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celestie0 · 28 days ago

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch8. two steps back

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency department, just got broken up with your boyfriend of 7 years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation with him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw slight age gap bc gojo in this fic is 34 n reader is 29

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 8/x

ᰔ words. 10.2k

a/n. hellooo my ihm loves! i missed you all very much. i don't have much to say here lolol but i'll see you at the end!!! hope you enjoy the first gojo pov chapter!!

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“Now see this? The little bunny ears?” Gojo says from where he’s crouched down towards the freshly-sprinkle-wet pavement of the sidewalk, his fingers pinching sparkly pink shoelace together, his view of the children’s size seven shoe obscured by his tie dangling from his neck. He would flip it over his shoulder and out of the way, but he had not one second to spare when it comes to keeping the attention of a five-year-old.

“Mhm…” Juno mumbles, nodding her head slowly as she tucks her chin to look down at the tutorial.

“Okay,” Gojo says, “just like I taught you last time, you take the bunny ears…and then cross them over like this…” He does it slowly enough to where she can follow along. And then threads one loop through the other to form a knot.

“They’re friends! The bunnies!” Juno chirps, squealing at the possibility.

“Yes, Juno, the bunnies are friends,” Gojo says.

“Are they best friends?”

“They can be whatever you want, kiddo.”

He finishes tying the shoe, and the second that he does, Juno stomps her other foot in front of him, the lining of her sole flashing bright with lights from the contact. Pink sparkly shoelace is now splayed out on the pavement once more.

Gojo levels his gaze with her, resting his elbows on his knees. “No, Juno. That’s why I showed you how to do it. You have to do the other one.”

“But! Uncle Toru! You’re faster at it.”

He sighs, hanging his head a little in defeat, some of his fringe he had slicked back for the purpose of his 12PM house showing falls over his forehead from the movement. He looks back up at Juno and she looks entirely thrilled to be stressing him out like this. “I can’t do this for you every time, kid. Your uncle’s getting old. My back hurts, and my vestibular system is degrading. I’m gonna start looking like Grandpa Lou Pickles real soon.”

She slaps her hands to her mouth, one over the other, to try and stifle that full-of-glee giggle that bubbles from her throat.

There was nothing like making a kid laugh at your own expense.

Gojo smiles at her then pushes up on his knees to stand up straight with a small huff. He smooths down his tie to lay it flat with his grey suit jacket and corrects any creases. “You’ve got it?”

She nods enthusiastically, kneeling down quickly to tie her own shoes. She makes the little bunny loops, gets confused when she crosses them over, her pinky finger somehow getting caught in the knot, but she manages to pull the laces through and makes a very uneven bow. But at least a bow, it was.

She stands up, jumps up and down with happiness, clapping her hands together saying, “yay!! I did it!!”

“Good jooooob, Juno,” Gojo says, ruffling her curly hair until she’s annoyed by it and pushes his hand away to smooth down the frizz he just created. “Now, let’s get going. You’re going to be late.”

Gojo doesn’t need to park ten minutes away from Juno’s elementary school, and force her to walk all the way to the entrance, since in theory, he could wait in the agonizing line of parent drop-offs that’ll get her off right at the gate. But some of his favorite memories when he was a kid was when his dad would walk him to school. They’d count every Volkswagen beetle that would drive by, or slugbugs as his dad used to call them, and he’d get a free pass to punch his old man in the hip every single time he saw one. Either that, or a dollar towards ice cream after school at the end of the week. He outgrew the violence by the time he got to third grade. And curiously, that’s also when he developed a sweet tooth.

The nice thing about being a realtor is that Gojo had a pretty decently flexible schedule. And although he found himself working on most weekends, since that’s when he’s able to book showings for the most part, it at least means that he has the capacity to drop his niece off at school at 10am on a random Tuesday when her parents can’t. Because he has no place he’s expected to clock in or show up to that’s against his will. But, of course, that means he’s basically their go-to contact for moments like this. Where they can’t drop her off at dance practice, pick her up from school, or keep an eye on her when she’s at home. He would never complain about it, though. Not with the way Juno blabbers his ear off during the ten-minute walks to school about all the latest happenings of Sophia the First like there was no other person in the world she’d rather share all the drama too. And also the fact that, instead of punching his hip whenever she sees a slugbug, she opts to hug his leg instead.

“Are those kids still bothering you at school?” Gojo asks her when she hops over a tiny rock.

She glances down at her shoes, the grip of her hand wrapped around Gojo’s finger weakening slightly. “No…”

“Juno, are you lying to me?”

“No!” she yells, loudly, as if she was offended by the assumption.

“You let me know if they are, okay?” Gojo says. He stops walking and pulls his finger from her grip so that she’ll stop kicking rocks and actually pay attention to what he says. She looks up at him and blinks. “I need you to know that no matter what, family will always have your back. Understood?”

Her lip quivers a little. “Yes Uncle Toru.”

Gojo takes Juno’s tiny hand in his again as the two of them continue to walk down the sidewalk and finally pass the noisy cross-section of Juno’s elementary school.

“Uh-oh…” Juno stops in her tracks suddenly once they’ve reached the courtyard in front of the main entrance where there are bustling children making their way inside the gates. She pulls her hand from Gojo’s grip before glancing up at him and twiddles with a coil of her hair. Parents are walking their children up to the walk-in zone, some giving their kids hugs and kisses goodbye. The colors all around are nauseating, with bright neons and blue and pinks and, quite frankly, hues that not a single person in the world has any business meshing together. Like barf green and mustard yellow. But chaos was comfort to the undeveloped brain.

“What’s up, kiddo?” Gojo says as he looks down at a doe-eyed Juno, turning his ear towards her because it was hard to hear her meek voice over the teachers yelling as they try to round the kids up before first period starts.

“Um…” she blinks, “I forgot my lunch moneys.”

“Oh,” Gojo says, his shoulders relaxing, then he reaches into his pocket for his wallet, pulls out a twenty dollar bill, then hands it to her, “here you go. No problem.”

Juno glances down at it, her tiny hand gentle with the paper, careful not to crease it. She looks up again. “Um. Uncle Toru.”

“Uh huh?”

“Lunch is three dollars.”

“I don’t have any ones on me, sweetheart. Just keep it. Buy one of those books from the book fair.”

Her eyes light up at that before the excitement stifles with some realization. “Oh. Um. It’s,” she counts on her fingers, “twenty-six dollars for book and my lunch.”

He fishes out another twenty, but squats down again to level his gaze with her before he hands it to her. “Your mommy didn’t give you money for the book fair?”

Juno gets shy, averting her gaze to the ground as she rubs her ankle with her other foot. “No…I wanted, um, the fairy book.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But mommy said no. That there is no money.”

“No money?”

She nods. “Mhm.”

“Okay…” He frowns. “That’s all she said to you?”

Juno nods.

“Are–” Gojo starts, but then the loud-pitched shrieking of a couple of girls towards the right cuts him off.

“Juno!!! Juno!!!” they yell, skipping up to Juno with excitement before squeezing her into a bear hug, looking like a huddle of pigtails and sparkly backpacks. Gojo stands up straight again and watches the scene unfold.

Juno, her cheeks as red as beet, smiles when they pull away from the hug and jumps up and down with them.

“She’s here! She’s here!” one of her friends exclaims.

“Hey, hey, hey, wanna trade silly bands?” the other one chirps.

Gojo lets out a slow exhale, waving a hand back to Juno when she bashfully glances over her shoulder at him as she walks towards the school entryway with her friends. He makes sure to keep an eye on her all the way until she gets through the gates, into the sea of students. He pushes his hands into his pockets, his gaze set straight ahead at the green paint outside the school, still watching Juno as she approaches the heavy double doors. There is some unsettling feeling at the base of his ribs, as if to warn about unfinished business. The feeling doesn’t pass, even when he’s satisfied at the sight of Juno making it inside school. His brow furrows slightly in concentration, but his train of thought is interrupted by a feminine voice that calls out from behind him.

“Is she yours?” he hears the voice call out, and when he turns his head to the side, he sees a woman dressed in faded mom jeans, a striped long sleeve, and black leather boots approaching him from the side.

“Oh, no,” Gojo pulls a hand out of his pocket to shake his palm in front of him, “she’s my niece.”

“Ahhh,” the woman smiles, “she’s adorable.”

“Right? Super smart, too.”

She lets out a small exhale through her nose, one that’s reminiscent of a laugh, before turning her head to look over her shoulder towards the playground where the preschoolers next door were still preoccupied by their playtime. Gojo trails her gaze to a small group of boys by the monkey bars, and he sees one of them making snow angels face-down in wet dirt. When he glances back at the woman’s face, she looks affectionately disturbed.

“That’s my Timmy,” she says, “and I really can’t say the same about him.”

He laughs. “It’s fine. I was just like that when I was a kid. He’ll grow out of it.”

“Do you have any of your own?” she asks.

“Not that I know of,” he responds.

She laughs at that. He had half expected her to roll her eyes.

“I’m Mari, by the way,” she says with a smile, smoothing her palms down the fabric over her thighs.

“Satoru,” he responds, and he doesn’t pass over the gesture of a handshake, which she seems taken aback by, but still accepts when she squeezes his hand.

“I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before…” she trails off.

He squints his eyes a little to see if he can place her face too. Or maybe come up with places she may have seen him. When he runs a blank, he says, “I’m here often to drop my niece off. My sister and her husband are–” he feels that same sensation in his ribs, “pretty busy these days.” They’ve asked him to drop Juno off at school so many times by now that the moms around the place are starting to recognize him.

“That’s sweet,” she says, crossing her arms and rubbing at her elbow as she glances over at her son again. “I wish I could have help like that. They're so lucky to have you around.”

“Yeah…I should really hold it against them more often.”

She laughs. “Seriously though!” She sighs, and when he remains quiet because he can tell she’s building up to something more vulnerable, she takes the invitation to vent. “Just–...you know, it’s so hard to juggle everything. Work, the kid–”

“Yeahhh.”

“It’s like there’s just never enough hours in a day–”

“Definitely.”

“Some days it just gets so overwhelming to the point where I’m, like…like not even really a person anymore–”

“I can imagine.”

“And–” she stops to look at him, suddenly embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I think I’m just venting.”

He shakes his head at her. “You’re all good.”

She purses her lips together in thought, squinting her eyes slightly at him, before her shoulders relax. “Would you…” she starts, “like to get coffee sometime?”

“Oh, no, sorry, I’m–” he pulls his left hand up out of his pocket to hold it up in the air, but then stiffens entirely when a chill runs down his spine.

Because it wasn’t a reflex of recent events,

It was a reflex from years ago.

“You’re…?” she says, tilting her head to the side curiously as if to feign innocence of the fact that there’s a ring on his finger until she hears the words from him personally. As if the ring would vanish with enough wishful thinking.

His shoulders, tense and rigid, slowly drop back down before he breathes in deep and says, “I’m married.”

. . .

As Gojo makes his way back to the neighborhood where he parked his car, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrolls through his recent calls, and is surprised to find that his brother-in-law’s name is a bit higher up on the list than he thought it would be. Or wanted it to be.

He lifts the phone to his ear when he presses dial, and the phone almost rings through four times before someone finally picks it up.

“Yo! The man! The bro-in-law! What’s goin’ on, dude!” he hears Jun’s rather chirpy voice on the other line.

“Hey Jun,” Gojo says into his phone, walking down onto the residential street, “Just calling to let you know Juno’s been dropped off. I found out from one of the teachers that it’s only a half day today, though. So you’ll have to pick her up earlier.”

“Oh shoot…” Jun trails off, and Gojo can already tell what he’s about to ask of him.

Gojo likes Jun. He’s always liked the guy, actually. Although he always thought Sana would end up with someone Gojo didn’t like, as some act of defiance. But Jun was a lot different than the waste-of-space high school boyfriends Sana brought home during her teenage years (sorry if that sounds rude, it’s just that, once upon a time, Gojo used to be a waste-of-space high school boyfriend, as most teenage boys are, so he knows how awful they are and eventually grew into the conscious reasoning of loathing them). But anyway, Jun was a reliable guy. Hard-working, always seemed like he was on the hustle with his business, but he was a little unsettlingly cheerful all the time. The first expression of his that comes to mind whenever one thinks of him is a smile full of pearly white teeth and eyes squinted shut from the curve of his cheeks, but Gojo always figured it was some businessman tactic that eventually integrated into his personality as a whole.

“Do you think you could—” Jun starts.

“No, Jun, I can’t,” Gojo cuts him off, “I’m closing a sale today.”

He knows he said he could never complain about looking after Juno, but in a sense, forcing her dad to ditch a measly hour of work to show up and pick her up from school is in a way looking after her. Kids need their dads, and it’s a little sad that even just showing up is something not a lot of them care to honor.

“Ayyy that’s okay then, I’ll just figure it out,” he says, “but thanks for dropping her off this morning!”

“Sure thing.” Gojo’s phone starts ringing, and he sees he has an incoming call from one of his clients. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. But remember, her school gets out at 1:30.” And he barely hears the acknowledgement from Jun before he switches calls.

By the time Gojo wraps up his afternoon showing, and spends a couple hours putting together all the paperwork for the sale he’s closing later today, he’s starving. And he considers picking up some Thai food on his way home but then he gets a text from you.

|| 1:04PM Neighbor HerbGarden: hey I made chicken parm. would you like me to set aside a plate for you

He can’t help the smile on his face from the message, and how strangely polite it is. He’s usually the type to call someone to respond to a question they ask him through text (the worst kind of person), but instead he finds him typing back.

|| 1:05PM Gojo: Sure although I’d prefer mine without any poison please

He sees the little three dots as you type.

|| 1:06PM Neighbor HerbGarden: unfortunately I cannot make any such accommodations

And there it is again, that amused grin he can’t help. It’s uncannily similar to his days of being a waste-of-space high school boyfriend, except now he’s texting on iOS 18 instead of a Nokia brick. But also, he’s not seventeen anymore. It’s kind of dangerous that you make him feel like he is, though.

He hears his phone ping again.

|| 1:08PM Neighbor HerbGarden: also can you please pick up some orange juice from the store

|| 1:08PM Neighbor HerbGarden: without pulp

He blinks at the screen, before responding with,

|| 1:08PM Gojo: 👍👍👍

He stares at the messages for a few more seconds, then up at the blank grey contact number and your name Neighbor HerbGarden. He has a lot of numbers in his phone, from years and years of building clientele both in one of the biggest Metropolitan cities in the country, and also here in Dayton County within the past year that he’s lived here. Sometimes it was just easier and more efficient to save people in his phone as something that’ll make him remember who they actually are rather than just an arbitrary name. In one of the first times he met you, you brought him two bunches of dried oregano from your herb garden, and so he saved you in his phone as Neighbor HerbGarden to differentiate you from Neighbor BasketballHoop to his right.

Gojo presses his lips into a thin line then glances up to the sky as he stands outside of the vacant home he’s about to make major bank on today, and then clicks edit on your contact name.

He backspaces Neighbor HerbGarden then types,

Wife

He exhales slowly, then adds,

… (?)

To the end of the word.

Then shoves his phone in his pocket.

—

“God, that was delicious,” Gojo sighs as he sets the plates in the dishwasher, “I mean, seriously, you could open a restaurant. Er, actually, on second thought, probably not. Considering the natural disaster level of a mess you’ve left the kitchen in after making just one meal.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you say, and he turns around to see you standing behind him still clad in your marinara-stained apron and your hair that was once pulled taut up into a ponytail now falling loose over your shoulders. The only thing that could make the sight even sexier is if you were topless. “Now sign this,” you say, holding up a sheet of paper to his face and placing a stern fist to your hip.

He blinks at you and slowly turns the faucet off before drying his hands off on the towel while still facing you. His eyes briefly skim the top of the page which says Contract.

“Uh, what’s this?” he asks.

“Our rules.”

He doesn’t even take a second to read another single word before his eyes flit up to yours, his brow quirking. “Rules?”

“Yes,” you say, and blow a puff of air up your cheek to get the hair out of your face, “remember? No touching, no sex, no sneaking into my room, no peeping in on me in the shower, and—” You point a finger up, “New one. No. Flirting.”

His mind fixates on the word sex. “No sex? Didn’t you ask me to fuck you the other day?” he says as he leans back on the counter, an amused look on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“That—” you stiffen then relax your shoulders before pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration of yourself, “I don’t recall such an event occurring.”

“Really? Well thank god I’ve got a ring camera set up in the living room.” He pretends to pull the app up on his phone.

“No!” you yell, reaching out to hold his forearm to stop him, likely through a way of distraction as his eyes flit to the curl of your fingers as you sink your nails into his skin. He quietly sucks a breath in through his teeth. “….stupid ring camera,” you mumble dejectedly, “I hate it.”

He sighs. “Baby. You’re the one that demanded I get it installed.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “You and your strange fear of home invasion.”

“Don’t call me baby,” you hiss at him, and it’s rather easy to see the flush to your cheeks, “that counts as flirting.” You slam the paper down onto the counter. “Now sign this.”

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, “don’t wanna.”

“Sign. It.”

“Nope, not without my lawyer present.”

“Ouuuuuu that really handsome one with the tight trousers and the sexy Benz?” you swoon cartoonishly.

He glances up at the ceiling in thought, then takes the bait. “Who needs lawyers, anyway.”

“Mhmmmmm exactly,” you hum in satisfactory agreement then wave the paper in front of his face again like he’s a dog. “So sign it.”

He hesitantly takes the sheet from you. “What good is signing a makeshift contract going to do?”

“I’m sick of people pretending like they don’t know that they’ve wronged me. So, with this contract, when you eventually wrong me, I’ll have it in writing that I specifically asked you not to.”

God damn you were kinda crazy. It was simultaneously hot and scary at the same time. I mean, he’s always known that about you; that you’re a bit differently strung than most people he’s ever met, even more so compared to the women he’s met, but there was something oddly charming and redeeming about it all too. It’s hard to explain. In the city, people are nice to your face but then fuck you over behind your back. Like, invite you over for dinner when their family is in town but then tell the principal that your kid shoved their kid at school just so that their kid gets the last spot on the T-ball team. But here in small Dayton County, people care less of the small gesture frivolities and would rather go straight into repairing your flat tire on the side of the road no questions asked, and no thanks needed, but God forbid you expect them to flash you a smile when you pass by them on the street. He kinda liked the latter, preferred the latter, and considering that you were born-and-raised here, you’re a woman who was as close to that Dayton County sentiment as anyone here could get.

He liked it though. Sure, you cuss him out often and act in ways that confuse the ever living hell out of him, but something told him that when it came down to it, and I mean really came down to it, you were someone he could trust. And trust is a feeling that’s hardly given out carelessly in this day and age.

He finally takes a better look at this contract of yours. Just a few lines of size 12pt font of Times New Roman and a numbered list with rules on it. It was a poorly put together contract of contingencies of which he knew he’d have no business following. Sure, he’s exercised self restraint up until this point, perhaps his biggest challenge thus far having been captured in 720p resolution on that Ring camera over in the other room that faces the couch, but if you kept wearing those prudish nightgowns all over the house and asked him to fuck you in the middle of a weekday one more time, he’s ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure he’d have no willpower left at that point.

He sighs and pretends to fully read all the words typed out on your contract, then flips it around so the contents face you as he holds it up. “Cross out the no flirting and we’re good.”

“I am not crossing that out.”

“If you live with me, I’m going to flirt with you. That’s just how it’s going to be.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Baby. This ask of yours is what’s borderline ridiculous.”

“Stop with the ‘baby!!!” you sneer at him and he can’t help but laugh.

He places the paper down on the surface of the island and clicks the pen, crosses out no, writes in occasional and adds is okay after the word flirting so that it reads: occasional flirting is okay. Then scribbles his signature on it.

“Here you go,” he says as he hands it back to you.

“I did not permit any addendums.”

“Look, honey, it’s the best you’re gonna get.”

He sees you scribble something down onto the page and then you hold it up for him to see.

No pet names.

“Do you agree?” you ask in a way that suggests you won’t take no for an answer.

He sighs. “Sure.”

“Good,” you say, satisfied as you stare down at the contract with approval before looking up at him again with a narrow, almost pissed-off gaze. It gets him borderline excited. “Now, are you a man of your word?”

“I hope so.”

“That’s not very reassuring. Try again.”

“It’s hard for me to say.”

“Why?”

“Well, with you, it’s hard for me to say.”

“That makes me self conscious.”

