his neck or back and he's just responding with grunts and mhm's.

He loves how you talk so much, He just loves you too much <3

[rokonrrc2]

Learn More

I had enough

[logoleptic-since-06]

JJK Men as the Dads of Teenage Girls

Including: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Choso, Sukuna

Content: Crack, Profanity, Slight Angst, Mentions of Killing in Toji's Part, Slight Mention of Gore in Sukuna's Part, Not Proofread

Episode 3: Where they find out their daughter snuck out in the middle of the night.

Find more here!

[sukuna-ryo]

Jjk Men in Fairytale Retellings

»»———-　....................　———-««

𝕮𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖆 𝕮𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖔 <3

(10k words)

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Content Warnings: Cinderella Choso × Fem Prince Charming Reader. This is kinda genderbender. The women follow male gender norms and men follow female gender norms, but they're still women and men respectively. And yes, choso is wearing a dress and panties, that's intentional.

Explicit Sexual Content, MDNI. P in V. Unprotected Sex. Oral (f & m receiving). Face Sitting. Size Kink. Overstimulation. Exhibitionism. Slight Dub-Con. Idk what else to add, tell me if I missed something.

Thank you @daymarenightdream1 , @h0n3ysgh0st and pinkie for being my beta readers and helping with the cw.

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𝔒𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔞 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢, in a world where gender norms are not quite what we're used to, there lived Cinderella Choso. He was a soft-spoken, kind-hearted boy who somehow managed to make even the simplest dresses look elegant—duh. His days were filled with chores, thanks to his stepmother, Kenjaku, and his two over-the-top stepsisters, Eso and Kechizu, who treated him more like a servant than family.

That morning, Cinderella Choso was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the already spotless floor, when Kenjaku sauntered into the room, holding a cup of tea like it was a trophy.

“You missed a spot,” Kenjaku said lazily, gesturing vaguely at the floor with the kind of smugness only a true villain could pull off.

Choso paused, tilting his head to inspect the gleaming tiles. “Where?”

Kenjaku raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of tea. “Emotionally. The floor doesn’t feel clean.”

Choso blinked at him, then decided not to respond. He wasn’t sure what that even meant, and honestly, he didn’t care to find out. Arguing with Kenjaku was like trying to reason with a storm—it was loud, exhausting, and always left him feeling worse.

In the other room, Eso and Kechizu were bickering loudly over their outfits for the royal ball that night.

“I’ll win over prince Y/N for sure,” Eso declared, holding up a sequined gown that sparkled so brightly it practically blinded Choso from where he was standing. He twirled dramatically, nearly knocking over a vase in the process.

“You? Win over the prince? Don’t make me laugh,” Kechizu snapped, holding a pair of heeled slippers like they were some kind of weapon. “I’ll be the one to catch her eye. You don’t even know how to walk in heels.”

“Better than you!” Eso shot back, his voice rising in indignation.

Cinderella Choso just kept scrubbing, doing his best to tune them out. This was normal, after all. He’d grown up in this chaos, surrounded by people who seemed to thrive on drama. The royal ball wasn’t meant for someone like him, anyway. It was for people like Eso and Kechizu—people who fit into that glittering world. He wasn’t bitter about it. Just… resigned.

By the time the house had emptied and the carriage had rolled away, Cinderella Choso found himself sitting by the fireplace, the only sound the faint crackle of the flames. He stared at the mop leaning against the wall, considering whether he should name it. At least it wouldn’t talk back.

The room felt emptier than usual, and though he wasn’t one to dwell on things, a small part of him couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like—to dress up, to dance, to be seen as more than just the boy in the shadows.

But that kind of life wasn’t meant for him. Or so he thought.

Then, with a loud poof that sent soot flying everywhere, a man appeared. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and shirtless, because apparently magical beings don’t believe in modesty. Tattoos coiled up his arms and across his chest, and he had this grin that could only be described as “murderous.” His pink hair was messy in an I-don’t-care way, and he had sharp, glowing eyes that made Choso immediately question if this guy was here to help or hurt.

“Ugh, look at you,” the man said, sneering as he glanced around the room. “Pathetic. Sitting in a pile of ash like some tragic little loser. No wonder your life sucks.”

Cinderella Choso blinked, taken aback. “Uh… who are you?”

“I’m your Fairy Godmother,” the man announced, planting his glowing staff on the ground with a thud. “But you can call me Sukuna. Let’s get this pity party over with so you can go embarrass yourself at the ball.”

Choso frowned. “Aren’t Fairy Godmothers supposed to be… you know, nice?”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “I’m nice enough to show up and fix your dumpster-fire life, aren’t I? Be grateful.”

Choso just stared. Sukuna, clearly unbothered, started waving his staff around like he was conducting an orchestra. “Alright, enough whining. Let’s make you look less… tragic.”

He raised his staff without waiting for an answer, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like an insult, and in an instant, Cinderella Choso’s plain, soot-stained dress shimmered and transformed. The fabric turned into a soft, flowing baby-pink gown, delicate as a rose petal, with subtle silver accents that sparkled under the flickering firelight. The sleeves were sheer and billowy, giving the outfit an ethereal touch, and the neckline was modest yet elegant, perfectly suited to someone as shy and unassuming as Choso.

His hair, which had been loosely tied back in a messy bun, now fell in smooth waves down his back, held in place by a small, glimmering clip shaped like a crescent moon. On his feet were glass slippers—simple and lovely but with heels that looked slightly impractical, as if designed by someone who didn’t care much about comfort.

Cinderella Choso blushed as he glanced at his reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall. “It’s… nice,” he murmured, smoothing the fabric nervously. “I like it.”

“Of course, you do. I made it,” Sukuna said, crossing his arms and grinning smugly. “Now, let’s get you out of here before I change my mind.”

He waved his staff again with dramatic flair, and a nearby pumpkin swelled and stretched until it became a sleek, elegant carriage. A group of rats squeaked in protest as they were magically transformed into well-groomed horses, their tiny tails vanishing with a poof.

“Rules are simple,” Sukuna said, grabbing a sparkly mask from thin air and tossing it to Choso. “Be back by 3 a.m., or everything goes back to normal. That includes your dress, your carriage, and probably your dignity. Got it?”