“Don’t be,” he says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you respond, then shuffle across the hardwood floors of the kitchen into the dining room where you sit down there along with all the hospital bills you’ve had scattered there since you moved in.

He sighs, watching as you grab a stack of all your envelopes and papers and manila folders then dump them all on the kitchen island.

“Sorry,” you say, “I’m running out of space.” You turn on your heel to head back to the dining table but then spin to face him again. “And please don’t look at the bills. I’d rather pretend they don’t exist.” Then you turn the corner back to where you came from.

Gojo sighs to himself, his eyes briefly flitting down to the stack of unsorted papers you’ve left on the table. He sees scribbles of paid and to be paid and ask for itemized bill and has already been sent to collections and repeat charge all over them, wondering how in hell you manage to keep track of all this. He feels stressed on your behalf.

Something catches his eye, among all the paperwork. A tiny corner poking out from under a bill for a thirty-four-hundred dollar chemotherapy infusion. The finely printed black ink on it is hard to read, but Gojo tugs it out and holds it up at eye level.

Carevest Capital est. 2024

Invest in a healthier you!

And when he skims to the bottom, he sees CEO Jun Miller, phone: (851)-334-5555 for the contact.

His brow furrows together. He inhales deeply before shuffling his feet over to the dining hall.

“Hey,” he says, pinching the card between his index and middle finger then holding it up, “what’s this?”

You turn over to look at him, eyes wide and blinking innocently before you squint at the card. “Huh? Oh. That’s your brother-in-law’s business card. For his healthcare cost relief company.”

“He gave it to you?”

“Mhm.”

Gojo frowns. He brings the card down to look at it again. Last time he checked, Jun ran a small local auto parts repair shop. Routine stuff like cracked windshields and tinted windows, with the hopes of expanding business to a couple more places within the zip code. Gojo had never heard of any healthcare cost relief company. And he figured Jun would’ve provided some sort of proof of pay for it when Gojo helped him process the loan for their new house. It doesn’t make sense.

Gojo sighs, and chalks it up to ambition. He knows how businessmen are. A lot of his clients are like that. They always think they’ve caught the next-best-thing and want to chase it before anyone else can.

You’re still blinking at him with a mildly confused face.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. I wouldn’t put any money into this if I were you, though.”

You sigh and slump your shoulders. “As if I even could.” But then you turn to look at him again. “Why? You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“What? Entrusting large sums of your money to some company that promises to somehow double it and give it back? Of fucking course not.”

“You don’t trust your own brother-in-law?”

“It—” He’s a little taken aback by the question. “It’s not that I don’t. It’s just that I don’t really trust businessmen at large.”

“Aren’t you…technically a businessman?”

“What?”

You put your elbow up on the chair’s backrest and twist your torso more to look at him. “Last time I checked, you sell houses.”

“That—…that’s different.”

“Is it?”

“I’m a realtor. Not a businessman. Business people, you know, they play dirty to get what they want. I’m just helping people with a task that they don’t always have the time or resources to do.”

“You literally make up contrived skit scenarios so that your clients find houses more memorable, and also pimp yourself out to divorced housewives so they’ll follow through on a return offer. That’s no better than the way a businessman manipulates.”

“Is your opinion of me really that low?”

And he asks it with genuinity. Not laced with mirth, or faux arrogance, or a childlike desire for banter. He genuinely wants to know, after the past few weeks of getting to know each other a little bit better, if you really think of him as someone like that.

As if you felt the way his tone cut through air, setting precedent for what had otherwise felt like a neutral conversation tethering on an edge of hostility, you sit up a little straighter in your chair and your eyes are wide again as you blink at him, and he sees the shallow rise of your chest as you breathe through the movement of your marinara-stained apron.

“No,” you say, your expression softening, “it’s not.”

He’s not sure what exactly your words accomplish in him, or what reward he gained for seeking them out, if any, but he just lets out a huff of an exhale and grabs his suit jacket off the back of the chair at the head of the table, pulling his arms through the sleeves before shrugging it into place. Then he grabs his keys off the wooden surface and glances at his watch. “Alright,” he says, “that’s good to know.” Then heads towards the door.

—

“You know, Satoru, I met my wife on a military excursion to Thailand. It’s precisely why I’m ruined for all American women. The women over there, they just move with this sort of sensual grace that the women here can’t compete with.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo barely nods in acknowledgment of his client’s words as he sits at the lonesome dining table located in the otherwise chilling vacancy of this house he’s about to hand over. “So, did you two have a chance to take a look at the walkthrough report?”

The wife curls her arm around her husband’s bicep, and from an outsider’s perspective, it would look awfully inappropriate given she looks at least twenty years younger than him, but to Gojo, it’s something he tends to see pretty often when he makes sales up in the neighborhoods of this part of town.

“Yes,” she says, smiling up at her husband, and the action alone ages her ten years from the ripples of botox visible in her cheeks, “Len and I are so ready to call this home our own.”

“What do you think of Thai women, Satoru,” Len asks him, completely ignoring any and all tasks at hand because he’s not satisfied with the low level of interest his realtor is taking to his fruitless words.

“Never been with one,” Gojo comments flatly as he flips through the closing documents and highlights whatever needs to be signed.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, and maybe it’s because he remembers your words from earlier. About pimping himself out or playing dirty like a businessman. Gojo’s brow furrows slightly as he stares a little excessively too long at a simple key release form. But he just feels annoyed. So what if he pretends to get along with guys like Len up until that 6% commission hits his bank account? What’s so wrong about making a living? Not everyone has to be sacred about what they do for work.

“You’re missin’ outtttt, man,” Len comments as Gojo passes all the papers over to the two of them. He only takes a quick glance at the papers before saying. Gojo taps his pen on the table as an annoyed tick, looking at the documents sitting in front of Len and thinking just sign the fuckin’ papers already, but instead, Len sets his pen down to further stall. “Why don’t we head out to lunch after this? To celebrate. I’m craving some Tom Kha Soup,” he says with an exaggerated accent, then points the pen at Gojo. “And we’ll hook you up with a nice Thai lady while we’re there.”

“I already had lunch,” he says, not even bothering to say and I’m also married because he knows the ‘already having had lunch’ excuse would hold more weight to Len than any declaration of lifelong romantic commitment.

“Bummer,” Len says, “you ate at home?”

“Yup.”

“I gotta start doing that, too, you know, eating healthier,” Len says before leaning back into his chair with a grunt. “Doctor said somethin’ to me about my cholesterol gettin’ too high and that even the statins won’t be able to save me.”

His wife looks like she’s just heard the most fantastic news ever, but conceals it with a frown, then swats a playful hand towards Gojo.

“Does your wife cook for you?” she asks cheerfully.

Technically, you’ve only offered to include him in your lunch plans two or three times so far, and coincidentally only on the days he mowed the lawn in the morning like you asked him to, but he says, “yeah, she does.” To keep things simple. But he also comes to the realization that you’re trying to Pavlov him into doing more chores around the house by feeding him ridiculously good food.

“See, Len? Some men actually appreciate their wives’ cooking.” She pretends to appear offended as she playfully smacks at her husband's chest.

“Sweetheart, you know I didn’t marry you for your cooking,” he drawls, saying it near her ear as if it were meant to be said in secret and she bashfully giggles.

For fucks sake he’s not sure how much longer of this he can take. The feeling of awkwardness as he sits on the other end of the most classic stereotypical conversation he would ever have the displeasure of hearing between a boomer and his too-young-for-him foreign wife. He wonders what you’d say if he bitched about this conversation to you. He could picture you yelling in passion about the perpetuation of the patriarchy with the disgraceful existence of predatory men like Len.

In the midst of his borderline cognitive crisis, his phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

The number looks vaguely familiar, but it’s unsaved.

“Hey, sorry you two,” he says to the couple seated across from him before he gets up out of his chair, “I’ve gotta take this.” Then excuses himself into the hallway and brings his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, this is Marium calling from Rockwell Elementary, I’m looking for Mr. Gojo Satoru?”

“Yeah, speaking.”

“Oh, wonderful, thank you for taking my call. I’m just reaching out because we’re getting close to closing up the gates for school now.”

Gojo glances at his watch. 2:57PM.

“The kids got out of school about an hour and a half ago but no one has come to pick Juno up yet. She’s the last one here. We tried contacting her parents, but no one answered, so we had to reach out to her emergency contacts. Mrs. Shapiro is waiting with her, but if someone isn’t able to take her home soon, we’ll have to send her to the KinderCare on Ventura Street once the last bus comes by.”

Gojo pinches the bridge of his nose and shuts his eyes tightly. “No, I'll come pick her up. I’ll be there in ten.”

Gojo now finds himself back at his niece’s elementary school, waiting at the gate for the teacher to being her around to the courtyard. No major sale closed. His clients are going out of town tomorrow, so they had to sell today, and he’s now obligated to share some portion of his eighty-thousand dollar commission with his colleague who’s doing the favor of wrapping things up for the sale in his absence. All because Jun couldn’t even remember the time he was supposed to pick Juno up from school, even after Gojo told him twice when she’d get off. And it was safe to say he was a bit pissed.

“Uncle Toru!!!” he hears Juno’s voice chirp from a distance, and when he turns his head, he sees her running towards him, her backpack bouncing up and down in her sprint, before she crashes into Gojo’s arms as he kneels down towards the ground and wraps her arms around her.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, then picks her up, “you ready to head home?”

Before Juno can respond, Gojo hears a man shout from the drop-off zone. He turns his head towards that direction, squints his eyes and makes out Jun’s silhouette approaching from a car that has its hazard lights turned on and he’s hastily making his way over.

“Juno!!” he waves his hand up in the air, the sound of his keys that hang from his thumb jingling as he gets closer. Gojo sets Juno down and is surprised that she doesn’t immediately run to her dad, but instead grips onto Gojo’s index finger with her whole hand and itches her ankle with the tip of her other shoe.

“Hi daddy,” she says, peering up at him underneath the roof of her baseball cap.

Jun crouches down to eye-level with her, and holds his arms out. “Hey sweetheart, how was school?”

She’s hesitant before she slowly releases her tight grip on Gojo’s finger and walks towards Jun, and accepts his embrace. “Good,” she says shallowly.

Jun sneaks a glance up at Gojo’s face, and Gojo couldn’t even hide the disappointment if he tried.

“Hey, Juno, why don’t you go sit in the car? I have Frozen playing,” he says to her, placing a kiss on her temple, and that news entirely excites Juno as she squeals with happiness then runs toward the car. Both Gojo and Jun watch her climb into the car and close the door before properly regarding each other.

“Listen, Jun, I’m just going to give it to you straight because I’m not in the mood to bullshit,” Gojo says, “I get that you’re busy, but you can’t just forget your own kid at school and leave her stranded to the point where admin have to call her emergency contacts just to get her home safely.”

“I know, I know, it’s just that—”

“I mean, last weekend you forgot what time her dance recital was and completely missed it. The one she had been practicing towards for weeks. You’ve basically asked me to drop her off at school every day for the past week and a half with no good excuse as to why. And then you do this. Like, what’s gotten into you, man?” He takes a breath to prevent his tone from turning too sharp, but when he thinks about Juno sitting all alone in a classroom with her teacher after watching all her friends get picked up with love and taken home on what was supposed to be a fun half-day for her, he feels pissed off at the negligence. “She’s a smart kid. And as proud of that as you should be, it does mean that she’s smart enough to notice these things. And it’s going to make her feel like her own dad doesn’t care about her.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” he says, panic on his face as the mistake settles in, “it’s just, you know, with Sana going back to work, her being occupied with the new job and everything, I dunno, I’m so used to her taking care of Juno but now that more responsibility has fallen on me, it’s really hard to manage with my businesses—” he catches himself, his eyes widening, and Gojo narrows his, “…my business.” He corrects himself.

“What could be more important than your own kid?” Gojo asks.

“Nothing. At least there shouldn’t be. You’re right.”

But even after Jun gave him the answer he expected to hear, the question still lingers in his head. Businesses. Jun is running more than just the auto parts company, at least one other one that he knows of based on what you told him regarding the business card. He just found out right now that Sana is going back to work, after about six years of being out of the workforce.

And then he recalls what Juno said to him this morning.

But mommy said no. That there is no money.

Gojo’s brows furrow, and he blinks at a very guilty-looking Jun in front of him, before his expression relaxes and the stiffness in his shoulders relax.

“Is—” Gojo starts, unsure on how to tread the question, “is everything okay?”

Jun stands up a little straighter. “Yeah. Yeah, of course,” he chirps rather unconvincingly, with that same level of faux cheerfulness he often displays.

Gojo sighs, glances over to the right. He sees the preschool next door, with its playground completely deserted, then he glances back at Jun.

“If you need help,” Gojo starts, “with anything at all,” and he sees the way Jun’s posture dampens slightly, “don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Will do, man,” Jun said, “but I’ll make sure I’ve got Juno’s school schedule in my phone so you won’t have to do this again.” And something tells Gojo that Jun is purposefully pretending as if he didn’t catch onto the fact that Gojo was referring to finances as some preservation of his pride in front of another man.

Gojo gives himself a couple seconds to consider if he should push the subject any further, but just respects the deflection, and says, “alright.”

—

God forbid a man has a drink or two during happy hour at his favorite bar to get over a rather stressful day, just to end up running into his fake wife’s ex boyfriend before he can even catch a little bit of a buzz.

Wait, that’s a lie, the first single malt was starting to flow through his veins.

And he knows you told him that he didn’t need to bother trying to make the guy jealous anymore,

But god, it was just so fun. And he could really use the entertainment right now.

“Oh every position possible, pal. Doggy, prone bone, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl. Anything from the Kama Sutra. You name it, we do it,” Gojo says.

He’s seated at the far end of the high-top, his preferable location as it was away from the bustling tables and gigantic TV on top of all the kegs that’s playing the Seahawks vs 49ers semifinals game, but it’s still close enough to the bartender to make small talk when he wanted it. Up until he was interrupted by the guy to his right who’s standing with fists clenched tightly at his sides from hearing Gojo flaunt of this allegedly stellar sex life he’s got with the guy’s ex girlfriend. Truth be told, Gojo forgot his name. He tries to place it as he looks the man up and down from where he’s seated. Nappy black hair, long enough to curl at the back of his neck, wearing an obnoxiously tight black shirt, along with black leather pants.

“She doesn’t even like cowgirl,” he says defensively, “always used to say it hurts her knees.”

Fuck. Of course you have knee problems. Think, Gojo, think. “Uh, she likes it with me,” he comes up with, “she likes anything with me.”

Gojo glances up at the guy once again when he doesn’t respond back fast enough, seeing the way his jaw clenches and his hands further condense into fists at his side. The amusement of making him get all riled up quickly dissipates, as he imagined it would anyways, and instead, he almost feels sorry for him. Gojo knows exactly what he must be thinking right now. Memories of you naked that he’s preserved like holy water after the end of a seven year relationship, now morphing into visuals of you getting railed by your new husband instead, and that sweet image he has of you in his head will never be the same. Forever being ruined by another guy’s dick. It’s an intrusive thought that every man on the planet has experienced at some point or another, himself included. He’s already fucked you more in this guy’s imagination than he’s even remotely gotten close to doing in real life (well, he was partially to blame for that) but Leather Pants over here isn’t going to know that when he’s losing sleep over it at night. And now Gojo’s got guilt on his conscience. His least favorite feeling.

Ah.

Choso.

Choso Kamo.

That was his name.

Gojo glances down at his glass of scotch, trailing the line of the rim with the pad of his index finger, feeling more heat radiating off of the rage from Choso’s body than the woodfire flame of the heaters behind the high-top counter.

He sighs then glances over at Choso again, eyeing him in dim lighting. “You’ll find someone else, man,” he says, “don’t get hung up on just one person. It’s a useless kind of torture.”

He speaks as if he’s entirely detached from the sentiment.

Choso crosses his arms. “So it’s not just some scam, then? You two really are married?” He grits his teeth. “In good faith?” He mocks the law in his tone as if he doesn’t defend it.

Gojo stares blankly at the surface of wood in front of him, the color charred with black and faded with use, his expression sobering for a moment as he lets out a deep breath. His stare turns shallow, like he’s about to dissociate, and for some reason, the lie doesn’t come as easy to him this time. “You were there in the courtroom. You know the answer to that question.”

Choso huffs, and as if he couldn’t help going against his own oath to secrecy, he declares, “I’m investigating, you know. At least I will be. Collecting evidence.”

Gojo exhales, staring down at the amber liquid in his glass, before bringing the rim to his mouth and tipping some of it back.

He’s familiar with US federal law regarding marital insurance fraud. 8 U.S.C. 1033 and 18 U.S.C. 371 provide for a penalty of up to ten years in prison for it. And under that statute, perpetrators can also be expected to be fined up to $250,000. And although millions of people everyday get away with all sorts of illegal activity, he knows that there’s also millions of people everyday that don’t. That was the problem with the law in an otherwise tumultuous country. You never know how much you need to truly fear it. As if it were up to personal choice rather than any real social stature.

Truthfully, Gojo isn’t really the type to not think things through before going through with them. He’s fiscally responsible (minus his boat), tries not to get attached to places or people a little too easily, and always makes sure he knows the traffic situation ahead of time before going down Interstate 10. On the outside, he lived a rather simple life. Getting tied up into an insurance scam was certainly not the first thing he pictured for himself when he left New York City for little old Dayton County without anything other than a cabin suitcase that was mostly empty anyways. But he got invested in his rather strange neighbor who’s going through a tough time, and suddenly he’s going against everything that’s inherent to him. As previously mentioned, there is a part of him that finds it exciting. Y’know, that part that enjoys a little bit of chaos and uncertainty, that part of him that chases a thrill. That tendency to think first, act later, the one that gets people into a lot of trouble. But it’s almost like he’s been subconsciously itching for it this entire time. And maybe even for his entire life, now that he (and the alcohol) thinks about it.

But going to jail is definitely where he draws the line on adrenaline seeking.

And besides. He doesn’t want to see you fail.

He knows that to people who aren’t American, the whole idea seems so strange.

Why risk time in prison and the potential to be fined upwards of a quarter million dollars just to get healthcare for you and your loved ones?

But it’s only because that risk of consequence hardly rivals the reality of the situation anyways.

He saw your bills. He knows you told him not to look, because he knows the only way you keep your sanity and keep your head above water is by allowing a part of yourself to ignore the existence of your suffering.

But for fucks sake, forty-two-thousand-dollars out of pocket just for your mom’s two-day hospitalization? And that was just one of the outstanding bills? With big bold letters IF YOU DO NOT PAY THIS WITHIN THE NEXT 5-7 BUSINESS DAYS, WE WILL SEND THIS BILL TO COLLECTIONS.

You put any layman in a situation like that, and he couldn’t imagine suicide wouldn’t cross their mind at least once.

Gojo glances over at Choso’s jacket. The Club at Snoqualmie Ridge.

As the saying goes, keep your friends close, and keep cops who threaten to perform a full blown investigation of the legitimacy of your marriage even closer.

“You play golf, Kamo?”

“What–” Choso stutters, a little surprised by the question, but his fists relax slowly, “yeah?”

“We should go for a swing sometime.”

“Huh? But—”

Gojo pushes his empty glass of scotch up the table a few inches then gets up out of the chair, standing in front of Choso, gaze leveling before he pats him on the shoulder, and says, “Just to see who’s the better shot.” Then brushes past him to go close out his tab.

—

It’s late in the evening by the time Gojo finishes running some errands and can finally unwind on the couch. A crisp cold can of diet coke in hand…impractical jokers playing for background noise from his 86 inch OLED smart TV, his legs stretched out in front of him onto the coffee table he made himself, and sunk deep into his favorite corner of the couch. The one he’s broken in over the years into that just perfect amount of give to sink ratio. It truly was the simple things in life.

He picks up the book he had left off reading from the coffee table. A white cover with bolded red letters that read Crucial Conversation: Tools for Talking When Stakes Are High. It was some self-help book one of his partners at the brokerage firm recommended to him that apparently revolutionized the way he sells houses.

“Hm,” Gojo hums to himself, flipping the pages of the book, that freshly-printed-processed-wood smell hitting his senses satisfactorily. He gets to the part he had left off on.

He squints at the pages, hard to read with contacts that are half a step below his prescription, but he at least tries to skim for the buzzwords.

The pool of shared meaning is the birthplace of synergy.

Okay, whatever the fuck that means.

He skims some more.

People don’t get defensive because of what you’re saying; they get defensive because of why they think you’re saying it.

He skims more.

If you don’t talk it out, you’ll act it out through passive aggression.

He skims more.

The key to building safety is to step out of the content and address the conditions.

He doesn’t really know what exactly this all means but he feels like he should be taking notes.

Right when he leans over to open one of the drawers of the coffee table to fish for a pen, he hears keys jingling by the front door, somewhat frantically, before finally pushing into the lock and then the door flies open. He sits back, slightly startled, as he takes in the image of you storming inside the house looking angry as hell when you slam the door behind you.

“Hey,” he scolds, “easy on the doors, please.”

You’re pacing back and forth in front of the foyer table, clenching and unclenching your fists, mumbling what sounds like profanities to yourself over and over again, cheeks flush with rage, face scrunched up like a prune, and huffing and puffing so fast that he’s astonished he can still make out some of the words that you’re spewing.

“That…little…mother…–” You shuffle back and forth on the hardwood floor, “fucker. What a fucking–” You’re borderline hyperventilating, “JERK!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Gojo rests his book splayed open in his lap and blinks at you. “Uh. Is everything alright?”

“No!!!!” You immediately snap at him, turning to face him, and he flinches from where he’s sat. “No, it’s not!”

He’s too scared to move at this point, let alone breathe.

You breathe in deep then let out an exhale. “That–” You close your eyes from pure fury. “That motherfucking Choso Kamo,” you struggle to even say the words without gritting your teeth, “told the entire Dayton County police department that he’s the one that broke up with me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Wow,” Gojo says.

You glare at him. “I don’t need your fake sympathy.”

“All I said was wow?”

“Well, it felt very disingenuine.”

“But–”

He blinks at a fuming you, who has your arms crossed over your chest tightly, tapping your foot on the ground impatiently, expression narrow.

He glances down at the page that was open in his book.

“Uh,” he clears his throat, quickly skimming the words, then glances up at you, “Sorry. I acknowledge that my words, er, word, may have been careless, and I apologize.”

Your expression morphs into one of surprise and barebone confusion. “O-Oh…that’s okay. I guess I was just assuming things.” You glance off towards the left, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. “I’m just pissed off right now.”

“Because of what your ex said?”

“Yes. It’s annoying because now all of our local law enforcement thinks that I’m the one more affected by all of this.”

He watches you pace back and forth again, steam rolling out of your ears, face scrunched up with anger again, looking like you’re about to rip your hair off as you mumble more profanities to yourself.

He looks at you skeptically. “Are you…not?” He knows the second he says it that it was the wrong thing to say.

“I’M NOT!!!” you scream at him defensively.

“Sorry, sorry, I–” He glances down at his book again discreetly, then says rather stiffly, “...I just want you to know that I am here for you.”

You blink at him. “Oh…well, that’s—” You scratch at your elbow gently and then tuck strands of your hair behind your ear, “that’s very sweet of you, thank you.”

Hmmmmmmmm.

He steals another quick glance at the page. “What’s been the hardest part to deal with in this situation?” he asks, crossing his outstretched legs at the ankle and placing his elbow up on the armrest to set his chin down on the knuckles of his fist inquisitively.

You turn to face him again, expression softening pleasantly but there’s still a bit of surprise on your face. “Oh, it–...I don’t know, I think just…it’s a misunderstanding that he’s willingly spreading.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

You let out a hefty exhale, loosely crossing your arms over your chest as you lean back onto the Foyer table. You glance at the floor deep in thought. “Mm…angry. Frustrated. Embarrassed.” You glance up at the high ceiling. “I just hate feeling misunderstood.”

“Mhm…I see,” he nods inquisitively, then glances down at the chart in the book again, “And can you pinpoint when these feelings started?”

You look up at the chandelier, expression curling into one of melancholy. “I think I’ve always just had a hard time expressing myself emotionally, where what I do kind of comes off as different from how I really feel…and so when people take things the wrong way, it just…I don’t know, it makes me upset.”

“I hear you.” He’s running a blank so he haphazardly flips the pages of the book to a whole other chapter and glances down at words that read always gather more information when necessary. Then he looks back up at you. “And what exactly did this guy do to you that’s got you so—” he pauses when you narrow your eyes at him, “…er, that made you,” he watches you nod your head encouragingly as if waiting for him to validate the reality of this situation, “…break up with him.”

You nod, satisfied by his depiction of events, but cross your arms over your chest somewhat stubbornly. When your eyes pass over to him again, your expression softens slightly, as if contemplating something, but then it becomes rigid again.

“It’s…I don’t know. It’s whatever.”

“Did he murder a family member?”

“No.”

“Did he steal money from you?”

“No.”

“Did he cheat on you?”

You avert your gaze towards the kitchen. “…no.”

“Then what?”

You exhale deeply, still avoiding eye contact with him. “The why doesn’t matter. Just know that he failed me and subsequently lost me.”

“Well,” Gojo says, “then he’s an idiot.” And he didn’t need the book to come up with that.

You look back at him with a gentle ease, and your arms drop from their crossed position before you smooth your palms down the fabric of your jeans. You try to maintain eye contact with him but not without blinking your lashes a few more times than usual. “Thanks for, um…letting me vent. I actually feel a lot better after…talking about it.”

“Sure,” he closes the book in his lap, “same time next week?”

“What?”

“—What?”

You squint your eyes at him suspiciously, but then drop it when you let out a hefty sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose in exhaustion. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

He’s not sure if it’s appropriate for a therapist to make a without me? joke in response to one of their clients announcing that they’re going to go take a shower, but he holds back regardless.

He watches you shuffle across the hardwood floors towards the stairs, mumbling a few more remnant profanities as if you still had a couple left in you to spill. And just when he sees you lift one foot up on the first step, he remember that he should probably—

“Oh, uh, sorry, while we’re on the topic of your ex,” he says, “is now a bad time to tell you that I’m going golfing with him on Sunday?”

Your jaw drops.

The argument that ensues after was less of an argument and more you yelling at him for about ten minutes straight while he’s unable to get a single word in and has no choice but to just take it. Which even he’s self aware enough to know he deserves, regardless of whatever scheming good intentions he may seem to have. And when you storm away upstairs, slam the door to your bedroom with a force that would suggest he’ll have to repair it in the morning, he knows that he’s back to square one with you now. And if this was a real marriage, with a couple of kids running around the house, and a lack of spare bedrooms, he knows that he’d have been sleeping on the couch tonight.

One step forward, two steps back.

[end of ch.8, ‘two steps back’]

song(s) of the chapter: woman by harry styles

a/n. hiii loves!! thanks so much for tuning into another chapter of ihm :'') it means a lot to meee. yeah this was the first gojo pov which had me sooooo nervous because like tbh before i wrote this chapter i kinda had no idea who ihm gojo was. because reader's pov chapters are sooo heavily skewed to her pov and she's kind of an unreliable narrator, i never really had to sit down n force myself to confront how ihm gojo feels about things personally. there were lots of times where i was hitting roadblocks in my writing of this chapter because i simply was like "...wait how would he feel about this. i don't even know" hahah idk if that makes sense but yeah i definitely had to search within myself to kinda bring more of his character traits to life and balance his good qualities against his flaws. i hope you enjoyeeddd. once again my classic ihm apology that there's so many random side plots lolol i really am trying to keep the romance at the center of the story but then i get a little carried away xd i promise there will be chapters where there are bigger developments though!! but there may also be some other ones that kinda serve for set-up :''0 i try to make each chapter engaging though at the very least. but speaking of....... i am SOOOOOO excited for chapters 9 & 10 HEHEHEHEHEHEH let's just saaayyyyy we get introduced to a character that many of my readers have been curious about :)))) but yeah chapter 9 is already one of my favorite chapters of ihm so far i've only written like maybe 4.5k words for it and i'm so pumped to finish it and post it!! and then ch10 is...also one of my faves ahhhhh huuuuuuge thank you to my beta reader leni she singlehandedly gave me the confidence to post certain scenes in this chapter that i was planning to cut out but now i'm soooo happy that i kept them in!!! she's a real one fr. and thank you to another one of my beta readers josie who really forced me to think a lot ab ihm gojo's character before i went into writing this chapter lmfaooo she made me realize i didn't know shit about him HAHAH. and ofc thank you to mirl and ayelin too for helping me figure out some of the plot intricacies and providing me w support :'''') i really appreciate it i hope you guys enjoyed!! thank you to everyone who reads and interacts and leaves love for me. i'm so happy to i'm still able to make time for writing and that there are people who look forward to my updates. love you all very much!! hope to see you in the next one <3

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astonmartinii · 8 months ago

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fresh out the slammer [guilty as sin part five] | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x sainz!reader

no court cases, no ferrari PR jail... i'm sure nothing will happen, right?

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,289,405 others

tagged: olliebearman, francocolapinto & pepemarti

f1: THERE IT IS!!! The 2025 grid is set with Ollie Bearman at Haas, Franco Colapinto at Williams and Pepe Marti at Sauber.

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user317: HOLY SHIT

user318: i hate to celebrate someone losing their job in this economy but FUCK THAT MAN WOO HOO WELCOME TO UNEMPLOYMENT CARLOS SAINZ

olliebearman: can't wait to get started (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

user319: when are you going to recruit pepe and kimi to the leclerc family agenda

pepemarti: y/n has been my celeb crush since i was like 13 (sorry charles) so trust me idc about the spanish guy

olliebearman: he fully doesn't play about y/n, he even tries to read poetry (key word being tries)

pepemarti: you can shame me all you like but i think y/n would appreciate the effort

yourusername: you would be correct !

pepemarti: OMG ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

charles_leclerc: i'll take you in if you promise you're over your crush on y/n, it would be very inappropriate

pepemarti: I AM I SWEAR

user320: i know carlos gotta be sick seeing the spanish youngster freak out more about his sister

yourusername: i fear he has bigger fish to fry right now

user321: @carlossainz55 BOO! did i scare you? i'm a job application

user322: being on the internet as a sainz fan gotta be torture at this point

user323: former delusional carlando fan here! he brought this upon himself lol

maxverstappen1: evil may be conquered but these three and kimi look like prime candidates to join the united front of hating

yourusername: we gotta get them started while they're young

charles_leclerc: i fear we don't have enough room in the house for all these kids

francocolapinto: do we really need the aussie?

oscarpiastri: i was here before you ???

yourusername: we can get bunkbeds?

olliebearman: does leo really need him own room

charles_leclerc: WATCH THAT TONE

kimiantonelli: i'm quite small if that helps

yourusername: looks like we have a new favourite

pepemarti: ????????

user324: see? carlos loses his job and suddenly all is good in f1 again... coincidence? i think not.

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 1,945,209 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, olliebearman & kimiantonelli

yourusername: and the pieces all fall into place ...

view all comments

user326: this is a level of motherism we have yet to see in f1

user327: and mother in a literal sense these ones take her up to like five grid kids and one dog

maxverstappen1: don't erase her cat godson and goddaughter

yourusername: leo is almost fully cat trained ( ≧ᗜ≦)

albonpets: do not even think of coming for our brand

yourusername: which one am i talking to?

albonpets: HORSEY

yourusername: ... okay then

charles_leclerc: seriously?

yourusername: i'm not going to fight a (my favourite) albon cat charles, i may have the sainz last name but i'm NOT carlos

charles_leclerc: it'll be leclerc before you know it

yourusername: (˶ ˘ ³˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶)

user328: no because at this point i can fully picture carlos having an argument with a cat

albonpets: we're down to tussle for y/n

user329: i'm dying, carlos lost so bad ALBON PETS ARE SHADING HIM

user330: guys are we ready for monza tho? y/n and charles fully back, the united front of hating back, italy don't play about charles... carlos girl i'd sit this one out it doesn't even matter that you're driving the red car

maxverstappen1: at least it won't be me being booed for once

carlossainz55: i'm not a bitch. if people want to boo me they'll only expose themselves as sheep

oscarpiastri: BAAAA

olliebearman: BAAAA

francocolapinto: BAAAA

kimiantonelli: BAAAA

pepemarti: BAAAA

charles_leclerc: parenthood is so precious

carlossainz55: you think i care that these little runts like you guys? they'll be out the sport faster than your other little pet american

logansargeant: at least i'm pretty

francocolapinto: sorry i can't hear you over my williams seat - you really thought that was gonna be yours huh 🤔

user331: obsessed with how carlos has just resorted to name calling because his only 'ammunition' against y/n is that she always wanted to marry charles and didn't want to work

user332: if that's illegal LOCK ME UP BABY

yourusername: they nearly did 😭

user332: oh yeah my bad g

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri and 4,398,400 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: fresh out the slammer

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user333: LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOO

francocolapinto: VAMOSSSSSS

user334: this was actually insanely poetic, ferrari i'm still angry at you but thank you for this genius strategy

user335: today you are excused, tomorrow we go back to hating

user336: the north remembers

yourusername: never in doubt starboy - i love you, you deserve this so much

charles_leclerc: i love you more, this win is for you after everything we've been through

yourusername: you're too sweet - it's all you baby and the win is all yours, my prize is being. yours

charles_leclerc: so glad we could have all of our REAL family around us today

yourusername: i love you all ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

oscarpiastri: i guess if there's anyone to lose to here, it would be my grid dad

francocolapinto: if you don't want the P2 i'll gladly take it off of your hands

yourusername: okay babies let's calm down and celebrate that we ALL scored points today

olliebearman: thanks mum and dad

pepemarti: did you guys see my F2 podium (๑>◡<๑)?

charles_leclerc: we did!

yourusername: well done pepe :3

pepemarti: hehehehehehheheheheehehehe

maxverstappen1: oh boy got out of ferrari jail and now we're ALL being subjected to the conjugal visits

charles_leclerc: stay outta my business

maxverstappen1: BROTHER 4 MILLION PEOPLE IN YOUR BUSINESS

yourusername: and four million people know my man is off limits

yourusername: @carlossainz55 stop paying instagram models to flirt with my man

charles_leclerc: @carlossainz55 what money are you using for this i had to close my DMs

user337: HE'S PAYING INSTAGRAM MODELS TO TRY AND FLIRT WITH CHARLES THE VERY GUY WHO HAD HIS CHILDHOOD RIVAL DELIVER LOVE LETTERS WHEN HIS PHONE WAS TAKEN ???

oscarpiastri: we never said carlos was smart

f1tea

liked by user339, user340 and 11,943 others

f1tea: the ramifications of the sainz civil war may be a lot worse than previously feared. carlos sainz does not have a seat for the 2025 f1 season and doesn't look like he'll be chosen for a reserve role either with bridges with red bull firmly burnt. however, one of the biggest effects of this 'war' has been on those who still choose to associate with carlos. it's been reported that mclaren have had to turn down a number of sponsors after they asked that it is only run on oscar's car and that lando norris is not seen with the brand. do you think we'll see lando jump ship from carlos or will mclaren become a safehaven for sainz?

view all comments

user341: mclaren? a safe haven for carlos sainz? the same mclaren that houses the first child of y/n and charles? i'd like to see them try

user342: finally the carlando PR spin is dead

user343: they way they both thought that was their ultimate get out of jail free card and now it's like incriminating

user344: isn't this all getting a little petty now? like y/n and charles are together and carlos doesn't have a seat? what's the point of keeping all of this drama going?

user345: tbf this 'drama' was never going away the moment they exposed themselves for trying to use their daughter/sister as bait to further carlos' career

user346: if that wasn't downright criminal then unlawfully suing your daughter/sister for everything she rightfully earnt WAS

user347: yeah just because 55 fans and the sainzs themselves want to bury that loss doesn't mean it's not like one of the first things that come up when. you google carlos - of course sponsors are not gonna want ANYTHING to do with that

user348: poor lando getting caught in the petty crossfire

user349: i mean he was shit slinging at y/n after austria and that girl has levels of voodoo only taylor swift can better

user350: he's also a grown man who has seen this all go down behind the scenes so he's made his bed and has to lie in it

user351: the way the sponsors are just piling up for charles as well karma really is doing a number right now

user352: his charm is so universal that oscar is becoming one of the most marketable drivers as well

user353: no but as someone who was on the ground at monza, it's BAD like people were wearing their sainz merch with the 55 or spanish flag covered up

user354: oh he got them acting like middle aged football fans it's BAD

user355: at least they haven't started burning stuff yet

user356: if he takes out charles i fear it won't take long

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,452,097 others

yourusername: my new poetry and letter collection, the alchemy, is out today and you guys already made it a new york times bestseller. my heart is so full! the last couple months made me feel like i would never get to love so thank you for showing me that everything is possible x

view all comments

user357: ma'am i am in love with you

user358: get in line buddy

charles_leclerc: i will run all of you over

maxverstappen1: thank you for the dedication, it was a traumatic time for us all

yourusername: you simply could've not read my private letters to my lover?

maxverstappen1: and where's the fun in that?

yourusername: a pigeon wouldn't have done this to me...

maxverstappen1: yeah well a pigeon also hasn't been your best friend for years and doesn't have a couch and cats to comfort you

yourusername: you make a good point

user359: she's really out here making me believe in love

charles_leclerc: the most talented woman in the world, i'm blessed to be on the receiving end of such words

yourusername: writing is so much easier with a muse like you

charles_leclerc: you're making me blush

user360: sure if my boyfriend was a greek god i'd also write good poetry

charles_leclerc: no you couldn't, not like her

yourusername: (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

lewishamilton: congratulations y/n, what an achievement! however, i do think the real achievement here is getting this grid to read a book

georgerussell63: excuse me?

alexalbon: ... you got me but i wanted the tea ☕️

charles_leclerc: APPRECIATE THE POETRY PEOPLE

alexalbon: funny how the letters were back and forth... but none of yours made it to the book

yourusername: ALEX :(

charles_leclerc: i didn't want my sad ramblings to drag down her shine - i thought you would get that seeing how bad you are at golf compared to lily

lilymunhe: oop.

user361: where are the children

yourusername: eating my cake :(

maxverstappen1: they're actually being really cute and are all sat in a circle reading it (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

charles_leclerc: gotta make sure they can read none of us finished school

liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 2,309,450 others

tagged: maxverstappen1 & carlossainz55

f1: LAST LAP SHUNT! Carlos Sainz takes Max Verstappen out in baku and the two did not mince their words on the radio

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user363: not to be dramatic but that's lowkey attempted murder

user364: at this point carlos is trying to ACTUALLY recreate that list of crimes meme

user365: let's get his ass in JAIL then

oscarpiastri: if i speak i'm in big trouble

carlossainz55: speak it big man - if you wanna act like a big guy back it up

oscarpiastri: okay you are a narcissistic misogynist who can't bear being told no. you are a talented man but without your name you would be nowhere but you lack the selfawareness to be grateful for where you are which is why you don't have a job. you are reckless and dangerous and the very few friends you have will drop you when you no longer serve a purpose in f1

user366: oh shit babe came out swinging

oscarpiastri: i'm hearing a lot of CRICKETS?

oscarpiastri: exactly - pussy.

user367: thank you franco colapinto for bringing back drivers with zero media training

user368: once again i am asking for proximity chat in f1

user369: the sweet souls on twitter would NOT be able to handle it

yourusername: bro tried to assassinate my best friend but i'm the problem

carlossainz55: stop being so dramatic, if anyone was to purposely hurt someone it would be max - look where he came from

yourusername: first of all FUCK YOU

yourusername: second of all, max is stronger than you ever will be, how dare you try and use his childhood against him when you know he's nothing but a gentle soul

yourusername: thirdly, by this logic the reason i'm such a 'gold-digging back-stabbing whore' is because of YOU GUYS

user370: i am absolutely losing it at the fact that carlos is furiously typing these at the fia HQ

user371: i know his PR officer is TIRED

francocolapinto: sorry our uncle got sniped but we did also get points @olliebearman

olliebearman: JUST TO SAY WE WENT TO SEE MAX AND HE IS OKAY BUT YES THANK YOU FOR THE POINTS

yourusername: guys lets keep the inside thoughts inside

francocolapinto: so you're not proud of us (╹ -╹)?

yourusername: I AM, I AM, WE ARE (charles is on the podium he'll tell you later)

francocolapinto: ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

olliebearman: ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

maxverstappen1

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 1,387,300 others

tagged: yourusername

maxverstappen1: i lived bitch

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user372: they're gonna have to do a little more than that to take down the united front of hating

user373: 50g can't stop the grind for these dudes

maxverstappen1: i would call that man a bitch with my last breath

user374: them celebrating the end of carlos' career by doing a mukbang is killing me

user375: when the funeral food be good as fuck you be forgetting who died

carlossainz55: you guys really are so pathetic

maxverstappen1: i didn't try to pimp out my sister, make her homeless then sue her but that might just me be

maxverstappen1: also the data will prove what we all know btw

carlossainz55: that you're reckless just like your daddy?

maxverstappen1: at least i can admit my dad is an asshole and i distanced myself, your dad is just as much a bitch but you gotta parade him around because no one else can bear being around you

carlossainz55: the only bad thing my dad ever did in his life is help bring the spawn of satan into the world

maxverstappen1: whatever, enjoy your race ban bozo

user376: is max suggesting ... it was on purpose

user377: if it was carlos might just be as dumb as they all say because fool was about to get a podium

yourusername: THEY CAN'T GET RID OF US BITCH

maxverstappen1: you're a sick motherfucker if you're enjoying this sainz disasterclass well i only just got out of the medical centre 🤧🤧🤧

charles_leclerc: no but deadass we're sorry you got taken out

maxverstappen1: someone had to be the mercutio to you people's romeo and juliet

maxverstappen1: PLEASE DO NOT KILL YOURSELVES AFTER I'VE GONE THROUGH ALL THIS SHIT FOR YOU

yourusername: we can't leave you with all these kids

charles_leclerc: yeah that's a lot of kids to inherit

user378: christian horner i hate you but you gotta get on your zoom

oscarpiastri: where's my congratulations 🤨

maxverstappen1: @yourusername @charles_leclerc yeah you can keep your kids

charles_leclerc: we're proud of you oscar (don't beat me again)

yourusername: well done oscar (your verbal takedown was particularly impressive as well)

oscarpiastri: 🤭🤭🤭

fin

note: lol i'm back. i was busy with work and then in hospital. but we all love guilty as sin? will get to tagging soon one sec

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 social media au #f1 #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc social media au

2K notes · View notes

alygator77 · 8 months ago

Text

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 6 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru) » 【note, this chapter contains explicit sexual content (dry humping, grinding)】

ꨄ words: 14.4k

ꨄ a/n. hello my lovelies!! :) life has been a roller coaster to say the least, but i'm so excited to share this chapter with ya'll. i'll see you at the bottom with my thoughts ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 6 // drenched in truth

The gala was a night that promised perfection, elegance and ease…but the storm on the horizon had other plans for you.