Choso nodded, clutching the mask tightly.

“And for the love of everything holy, don’t embarrass me out there,” Sukuna added, glaring at him. “You’re wearing a baby-pink dress to a ball. The bar for failure is low.”

Cinderella Choso felt his cheeks heat up but chose not to respond. Instead, he carefully climbed into the carriage, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the skirt of his gown.

Sukuna watched him go, leaning casually on his staff. “Good luck, kid,” he muttered, his voice softer but still teasing. “You’ll need it.”

As the carriage rolled away into the night, Cinderella Choso took a deep breath, his heart racing. He had no idea what to expect, but for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to feel a tiny spark of excitement.

And so, Cinderella Choso was off to the ball, and somewhere along the way meet you—Prince Charming, the most ridiculously charming woman in the kingdom.

The grand ballroom was in full swing. The soft glow of chandeliers cast a golden haze over the room, bouncing off delicate, crystal glasses and glinting across the polished floors. Guests drifted in and out of conversation, their laughter mingling with the soft strains of the orchestra.

Cinderella Choso stepped into the room, his eyes wide, taking in the scene around him. The extravagant gowns, the glint of jewelry, the laughter that echoed from the walls—it all felt so far removed from his reality. He stood just inside the doorway for a moment, trying to steady his breath. The pink dress he wore clung to him in a way that made him feel exposed and small. His heart raced in his chest, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd made a mistake even coming.

But then, you appeared.

You stood near the edge of the ballroom, casually talking to someone, but when you turned, your gaze locked onto him across the room, and everything seemed to stop. You were in a sharp, midnight-blue suit, tailored perfectly to fit your figure. It was sleek and elegant, with just the right amount of softness, your presence commanding attention without being overwhelming. Your face was soft, your hair neatly styled, and there was a quiet confidence about you that made it impossible for Cinderella Choso to look away.

You didn’t say anything at first, just let your eyes meet his, studying him, before a gentle smile curved your lips. You took a few steps towards him, weaving through the crowd like you owned the space. The sound of the music, the chatter, all faded away, leaving just the two of you in the center of it all.

“Hello,” you said, your voice smooth and warm as you gently took his hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Y/N.”

His heart skipped a beat, his cheeks flushing. “I—I’m Cinderella Choso,” he stammered, not sure where to look.

You smiled, your gaze lingering on him. Cinderella Choso felt a rush of heat flood his face under the intensity of your gaze. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, unsure of where to look.

“You look absolutely stunning tonight,” you said, your voice smooth and genuine, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. The compliment made his heart race in his chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond.

His voice was soft, almost inaudible, as he mumbled, “T-Thank you... I—I’m not used to... being noticed.” His cheeks were burning now, and he wished he could shrink into the floor.

You chuckled lightly, your smile only growing warmer. “Would you care to dance?” you asked, your voice inviting.

Cinderella Choso hesitated, his mind racing as his heart hammered in his chest. It took him a moment to realize that he was actually standing there, face to face with you, and he still hadn’t said yes. Finally, after a long pause, he nodded, his hand trembling as he reached out to take yours.

As you led him to the center of the ballroom, the music swelled into a slow waltz, and he could feel the tension in his body, the unfamiliarity of the situation, the soft pressure of your hand in his. His heart drummed against his chest as you moved fluidly in rhythm with him. Your body was warm against his, your movements confident and graceful, but you never rushed him.

The dance wasn’t perfect, but with every step, you guided him, never letting him falter. You made him feel safe in the way you held him, steady and sure, your presence somehow grounding. When you looked at him, it wasn’t with judgment or expectation, but with genuine interest, like you were seeing him for who he truly was, beyond the awkwardness he felt.

“You’re doing just fine,” you whispered softly, your voice light, teasing him just a little. “I’m impressed.”

Cinderella Choso’s chest tightened, but not in discomfort. There was something about the way you made him feel—important, seen—that took away the nervous edge in his body. His smile was shy but genuine. “I’ve never danced like this before,” he admitted softly.

“Then I’m honored to be your first,” you said, your smile deepening. It wasn’t just kind—it was sincere. “We’ll make it memorable.”

You guided him with such care, as though it was second nature for you to put others at ease. The music slowed, but your hand stayed firmly on his back, the pressure warm and comforting. When the song ended, you didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, your fingers lingered on his hand, a soft touch that sent a strange warmth through him.

“Shall we get some air?” you asked, offering your arm.

Cinderella Choso nodded, his heart still racing. You led him through the grand hall, down a corridor that seemed to be untouched by the noise of the party. The castle was vast, but you knew it like the back of your hand, guiding him through secret passageways, showing him hidden corners.

The tension between you was thick, crackling with every glance, every touch. You weren’t making it obvious, but Cinderella Choso could feel it. It was in the way your fingers brushed his every now and then, in the soft smiles that lingered a little too long. He wasn’t sure if it was the intimacy of the moment or something else, but he couldn’t look away from you.

You led him outside to a secluded garden, bathed in moonlight. The scent of flowers was intoxicating, filling the air with a sense of magic, of something otherworldly. You took his hand again, pulling him gently along a narrow path that led to a hidden entrance behind thick vines. There, behind the foliage, was a secret garden—a place no one else knew about.

A beautiful pavilion stood in the center, its walls draped with delicate flowers, the entire structure seemingly carved from nature itself. Inside the pavilion, the floor was cushioned; and soft, fluffy pillows of various sizes scattered across the cozy bed. The space felt intimate, a retreat far away from the watchful eyes of the ballroom.

“This is…” Cinderella Choso’s voice trailed off, his heart skipping a beat as he took in the scene. It was serene, quiet, and so completely different from everything else in the castle. “Beautiful.”

You smiled, removed your shoes, and sat down on one of the larger pillows, motioning for him to join you. “It’s my secret hideaway. Only a few people know about it.” You patted the cushion beside you. “I come here when I need to think, to be alone.”

Cinderella Choso hesitated, then took off his heels and sat down beside you, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your body, but not quite close enough to touch. The silence between you two felt thick, comfortable, like you were both holding your breath.

“I’m glad you showed me this,” he said softly, finally breaking the silence. His voice was quiet, almost unsure, but sincere.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice lower now, almost intimate. “I don’t usually bring anyone here.”