As murmurs of conversation hum throughout the grand ballroom, it’s easy to forget the world outside—that is, until you hear the first distant rumble of thunder.

Before you know it, the once clear starry evening, slowly gives way to ominous clouds gathering the horizon, with the first raindrops of the evening arriving barely noticed beneath the layers of music and chatter—tapping against the expansive windows like an impatient guest requesting entry.

But the gentle taps soon evolve into a steady, insistent drumming, making the rain’s presence impossible to ignore as the water streams down the glass windows in rivulets—distorting the view outside and making the world beyond seem distant and blurred.

It’s getting late…

You subtly glance down at your phone to check the time, and as the screen illuminates, a picture of you and Haru at the park flashes across the display. What a bright and sunny memory—completely different from the now impossible to ignore presence of this unforgiving rain.

As the storm outside grows, your thoughts immediately shift to Haru. Is she okay?

The last time there was such a storm, Haru had been terrified of the thunder—each crack making her small frame shake, eyes filled with tears and voice trembling as she whispered mama, seeking comfort in your embrace.

Is the nanny capable of soothing her?

The sudden concern that she might be scared and inconsolable gnaws at you, making it hard to focus on anything else as you navigate the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with people whose names you’ll forget by morning.

The opulence of the gala, the sparkling chandeliers, the elegant music—it all feels suffocating, a gilded cage keeping you from where you truly need to be. Home. That’s where you should be, holding Haru close, comforting her through the storm, not trapped in this endless sea of strangers and small talk.

You glance at Satoru beside you—a picture of calm, hand resting in his pocket as he engages in light-hearted conversation with a group of guests, smiling and laughing. It’s all so natural, so effortless as their chatter seems to exist in a world far removed from the storm—both outside and within you.

As you stand there, nodding along to the conversation without truly listening, your eyes begin to drift across the room and you notice a few other couples discreetly making their way towards the exit, coats draped over their arms—if only you could do the same.

You find yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress—you really want to go home.

Glancing up at Satoru again, you wait for a brief lull in his conversation where the chatter dies down just enough for you to discreetly speak to him without interrupting.

Once the opportunity arises with the laughter fading and the conversation shifting to another topic, you seize your moment. Leaning in close to Satoru, your shoulder brushes against his arm as you softly whisper under your breath.

“Hey… it’s getting late and with this storm, maybe we should think about heading out soon?”

Your words are careful, quiet, meant to blend into the background noise of the gala so that no one else notices your request, and Satoru’s gaze flickers to you, his expression softening as he takes in your concern. But then he sighs quietly, his hand gently brushing against your arm, a small gesture of reassurance.

“I know,” he murmurs, “but there’s just one more obligation I have to fulfill for the event—a quick thank-you speech to the sponsors. I promise, we’ll leave right after that.”

He begins to turn back to the conversation, the group’s voices already beginning to rise again, but just as he starts to pull away, a low rumble of thunder reverberates through the room, and your gaze instinctively flickers to the windows, where the rain beats against the glass with increasing ferocity, the relentless sheets of water streaking down like tears.

Without thinking, your hand reaches out, lightly touching Satoru’s arm—a small, almost hesitant gesture. As your fingers brush against the fabric of his sleeve, your subtle plea for his attention makes him pause and turn back towards you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Satoru…I’m really worried about Haru,” you confess, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing the attention of those around you. “She hates storms… she’s terrified of thunder.”

Before you can say more, he shifts slightly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you gently into his side. You are met immediately with the warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne and the steady rhythm of his breath. His hand moves in slow, comforting motions up and down your arm, as if trying to transfer some of his calm to you.

He tilts his chin down towards you and he speaks in a low gentle murmur, meant only for you.

“Haru has the nanny. She’s safe. I’ll make sure she’s okay, and this won’t take long—I’ll be quick, I promise.”

His words, paired with the comforting rhythm of his hand, are meant to ease your worries, to reassure you that everything will be alright, but for some reason they land with a dull thud in your chest.

You know Haru has the nanny…but you can’t shake the feeling that it might not be enough for her. You’ve been Haru’s rock throughout everything—Naoya was never there for her, and she hasn’t had anyone else.

“I know, but…” you glance towards the windows again as another rumble of thunder reverberates through the room. “Haru gets so scared. Last time, she cried for hours and couldn’t sleep without me.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker between you and the group of guests nearby, a momentary glance that betrays the tug-of-war happening within him.

“I get it. I do,” his tone is still gentle but with an edge of urgency now. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading for understanding even as they flit once more to the gathering around you. “This is important, though. I made a commitment to be here, and it’s crucial that I see it through. But I’ll make it quick, I promise. We’ll leave as soon as I’m done, and we’ll be home before you know it.”

A mix of frustration and helplessness begin to bubble through you as you watch his gaze. There is a sense of sincerity, yet it feels divided—part of him here with you, with another part already back in the spotlight, where the murmurs of the gala grow louder.

You know he’s committed to the cause, that his presence here holds weight—it’s not that you don’t understand—it’s just that… does that really matter right now when Haru might need you?

“Alright…” you say reluctantly, the word heavy on your tongue. “Just… don’t take too long, please.”

ꨄ︎

Perhaps this storm isn’t just weather—it’s a harbinger.

Your attention shifts between watching Satoru on stage, giving his speech to the sponsors, to the large windows lining the ballroom. Outside the once vibrant red carpet is now a sodden strip of fabric, abandoned to the elements.

The storm has worsened, intensifying with each passing minute, and with it, your sense of dread. Your fingers tap idly against the polished surface of the round dinner table as the wind howls like it wants to be let in, the rain lashing against the glass with a ferocity that seems malevolent.

You try to focus on Satoru’s words, but a movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A man, tall and imposing with raven hair, weaves his way through the crowd, his presence almost too casual for an event like this. He’s dressed well enough to blend in, but there’s something about him—something in the way he carries himself, the scar upon his lips—he feels out of place.

He's somewhat…intimidating—like a predator stalking its prey.

Once the man approaches your table, you stiffen slightly, instinctively pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders. He’s close now, close enough that you can make out the sharpness in his features, the cold glint in his eyes.

But…why is there an air of familiarity about him? You can’t quite place it. He stops just short of your chair, a smile curling his lips, though is doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks—and he doesn’t wait for your answer before pulling out the chair beside you.

Caught off guard, you nod slowly.

“Sure…”

Settling into the seat with a casual ease there's a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. A subtle tension radiates from him as his gaze flickers to you.

“Enjoying the event?” he asks, voice smooth, almost too smooth, like oil on water.

Great. This is really not what you need right now. It’s hard enough playing your part when you have Satoru’s support, but now, you’re by yourself. What if you slip up and say something wrong?

Unease bubbles inside you, making it difficult to muster more than a faint smile upon your lips.

“Yes, it’s been lovely,” you nod politely.

“Mm… quite the storm out there though,” he comments. “But then again, a little chaos never hurt anyone, right?”

His tone sends a cool shiver down your spine. This guy gives you the creeps, but you force a polite smile, unsure of what to make of him.

“I suppose not…”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting to Satoru on stage before flicking back to you.

“You must be proud, seeing him up there,” he remarks. “It’s not every day you get to stand beside someone so… influential.”

His words, though innocuous on the surface, feel laden with meaning—like there’s something he’s not saying, something he’s implying, and you feel a chill that has nothing to do with the storm outside.

Who is this man, and why does he seem so familiar?

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“It’s important to keep an eye on those you care about, wouldn’t you agree? Sometimes… things aren’t always as they seem.”

The statement hangs in the air, heavy with implication, but before you can respond, he straightens up, his gaze flickering to the stage again where Satoru is now wrapping up his speech. The unsettling smile returns to his face—a smile that carries a shadow passing over his expression.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” he stands from the chair. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” and he turns on his heel, disappearing back into the crowd as quickly as he appeared.

But the chill he leaves behind lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Weird…what a creep.

You shake off the lingering sense of unease as Satoru beings to step down from the podium, exchanging pleasantries and goodbyes with a few lingering guests.

His eyes flicker to you, and then towards the window, catching a glimpse of lightning as it illuminates the darkened sky, and for just a second, you notice a shift in his expression as he takes in the worsening weather.

Excusing himself from the crowd, Satoru steps to the side discreetly with practiced ease and pulls out his phone. You watch as he dials, his back turned slightly from the attendees, and although you can’t hear his words, you know what he’s doing—a rush of relief washes over you as you realize he’s calling the driver to come pick you up.

Finally.

The thought of being on your way home, of holding Haru close and reassuring her, makes the wait almost unbearable.

Satoru’s conversation is brief, but you watch it with growing anticipation, and once he slips his phone back into his pocket, he meets your gaze from across the room again.

Wait…there is something in his expression…an unease that wasn’t there before. Concern.

He weaves through the crowd with purposeful strides, and your heart sinks—it slowly becomes more apparent that something isn’t right, and the chatter in the ballroom grows quiet as guests murmur about the worsening weather.

Once Satoru reaches you, he doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he pulls out the seat beside you, flipping it around so that the back of the chair presses against his chest as he sits, arms folded across the top of it. The movement is casual in appearance, but the way his fingers tighten around the wood, his knuckles whitening just slightly, betrays the calm facade he’s trying to maintain.

“So…” he leans in a little closer, voice low, almost reluctant. “We’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“What’s wrong?” anxiety builds inside you.

He hesitates, just for a moment, his eyes flicking to the side as if searching for the right words, before meeting your gaze head-on.

“There’s been an accident on the main road leading out of the city… it’s caused a major blockage, and with all this rain, the roads are practically flooded. My driver’s stuck on the other side and won’t be able to reach us for hours… maybe not until morning.”

Oh, you see red.

The storm outside suddenly feels like a mirror to the one brewing inside you—fierce, relentless, and impossible to contain.

If only you had left sooner, if only Satoru hadn’t insisted on staying for that last part of the gala—if only he had understood the urgency you felt—you wouldn’t be in this mess.

And now, Haru is alone at home, frightened and vulnerable, and you’re stuck here, trapped by circumstances beyond your control.

The thought makes your blood boil.

“So, what do we do?” The words escape your lips with a sharpness that even you didn’t anticipate, cutting through the air like a knife.

Satoru’s eyes widen and he runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of uncertainty flickering across his usually composed demeanor. His eyes shift away from you, scanning the room as if searching for a solution hidden in the lavish surroundings.

“…let me figure this out. Wait here,” he murmurs as he pushes back his chair and stands.

Watching his tall frame cut through the crowd, suddenly the sound of the rain beating against the glass now seems almost accusatory—a relentless reminder of this absurd situation you are now stuck in.

This night suddenly feels like it’s teetering on the edge of disaster—the thin veneer of control slipping from you with each passing second. But there are faces around you, and although they blur into a sea of indifference and hallow chatters, you are acutely aware that people are still watching.

You take a deep breath attempting to calm your frustration. There must be something Satoru can do. He has money and power—there must be some sort of solution he can find to this. Haru needs you.

Suddenly, you catch sight of Satoru weaving his way back towards you, his stride purposeful and his expression carrying a hint of relief. For a brief moment, hope flutters in your chest—perhaps he’s found a way out of this mess.

When he reaches you, he shoves his hands into his pockets, leans in slightly and speaks with a sense of accomplishment.

“So… good news. I spoke with the event coordinator. Given the circumstances, the hotel has offered us one of their VIP suites for the night. It’s just upstairs, fully equipped with everything we need until the roads clear up.”

Yeah…that’s not the solution you wanted.

A suite? He wants you to stay overnight? When Haru is at home, probably terrified, clinging to her blankets with wide, tear-filled eyes? Does he really think that’s what you wanted to hear?

“That’s considerate of them, but what about Haru?”

The words escape your lips before you can temper them, clipped and laced with the sharp edge of your rising aggravation. As they slice through the air, the flicker of surprise that crosses Satoru’s face is immediate.

Fuck.

You’re still in public, at this stupid gala. You have to stay composed; you can’t afford to lose control—not here.

Your eyes scan the room for any prying eyes, anyone who might have caught the slight outburst. It doesn’t seem like anyone noticed… thankfully. The last thing you need is for your moment of panic to become another piece of gossip for the night.

Taking a long deep breath, you attempt to regain some semblance of composure, but as you lower your voice, the tension still coils tight in your words.

“She’s back home, we can’t just leave her alone.”

“But she’s not alone,” he counters, tone firm but gentle. “Haru’s in good hands with the nanny, she’s safe. I’ll make sure everything is handled. I’ll compensate the nanny for staying overnight with Haru.”

He is clearly not on the same page as you—he doesn’t understand. Safe? Maybe. But comforted? No. Compensation won’t calm Haru’s fears; money can’t replace the warmth and reassurance of her mother’s arms when she’s trembling in fear.

But you can’t say that here—you don’t trust yourself to soften the words, not with the eyes of the gala on you, prying, ready to dissect any sign of discord between you and Satoru. So instead, you grasp for something, anything—another solution, another way out of this mess.

“Isn’t there something else we can do? Another route we can take?” you press, the desperation seeping through despite your efforts to keep it contained.

Satoru’s shoulders tense ever so slightly, a subtle shift that only someone who knows him as well as you do would notice. There is a flicker of frustration in his eyes as they narrow, and you watch him take a moment to briefly weigh his words.

“Y/n this is the best solution I can come up with,” there’s an undercurrent of firmness that brooks no argument. “It’s not safe for us to leave right now. The roads are flooded, and I can’t risk us getting caught out there.”

For a moment, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff, each of you grappling with the weight of the situation, the reality pressing down like the storm outside. He’s right—you know he is—but that doesn’t make the situation any easier to swallow. The knowledge sits heavy in your chest, a bitter pill that refuses to go down smoothly.

Why couldn’t Satoru just listen to you when you suggested you leave early?

The thought fuels your frustration simmering just beneath the surface. You should have been more persistent. But now, here you are, trapped in this gilded cage while your daughter is home, scared and needing you.

Satoru exhales softly, the tension in his shoulders easing and the hard edges of his demeanor softening just slightly as he steps closer to you—he’s trying to bridge the growing chasm between you.

His hand reaches out, and you want to pull back, but you are in public, you can’t. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet desperation to connect, but you can feel the gap widening under the weight of everything left unsaid.

He tilts his head, caressing your hand as his gaze searches yours.

“It’s just one night,” he murmurs, and there’s a tenderness there, an unspoken plea for you to understand, to see that he’s trying to make the best of a bad situation. But to you, the words feel hollow, like they’re echoing in a void that’s too vast to bridge with simple reassurances. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning before Haru even wakes up.”

But will she be okay?

The question burns in your throat but you keep it to yourself—it wouldn’t come out nice anyway.

You are trapped—trapped by the storm, trapped by this situation, trapped by the need to maintain this perfect, unblemished image for everyone around you.

So instead, you force a tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s the best you can manage, a fragile mask to hide the storm inside.

“Guess we don’t have a choice….”

“I know…we’ll get through this though. Just one night,” he echoes, as if saying it again will make it more true, but the repetition feels like an empty promise.

You nod, the motion stiff and reluctant.

“I understand,” the words taste like ash. “Let’s go upstairs then,” you rise from your seat, not waiting for him to respond.

ꨄ︎

As the elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding, you step inside with clipped precision, your movements sharp and purposeful. The elevator is empty—thank God.

The last thing you need right now is to plaster on a fake smile and pretend that everything is fine when you’re anything but. You don’t have the energy to pretend—not in front of strangers, and certainly not in front of Satoru.

You barely acknowledge him as he steps in behind you, your focus narrowing on the glowing buttons as you swiftly press the number for your floor. Once the door closes with a soft thud, instinctively, you gravitate to the far side of the elevator, creating as much distance between you and Satoru as the small space allows.

There’s a brief pause as Satoru hesitates, his eyes flickering over to you before he pulls out his phone, and the soft glow of the screen casts a muted light over his features, highlighting the tension in his brow.

As the elevator hums quietly, beginning its ascent, you catch sight of Satoru dialing the nanny’s number from the corner of your eye, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hey, listen… there’s been a situation with the roads—they’re flooded, and we won’t be able to make it back tonight. Can you stay with Haru until morning?”

He pauses, listening intently to the nanny’s response, and although you can’t make out her words, you see the way Satoru's brow furrows, the lines of tension etching themselves deeper into his features.

The muffled sound of the nanny’s voice filters through the phone, indistinct and far away—until another sound reaches your ears, clear and unmistakable.

Haru.

Her small, trembling voice carries through the phone, quivering with fear as she calls for you, confirming the gnawing dread that had been eating away at you all night. You were right, of course, but there’s no satisfaction in that—not when your daughter is scared and crying for you, and you’re trapped miles away, helpless to do anything about it.

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “Haru’s okay, right?” tone softer now, almost hesitant.

There’s a pause, a heavy silence that stretches out as Satoru listens, and you watch as something in his posture shifts—his shoulders slump ever so slightly, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to tell you that the news isn’t good. He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling quietly.

“Tell her that her Mama will be home in the morning… and I’ll make sure everything’s okay. Just... stay with her, please.”

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Satoru fixes his gaze on the floor, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to meet your eyes. He offers no words of comfort, no apology. And you, in turn, make no effort to break the silence either.

Maybe it’s for the best—because right now, the storm raging inside you is just as fierce as the one outside, and you’re not sure you can contain it much longer. The lid holding down your frustration is teetering dangerously on the edge, threatening to spill over, and as the pressure builds, your emotions coil tight like a spring ready to snap.

If you open your mouth now, the floodgates will burst.

So, you’ll wait—you’ll discuss this with Satoru when you’re more level-headed. Right now, all you want to do is crawl into bed—away from Satoru, away from this night, away from everything that feels so suffocatingly wrong.

The silence stretches on, thick and unbearable, and once the elevator finally reaches your floor with a soft chime, without a word, you step out, your heels clicking against the polished floor, with Satoru following a step behind—silent and distant, the space between you feeling wider than ever.

ꨄ︎

The moment you step into the VIP suite, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer size of the room—it’s more like a luxurious apartment than a mere hotel room. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate chandeliers, rich furnishings and artwork that probably costs more than what your entire apartment had cost.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city below, and there is a beautiful patio overlooking the city with the lights twinkling against the stormy backdrop, but instead of feeling awe, it’s only a reminder of how trapped you are.

In the common room, a plush, oversized sofa commands the space, flanked by elegant armchairs and a coffee table that looks more like a piece of art than something meant for everyday use. You set your purse and shawl down on the polished surface and begin to explore the room.

Your gaze wanders to a nearby dining area, where a table is set for two, the fine china and crystal glasses gleaming under the soft light. Beyond that, a sleek bar catches your eye, stocked with an assortment of premium spirits. At the center, a bottle of champagne chills in a gleaming silver bucket, waiting to be uncorked—a celebration you’re far from feeling.

Curious, you open the first door you come across, but it’s just a closet. Moving onto the next, you’re half-expecting to find a bedroom, but instead, the door reveals a marble-clad bathroom, which is more of a private spa than anything else, with a deep soaking tub and a rain shower that beckons with promises of relaxation.

Finally, you reach the last door, and as you push it open, your breath catches in your throat. The bedroom is vast, with high ceilings and draped curtains, but amidst all the space, the luxury, the sheer grandeur…

There is only one bed.

It’s massive, adorned in rich, inviting linens that seem to promise the best sleep of your life. The headboard is a work of art, appearing as if it was carved by hand, its craftsmanship impeccable. But despite all its luxury, one glaring fact stands out—it’s a single bed.

A bed meant for two.

You stop in your tracks, staring at the bed in disbelief. Your mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. Did you miss a door? Could there be another bedroom somewhere in the suite?

Without thinking, you begin to backtrack, your footsteps hurried and purposeful. You retrace your steps through the suite, opening doors you’ve already been through, peering inside with a growing sense of urgency.

The bathroom—no, just the spa-like marble bath and rain shower. The closet—no, just storage. The living area—no, just the oversized sofa and elegant chairs. The dining area—no, just the table set for two and the sleek bar.

Where’s the other bedroom? There has to be another one, right? How can a suite this big, only have one bed?

Is this a cruel joke? A final twist of the knife in an already unbearable night? Is the universe pushing you further out of your comfort zone, testing the limits of your patience, your composure, and your control?

Your movements grow more frantic as you circle back, convinced you must have overlooked something, anything. But there’s nothing else. It’s just that one, luxurious bed, waiting for the two of you.

Scanning the suite one last time, you notice Satoru sitting nonchalantly on the plush couch, leaning back with one arm draped casually over the back of the sofa. He loosens his tie as he tilts his head, watching you with a mixture of confusion and mild amusement.

“What are you looking for?”

You stop dead in your tracks, your breath hitching as you stare at him in disbelief.

“There’s only one bed.”

Perhaps vocalizing the absurdity of this precarious situation might somehow conjure a second bed out of thin air.

Oh, you wish.

Satoru blinks and raises an eyebrow. Without a word, he slowly rises from the couch and walks towards the bedroom. Once he steps inside, he takes in the sight of the massive bed and the luxurious linens—staring at it for a moment as the situation sits in.

Then, he turns to you, with an exaggerated shrug.

“Huh. Looks like the hotel’s playing matchmaker tonight.”

…

You narrow your eyes at him, not speaking, letting the flicker of annoyance smolder into a flame. The corners of your mouth tighten, and your arms cross defensively over your chest.

Satoru matches your silence, watching you with an unreadable expression, and then he shrugs again, the movement casual, almost dismissive.

“What?” carrying a note of faux innocence. “They probably figured we wouldn’t mind getting cozy. We are husband and wife, after all. Of course they wouldn’t think we’d need separate beds.”

He’s not making this any better for you right now…

You shake your head, rubbing your eyes in exasperation as if trying to rub away the absurdity of the situation. It’s all too much—the storm, the delay, the night that refuses to end. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on you, and each word from Satoru just seems to add another layer to the frustration.

“Wow…this is unbelievable,” you huff.

“Mm, you know what they say, nothing like sharing a bed to break the tension,” Satoru quips, plopping down at the edge of the bed as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He bounces slightly, testing the mattress, and glances up at you with a glint in his eye. “Well, I suppose this is where we’re supposed to start arguing over who gets the left side?”

…

Is he serious right now?

You can hardly believe it—the casualness of his demeanor, the way he seems completely unconcerned about the reality of this situation. It is almost infuriating.

“This is not happening…I am not sharing a bed with you,” you say, more to yourself than to him, a whispered mix of disbelief and determination. You cross your arms tightly over your chest.

But Satoru just leans back on his hands, completely unbothered, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. Tilting his head slightly, he flashes you an easy grin.

“Hey, it could be worse,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, patting the space beside him. “At least it’s a king-size. I mean, we could practically build a wall down the middle if you want.”

You stare at him, incredulous.

How can he be so flippant about this? So completely unconcerned, so utterly unaffected by everything that’s happened tonight?

Every word that comes out of his mouth further makes your patience slip through your fingers.

“…are you serious right now?” there is a tremble in your voice as you attempt to keep your frustration in check, but it’s a losing battle.

“Yup,” he shrugs, completely unfazed. “Looks like it’s just you, me, and this king-sized dilemma.”

Wow. You’re standing in the middle of a situation that has gone from bad to worse, and he’s making jokes? The disbelief turns into something hotter, something sharper, as you feel the last remnants of your composure start to crumble.

“Are you kidding me, Satoru?” you snap and the frustration you’ve been holding back all night finally spills over. “You are absolutely unbelievable. This isn’t funny! None of this is fucking funny! We’re stuck here, and you’re making jokes?”

The playful smirk that had been dancing on Satoru's lips vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of irritation. He leans forward, fixing you with a hard stare, and the lightheartedness drains from his posture as his elbows rest on his knees.

“Oh, okay, I’m sorry,” he retorts, a sharp edge to his voice. “Y’know, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Didn’t realize you were going to blow up at me for trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

“Lighten the mood?” you echo, your voice rising in disbelief. “Do you really think that’s what I need right now?”

A scoff escapes your lips as all your frustration bubbles to the surface. The weight of everything finally presses down on you, and his indifference feels like a slap in the face.

You can’t even look at him right now.

With a dismissive shake of your head, you turn away, briskly stepping towards the living room.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” you mutter under your breath, the words more to yourself than to him, but loud enough that you know he can hear.

“What don’t I get?” Satoru challenges, his voice growing sharper as he pushes off the bed and follows after you. His footsteps are clipped as he closes the distance between you, not willing to let the conversation drop. “What don’t I get, y/n? Tell me.”

You whirl around to face him, your heart pounding in your chest, the tension crackling like electricity.

“Satoru—Haru needs me, and we’re stuck here, miles away, in some fancy hotel suite. But you don’t even care.”

The accusation slips out and you can no longer hide the mix of anger and hurt that laces your voice. Satoru’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching as he tries to rein in his own frustration.

“You think I don’t care?” his voice is sharp, insistent, almost incredulous as he steps closer. “You think I’m not worried about Haru too? y/n we literally had this conversation in the limo earlier. Jesus, just because I don’t show my emotions like you it doesn’t mean I don’t care. I hate this situation just as much as you do, but it’s not like I can control the weather or the roads!”

The intensity of his words strikes you, but the anger simmering beneath your skin refuses to let you back down.

“Yeah, well, if you really cared, we would have left as soon as the storm started, like I wanted! Then we wouldn’t even be in this situation!” your trembling voice increases an octave and you throw your hands up in exasperation. “But no—you had to stay for that last part of the gala, didn’t you?”

Satoru’s reaction is immediate. He runs a hand through his hair, the movement rough and frustrated while a bitter laugh escapes his lips, one that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes flash with something darker as he glares at you.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that we’re stuck here? Because I stayed for the speech? I had obligations, y/n! I couldn’t just leave!”

“Obligations?” the word drips with sarcasm as it leaves your lips, your voice thick with disbelief and a touch of something more, something wounded. You narrow your eyes and the anger within flares hotter as you shoot a glare back at him. “We could’ve left earlier, but instead you just had to be the perfect ‘Satoru Gojo.’ Your precious image, your obligations—everything always comes first, doesn’t it?”

A flash of anger sparks within the depths of Satoru’s eyes, and his voice drops lower, more measured, with an edge that makes your heart jump.

“You knew what you were signing up for,” the words are clipped and his tone is cold and biting. “I told you there would be expectations, that there would be obligations that came with this agreement. Don’t act like this is some surprise to you.”

His words hit their mark, the truth in them sinking in like a stone dropping into a deep well. The realization settles over you, heavy and cold.

Oh…this truly is just a business arrangement, nothing more.

This is…what you agreed to…isn’t it?

For a brief moment, you had almost forgotten that this marriage—this life you’ve been trying to build—wasn’t real. It was never based on love or trust or any of the things you’d once dreamed of. It has always been a contract, an arrangement, and you were just another piece in the game he was playing.

You feel the sharp, unmistakable sting of hurt, a wound that cuts deeper than you anticipated. And with that hurt comes regret—regret for allowing yourself to believe, even for a second, that he might be willing to take a leap of faith for you, for Haru.

You should have known better.

He’s Satoru Gojo, after all, the man who holds his obligations and his image above everything else. The man who never allows himself to be vulnerable, to be anything other than perfect in the eyes of the world.

“So that’s it, then?” the words slip out with a quiet tremor, your voice breaking slightly under the crushing weight of your emotions “You’ll always put your commitments first, no matter what? No matter how it affects us? No matter how it affects Haru?”

For the briefest of moments, Satoru’s expression softens, a flicker of regret passing through his eyes, as if he’s momentarily aware of the pain his words have caused.

You can feel the tears burning at the back of your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words have cut you, how deeply the reminder of your place in his life stings.

Instead, you draw in a shaky breath, steeling yourself, and forcing your voice to steady. It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep your composure, to keep from breaking in front of him.

“It’s always about your image…isn’t it?” you whisper, the words barely audible, but they carry the weight of your realization, heavy and bitter. “I thought… maybe just once, you’d be willing to choose something else. Someone else. Guess I was wrong.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, thick with the tension that has built up between you. Satoru opens his mouth to respond, his expression shifting as if he’s searching for the right words, but you’ve already had enough. The frustration, the anger, the hurt—it’s all too much, too overwhelming, and honestly, you don’t think you can take the weight of his inevitable rejection right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can shatter whatever fragile composure you have left, you turn on your heel and stride towards the suite’s balcony.

ꨄ︎

The moment you step out onto the balcony, the cold night air wraps around you, but you welcome its icy embrace, and as the heavy door slides shut behind you with a dull thud, it seals off any lingering warmth from the hotel suite, leaving you alone with the elements.

The balcony, partially sheltered by a gazebo, offers little protection from the fierce wind driving the rain sideways. But as the droplets hit your skin, cold and sharp, you don’t flinch. Instead, you let the rain wash over you, soaking into your dress and chilling you to the bone, as if the cold might somehow numb the emotional turmoil raging inside you.

Gripping the railing, you stare out at the city below, the wind whipping around you, tugging at your dress as the storm batters you from all sides. But the physical discomfort barely registers—it's nothing compared to the storm brewing within. Because now, the anger that had fueled your argument with Satoru begins to ebb, giving way to a deep, aching sadness that you can no longer hold back.

You sink down onto one of the chairs, ignoring the fact that the cushion is already soaked through. The wet fabric clings to your skin as you huddle there, pulling your knees up to your chest, and as you take in the downpour, you allow the rain to mingle with the tears that finally begin to slip down your cheeks.

If only the howling wind was loud enough to drown the thoughts swirling in your mind.

But it’s not.

The first thing you hear is Naoya’s words, echoing in your ears. His cruel taunts, sharp and insidious, have haunted you ever since your encounter at the coffee shop—a seed of doubt planted deep within you.

And now, those seeds have taken root, growing in the shadows of your heart, feeding off your insecurities until they’ve become impossible to ignore. Maybe he was right all along… you don’t belong beside Satoru. This life you agreed to—this carefully crafted facade—it has always been a deal, nothing more. A deal struck for reasons that now seem distant and blurred.

And then there’s Satoru.

The man you’ve grown closer to, despite everything. The man who, on occasion, looks at you with a softness that seems almost out of place, a trust that makes your heart ache under the weight of your own secrets… and your own growing feelings. But tonight, you saw the bitter reality of who he truly is—a reality that you’ve always known, yet somehow tried to push aside. It’s a reality that places duty and obligation above all else, that keeps his heart locked away behind walls you know you’ll never breach.

You understand it, you really do. But understanding doesn’t make it any easier to bear. It doesn’t make the hurt go away.

You think about Haru—your sweet, innocent child, who’s at home right now, likely scared and alone, flinching with every crash of thunder.

The thought of her, small and frightened, tugs at your heart, and the guilt twists inside you, sharper than any blade. It cuts through your defenses until all that remains is the raw, unrelenting pain of a mother’s worry, a mother’s fear. You should be there with her, holding her close, whispering reassurances that everything is going to be okay, that the storm will pass.

But you’re not.

You’re here, drenched on a balcony, struggling to hold yourself together while everything around you falls apart. And that reality—knowing you’ve left her to face the storm alone—makes the tears fall harder now.

They stream down your face, mixing with the rain, until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. The sobs come, wracking your body with their intensity, as you bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your grief.

It’s all too much—the pressure, the expectations, the lies, the fear.

And then there’s the love.

The love that’s beginning to bloom for Satoru, despite the circumstances…and it only makes it more complicated, more painful. It’s a love that you know you shouldn’t feel, that you’re terrified to acknowledge—and it wraps itself around your heart like a thorny vine, beautiful yet painful, tightening its grip with every passing day.

And your worries never end—the contract, the obligations, the appearances you have to maintain. This agreement that had once seemed so clear, so necessary, but now feels like a chain around your neck, binding you to a life that’s growing more and more suffocating by the day.

You didn’t sign up for this, not really.

You didn’t sign up for the way your heart had started to beat in sync with Satoru’s, for the way his touch lingers on your skin long after he’s gone, or the way his voice is capable of soothing the deepest parts of your soul.

But here you are—trapped, ensnared by duty and honor, by a love that’s growing despite the walls you’ve tried to build around it. A love for a man who might never fully understand the depth of the sacrifice you’re making.

A man who will never love you back the way you wish he would, or put you first.

You continue to cry as the storm proceeds to rage against you, both inside and out—but you hope that maybe this rain will wash away some of the pain, some of the doubts, some of the fear.

Ah… but you know better. Because once this storm passes, the reality of your situation will still be there, waiting for you.

The contract, the expectations, the life you’ve chosen, and the choices you must make—none of it will disappear, no matter how much you wish it could. And despite how much you long to rid yourself of this burden, the love you’re beginning to feel for Satoru…that too, will remain, complicating everything in ways you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

The sound of the sliding door opening barely registers in your mind, lost in the cacophony of the storm as you remain huddled on the chair, lost in your thoughts. You don’t look up, not even when you sense his presence behind you—the presence of that familiar warmth, one that has the potential to cut through the cold that’s seeped into your bones.

Why is he here? You can’t bear it.

He stands there for a moment, silently taking in the sight of you curled up on the chair, small and vulnerable against the fury of the storm, and then, with a resolve that seems almost fragile, he steps forward.

The rain immediately begins to soak through his clothes, just as it did yours, and slowly, he kneels beside you, his movements careful, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid that any sudden motion might shatter what little composure you have left.

“y/n,” he says softly, voice almost lost in the storm, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond—the words are trapped in your throat, tangled in the rush of emotions his apology stirs within you. Confusion, sorrow, a desperate yearning for things to be different—they all swirl within you, too intense, too raw to process.

The pain is overwhelming, and right now, you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. You’re terrified of what you might see in his eyes. What would you feel if you looked at him now?

You’re too scared to find out.

Satoru seems to sense your hesitation, your fear. His hand reaches out, and you feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on your shoulder, tentative and light, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. There’s a warmth in his touch, something that defies the cold rain soaking through both of you—a warmth that, despite everything, makes you want to lean into it, to draw strength from it.

“y/n, please…” his voice drops quieter, almost pleading. “Look at me.”

His request hangs in the air, and for a moment, you feel as if time has stopped.

Why is this so hard? Why can’t you accept that this is nothing more than a contract, an arrangement born out of necessity rather than love?

His touch fills you with a bittersweetness that is almost unbearable—a longing that you know is not realistic, that you know you shouldn’t entertain. But the plea in his voice, the vulnerability you hear in those simple words, chips away at your resolve.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you lift your tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. The rain has flattened his usually neat hair against his forehead, and his clothes are drenched, clinging to him, but it’s his eyes that hold you captive. Because once your eyes finally connect, the world around you seems to fade into the background, the storm reduced to a distant hum.

His usually composed, confident expression is different now—eyes, softened by regret, vulnerability, and that same softness that has been tearing you apart since the moment he became deeply intertwined in your life.

It's that same softness you’ve tried to ignore, that you’ve convinced yourself was nothing more than an illusion, but that still holds an undeniable power over you.

“I’m sorry…” he repeats, voice trembling with an underlying thickness, as if he’s struggling to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel like Haru doesn’t matter to me, like you don’t matter.”

Your head shakes almost involuntarily, tears continuing to fall, mingling with the rain. Denial wraps around your heart like a protective shield, reminding you that this man doesn’t love you, that you cannot—will not—get your hopes up. You’ve been down this road before, and you know better than to believe in things that aren’t real.

But Satoru’s eyes soften even more as he reads the pain in your expression, and without a word, his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. His touch is warm against your cold, rain-soaked skin, and he gently brushes away the tears that mingle with the rain on your face—a touch so tender that it almost breaks you all over again.

“I really fucked up tonight…” he sighs, his breath hitching slightly as the words escape him. “I’m so sorry for that. Please… let me make things right.”

You can feel the conflict within you, your heart warring with your mind, urging you to push him away, to protect yourself from the pain that seems inevitable. You can’t afford to give yourself hope—not when the risk of being shattered again looms so large, so close.

“Look… I’m really not good at this. I’m not used to… letting people in,” he admits, his voice faltering slightly as he grapples with his own vulnerability and inadequacy. “But with you, I want to try. That’s why…”

He pauses, taking a deep breath, the sound shaky as he gathers the courage to say what’s weighing on his heart.

“I need you to know that everything I said during the interview tonight… it wasn’t just for show. I wasn’t saying what I thought people wanted to hear.”

Your breath catches at his words and your heart pounds furiously within your chest. The weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes makes it impossible to look away.

“Those were my real feelings, y/n. When they asked me what drew me to you… I meant every word.”

Your body begins to tremble, a shuddering wave of emotion crashing over you like the relentless storm around you, threatening to pull you under. The tears begin welling up again and you feel yourself unraveling at the seams.

“Don’t do this, Satoru,” you plead, voice cracking with the weight of your fear. You bring your hands up instinctively, as if to shield yourself from the intensity of his words, to create some distance between you. “Don’t say these things… I can’t… I can’t handle being hurt again.”

For a moment, Satoru hesitates, his eyes searching yours, but then, with a gentle yet determined motion, he takes your trembling hands into his own and the warmth of his touch seeps into your cold skin. Slowly, he lowers your hands onto your lap, his grip firm but tender.

“No, let me say this,” he insists, his voice steadying, becoming more resolute, though it’s still laced with a gentleness. “You deserve to hear it. You deserve to know how I really feel.”

His thumb begins to stroke the back of your hand and his gaze softens as he searches your face. There is an earnest tenderness within the depths of his expression, and it makes your heart ache.

“You’ve brought something into my life that I didn’t even know I was missing,” Satoru continues, “You’ve made me feel… grounded, in a way that I’ve never felt before.”

There is a raw honesty in his eyes, one that begins to erode the walls you’ve built around your heart. You feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece, as his words chip away at the fear and doubt that has kept you from fully opening up to him.

“I’m not perfect,” his voice wavers slightly and his hand tightens around yours, seeking reassurance even as he offers it. “Far from it… but you’ve made me realize that’s okay. And now, because of you, I want to do better, to be better… not just for you, but for Haru too. And for myself.”

What is he saying?

Your breath hitches, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips as you process his words.

“I’m… confused,” you whisper, your mind racing to catch up with your heart. “Isn’t this… just a contract?”

“Yeah…well…” a wry smile tugs at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remain serious. “Guess I broke the clause, huh? So much for no emotional entanglements…”

Your breath catches again, this time in realization.

Wait… he feels the same way? This is really happening?

The realization hits you like a wave—the truth of it crashing over you, leaving you breathless, and you can’t stop the fresh surge of tears from falling down your face.

Satoru’s brow furrows with worry, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he watches you cry. Leaning in closer, he rests his forehead gently against yours. His eyes search yours, desperate for some kind of response, some kind of reassurance that his words have reached you, that he hasn’t misread the situation.