Cinderella Choso turned to look at you, his heart beating faster at the intensity in your gaze. The world outside seemed distant, fading into nothing as you both stayed there, in this small, secret place. You leaned a little closer, and the tension in the air seemed to wrap around you both, like a fine thread drawing you closer.

The world outside could wait. Here, in this hidden garden, nothing mattered. Only the unspoken connection, the pull between you, the undeniable chemistry that was now crackling in the air.

“You know,” you said, voice low and teasing, “If you’re not careful, I might just keep you here forever.”

Cinderella Choso’s breath hitched, and for a moment, everything stopped. He was so close to you now, the distance between you two shrinking with every word, every breath. His pulse raced, and for the first time that night, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

The moment your lips met his, Cinderella Choso froze, his breath hitching in his throat. For a second, it seemed like he might pull away, his hands hovering uncertainly at your sides. Then, as if something gave way inside him, he grabbed your waist and kissed you back, his movements sudden and unrestrained.

At first, it was clumsy and rushed, his lips pressing hard against yours as if he wasn’t sure how to keep up with the storm of emotions. His breathing was uneven, shallow gasps breaking through the sounds of your kisses. His hands moved hesitantly but firmly, clutching at your waist and back, desperate to pull you closer.

You melted into him, your hands threading through his hair and pulling him even closer. You could feel his nervous energy in the way he moved, but it only made you smile against his lips. You tried to slow his pace, letting him match your rhythm, trying to ground his frantic energy with the soft, deliberate way your lips moved against his.

When he broke away to breathe, his face was bright red, and he couldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze darting everywhere but at you. You cupped his face gently, guiding him to look at you. “Choso,” you murmured softly, and his eyes widened, his blush deepening.

Before you could say anything more, he surged forward again, more determined this time. His kisses were rough and messy, his inexperience showing in the way his teeth grazed your lips and his hands fumbled to hold you. But you didn’t mind—it was raw, unfiltered, and so very him.

You let out a soft gasp as his lips found your neck, his movements hurried and unpracticed. Your hand slid down to his back, soothing the tension in his shoulders, your touch steadying him as he pressed closer.

Still, whenever he glanced at you, his shyness crept back, softening his frantic movements for just a second before his hands and lips found you again. You tilted his chin up, brushing your thumb over his flushed cheek, and his trembling grip on you tightened in response.

Suddenly, Choso pushed you down on the cushioned floor and climbed on top of you. His wayward tongue grew more unruly in your warm mouth, his actions sending heated shivers to your core. He mewled through his erratic kisses as his fumbling, frantic hands began pulling at your clothes and undressing you.

His movements were quick, almost frenzied, as if driven by a force he couldn’t control. Your royal attire almost tore as he threw it to the garden floor. He pulled back for just a moment, and you opened your eyes only to see the wild, frantic look in his eyes, wide and unblinking, filled with raw urgency and need, as if he couldn’t bear to wait another moment.

His eyes were locked onto the delicate curves of your frame, his gaze particularly lingering on the flushed swell of your breasts and the hardened nipples. His eyes followed his hands as they shamelessly traveled every which way on your body making you gasp out in pleasure. Choso was panting above you, his chest rising and falling as unrestrained desire flickered in his eyes, and it made you shiver with excitement.

His hands moved to his own clothes next. Choso fumbled with the fabric of his dress, his movements rushed and impatient, tugging at the delicate seams and buttons crafted by Sukuna’s magic. He huffed in frustration, tugging harder, and managed to peel off a few layers of the dress. The outer fabric loosened, revealing the smooth undershirt beneath, but the enchanted material still resisted fully giving way. Despite his best efforts, only parts of the intricate outfit now hung messily off his shoulders.

Noticing the frustration on his face, you gently called out through your heavy breaths, "He-hey, slow down. There's no need to rush."

But as if your voice had yanked the beast's attention back to you, Choso's head snapped in your direction. You don't know what happened next, or how, but Choso's mouth was back on your skin. His undershirt joined your clothes on the ground, and a manic, whimpering Choso was pressing kisses all over you. Biting and sucking on your skin, he was leaving large hickeys and bruises as his mouth travelled lower and lower until he found your leaking pussy.

Choso whined loudly, and the vibrations sent jolts of electricity to the steadily building coil in your core. Your entire body shuddered as though someone had pulled your soul out when he started sucking your folds with full force. It felt as if he was making out with your pussy in the same rough and messy way he was kissing you moments ago, his ceaseless actions stimulating your clit as well.

It felt like your mind was unraveling, every coherent thought dissolving into the overwhelming sensation that consumed you. Your flickering gaze drooped down to Choso. His ears and neck were flushed red, eyes tightly screwed shut, with moans and deep groans escaping his lips as if he was the one receiving pleasure, and maybe he was.

It was getting too much, the overwhelming feeling was unbearable. You forced words out of your half-open mouth, trying your best to sound lucid, "Ch-cho... Choso s-stop. Slow down b-baby, 's too much..."

Your voice comes out shaky and breathless. But it's as if your words are swallowed by the air between you, his movements remain relentless, driven by an intensity that seems to blind him to everything else. Your protests falter, mingling with your uneven breaths, as his focus stays singular, unwavering, like he’s caught in a trance that nothing can break.

His tongue thrusts into your quivering hole, as his nose keeps on nudging the sensitive nerves of your clit. He was so shy at first. You didn't think he had much experience in these affairs when you brought him to the hidden garden, but his performance was making you second guess. Still, he seemed inexperienced with how uncoordinated, aimless and chaotic his movements were. But the sheer force in his actions made stars flicker behind your eyes.

The pleasure surged through you, sharp and unrelenting, until it overtook every part of you. Your body tensed, trembling uncontrollably, as your thoughts fragment into nothingness. It’s too much—blinding, deafening, overwhelming—until your mind can no longer keep up. Your senses give way, and the world around you vanishes, leaving you in a black void of sensation.

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, the warmth still buzzing under your skin. A fleeting moment of clarity starts to settle. Fuck, that was just from going down on you?—

But your thoughts are cut off as the sound of clothes rustling suddenly joins the deep, uneven breaths filling the garden.