“Please… don’t cry,” he whispers with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. He closes his eyes, breath warm as it fans across your face, and his hand, still holding yours, gives a gentle squeeze, as if to remind you that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

“I… I want to believe you, Satoru,” you manage, voice trembling with the weight of your fears and doubts. “Believe everything you’re saying, but I’m so scared. What if I’m not enough? I don’t think I could survive that kind of heartbreak again…”

Satoru’s eyes open slowly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“You are enough, y/n. You’ve always been enough.”

There is a firmness in his resolve, as if he’s trying to engrave the words into your very being.

His free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away another tear that had escaped.

“And honestly… I’m scared too.” His voice drops even lower, almost a whisper now. “Trust is something I’ve never given lightly. But with you… I want to trust. I need to trust. And… I need you to trust me too.”

Trust—there’s that word again.

It lingers in the air between you, heavy with meaning, with all the complexities and the promises it holds.

Trust—It’s such a simple word, yet it carries the weight of a thousand unsaid things, a thousand fears, a thousand hopes. It’s the foundation of everything, isn’t it? The one thing you’ve always struggled with, the one thing that has kept you from fully letting go, from fully giving yourself to him—or to anyone, for that matter.

Trust—It’s what you’ve been afraid to place in someone else’s hands, for fear that they might not handle it with care. And why would they? After everything you’ve been through, after all the disappointments, the betrayals, the moments when you’ve been left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, why would you ever trust again?

But… maybe trust isn’t about being certain, about knowing for sure that everything will turn out alright. Maybe… it’s about taking that leap of faith, about being willing to risk the hurt because the potential for something real, something meaningful, is worth it.

You look at him, really look at him—his usually confident demeanor is stripped away, leaving only the man beneath, exposed and uncertain, yet somehow more real than you’ve ever seen him.

This is… Satoru.

In that moment, something shifts within you.

Ah… perhaps trust isn’t something you just give; it’s something you build, together, piece by piece, moment by moment. And maybe… as terrifying as it is, you’re ready to start building that with him.

The realization hits you like a warm rush, spreading through your chest and making your heart ache in a way that’s both painful and beautiful. You want to tell him, to find the words that will let him know that you want this too. But the emotions are too overwhelming, too all-consuming, and you find yourself at a loss, unable to articulate the flood of feelings coursing through you.

So instead, you do the only thing you can—you decide to show him.

Your hands move on their own, driven by an urgency you can’t contain. Grasping the collar of his shirt, your fingers curl into the wet fabric, pulling him closer with a force that leaves no room for hesitation. The distance between you disappears in one desperate, crashing motion as you bring your lips to his.

It’s a fierce kiss, filled with a force that’s as much an admission as it is an apology—an admission of your own feelings, of the vulnerabilities you’ve tried so hard to hide, and an apology for every moment you’ve tried to protect yourself by pushing him away.

The intensity of your need is met by Satoru’s immediate response, his arms wrapping around you with a fervency that matches the storm raging around you, pulling you flush against him as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

The rain soaks through your clothes, but all you can focus on is the heat of his skin, the way his mouth moves against yours with a need that’s as insistent as it is consuming. You swallow the low, desperate moan that escapes from him, the sound vibrating through you, sending a shiver down your spine.

God, you wanted this.

His tongue grazes your lower lip, seeking entry, and without hesitation, you part your lips for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss even further, kissing you as though you’re the very air he needs to breathe. Once his tongue meets yours, the sensation is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body.

God, he wanted this.

He’s losing himself in the kiss, like he’s been holding back for far too long, and now that he’s tasted you, he can’t get enough. And you let him, wrapping your legs around him and allowing him to lift you up with ease as you thread your fingers through his damp hair. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter, as he carries you toward the balcony door, sure and driven by a need that can no longer be contained.

With a swift motion, he presses you against the glass door. The cold rain continues to hammer down, but you’re barely aware of it—there is a fire that seems to burn hotter with every second your lips remain locked, and you are lost in the sensation of his hands gripping into the plush of your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

“Satoru…” you gasp between kisses, and the sound of your breathless voice drives him further into the depths of his desire.

“Fuck… could get used to hearing you say m’ name like that,” he groans, mouth dropping to your neck, lips tracing the line of your jaw before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your throat.

You arch your back and tilt your head, allowing him access, but the sudden sensation of his hips pressing against your core causes a whimper to escape your lips.

Fuck. You now realize just how much he wanted this. The hardness pressed against you is unmistakable and that alone heightens your own desire, making a tingling heat begin to pool in between your legs.

Your hands slide down his back, nails digging slightly into his skin beneath the wet fabric of his shirt, and you press your hips forward, seeking more of that friction, and he responds with a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest as he begins to grind against you.

“Fucking hell…” he rasps, voice thick with desperation, “you have no idea,” he whimpers, breath hitching as his lips brush against your ear, “no fucking idea…” he grinds harder, with renewed intensity, “how much I’ve wanted this…” his eyes flutter shut, lost in the sensation, “how much I want you…”

Every nerve ignites as an intense heat courses through you.

Fuck. This is bad. This is really bad.

You’re losing any trace of reasoning; you’re lacking any semblance of control. How can you think straight when he talks to you like that? When he touches you like this?

You can’t. It’s impossible.

This is moving really fast, and every coherent thought is slipping away, replaced by the overwhelming need for him, the need to feel every inch of him against you, inside you. You’re losing yourself in the way his body moves against yours, in the way his voice trembles with need.

“Satoru… I—” you start, but the words catch in your throat, choked off by that delicious sensation of him shifting his hips, pressing harder against you in just that right spot. “I can’t… fuck. I can’t think when you’re like this…”

“Don’t think,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just feel… let me take care of you…”

And then he’s kissing you again, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that makes your head spin. Oh, fuck it, you don’t care. You don’t care about anything else in this moment.

In one swift motion, without breaking the kiss, he carries you away from the rain, and into the warmth of the suite. His steps are quick and determined until he reaches the bedroom, and once he sets you down your feet barely touch the floor before his hands are on you again.

The urgency in his touch is undeniable, frantic as his hands begin to work at the wet fabric of your dress, peeling it away with determination.

Oh god, this is really moving fast.

The realization hits you like a wave, but it’s quickly drowned out by the sight of him shrugging off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. And once you catch sight of his toned muscles, the way they flex beneath his skin, how can you think straight?

You can’t.

Your hands move instinctively, reaching for him, running over his chest, savoring the warmth, the strength beneath your fingertips, and his hands are equally on you, exploring your body with a reverence while his mouth moves against yours with fervor.

“You’re so fucking pretty, so beautiful…” he breaks the kiss, “I can’t get enough of you…” and then his mouth is on yours again, desperate and hungry, leaving you breathless.

He guides you towards the bed, and once the back of your knees hit the edge of it, he gives you a gentle but insistent push. His body follows and once the mattress dips slightly under your combined weight, you’re suddenly hyperaware of everything—the way his hands are sliding down your sides, the way his lips are tracing a path from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts, the way he settles between your legs.

This is moving way…way too fast.

You need a moment to think, but your mind is constantly drowned out by the feel of his body against yours.

“Satoru…” you murmur against his lips, “Please I—” But before you can finish, he’s kissing you again, his mouth claiming yours with a fierceness that makes your heart skip a beat.

Your breath hitches as he begins to rock his hips against your clothed core, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through you while you gasp into his mouth. Before you realize what you’re doing, your legs are wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, deepening the connection between you.

Damnit, that delicious friction is all-consuming, and you can’t stop yourself from arching into him.

“Ever since that night at the gala…” he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck, “After we kissed, I haven’t been able to think about anything else… anyone else… just you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine. Fucking hell, he’s not making this easy. The way his breath hitches as he presses kisses along your collarbone, it’s clear he’s barely holding on to his own control. And you? You’re already starting to lose yours.

Fuck, he will ruin you.

“All I could think about was how it felt to kiss you… how much I wanted to do it again… how much I wanted more…” his breath hot against your skin as his hands grip your hips, pulling you even closer.

“I can’t… I need… oh god…” the words slip out, a desperate plea mixed with a moan as the sensation of him rolling his length against that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs becomes almost unbearable.

Fuck… the pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming, that your vision blurs, your world narrowing to nothing but the feel of him, the heat of his body, the way he’s moving against you.

You’re seeing stars.

“What is it?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and oh he sounds so fucking undone by you, as if he’s on the verge of losing control. “Tell me… tell me what you need baby.”

His words are like gasoline on the fire burning inside you. Damnit, you need him. But you also need time to process everything that is happening. As much as you want to give in, as much as your body is screaming for more of him, a tiny voice in the back of your mind is telling you to slow down, to think.

There is still so much that has been left unsaid…things you need to get off your chest.

“Satoru…” you whisper, your voice shaky as you thread your fingers through his hair, gently pulling him back just enough to look into his eyes. His gaze is intense, dark with desire, and it takes every ounce of your self-control not to lose yourself in it. “Can we… can we take it slow?”

His body stills, and for a moment, the intensity in his eyes softens. He’s still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, but he nods slowly, as if he’s trying to rein in his own overwhelming need.

He leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands sliding from your hips to cradle your face gently. The kiss is different now, less urgent but still filled with an undeniable passion that leaves you breathless. It’s a slow burn, a simmering heat that makes your skin tingle as his lips move tenderly against yours, savoring every moment.

The kiss tapers off naturally, his lips lingering on yours as if he’s reluctant to let go. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far, his nose brushing against yours in a tender nuzzle that makes you smile.

“Yeah… okay…” he breathes out, voice rough and tinged with longing. “We can slow down… whatever you need…”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch light, almost reverent.

“Sorry it’s just…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lower lip before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each kiss is gentle. He pulls back slightly, his lips ghosting over yours as he whispers, “You don’t know what you do to me…”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you softly chuckle.

Satoru mirrors your smile and lets out a soft laugh.

“Well... it’s about damn time you caught on.”

He plops down beside you, pulling you into his arms with an ease that makes your heart flutter. as if being this close to you is the most natural thing in the world. He buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, a content hum leaving his lips as he wraps himself around you, tangling his legs with yours and pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you.

“Was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

A light and airy laugh escapes your lips as you become engrossed in his warmth.

“Well, I mean... you’ve always been a bit of a mystery,” you tease, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand where it rests against your stomach.

“Hmm, a mystery, huh?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Maybe… but I think you’ve always had the key, even if you didn’t know it.”

You turn slightly in his arms, bringing a hand up to gently run your fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers like silk as you gaze into his eyes. Your heart swells at the way he leans into your touch, as if he savors each trace of you, and there’s a tenderness in the way his eyes hold yours.

And then, his lips curl into a wry smile, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Mm… told you you’d fall for my charm. Though I will say, you were a tough one to crack.”

You try to fight the smile threatening to break free as a warmth spreads across your face. It’s crazy to think this man was once the bane of your very existence.

“Tch…you have a way of growing on people, y’know that?” The grin on his face widens at your admission, making the heat in your own face intensify. You huff, rolling your eyes as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. “You’re like a persistent, overly confident weed.”

Satoru laughs. “A weed, huh? That’s a new one,” he sounds mock-offended, though his smirk tells you he’s anything but. His hand shifts, trailing up and down your arm tenderly as his fingers lightly brush your skin. “Mmm let's see…I think I’m more like a rare, exotic flower.”

“Oh please,” you scoff, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re more like those persistent kind of weeds that pops up in the cracks of the sidewalk, no matter how many times you try to get rid of them.”

“Persistent, huh? Well I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” his tone softens as his hand trails down your arm, the warmth of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake until his fingers find yours, threading them together as he interlocks your hands in a gentle, but secure grasp.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep growing on you until you can’t imagine your life without me,” he murmurs—thumb gently stroking the back of your hand—and your breath hitches at the sincerity in his words.

Satoru treats you like a treasure, something to be cherished and protected.

How did you get so lucky?

He’s everything Naoya isn’t—everything you’ve ever wanted but were too afraid to hope for.

But even as the realization crosses your mind, a pang of guilt twists in your chest. You’ve been keeping something from him, something important, something that could change everything. Naoya’s scheme, his attempts to ruin Satoru’s reputation… it’s been eating away at you, gnawing at your conscience every time Satoru looks at you with those warm, trusting eyes.

But the thought terrifies you—what if it changes everything? What if it drives a wedge between you?

You need to tell him. He deserves to know.

No secrets.

You can’t keep hiding the truth. Not if you want to move forward, not if you want to build something real with him.

“Hey,” you begin softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. The tenderness in his gaze gives you the strength to continue. “There’s something I need to tell you… something important.”

Satoru’s expression shifts immediately from the seriousness of your tone, his brow knitting together in concern as his eyes dim.

“What is it?”

Oh fuck. This is it. No backing down now.

You take a deep breath, and though your heart pounds in your chest, Satoru’s gentle grip tightens on your hand, offering you the silent support to continue.

“It’s about Naoya…” you begin, voice trembling slightly as you hesitantly hold his gaze.

The tension in Satoru's face is subtle but unmistakable. You briefly catch sight of his jaw tightening, a muscle jumping beneath the skin at the mere mention of Naoya’s name. Swallowing hard, your throat constricts with effort as you struggle to find the right words.

“There’s… something I’ve been keeping from you… and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

Satoru’s eyes widen just a fraction, his brows drawing together slightly in concern, but he remains silent—he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t demand an explanation. Instead, he watches you intently, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent encouragement to continue.

But that intensity in his focus only makes your heart pound harder in your chest, each beat a drum of anxiety.

Here goes nothing.

“He’s been… blackmailing me,” you confess, eyes falling to the side, unable to hold his gaze. “He’s trying to ruin your reputation, to drag your name through the mud…and if I don’t do what he says…”

The words die on your lips as you trail off.

Fuck this is overwhelming.

This entire night has been a rollercoaster, and you’re reaching the breaking point of your own emotional endurance. You expect Satoru to say something, but the silence that follows is deafening.

Each beat of your heart is like a hammer in your chest, and your mind is racing with a thousand different fears.

Is he angry? Is he waiting for you to look at him? Is this it? Is this the moment everything falls apart?

Summoning every ounce of courage you have left, you will yourself to look up, to meet Satoru’s eyes. And yes, there’s anger simmering in the depths of his gaze, a dangerous edge to it, but there’s something else too—something softer.

“What will happen if you don’t do what he says?” he asks, voice gentle yet firm. His thumb brushes soothing circles on the back of your hand with a tenderness, urging you to continue. “What exactly is he threatening you with?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, feeling the lump in your throat swell as you struggle to push the words out.

“He’s trying to take Haru away from me… he’s threatening to file for full custody if I don’t cooperate.”

The impact of your words is immediate—Satoru’s entire demeanor changing in an instant.

His expression hardens, the fury in his eyes flaring to life, unmistakable and searing, and his entire body tenses beside you. A shiver rakes down your spine when you hear the low and dangerous promise slip through his lips.

“He’s going to regret this.”

Before you can even process his words, he pulls you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you with a fierce protectiveness that catches you off guard. It is almost startling how the gentle way he holds you is juxtaposed with the anger simmering just beneath the surface, and as his fingers begin to thread through your hair while he cradles you close to him, you feel he is shielding you from the very world that threatens to tear you apart.

“He’s not taking Haru from you,” Satoru vows, voice unwavering, a promise etched in steel. “Not over my dead body.”

Ah…the conviction in his voice—the words you needed to hear—it is your breaking point. Finally, everything crashes down on you. The fear, the guilt, the overwhelming relief that you’re no longer carrying this burden alone—it all hits you at once, and you can’t hold back the quiet sob that escapes your lips.

Satoru tightens his hold on you, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other trailing up and down your trembling frame as he whispers reassurances.

“Hey, it’s okay… we’re going to get through this.”

His heartbeat is a steady and comforting rhythm beneath your ear. You nod weakly as a shaky breath escapes your lips, the sound muffled against his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering for a moment.

“When did this all begin?” he whispers, fingers gently massaging your scalp.

“Two days ago…” you murmur, “right before you agreed to watch Haru for me.”

There’s a moment of silence, a brief pause as Satoru processes your words. You feel the subtle hitch in his breath, the soft exhale that follows as he tries to contain the emotions swirling inside him. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and your heart drops at his expression.

“y/n…” he breathes out, low and thick with emotion as his jaw clenches with tension. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The ache in your chest is unbearable, and the tears begin to prick at your eyes again. Unable to face the underlying look of his own disappointment, you instinctively look away.

“I was scared and confused… I didn’t think you felt the same way about me,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “And I kept thinking about our contract…about your condition…”

Satoru’s body softens underneath you as he gently tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and what you find there isn’t disappointment, but understanding—a deep, unwavering understanding that cuts through your doubts like a beacon of light in the darkness.

“y/n, there is no contract when it comes to how I feel about you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear that slipped down your cheek. “That contract… it was just a piece of paper. Besides, it’s void now because I broke the clause.” His lips curve into a soft, reassuring smile. “What I feel for you… it’s real. And it’s not something that can be defined by a contract.”

His words are like a balm to your wounded heart, soothing the fear that had been gnawing at you.

Why did you doubt him so much? Is it because this is a love you have only hoped for? But now it’s real—it’s yours.

A shaky exhale escapes your lips as you rest your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Satoru soothes, his hands moving up to cradle your face. “I understand why you were scared. But we’re in this together, okay? Naoya’s not going to win.”

His hands gently tilt your face upwards, and before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. His lips move slowly, languidly against yours, savoring the moment, and you melt into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours once more, and you linger there in the aftermath, letting the warmth of his breath fan across your lips, the closeness between you wrapping around you like a cocoon. A content sigh escapes your lips as the tension from everything slowly ebbs away, and you lower yourself onto his chest as Satoru’s fingers gently trail up and down your back.

Finally, everything has been laid bare. No secrets. Just the two of you, connected in a way that feels unbreakable.

But then, Satoru shifts slightly beneath you, “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, voice laced with concern as his hand moves to gently rub your arm, trying to warm you up. “We were out in the rain for too long…”

You hadn’t even noticed—your focus had been so consumed by everything else. Now that the adrenaline of the moment has begun to fade, you realize how cold you are, and how you’re both still in your underwear. The chill from the rain has started to seep into your bones.

“You should take a warm bath, get comfortable,” Satoru suggests, loving but insistent as he brushes a few stray strands of wet hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. “It’s been a long day, and we have to wake up early to get home to Haru. You can go first. Go on, I’ll wait for you here.”

You nod, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of his embrace as you make your way to the bathroom.

The hot water feels like a balm against your chilled skin, and you take your time, letting the warmth seep into your bones and soothe the lingering tension in your muscles. It’s a quiet, reflective moment—an opportunity to process everything that’s happened. As the steam rises around you, you feel the weight of the day slowly lift from your shoulders.

After finishing your bath, you slip into the comfortable pajamas the hotel provided and find yourself wrapped up cozily under the blankets in the bed, waiting for Satoru as he takes his turn getting cleaned up next. The room is quiet—the rain outside has finally settled down as the once insistent pattering is now reduced to a soft, comforting drum against the window. You let your eyes drift closed for a moment, savoring the tranquility and the subtle scent of Satoru that lingers on the pillow beside you.

Tonight, has been exhausting—so much has happened, and it’s a lot to take in.

When Satoru finally emerges from the bathroom, he is dressed in the comfortable hotel linens, hair slightly damp and tousled. He flashes you a tender smile, one that makes your heart skip a beat, and you can’t help but smile back, warmth spreading through you.

But instead of joining you in the bed as you would expect, you watch with growing curiosity as he makes his way towards the closet. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you tilt your head slightly, your brows knitting together in confusion.

“What are you doing?” you observe him gather extra blankets and pillows, tucking them under his arm.

Satoru glances over his shoulder, offering you a small, almost apologetic smile.

“I’m, uh… gonna sleep on the couch tonight,” he says casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, taken aback by his words, and a frown tugs at your lips.

“Why? You don’t have to do that. The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

He hesitates, as if weighing his words carefully.

“Y/n,” he begins, low and rough, “Believe me, I really want to,” he lets out a sigh and scratches the back of his head. “You have… too much of an effect on me. I meant it when I said we could take things slow, but if I’m lying next to you, I don’t know if I can control myself.”

His admission sends a warm flush to your face, your heart skipping a beat at the honesty in his words. You see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s struggling to do what he thinks is right, even though it’s clearly not what he wants.

“Satoru…” you begin, your voice softening as you start to sit up, but he shakes his head gently, cutting you off before you can say more.