You open your eyes to see Choso hastily yanking down his slacks and panties in one swift motion, the fabric bunching around his knees. Your eyes fixate on something else, unable to look away. It's beautiful, unlike anything you've seen before.

His cock that sprang out was a pretty cherry pink colour, with veins that trace along his shaft like rivers. Silky smooth skin covered the slight upward curve of his length. The head was a flushed, angry red, as though the heat had spread from within, coloring it with a deep, vivid hue. It pulsed with intensity, a clear sign of the tension building beneath the surface, with his precum dripping from the slit. And the size—wait. No, this can't be right. It's too much. He's massive.

Your eyes widen in realization, a wave of panic suddenly washing over you. Your hands grip the sheets as a small shred of fear claws at your chest, pulling you back to reality. No, no, no—this won't work. It won’t fit. You scramble away from Choso, twisting your body as you quickly turn on your knees to distance yourself. But you feel his hand grip your ankle and yank your body straight back to him.

Your back is pressed against his chest as you feel Choso's entire body weight press down on you, pinning you in place and leaving you unable to move. Then you feel two things sink into you, Choso's teeth in your shoulder and his massive cock in your pussy. Tears prickle at the corner of your eyes as his size overwhelms you, stretching you far beyond what you're accustomed to. It's almost too much, your body tensing as it struggles to accomodate the intensity of him. Each movement only deepens the sensation, both pain and pleasure pushing you to the edge of what you can handle.

A deep guttural groan echoes from Choso's throat straight into your ear. He completely stills for a moment as if he too seems to need some time to adjust to the feeling of being inside you. Then he's rambling, babbling in his pussydrunk state.

Choso's voice was shaky, breath coming in quick gasps as he muttered, "This—this feels so good... so tight... can't... can't get enough of you." His hands gripped the sheets, knuckles white, his words slipping out in a desperate breathless rush. "You feel... incredible. I don't know how much longer I can... this is—this is everything... "

Choso starts plunging into you, his hips snapping against yours, each movement fast, hard and deep. The familiar tightness slowly takes hold in your core. With every thrust the pain melted away and only mind numbing pleasure remained.

Your words tumble out in a frantic, incoherent rush, your body trembling as you clung to the sheets. "I... can't... so good, Choso, feels too good... please, don't stop... don't stop, please..." Your voice was shaky, breathy, barely above a whisper, as if the sensation was overwhelming your every thought.

You're practically mewling as each wave of pleasure blurs the edges of reality, leaving you teetering on the brink of madness. Your body trembles uncontrollably, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as if you were drowning in ecstasy. The intensity was almost too much, a raw, primal force that left you clutching desperately at the remnants of your sanity.

Your body moves against him on it's own, joining in on his rhythm. Choso moans in your ears, and the voice sends more uncontrollable shivers to your core. You force your eyes open as much as you could through the haze of your blinding pleasure and turn your head to the side to look at him. Choso was completely feral, his expression raw and intense. You swore you could see hearts in his eyes, his gaze burning with something wild. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, and he was moaning and whimpering, while mercilessly thrusting in and out of you. He was completely out of control.

His sheer size was making you feel everything as his cock slid against you, reaching every corner and hitting your sweet spot again and again. Your pleasure builds hard and fast, and snaps before you could comprehend it. Your mouth hangs slightly open, drool escaping and pooling on the sheets below your cheek as your head spins with overwhelming pleasure. Your thoughts are scattered, each sensation mixing together, leaving your brain in a muddled haze, unable to focus on anything but the dizzying rush of pleasure flooding your senses.

You orgasm sets off Choso's own as your pussy tightens around him, trembling and quivering, and he cums inside you with a loud moan while giving slow, messy thrusts. The warm liquid pools inside, filling you, and spills out around the base of his cock and on the sheets. Tears stain Choso's cheeks as he starts crying, sniffles and sobs mixing with his moans, and you feel the warm drops on your shoulder.

Both yours and Choso's breaths come in ragged, uneven bursts. Your haze is slowly about to lift, and the trembling in your limbs was just about to subside, but Choso flips you over to face him and starts moving again. He's still hard inside you despite his powerful orgasm and how much he came. His movements pick up their speed, and he whines while sliding in and out of you.

Overstimulation grips your body, and you squirm and thrash underneath him. Choso grips your hips to force your body still as he moves faster and deeper inside you. "Choso... i-it's... too much," you gasp.

He leans down and pecks your lips, and breathes into your mouth, "I know... me too..." before capturing your lips in a deep, bruising kiss. His desperate actions over you don't stop, whining through his own overstimulation, as he pulls multiple orgasms out of you till you lose count and your highs start bleeding into each other.

Every time your vision goes black because of pleasure, and you drift in and out of consciousness in exhaustion, Choso fills you up with his sticky seed till you overflow and he's shooting blanks, while pressing kisses all over your body. This goes on for what feels like an eternity, and your body felt completely drained, every muscle heavy and limp, yet there was a comforting warmth that enveloped you, a deep sense of contentment, your mind floating in a blissful haze.

Choso, now calmer and free from his earlier fluster, was covering you with gentle kisses, murmuring soft "I love you"s as you lay there, blissfully tired and unable to move. His touch was tender, each kiss filled with quiet affection, as if he was trying to memorize every moment.

Suddenly, the deep toll of the palace bell echoed through the night. Choso froze, his eyes widening in alarm as he remembered fairy godmother Sukuna's warning—3 a.m. was the deadline, and the magic would soon start unraveling.

Panic flickered across his face as he sat up abruptly. “I have to go,” he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and regret.

You reached out weakly, your fingers brushing his arm. “Wait... wait till morning,” you mumbled, your voice slurred with exhaustion. There was more you wanted to say—something about a curse, about needing him to stay—but the words came out as incoherent murmurs, fragments of a plea lost in the haze of your tiredness.

Choso hesitated, his expression torn, but the chime of the bell spurred him into action. He scrambled off the pavilion, hastily pulling on his dress. He paused for a moment, looking back at you with a mix of longing and sorrow.

“I love you,” he said one last time, his voice soft but firm, before slipping out of the garden and into the night.

The next morning arose with a bright yellow glow from the east. You stir in the sheets of the pavilion, before slowly opening your eyes to the beautifully painted glass ceiling. The birds were chirping in the hidden garden, and the scent of the numerous flowers swirled in the air.

The memories of the night before came rushing to your mind, every fragment crystal clear except one: his face. You had tried your best, through your exhaustion, to get Cinderella Choso to stay with you till you could see him again in the morning, but he left anyway.

You tried to tell him—to get but a word in—that you were cursed. A long time ago, a lady of magic, offended by the king, had cursed her only heir: you. According to the curse, every morning, you forgot each and every face you saw the day before, including your own.

It was a well-guarded royal secret that only a few were privy to. And you wanted the man who stole your heart (along with the strength in your legs) to know it too. He was gone now, and it would be difficult to find him with just a name without the face. But there's something else you remember, something that even a curse couldn't erase from your mind: his beautiful, glistening pink dick.

Scrambling out of the sheets and into your clothes, before smoothing your hair down the best you could to make yourself somewhat presentable, you stepped out of the garden and went to the palace in search of your aide.

The air in the aide’s office was heavy with the scent of parchment and ink, the flicker of candlelight illuminating his focused face as he worked through a stack of documents. He barely looked up as you entered, his pen scratching against the paper.

“Where did you disappear off to last night?” he asked, his tone curious but not pressing.

You waved a dismissive hand, brushing off the question. “It’s not important,” you replied, stepping closer. “I need you to summon the royal painter immediately.”

The aide blinked, finally setting down his pen to look at you fully. “The royal painter? What for?”

“Just do it,” you said, your tone brooking no argument. His brow furrowed, but he nodded, reaching for the small bell on his desk to summon a servant to deliver the orders.

Moments later, the royal painter, an older man with streaks of grey in his beard, shuffled into the room, looking a little confused.

The painter gave a short bow, his expression perplexed. “Your Highness, what service do you require?”

You stepped forward, clasping your hands together in determination. “I need you to paint something from my memory,” you said, your voice steady. “A man’s dick.”

The painter sputtered and blinked rapidly, visibly startled by the peculiar request. “A p-penis, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” you confirmed, your tone leaving no room for doubt. “It’s vital.”

Though clearly appalled and confused, the painter nodded, pulling out his tools and setting to work as you described every detail of Cinderella Choso’s cock. You spoke with precision, recalling the faint lines on his shaft, the slight upward curve of his length, the veins running along the length, the pinkish red flushed head that was a darker shade than the rest of this cock, and the soft sheen of his skin. The painter’s expression grew more incredulous with each stroke, but he remained silent, committed to the task.

When he finished, you scrutinized the painting, your heart leaping at how perfectly he had captured it. “Good,” you said with a nod. “Now make several copies of it. As many as you can manage within the next hour.”

The painter hesitated, glancing at the aide as if hoping for an explanation. When none came, he sighed and got to work, summoning his apprentices to assist.

As you waited, a royal guard entered the room, bowing deeply. “Your Highness, the King has summoned you to the throne room.”

You inhaled sharply, straightening your posture. “Very well,” you said, smoothing your attire once more. “I’ll return shortly,” you told the aide before following the guard out.

The throne room was as grand as ever, the King seated at its center. Her piercing gaze bore into you as you entered, the tension in the air palpable. “You’re late,” she said, her voice sharp.

“My apologies, Your Majesty,” you said, offering a polite bow.

The King leaned forward, her expression severe. “I summoned you to discuss a matter of great importance. The princess I told you of last night, of the neighboring kingdom, the one you danced with at the start—he would make a fine royal spouse. The union would strengthen our ties and secure our future.”

You hesitated, the memory of Cinderella Choso flashing through your mind. “I met someone last night,” you said, your voice unwavering. “I fell in love with him, and I’ve decided I’m going to marry him.”

The King’s expression darkened, frustration evident. “You would throw away a carefully arranged alliance for some man you met at a ball? Do you even know who he is?”

“I do not,” you admitted, “but I will find him.”

The King’s hand clenched the arm of her throne, her face reddening. “You’re being reckless,” she snapped. “This marriage is crucial to the kingdom’s future!”

“Then perhaps you should have been clearer about that before inviting every eligible suitor to the ball,” you retorted calmly.

"Besides, with the amount of cum inside me right now, I doubt any kingdom would want to marry off their princess to me when my belly swells in a few months." You add with a faint smirk on your calm face.

"You!" The king's anger reached its peak, and before you could say another word, she clutched her chest, her face twisting in pain. “Your Majesty!” a servant cried, rushing to her side as she collapsed into the throne.

You didn’t linger. Turning on your heel, you left the chaos behind, your resolve unshaken.

By the time you reached the training grounds, the knights were gathered in neat rows, their polished armor clinking softly as they practiced their drills. You held up the paintings in your hands, ensuring they all saw the image clearly.

“This is the man I’m looking for,” you announced, your voice carrying across the courtyard. “Compare this painting to the dick of every man in the kingdom. Find him, no matter how long it takes.”

The knights saluted in unison, determination in their eyes as they accepted their copies.

Turning to the aide, who had followed you silently, you gave your next order. “Make an announcement,” you said. “Tell the kingdom I met a man at the ball last night, and he’s stolen my heart. We’ll find him with these paintings. Any man whose dick matches the image will be married to me.”

The aide hesitated, his brow furrowing in concern. “Your Highness, are you certain—” Although he was used to your antics by now, this one was far too ridiculous to not question.

“Do it,” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for doubt.

As the knights dispersed and the aide hurried off to carry out your orders, you felt a strange mix of determination and trepidation. Somewhere out there, Cinderella Choso was waiting—and you wouldn’t rest until he was by your side once more.

The days turned into weeks, the search spanning every corner of the kingdom. The knights traveled tirelessly, comparing the painting of the glistening cock to every eligible man they encountered, but no match had been found. Each negative report brought a growing sense of worry, a restlessness that kept you pacing through the corridors of the palace late into the night. The weight of your promise pressed heavily on your shoulders. What if you had lost him forever?

Finally, the aide presented the list of remaining houses. “This is the last one,” he said, handing you the parchment with a weary expression.

Your eyes scanned the address. A modest home tucked into the farthest corner of the kingdom. The final hope.

“I’m going with them,” you declared. The aide opened his mouth to protest, but your determined gaze silenced him. The next morning, you rode out with the knights, the journey long and arduous as the distant town came into view.