“If you want to take it slow, it’s probably for the best I give us some space to figure things out without making it harder than it already is.”

Damnit, he is too cute for his own good.

For a moment, you’re tempted to tell him to stay, to ignore the rules you’ve set for yourself, to just give in to the pull between you. The warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch—it’s all so inviting. But you can also see how much he’s trying to do right by you, to honor your wishes, even if it means sacrificing what he wants.

“Okay,” you say softly, your teeth gently grazing your bottom lip as you consider your next words, “but just know that although I want to go slow, it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t mind… doing things with you.”

Satoru lets out a groan, closing his eyes briefly as if battling with himself.

“You’re not making this easy, you know that?”

“Mm… never said I would,” you challenge, a playful glint flickering in your eyes as a crooked grin tugs at your lips.

He chuckles, tinged with both amusement and exasperation.

“I swear you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, but the smile that accompanies his words is soft, filled with affection.

The two of you share a quiet laugh, soft and intimate, like a shared secret. As the laughter fades, a comfortable silence settles over you both. His gaze locks with yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. The intensity in his eyes, the way they darken with something deeper, makes your breath hitch.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you murmur as you settle yourself back into the pillows.

“Goodnight, y/n,” his smile widens as his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he turns to leave the room. “If you need anything,” he adds, pausing at the door, “you know where to find me.”

As the door softly clicks shut behind him, you’re left alone in the dimly lit room—left to your thoughts.

Tomorrow holds so much for the both of you—decisions to be made, obstacles to overcome, and a new chapter in your lives to navigate together.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel alone. The burden isn’t yours to carry anymore. The thought brings a sense of peace, a calm that wraps around you as you pull the blankets closer, cocooning yourself in their warmth.

There’s still so much left unresolved, and the threat of Naoya looms large. But tonight, as you drift off to sleep, all you can think about is the way Satoru looked at you, the promise in his eyes that you’ll face whatever comes next together.

And somehow, that alone makes everything seem a little less daunting.

hi hi, thank you all so much for your kind words with this fic and for sticking around. this chapter was a lot for me to write, and i really kept second guessing it tbh. i think bc it's such a pivotal point in the story and it's pretty emotional, so i really wanna thank my lovely beta readers for helping me 💕 (@strychnynegirl & @gojoslefttoenail) hmm... who is this mysterious man that approached y/n at the gala? 🤔 i wonder if you guys can take a guess based on the description 😉 also of COURSE there is only ✨one bed✨ how can there NOT be? 🤭 i had a lot of fun writing their steamy kiss 😩 as much as i wanted them to do more i also wanna reiterate how much the slow burn in this story means to me. idk, with everything going on in y/n's life it didn't feel right for her to be like "cool lets fuck." especially since she still needed to tell satoru the truth, plus she is a mom with a kid and has been through a really shitty relationship. trust isn't something that just POOF appears yk? thanks for all your kind words and for reading!! school has been picking up for me, so again my updates will likely be longer in between. love you all 🥹 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans

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back2bluesidex · 8 months ago

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Slide - The Series [Masterlist]

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?.

Type: Drabble Series

Summary:

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"

Alternatively,

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: extreme angst, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of depression, so much pining, unrequited love au, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

A/N: here is the masterlist. the story is gonna to back to the past and then come back to the present. hence, I have classified it. Hope it makes things easy to understand. also, this is gonna be very fragmented. I will not go into detailing much - as in the details of their jobs, family and stuff like that. this story will mainly revolve around Yoongi and reader's feelings towards each other and their bad decisions. That's all. AND please tell me if I have missed anyone's name in the taglist despite being requested. thanks <3

Taglist requests are closed for now

One time for the present ~

1. Slide - The Beginning

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

2. Slide - The Ultimate Decision

Worst decisions are always driven by anger and alcohol; but sometimes those are also driven by Love.

3. Slide - The Other Side

No matter how much Yoongi had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you.

4. Slide - The Consequence

You are no different than the cigarette between his lips - half-burnt and waiting to be turned into ashes bit by bit with time.

5. Slide - The Dream

You have been so selfish and as a result - you get punished.

6. Slide - The Regret

For the first time in his 31 years of life - Min Yoongi is regretting. And the reason behind his regret circles around you.

7. Slide - The Trial

You have some questions and Yoongi has no answer.

8. Slide - The Vacation

Yoongi finally finds an answer to all of his questions.

9. Slide - The Realization

Yoongi dreams of you... dreams of a family with you.

10. Slide - The Reconciliation

“There was never a time when I wasn’t yours.”

11. Slide - The Finale

Tonight when he kisses you, it’s not a goodbye, rather it’s a promise of forever.

Two times for the past ~

1. Slide - The Prequel

You would never think twice before picking Yoongi up from streets even if it means losing your own sanity in return.

2. Slide - That Night

You would give yourself up willingly again and again if it means Yoongi will stay close to you. for whatever purpose.

Special Chapters ~

1. Slide - The Christmas Gift [Meant for Patreon only]

The third Christmas with Yoongi turns out to be something unexpected.

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @purpleanchorcrown @armystay89

Requested Tags:

@ktownshizzle @ilys00ga @marihoneywk @yoongisoftface @sugaslittlekookies @joonwater @geminiml95 @ramicherie @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @avawants2havefun @artemisdoe @jimintaemin @cuntessaiii

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regulus-lantsov · 4 months ago

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⁺｡˚⋆˙Imagine being named like a tank ? | OP81⁺｡˚⋆˙

pairing: Charles Leclerc x iceskater!user ( she her ),

genre: social media au,

warnings: Cursing, overuse of the word bitch 'affectionate' , Charles getting bullied

summary: in which Charles is getting bullied by his best friend but doesn't care because he is a simp

fc: Evgenia Medvedeva

instagram ->

liked by pierregasly, alexandratrusova and many others

yourusername : Imagine being the sidekick of your dog ? Lame I would neeever. Happy birthday idiot, bitch or whatever

tagged : charles_leclerc

pierregasly : 🍿🍿

charles_leclerc : Pierre ?? You are supposed to support me ?? pierregasly : sorry but Leo is pretty cool

charles_leclerc : Day 100 342 or getting bullied by my best friend ...

yourusername : Imagine being lame and counting the days where your incredible best friend dedicace a whole fucking thread for your ? charles_leclerc : Imagine swearing on your Instagram account ? I would never yourusername : Blocked.

user7 : A friendship like that pretty please :)

user6 : A friendship ??? Let's be for real man. If something he is just a pathetic one trying to get in yn pants user7 : Gross, that's people like you that makes boy and girl friendship impossible

lando : Quit being his best frend I am looking for one

yourusername : If you quit being akward around Oscar charles_leclerc : Back off, I called dibs first oscarpiastri : Why am I brought into this ? lando : Nevermind

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, pierregasly and many others

charles_leclerc : Imagine being so lame that you show your best friend on live TV after getting silver ??? Could never be me

tagged : yourusername, alinazagitova

yourusername : BITCH

yourusername : Imagine being so lame that you can't even put a single step on the ice ???

sebastianvettel : I guess she roasted you charles_leclerc : SEBASTIAN ? YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE sebastianvettel : Sorry I don't know how to reply to a comment, Pierre didn't tell me how to. charles_leclerc : Okay fair enough charles_leclerc : WAIT NO WHAT

user1 : Pretty pretty pretty

charles_leclerc liked this comment

user2 : Charles is way much stronger than I am

user8 : When he is roasting you on Internet >>>>

liked by charles_leclerc, alexandratrusova, lando and many others

yourusername : When your best friend ask you to go with him to the FIA awards so you accept because you can gossip with pierregasly and georgerussell

tagged : pierregasly, georgerussell, dior and charles_leclerc

pierregasly : Yes yes yes gossip time

georgerussell : 🍵🍵 yourusername : I'll be so british and sip the tea

charles_leclerc : Lame ass you begged me to be my plus one

lando : Can I gossip ?

yourusername : No we are gossiping about yo and Oscar oscarpiastri : Once again why am I brought there ?

user19 : HOT AS HELL

user : Rocking Dior more than anyone rocked Dior

Twitter ->

Instagram ->

liked by yourusername, pierregasly and many others

charles_leclerc : Okay, well perhaps she is my girlfriend ... At least she wears red

Ferrari : She'll get Pr training

yourusername : I'll not charles_leclerc : If my girl don't want it then she won't do it <3

yourusername : AHA LAME GIRLFRIEND APPRECIATION LOSER

charles_leclerc : I am breaking up with you pierregasly : NO I WON'T DO 10 YEARS OF PINNING AGAIN

user3 : Pierre has suffered from it

user9 : Do I want to be her or be with her ?

yourusername : Now Lando and Oscar you kiss please

lando : BITCH SHUT UP oscarpiastri : ???

liked by pierregasly, alexandratrusova, oscarpiastri and others

yourusername : Yeah well apparently I have a boyfriend

tagged : charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc : See how she treats me ? Not a single picture were we see my face ?

yourusername : I just date you for Leo duh not your lame face charles_leclerc : Okay, I see how it is next race I'll go and kiss Pierre instead pierregasly : I am waiting babygirl charles_leclerc : .... Yn save me

oscarpiastri : My brother and mother >>>> my father

charles_leclerc : Will someone ( not Pierre ) stand with me ? lando : No <3

yourusername : I love you, I guess. Ugh.

charles_leclerc : Someone screenshot that

user6 : so cute

#f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc #pierre gasly #f1 smau #smau #f1 fanfic #ferrari #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc smau #masterlist #one shot #piarles #messing around #and landoscar

849 notes · View notes

peachsayshi · 11 months ago

Text

₊ ⊹ . ݁ MILLION DOLLAR BABY ₊ ⊹ .

(sex worker!suguru geto x rich girl!reader)

⊹ tags: suguru geto x female reader; nanami kento x satoru; sukuna is reader's ex; character mentions: yuki, mei mei, shoko, toji; alludes to dd/lg relationship (very very mildly) with sukuna; a mix of angst/smut/fluff; domestic; non curse au; reader was in a toxic relationship; reader has daddy issues a bit lol; mentions of troubled past; mentions of death (parental)

:about: you grew up in a supremely wealthy household, but that came with a price. you’ve never had control over your own life, and now your father is set to marry you off. luckily, there's someone else who captures your heart. what does it matter that you pay him for his company?

:note: hi, everyone! this story is finally here, and it's one that's taken me forever to work but I actually loved this piece. I haven't been excited about something I've written in a while. I hope it lives up to all your expectations. comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3 - this fic is one shot, and I am willing to explore stories with the side characters. I'll happily answer any lore questions regarding sex worker geto x rich girl reader, but there will not be a part two or more parts of their story. It is a standalone.

wc: 14K+

The ceiling is covered with hanging irises, each one carefully handcrafted in paper. Edison bulbs dip down from between in staggering heights, illuminating the bar around you in warm light. It’s crowded tonight, clinking glasses and roaring laugher bouncing off the walls and clashing against the bass coming through the speakers. You scan the crowd, anticipation making your stomach flutter, but it quickly eases when you spot a head of golden hair among the audience.

Nanami is at the bar, looking dapper as usual in a chocolate brown suit offset by a cream colored shirt. He’s drinking a whiskey when you approach him, the amber liquid mirroring the touch of bronze on his cheekbones. You sling your designer purse off your shoulder (the latest splurge of the week) and slide into the seat right next to him.

“And how was your vacation?” you ask, greeting him with a question and noticing his mouth draw into a firm line.

“Let’s not talk about it,” he insists, his eyes a little sad which only makes your stomach ache at the sight.

He’s your closest friend - the only real friend you have. Kento Nanami doesn’t carry two faces. He sticks to the one that he has. As one of the top investors in the country, he made a name by keeping the rich wealthy. He loathes his job and the pressures surrounding it - a walking hypocrite for despising the life that lines his pockets.

He can’t find an escape no matter how hard he tries.

And that's why you’re both two peas in a pod.

He does, however, like you - not because of your background, but because you don’t try to be something that you are not as well. In a world where you are surrounded by parasites, Kento proved to be a nearly extinct butterfly, quietly fluttering by your side as you both drift across the harsh jungle around you.

You concede, knowing better than to push his buttons. “Okay, I guess we aren’t talking about it…”

“Tell me something else. Do you ever know how to walk into the room and not be the center of attention?”

You smirk as he calls the waiter over. Your presence easing the twinge of disdain on his face.

“What are you trying to say, hmm?”

“You look nice tonight. New dress?”

“New dress, new bag, new nails...” you list off, showing off each expensive purchase as you check them off your list.

Nanami shakes his head playfully before ordering your usual once the bartender approaches. He angles his body towards you and breathes out a heavy sigh.

“How are you?” He asks, genuine concern masking his face.

Your shoulders drop. “I don’t want to talk about it…”

His expression softens, one hand moving to touch your thigh exposed by the slit of your dress.

“When do you meet Naoya?”

He’s the only other person who knows about the pending engagement. The only person who offered you a way out by proposing instead. Despite his stance within the social community, you know that it’s not an offer that you can easily accept.

Kento wasn’t bred into this world, and that makes all the difference.

Your father would never accept a man from such a humble background. Especially not one whose offer wouldn't benefit him by any means.

“A few weeks from now,” you reply, eyes shifting to the bartender who passes your drink towards you. “He’s given my father specifications on how I should be presented…”

Your friend scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Pardon my vulgarity but he just sounds like the kind of guy who wants to swing his dick around. I’m surprised he hasn’t shown up tonight…”

The opening of the Ayame Lounge & Bar was invite only, exclusive to socialites and the elite. You know that Naoya must have received an invitation, everyone from the Zen’in family was here in attendance including the infamous outcast Toji.

“He wouldn’t be caught dead here,” you inform, picking up your beverage and taking a small sip. “Naoya likes to uphold “tradition” but we all know it’s just a facade.”

Kento’s thumb strokes your skin tenderly, worry ingrained in his gentle eyes.

The two of you spend the night talking, catching up on the little things since his return from a two week vacation in Malaysia. He keeps the conversation light, telling you about his fantastic accommodation and all the food that he ate while he was away. In between you find yourself glancing over his shoulder, your eye on the crowd taking in the people around you.

That’s when you spot him, standing just a few feet away, looking like a demigod among mere aristocrats. His hair is pulled back into a neat bun, a layer of his bangs kissing his forehead. His face is serious, jaw tight and eyes sharp as he focuses on his white haired counterpart. The black tee hugs his torso, his neat slacks cinched by the waist with a leather belt. You can’t help but bite your bottom lip, your mind drifting away from the conversation at hand.

Your friend notices, of course. Kento is so tuned in to everything around him that he almost can’t help himself. He glances over his shoulder to see what caught your attention, only to instantly turn back around and stare at the whiskey glass on the table.

The tips of his ears burn red.

You register the response, knowing exactly what struck him to react in that way.

Satoru Gojo - former porn star, turned model, turned mega influencer. With a follower count in the hundreds of millions, he is the world’s hottest it boy. Nobody can deny his sheer beauty - whenever he walks into a room, he manages to steal a glance from every single person within his vicinity. Due to a rare genetic condition, his sapphire blue eyes and frosty white hair earned him the title of “The Prince”, and the people were desperate to share a place by his side.

Suguru and Satoru were also the best of friends, a fact that Suguru revealed to you one night in bed. The two of them met on set, back when Satoru was still doing adult films. At the time, Suguru was just a camera man and it was Satoru who told him he could increase his earnings if he just performed instead.

You remember telling Suguru: “it’s crazy how quickly his life changed”

“Some people are just lucky,” he responded, though you easily picked up the bitterness laced in his words.

What most people don’t know is that Satoru Gojo is also involved with the man seated right next to you. You stumbled upon Nanami’s secret affair by accident when the two of you attended a resort opening by hotel heiress, Yuki Tsukumo. Everyone was invited to stay overnight for the weekend, and the morning after your first night there, you walked over towards Nanami’s room to grab some breakfast. He greeted you in a grey robe with his hair tousled, with hickeys trailing the side of his neck. You quirked a brow in his direction, your mouth forming into a blatant circle when you found Satoru Gojo fast asleep on his bed right behind him.

The man in question looks away from Suguru towards you and Kento. His brows lifting in surprise when he spots your golden haired friend, but your eyes rest on Suguru who gestures that he will catch Satoru around.

They both walk in opposite directions.

You take a sip of your drink, your eyes shifting to Nanami.

“You’ve got about five seconds to figure out what you want to say because Satoru is walking over here as we speak,” you inform.

He exhales and straightens his back, his guard entirely up.

You smile at Satoru when he approaches you, his pearly whites radiant as always.

“Hi!” He says casually, though you can hear a touch of apprehension in his voice. “Mind if I cut in?”

“Not at all!” you respond, “Can I get you a refill?”

His cheeks blush a subtle shade of pink, the tiny gesture making you understand how easily it is to fawn over such a beautiful face. “It’s just soda, but sure”

“Not drinking tonight?” You continue, glancing between him and Nanami as you wait for your friend to interject.

“Actually, I’m three years sober,” he explains.

“Good for you!” You cheer honestly, before turning to the bartender and ordering him another soda.

From your peripheral vision you see him inch closer towards your friend.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” he states, though his voice comes across as a little small.

“I’ve been busy,” Nanami curtly replies, and your brows furrow at his unusual tone.

“Too busy to even say hi?” Satoru continues, his voice low enough that only the three of you can hear each other.

“Aren’t you here with a date?” Nanami chides, glancing up at him with a mocking eye.

“Utahime isn’t my date, we both got invited together by our agency…” Satoru answers through gritted teeth. “Besides, I was hoping to spend time with you. I haven’t heard from you since Kuantan…”

Nanami’s face burns an even brighter shade of crimson, the intimacy of Satoru’s comment flaring his humiliation.

“Come on,” the white haired prince teases, attempting to ease the discomfort. “Don’t be such a grump. Let’s go outside. Get a little fresh air.”

You can see that people are starting to stare at the three of you.

Wherever Satoru goes, eyes follow him.

While he may be immune to the attention, you can clearly see that Nanami is not.

“No, thank you.”

“What? You going to make me beg?” Satoru presses cheekily, but there is a twinge of desperation in his voice.

“Begging is not difficult for somebody like you,” Nanami bites, and you can’t help but glare at him in shock.

“Kento!” you chastise, but the look on his face speaks volumes.

Regret.

Instantaneous Regret.

In front of him is a visible hurt that breaks Satoru’s face, like paint slowly chipping away. His eyes gloss over, and he anxiously rubs his hand over the back of his undercut before excusing himself and turning on his heel.

Nanami covers his face with his palm, while you can only stare at him in disbelief.

“How can you say that to him? I thought you liked him!” You whisper.

“I-I didn’t mean to-”

“You act like you’re ashamed of him whenever he’s around you…”

Nanami avoids your eye, “How do you think this makes me look? I can’t have people seeing us together. I don’t want the world to swallow me up just because he prefers being gawked at by everyone around him”

“That’s his job - it’s how he earns a living. I can’t believe you would degrade him over it,” you shake your head, unaware of where your sudden defenses are coming from.

“I know that…”

“Is that why you don’t want to talk about your trip? Did something happen?”

The man grows quiet, a sigh escaping him.

“I broke up with him”

“You what?” You gasp.

“It'll never work. Our lives are too different”

“You didn’t even give him a chance, Ken. He likes you. He really, really likes you.”

“What chance is there to give? My life would come apart because of him. He would never be truly mine. I would have to share him with the rest of the world day in and day out. And the worst part is that…what should be intimate between us will never be ours either. Do you know that he’s still the highest streamed porn star in the world-”

“He’s just a person. A person like me and you. Neither one of us chose this life. I didn’t ask to be born into my family, and you weren’t asked to save yours from debt. Yet, here we are. Existing in a world that we had to carve out for ourselves. Don’t you think the same applies to him?”

You take another sip of your drink, your cheeks warming with anger at your friend’s condescending tone towards Satoru.

Although, you find your reasons for defending him to be far more self serving.

“So what if he sells his body? That’s his choice to make. Does it change anything else about him? Does it change his feelings for you?” You lecture, “I can’t believe that you be this ungrateful over skewed morals. If you both care about each other, there is no reason why you can’t be together. Take it from somebody who’ll probably never get the chance. This isn’t something you want to simply let go of, Kento. You’ll regret this decision for the rest of your life.”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Nanami downs his whiskey and excuses himself then, your words stinging the microscopic cuts on his heart. You find yourself a little flustered after watching him walk away, unsure of where that outburst even came from.