Meanwhile, in that very house, Stepmother Kenjaku paced the floor, his long robes rustling with every turn. The news of the prince's search had reached even the farthest corners, and Kenjaku was determined to seize the opportunity. He had spent weeks preparing his two daughters, Eso and Kechizu, for the inevitable visit.

“You must be perfect,” he told them sternly, inspecting their dicks. Eso winced as Kenjaku pressed a scale to his cock, the length was far from satisfactory. Kechizu groaned in frustration as another mixture of oils and creams was slathered onto his dick in a desperate attempt to make it more appealing.

“Remember,” Kenjaku said with a wicked grin, “if one of you marries the prince, we’ll live in the palace, and our troubles will be over.”

“Yes, Mother,” they chimed in unison, their faces contorting into forced smiles.

When the knock finally came, Kenjaku hurried to the door, his heart racing. He opened it with a deep bow, his oily charm seeping through every word. “Your Highness, what an honor! Please, come in!”

You stepped inside, your knights following as Kenjaku led you to a modest sitting area in the hall. You settled into the soft couch, your posture regal despite the humble surroundings.

“These are my daughters, Eso and Kechizu,” Kenjaku announced with exaggerated pride as the two boys stepped forward, their hands clasped demurely before them.

You glanced at their faces and had to fight the urge to recoil. The sharp angles of their features and their overly powdered skin were anything but appealing. Their forced grins only made them look more unsettling.

“They’re definitely not the man I’m looking for,” you said flatly, not even bothering to compare the painting. “There’s no need.”

Kenjaku’s smile faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you sure, Your Highness? They’ve been preparing—”

Your sharp gaze cut him off. “According to the records, there are three daughters in this household.”

Kenjaku’s expression tightened, but he quickly masked his displeasure with a nervous laugh. “Ah, the third,” he said dismissively, waving a hand. “He's not truly my daughter, Your Highness. A stepchild of my late husband from her first marriage, nothing more than a servant. Hardly worthy of your attention.”

“Call him anyway,” you ordered, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Kenjaku hesitated for a moment before turning to a nearby servant and barking out the order. Moments later, the sound of footsteps descending a creaking staircase filled the air.

When Cinderella Choso appeared, your breath caught in your throat. His disheveled hair framed his face, strands sticking out wildly, and a smudge of ash darkened his cheek. He wore a simple maid’s outfit, the hem fraying slightly at the edges, but none of that mattered.

The moment you saw him, the memory of that night came flooding back in its entirety. His face—his beautiful, soft features, the gentle curve of his lips, and the warmth in his eyes—had been restored in your mind as if the curse had never taken hold. He was the man you’d fallen for, the man whose cock you had spent weeks searching for.

Cinderella Choso looked up slowly, his expression a mixture of caution and something softer—a quiet joy that flickered to life the moment his eyes met yours. A faint blush rose to his cheeks, his lips parting slightly in surprise as he instinctively ducked his head, his hand brushing nervously against the hem of his apron.

“Why... why is the prince here?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. Though confusion lingered in his tone, there was an unmistakable warmth in his gaze, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were standing before him.

You maintained your composure, though your chest tightened at the sight of him. Giving no sign that you recognized him, you said firmly, “I will personally check him,” standing from the couch with an air of authority.

Kenjaku’s eyes widened in alarm, but he quickly plastered a thin smile on his face. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Cinderella Choso’s blush deepened, his dark eyes darting between you and the knights before returning to you, lingering just a moment longer than before. His fingers twitched nervously, and he bit his lip, a flicker of shy delight breaking through his confusion.

You stepped closer, your gaze steady and unwavering as it met his. “Where is your room?” you asked, your voice calm but commanding.

“The... attic,” he replied hesitantly, his words faltering under the weight of the moment. His hand rose as if to gesture toward the stairs, but he paused, seeming momentarily flustered by your nearness.

“Lead the way,” you instructed, your tone firm but not unkind.

Cinderella Choso nodded, his movements tentative but obedient. His face was still tinged with a soft pink hue as he turned toward the staircase. There was something in the way he carried himself—a nervous energy paired with a quiet joy, as though he were both overwhelmed and thrilled to have you in his home.

You followed him, your heart pounding in your chest with every step as the narrow staircase creaked beneath your feet.

As you ascended the creaking staircase, the air between you grew heavier, laden with unspoken emotions and tension. The narrow space seemed to close in, your footsteps echoing softly behind him.

Cinderella Choso’s shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the hem of his apron as if it were his lifeline. His head was slightly bowed, and his messy hair shifted with every step he took. You watched him closely, the faint blush still dusting his cheeks, the nervous sway in his movements unmistakable.

Breaking the silence, you spoke, your voice low but clear. “I hope you remember me.”

Cinderella Choso froze mid-step, his foot slipping slightly on the next stair. He let out a startled squeak, his hands flailing briefly before he caught himself against the bannister. “Y-yes!” he stammered, the word escaping his lips in a hurried rush. His voice cracked slightly, and his entire body seemed to jolt with embarrassment.

But he didn’t look back.

His ears were burning red now, the flush creeping down his neck as he straightened up and hurried the rest of the way. His steps were uneven, almost frantic, as though the very act of facing you might undo him completely.

You bit back a smile, watching him fumble, his shyness endearing in a way that only made your heart ache more for him.

The attic was dimly lit, with only a small window letting in a pale stream of light that softened the space. Despite its modest size, the room was neat and organized, every corner reflecting a quiet diligence. A small dressing table stood to the side, its surface polished clean, with a few simple trinkets placed meticulously. A wardrobe leaned against the wall, slightly worn but sturdy, and a collection of books was stacked neatly in one corner.

The bed, just barely large enough to accommodate Cinderella Choso's broad frame, was tucked under the window, a faded but clean rug beside it. The air was still, carrying the faint scent of the ash smudged on his cheek and the warmth of the space he'd made his own.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, it was as if the world fell away. All pretense dissolved in an instant. You stepped toward him, and he barely had time to process before your lips were on his, the kiss urgent and consuming.

Cinderella Choso froze for the briefest moment, his body stiffening. But then his hands found your waist, and he melted into you, a soft whimper escaping him. His touch held the same urgency as the night of the ball, trembling slightly, but the sheer need in him breaking through his shyness.

Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath your fingertips. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but they moved against yours with increasing desperation. Your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, as though you feared he might disappear again.

Together, you tumbled onto the bed, his weight sinking into the mattress as he fell back. The window's light framed his flushed face, his hair falling messily around him as his wide eyes met yours. His breaths were shallow, his chest rising and falling quickly, but his hands never left you, roaming across your back, your hips, your thighs, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

Breaking from the kiss, you hovered above him, your breath mingling with his as you stared into his wide, vulnerable eyes. “Why did you leave that night?” you asked, your voice trembling, not with anger, but with a deep, aching hurt. “I told you to stay.”

Cinderella Choso looked away, his cheeks flushed as if the memory stung him even now. His hands rested on your waist, his grip firm but gentle, grounding him. “I... I didn’t want to,” he admitted softly, his voice raw with regret. “But I didn’t have a choice. It was magic.”

Your brows furrowed, confusion flickering across your face. He hesitated for a moment, then continued, his words tumbling out nervously, as though he feared you wouldn’t believe him. “The fairy godmother gave me everything for one night—just until 3 a.m. After that, everything... everything would go back to the way it was. My clothes, my life, all of it. I had to leave before it all unraveled.”

His gaze flicked back to you, searching for your reaction, his face tinged with shame. “I didn’t want you to see me like that,” he whispered. “I wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place.”

You studied him for a long moment, your hand cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint smudge of ash still there. “Believe me, I know,” you said, your voice laced with understanding, a sad smile tugging at your lips.

His brows knit in confusion, but you shook your head gently, your fingers tracing the soft line of his jaw. “That’s a story for later,” you said softly, leaning in to press another kiss to his lips. Whatever questions he had about your words or your curse could wait. Right now, you were here, together, and that was all that mattered.

Just like that your roaming hands were back on each other again. Cinderella Choso kissed you with more fervour than before. His lips frantically moved against yours. His tongue slipped inside, the soft muscle gliding and tangling with your tongue.

Your breathing grew shallower, and your heart thundered in your chest as Choso's soft, desperate whimpers filled the air. His hands fumbled at the buttons of your coat, trembling as he worked to undo them, his touch clumsy with need.

But you caught his wrists, stopping him in his tracks. “Uh-uh,” you said, your voice firm, though a teasing smile tugged at your lips. “I’m not letting what happened that night occur again. You went wild, Cho—You'll let me call you that, won't you? I’d like to leave this house walking on my own two legs if I can help it.”

His eyes widened, his face flushing a deep crimson as he sputtered, “I-I didn’t mean—”

You silenced him with a quick peck on his lips before reaching for a piece of cloth from his wardrobe. His confusion deepened as you looped the fabric around his wrists, tying them securely to the headboard.

“Wha—what are you doing?” he stammered, his voice trembling with equal parts apprehension and excitement.

You smirked, leaning close so your breath ghosted over his ear. “Maintaining some control over the situation this time,” you said, your tone playful yet commanding. “I think we both know you lose all sense of restraint when you’re left to your own devices.”

Cinderella Choso whimpered, his hands tugging weakly at the bindings as you straddled him. His eyes darted down to his maid outfit, and he seemed suddenly hyper-aware of the fabric against his skin.

Taking a moment, you leaned back slightly, your gaze trailing over him appreciatively. “You know,” you said, tilting your head as your lips curved into a grin, “You look really cute like this.”

His blush deepened, and he turned his head away shyly. “D-Don’t tease me...”

“Oh, I’m not teasing,” you replied, your fingers tracing the ruffled hem of his skirt. “We could do this from time to time—have you wear something like this again.”

Cinderella Choso’s wide eyes snapped back to yours, his lips parting in a silent gasp. His embarrassed whimper made you chuckle softly, leaning down to kiss him again, savoring the way he melted beneath you, utterly at your mercy.

You pulled at the knot of his apron, undoing the fabric. Your hand slid to the back of his neck, slowly unzipping the dress, and he shivered at the touch. You give him a sweet, soft smile but the look in your eyes betrayed what you were about to do next. His eyes grew wide with panic and anticipation, his lips parting slightly as he took in small breaths.

You quickly slip his dress off next and settle between his legs. His pretty white panties had a not so innocent wet spot that only grew larger in size the longer you looked at it. Choso lets out a small whine and your devilish gaze met his excited, wide-eyed stare.

"Wha—what are you going to do?" He stammered, and his eyes dart between your lips and the bulge in his panties that was peeking through the translucent fabric.

You grin even wider and chirp, "Exactly what you're thinking right now."

Choso gasps when you pull down his panties, and his hardened cock springs out. It looks exactly like you remembered it—big and smooth with a gorgeous pink tint that's redder at the head. The paintings didn't do justice, the real thing was much better.

You bring your hand up to touch his tip and he shivers. Choso was trying his best to stay still, anticipating what's to come. But when you softly kiss the tip of his cock, his entire body shudders. A loud, high-pitched moan escapes his lips when you sink down your mouth on his length as much as you could.

You use all your strength to tightly grip his thighs with both of your hands, forcing him to stay still while you bring your head up and then glide it back down, taking him deeper this time.

The head of his cock touches the back of your throat and you slightly gag. Your eyes glisten with tears, but you don't stop. You start bobbing your head up and down on his length, which elicits a series of strangled moans and gasps from choso.

Your lips slide up his length, a mix of your spit and his precum covering the shaft. You suck at his head, then hollow your cheeks and go back down. Your actions pick up their pace, head rapidly bobbing, adding to his building pleasure.

With a loud cry, choso cums. The warm liquid that filled your mouth was salty with a slight sweet taste. Your hand replaces your mouth, moving up and down, helping him ride out his high.

You look up at him. His eyes are tightly shut, mouth parted as his chest heaves with the deep breaths. As he calms down, his half-open lidded eyes meet yours. You sweetly smile at him and tease, "Did you like that?"

Choso turned his head to the side and tried to hide his face in his bound arms, flushing this time with embarrassment.

"Yes," he muttered in a small, shy voice.

He then asks, "Are you going to untie me now?"

You shake your head, a playful smile on your lips. "Nope. We're not done yet."

You sit up and start unbuttoning your clothes. Choso's eyes follow your every action as you slip out of your coat, your shirt, and then your pants. You're sitting above him, straddling him, with nothing but your underwear on. Choso's eyes seem too bulge out of his head, and his ears burn redder at your half-naked form, as if he hadn't already seen it before.

You take off your bra next and your breasts spill out. Choso's gaze is fixed on the sight, then trails down to your panties and the noticable wet patch on it. You pull them down, there's a lewd string of your slick connecting to the fabric. Choso gulps at the sight, his Adam's apple bobs on his throat.

"Would you like a taste, my sweet Cho?" You tilt your head and drawl while looking at him. He nods frantically at your words, whining desperately.

"You're so big baby, and as much as I love it, you'll have to loosen me up a little before I take you inside, yeah?" Choso blushes at your words and whimpers, "Ye-yes, please."

You rise and move up to his shoulders, placing your legs on each side and settle your pussy down on his face, careful not to smother him.

Choso moans softly as he eagerly starts licking at the slick dripping down on his tongue. His knuckles turn white the moment his bound hands grip the headboard tightly. His eyes are closed, face flushed like a plum, and his soft whines and groans fill the air, mixing with your moans of pleasure. He looks so obscenely gorgeous between your legs.

Choso's tongue laps at your folds. You reach down and push your fingers in your pussy, and start pumping them in and out in an attempt to stretch yourself out. Choso sucks and lightly bites at your clit and it sends jolts of electricity down your spine. Your back arches as you push yourself deeper to his mouth, the coil in your core ready to snap. You're close, so close.

Choso lets out a low groan, sending vibrations to your sensitive flesh. He's hard again, precum dripping from the slit. He bucks his hips up when he gives a harsh suck to your clit that sends you spiralling, waves after waves of pleasure washing over you as you hit your high. You get off him and collapse to the side, both of you panting side by side.

You don't waste another moment; getting up and aligning your warm, sensitive pussy with his dripping cock and sink down on him, overstimulation be damned. A loud whiny moan echoes in the room, coming from you or him you don't know.

Once you started bouncing on him, Choso felt as though every inch of his skin was alive, buzzing with a heat so powerful it left him dizzy. His mind felt hazy, thoughts muddled, unable to cling to any single thread of rationality. The pleasure overwhelmed him entirely, a thick fog of sensation clouding every rational thought, as if his brain were melting beneath the weight of it, leaving only pure, unfiltered bliss.

Your warm, tight, wet cunt gripping him like a vice felt like it was milking him dry. You lean back, your palms resting on his thighs behind you as you use all your strength to ride him. Your breasts bounce with every movement, and the view is so lewd for our poor baby Choso that he feels like he's gonna cum right then and there.

You through your head back, mouth open as you drool and pant above him. All that sword training paid off, because you couldn't possibly have lasted without all the built up stamina. Choso's loud moans and groans, mixed with your own, ring in your ears, adding to your lust and fueling you to go faster and harder.

Choso throws his head back into the pillow, hands holding the headboard in an iron-grip, as his biceps flex and abs tightens, and he cums hard. His ropey liquid filling you up, and you follow right after, still riding him through both your orgasms.

You pant hard, body slacking to the side, and you look at him while you try to catch your breath. Choso is a mess, tears and drool is dripping from the sides of his face. His jaw is slack, and his face, neck and chest is flushed red. Little sobs escape his lips along with the gasps.

You quickly move to untie the cloth around his hands and collapse on top of him. You hold him close as you pepper his face with kisses. "You okay, baby?" You ask in a soft voice. But just then, before you could react, Choso flips you over. He's looking down at you with the same crazed look in his eyes that he had the night of the ball. Fuck! You made a mistake untying him.

Choso pins both your wrists above your head with one hand, and grips one of your legs up with the other, before thrusting himself back into you. "Cho-choso!?" You call out, startled. His eyes are blown wide with a wild look in them, no coherent thought behind the gaze.

"M-more... more pl-please. Not enough... This is not enough... need more..." He babbles. So you weren't walking out of this house on your own after all. The pleasure he gave you that night was soul-crushingly good, and you loved every moment of it. As much as you want it again right now, there's an entire knight squad waiting for you downstairs, dammit.

He holds you down while ramming his cock deep inside with full strength. His thrusts get meaner with each stroke, pumping pleasure out of you. He leans down, shoving his tongue in your slack mouth, swallowing all your moans. Oh fuck it! The knights can wait.

Each pulse of pleasure that rolled through you felt like a wave of heat, washing away any coherent thought. Your body trembled, each nerve alive, and your mind seemed to blur, its sharp edges softening into nothingness. Every sensation was amplified, the euphoria so intense that it felt like your very mind was being devoured by the pleasure, each wave more intoxicating than the last.

Choso didn’t stop, not until both of you were exhausted and sticky with sweat and cum that came from all the countless orgasms, the intensity of the moment lingering in the air between you. His movements were relentless, driven by an overwhelming need, and each time you thought he might slow down, he only pushed forward.

It was like that night all over again. You drifted in and out of the haze clouding you with each mind numbing high. The sun was setting when you both finally stopped, the golden light spilling through the window and casting a warm glow over everything. The room, once filled with the erratic energy, now felt quiet, the fading daylight creating a peaceful contrast to the intensity that had come before.

Choso was sleeping peacefully on top of you, his soft breaths rising and falling gently against your chest. His weight, comforting and familiar, made your heart swell with adoration. You watched him, his face serene in sleep, so different from his earlier untamed frenzy, and a wave of tenderness washed over you as you held him closer, not wanting to move, wanting to cherish the moment forever.

In the following days, the kingdom buzzed with excitement, preparations for the royal marriage taking center stage. The streets were filled with banners and flowers, and the air was thick with anticipation. Cinderella Choso, now at your side, was treated with the same reverence as any princess, though his gentle nature remained unchanged. You spent your days together, savoring the quiet moments, laughing, and talking about the future; and with his cock buried deep inside you when no one was around.

The royal wedding was a grand affair, a celebration of not just your union, but the love that had brought you both together. As the days passed, you realized that the magic and curse had only led you to something far greater than you could have imagined.

And so, with Choso by your side, you lived happily ever after, finding a peace that had once seemed impossible.

---

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