The eyes surrounding you look away.

You know you’ve given everyone within your peripheral area a story to gossip about. One that would be twisted and chewed until there is no morsel of truth left in it.

Your drink gives you enough liquid courage to socialize and face the music instead.

You steer your way through the crowd hoping to find one person in particular, but instead you are caught among the net of cliques, old faces, and fake friends. You manage to bypass any pointed questions, passing through each conversation with a forced grin and entertaining the discussions at hand with fluffy anecdotes and petty rumours.

When you walk away, you know full well that there will be whispers behind your back.

That’s the give and take about this world. Everyone is a vulture secretly waiting to witness the rise and fall of those around them. It’s a vicious circle, which is why nobody ever reveals their true hand in the process.

You glance around the room, honing in on the handsome dark haired boy you’ve grown entirely too attached too except you spot someone else in between who makes your spine seize.

Your toes curl in your pointed heels.

Your heart stutters unsteadily.

Blushed strands, a wolfish grin, and a broad build - Sukuna always takes up far more room than he needs.

You personally believe it’s because his ego is so massive it requires that extra space.

You haven’t seen the man in five years, not after the messy relationship that that followed your even messier break up.

You should have known better than to get involved with him while still so young.

You remember that version of you. When you first met Sukuna, you were a small rabbit who had accidentally hopped its way into a lone wolf’s den. Twenty one and just embracing the glitz and glamor of the world around you. The man was charming, flirtatious and most of all dangerous. You couldn’t help but return to his lair, especially when he would take the time and effort to approach you at every function, party and gathering that you attended. When you think about your relationship with Sukuna, it fills you with shame until you can only drown in it. There is a reason why you’ve kept it a secret for so long. Even staring at him right now, the dishonor hangs on your shoulder like a weighted sin that you’re burdened to carry for the rest of your life. Every time it hits, the memories play like a movie on hyper speed.

How often you allowed him to spill his seed all over your body. How often he brought you to tears with his tongue between your legs. How often you would moan the words “daddy” over and over again while riding him. How often you let him manipulate your heart. How often you let him convince you that you were happy.

That twisted relationship was testament to how broken you were.

You didn’t even know about his wife who lived in Kyoto until it was far too late.

Your instinct tells you to turn on your heel and walk in the other direction, but you catch Suguru just up ahead in the crowd and your courage outweighs your hesitation.

You manage to stride past Sukuna, a darting feline scurrying towards the safety of a shadow. Your hammering heart steadies itself when the trail of his strong cologne is a safe distance behind you. You nervously clutch onto the strap of your purse, exhaling a quick breath before marching up to Suguru.

You tap his shoulder twice.

He spins around, eyes lifting as a smile spreads across his handsome face.

Like a full moon on a clear night sky.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise.”

“I sure hope so,” you remark, biting your bottom lip playfully as you glance at your own feet.

Suguru chuckles, taking a step closer. “It is.”

You glance up at him from underneath your lashes, your heart vibrating with pure excitement. You think it’s silly to have such a schoolgirl infatuation over him, especially since you understood the terms that surrounding your relationship.

You pay him for his company.

You aren’t supposed to have a crush on man who you employ to have to sex with you.

Yet, your gut tells you otherwise. Convinces you that the softness in which he speaks is reserved only for you.

“Are you here with anyone?” You ask a little breathlessly, hoping that you weren’t interrupting him working.

Suguru shakes his head.

“Satoru invited me,” he clarifies, and it’s an answer that only makes you giddy.

“Oh!” You squeak, “well that’s nice. It’s a really exclusive party, make sure you to take it in…”

His eyes blatantly fall over you, cascading down your body like ink dripping over a canvas.

Your cheeks warm.

He’s not even hiding that he’s checking you out, and it triggers the wild desire within you.

“Are you here alone?” He questions.

You nod your head, knowing full well that Kento is probably in the midst of a heated conversation with his distraught lover and won’t be returning anytime soon.

“Why don’t you join us then?” He adds, cocking his head to point at the table behind him.

You glance over his shoulder, barely recognizing the crowd.

A fact that seems ideal to you.

“I’d love to,” you say with a pretty smile, all the while Suguru’s eyes continue sparkling.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The last time you saw Suguru was a few weeks ago, where your heavy heart spilled the news of your pending engagement.

“An arranged marriage, huh?” he whispered in the dark, his sharp eyes dipping to your naked chest while his delicate fingers carefully pushed the bedsheet further down to your hips.

You inched a little closer into his frame, soaking in the outlines of his chiseled torso and bringing one finger to trace little shapes on his broad shoulder.

Your brows furrowed with annoyance, “yeah, ever heard of the Zen’in family?”

Suguru scoffed, breaking character for only a second but it’s something that you’ve caught him doing more recently. He doesn’t hold his reactions around you as tightly as he used to. The front of this alter ego that he created faltering, which is probably why you find yourself drawn to the person existing underneath the mask of the seducer.

You sigh before continuing your explanation, “my father thinks Naoya Zen’in is a perfect match for me.”

An uneasy expression flickered across Suguru’s face, but he suppresses it before allowing it to linger.

You lifted yourself up onto your elbow and rest your cheek on your palm. “What is it?”

Suguru mirrors your position, his large hand gliding back and forth over the slope of your hips and waistline which sent goosebumps all over your body. “I’ve heard that Naoya…” Suguru stated, pinching the pads of his fingers lightly against your flesh before leaning forward to kiss the crease between your brows, “can be a handful to deal with…”

You thread your fingers around his neck, your lips finding his jaw where you return a kiss. “And who told you that?” you murmured as the weight of Suguru’s body rolls on top of yours.

You were staring at his devastatingly handsome face from below. The longer you spent time with him the more you began to wonder about his circumstances and a reoccurring thought crossed your mind once more.

Suguru could truly be anything he wanted, but instead he was here making a killing off of fucking lonely women and porn videos.

You don’t judge his choices, but you couldn't help but feel puzzled by the situation especially when you knew the trajectory of his best friend’s career path.

One photo shoot at a mid-level fashion brand skyrocketed Satoru Gojo’s career and made him a household name. Yet, Suguru Geto was a taboo that was whispered behind closed doors.

“I have a client who likes to gossip,” he admitted.

That’s all you got because Suguru kept everything else about his clients confidential. You shivered when his mouth met your neck, his lips sucking along the tender skin that sent goosebumps all over your chest, but there’s an ache in your heart when you consider that if it wasn’t for the signed cheque in your purse, he wouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Not a single man you’ve met in the world compared to Suguru. You’ve never known how sweet lovemaking can be until he fucked you for the time. Not only was he beautiful beyond comprehension, but he was charming and extremely smart. You found yourself enjoying his company beyond physical purposes, and conversations with him turned out to be one of your favorite ways to pass time.

“Think we’ll still get together when you’re a missus?” he teased, his lips trailing lower to your collar bones and hovering just a above your breasts.

The thought of you getting married only made you sick.

“Do you peg me as a terrible wife? a woman who would happily cheat on her husband?” you questioned, your voice trembling when Suguru circled his lips around your hard nipple.

He hummed, drawing out a whimper when he nipped at the bud lightly, his tongue gliding over the hardened nub.

“No,” he answered, his voice dropping an octave and your mind swirled when you contemplate if that strange tone is actually jealousy. He rested his chin on your chest, his inky hair framing his face in a waterfall of obsidian. “I do, however, peg Naoya as a terrible husband.”

You sank your fingers into his locks, “it doesn’t matter who my father chooses. All these men are the same. Naoya is no worse than the rest. I’m trapped regardless…”

It was the first time you allowed yourself to think about Sukuna when in bed with Suguru. The first time you thought about the last four years and the many men who tried to weasel their way into your heart just for the sake of obtaining status. The discomfort is written plainly on your face. Suguru doesn’t know that seeking him out was your way of taking matters into your own hands, even in just the smallest way.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he responded sincerely, the kindness in his voice the reason why your eyes prick with tears.

You sniffled, using your free hand to wipe away a rogue droplet that freely falls down your cheek. Suguru adjusted his position so he was lying by your side. He didn't say anything but draws you into his chest for a hug, enveloping you in his warmth. You tried hard not to consider the reality of the situation, and accept the gesture freely as you cuddle him.

But the moment of peace is interrupted by a loud vibration. You and Suguru both perked up to stare at his phone buzzing on the side table.

Your heart sank.

Another client.

Suguru reached his arm around to grab the phone, and you closed your eyes to inhale his natural scent, trying to soak him in for as long as you can before he leaves you like he’s done many times before.

To your surprise he simply switched it off, before proceeding to wrap his arm back around you to return to his position.

“You sure you don’t need to take that?” you mumbled, trying to play off your disappointment as casually as possible.

“I’m booked out for the rest of the evening,” he answered nonchalantly, “there’s no reason to respond.”

A tickle in your belly sent sparks all over your skin. “but your cheque only covers the hours we agreed on…”

Two fingers touched the underside of your chin, and Suguru tilted your head up so you were both face to face again. “Don’t worry about it,” he consoled, his thumb lightly outlining your bottom lip, “this is on the house.”

What bliss it was to fall asleep in his arms that night. You recall waking up right before dawn to find him in deep slumber, his strong arm draped protectively across your body with the heat cocooning you from the rest of the world.

Disappointment shattered you the next morning, when you were greeted by the sun and an empty bed.

You’re not sure when Suguru had snuck out, but you were puzzled to find that your cheque was still tucked away safely in your purse.

It was the first time he walked away without any payment.

You still vividly remember his reaction when he met you just a little over a year ago.

“You’re young,” he blurted, his eyes widening with confusion.

“We’re around the same age,” you replied defensively, already feeling insecure for having hired him after spending weeks watching his videos. You didn’t even know about his house calls until you heard it from a source within your social circle. "Is this how you greet all your clients?”

Suguru raised his brow in contemplation, “my other clients don’t look like you…”

Over time you learned that he catered to a specific demographic: older divorcees and cheating housewives.

The person you might turn into years from now if this marriage goes through.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

After that night you told yourself that you would schedule another meeting with Suguru to compensate him for his last session.

Right now, all you can think about is your heart hammering when Suguru subtly interlaces his fingers with your own, and leads you through the crowd until you both find a safe spot on the corner of the lounge chair. His group is far too engrossed in their own conversations to notice you both, drunk on the buzzing night and enjoying the many amenities of this exclusive party.

“You look nice,” you compliment, catching Suguru’s attention while trying to ignoring his knees bumping against yours.

“As do you,” he replies, his voice smoother than velvet. “But you don’t need me to tell you that you’re gorgeous.”

Oh but I do, you think, masking your excitement with a giggle and casual roll of your eyes. I could hear you tell me that forever.

Suguru shyly looks down at his lap, hiding his own smile.

It’s strange, you think, how the two of you are talking. Like this man hasn’t been inside you multiple times and made you cum until you can’t think straight. Like he doesn’t know your body in the most intimate sense.

Like you don’t fund a decent chunk of his salary.

“Are you enjoying the party?”

Suguru shrugs, “It’s not too bad. Though, I’m not one for big crowds if I am being completely honest...”

“Makes sense. I don’ get a kick out of it as much as I used to.”

Suguru angles his body to face you, giving you his full attention. “Why’s that?”

You sigh, your hands suddenly feeling empty without a drink. You sling your purse off your shoulder and place it between you both, before proceeding to fiddle with the fabric of your dress instead.

You can lie, but you don’t know how.

Well, you don’t know how to lie with him.

Something about starting this contract with Suguru unveiled a level of vulnerability in you that you can’t seem to hide. The first night you both spent together you were a nervous wreck, stumbling and bumbling over words trying to find excuse after excuse as to why a woman of your age would even hire him. By your third appointment, you asked if he could be slow and gentle with you, the emotional scars of your previous relationship a stinging wound. You were desperate for tenderness, and Suguru obliged with your request. By the end you found yourself reaching your climax with tears in your eyes.

If you were to list out more moments like this, you would simply go on and on.

You can’t hide your truth with Suguru when it was the first thing you’ve ever shown him.

“Because it’s a constant reminder that I can be in a room full of people I know and still feel incredibly alone…” you mumble, your gaze catching his.

His hand finds your thighs, the warmth of his large palm burning through the fabric of your dress.

“You’re not alone tonight, sweetheart,” he reassures.

“You don’t have to be so nice…” you insist, suddenly self conscious over his flattery. The same sweetness he bestows upon you when you’re both locked away in a hotel room somewhere, but you didn’t sign off on any bonus transactions tonight.

He squeezes your thigh and tilts his head. “But I like being nice to you”

He says it so matter of factly it almost makes you faint.

Your brows upturn with confusion. “Why?”

His touch expands upward, grazing over the curve of your thigh, bunching the material of your dress between his fingers. He leans closer, the scent of bergamot wafting up your nose and kissing your neck.

“Look there,” he states, and you follow the line of his gaze.

“That woman has been married for fifteen years and her husband never got her off once. And that woman…” he continues, shifting his eyes from body to body, “has a birth mark just above her hip bone. And at the table right behind us,”

When you turn your face you accidentally bump into the tip of his nose.

“...are two sisters who pretend they get along well but are currently in a massive fight over their inheritance”

Your stomach coils with jealousy. “Acquaintances of yours?”

Suguru leans back slightly, giving you both room to breathe.

“Yes, clients…” he confirms, “there’s a few of them here tonight, but you’re the only one who acknowledges me. I’m just a dirty little secret to the rest.”

Your envy dwindles into sympathy, and you can’t help but let the question slip.

“How does that make you feel?”

There’s a twitch in Suguru’s jaw, a hint of scarred pride. You know he has plenty of it, he just hides it well.

The man shrugs, averting his sharp gaze as he downs the rest of his drink. “It is what it is”

Oh, but that response doesn’t nothing to help your heart, the muscle practically screaming at your brain to do so something and make him feel better.

Mindlessly, you loop both arms around his bicep, casually resting your chin on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way...”

You’re not sure why you’re apologizing, but you’re hoping it’ll mean something to him. He turns to face you, and if he inched a little closer he could probably kiss you.

“You are an enigma to me”

“In what way?”

He brushes his lips past your own, making you catch your breath for a moment. His mouth trails its way up to your ear, and he whispers a sentence that sends goosebumps running all over your body.

“In the way that how a woman like you can fit in a life like this”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The night carries on, the pulse of hedonism sending reverberations across the establishment. The crowd grows larger, the air a potion of liquor, expensive cologne, sweat and pleasure. The lights dim, inducing everyone into the trance of the ambience set around them, allowing them to indulge and consume. Your conversation with Suguru feels like minutes, but two whole hours pass with the both you concealed from the crowd. You’re almost mesmerized by him when he talks, cast under an entirely different spell that seems to effect nobody else. His touches turn more intimate the longer you speak, with Suguru securing his arm around your waist and leaning back against the chair as he keeps you tucked into his frame.

That’s another thing you started noticing - how this man likes to hold you.

He even did it when you were in bed together last.

And the time before that.

And the time before that-

If you weren’t surrounded by so many eyes you would simply curl into him, but you find yourself restraining while thinking of what excuse might work to get you both out of here because you just want to be alone with him.

“Can I get you a drink?” Suguru offers, a wave of disappointment rolling into you as he untangles himself slowly.

“Just some water...”

Suguru kisses the inside of your wrist with the reassurance that he’ll be right back, but the public display only makes your cheeks bloom with endearment.

“Got it”

When he stands up and walks away is when you notice how the crowd around you has dispersed. Most of Suguru’s party were gone - standing either by the bar or caught in the middle of the dance floor. You can see that there were a few shifty eyes staring at you, and a lump forms in your throat when you realize that by allowing yourself to melt into Suguru it meant that you revealed your weakness to the rest of the wild.

You take a second to readjust - fixing the hem of your dress before pulling out your pocket mirror and reapplying your lipstick. You fight off any anxious thoughts, sticking a big metaphorical middle finger to whoever was watching you with any hint of judgement.

Your care for Suguru outweighed their own by tons.

You just didn’t know how far you had let your guard down until a strange shadow veils over you.

“Red still looks good on you.”

Your heart doesn’t sink, it seizes, collapses into itself when you drop the mirror in your hand. His dark chuckle makes your spine tingle with unease. Sukuna kneels to pick up your mirror, his devilish smiling greeting you as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, huffing out another laugh when you snatch the pocket mirror from his hand and quickly throw your things back into your purse.

“I have to go.”

You bolt onto your feet, only to pause when his contact scorches your forearm.

“What’s the rush? I’m just saying hi.”

You shrug him off aggressively, eyes violent and full of fury.

“I don’t want to say hi to you. As a matter of fact, I hope that we never have to speak again.”

“C’mon doll, don’t be like that. It’s water under the bridge…”

His nonchalance enrages in you ways that you can’t describe, but rather than make a scene you smoothly shove him aside before uttering “asshole” and storming off towards the bar.

Your frantic eyes search for your solace, of the man who can suture any wound that’s in desperate need of healing. You spot him from behind, noticing that he is speaking to a friend, his shoulder leaning on the bar as he patiently waits to pick up the drinks like he promised. Refusing to look back because you know Sukuna is probably on your trail, you breathe out your apprehension to compose yourself and keep one hand securely on your purse before steadily making your way towards to Suguru.

You hear the two of them as you draw closer, unintentionally eavesdropping on the conversation at hand.

“Who’s the chick?” his friend asks.

“A friend.” Suguru replies.

“Which friend?” they press.

“None of your business…”

“Ah, one of your desperate clients I’m guessing?”

You cease before making your presence known.

Stunned; your face boiling with embarrassment.

“Shut up.”

“It’s so obvious, Suguru-” his friend scoffs, “she’s practically crawling on your lap. It’s fucking pathetic, don’t you think?”

Pathetic?

The word splits you into half.

Is that how Suguru sees you?

Is that how everyone else does to?

Something clicks then, every memory and act of kindness tainted with the thought the man was simply pitying you. That the root of his good-hearted nature was merely sympathy towards a sad, broken little rich girl.

Suguru picks up the drink, mumbling a “fuck off” before turning on his heel only to find you standing there stupefied by his friend’s demeaning commentary. Only an idiot would assume that you probably didn’t hear a thing, but Suguru is far smarter than that. Whatever trace of the mask he’s been wearing dissipates then, and you see the genuine concern on his face. He parts his lips but you’re too wounded for an explanation, and you instantly dash past both of them, excusing yourself politely before speed walking your way towards the exit.

You can hear him call out your name, but there is no way you would let that man see you crying after what was just said.

Of course he doesn’t like me, you self-consciously deliberate, I pay him to fuck me.

I pay him to fucking like me.

A sob leaves you, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand as you rush past the bouncer and dart out the front door, leaving a crowd of people staring at you with confusion. All of them hoping to make their way inside.

“Must be drunk,” one person says, while another screams at the bouncer “hey, can you let us in?! Someone just left!”

You strut down the street, desperately trying to maintain your balance as you dab your eyes lest your tears ruin your make up. You hear someone call out your name, half hopeful that it might Suguru but when you glance over your shoulder all you see is the dreadful sight of your ex-boyfriend.

You keep walking. “Don’t follow me.”

Sukuna is quick to catch up, practically jogging down the street and you curse your choice in footwear for slowing you down.

“Then don’t keep running away.”

You halt, the man nearly colliding into you from behind.

“What?!” you spit out as you glare up at him. “What do you want from me?”

Sukuna arches his brow, the smell of whiskey sticking to him. “The fuck got you so worked up?”

You wipe away any leftover tears, your indignation towards this man overriding all other emotions.

“None of your fucking business…”

Sukuna reaches for your elbow, “Let’s not be testy. My car is in front of the bar. Let me take you home.”

You already caught that eye sore of a ridiculously expensive sports car when you stepped out of club. “I’d rather walk home barefoot on a bed of hot coals then go anywhere with you.”

“Don’t be like that, kitten…”

“Don’t,” you snapped, “call me that.”

“You know I still nothing but love for you, right?” He slurs mildly, “Let me take you back to my place and we can talk-”

His thumb grazes your elbow gently. Once upon a time you actually believed that his affection was real, but you’re older and wiser to know the truth now. “You miss my pussy,” you crudely admonish, “you don’t give a fuck about me.”

He pinches your elbow with mild irritation. “Why don’t you tuck those claws back. I’m trying to have a fucking conversation.”

“If a conversation is what you want, then speak to your fucking wife-” you hiss, striking a cord that makes Sukuna furrow his brows which brings you an odd sense of satisfaction.

His face falls.

You huff with approval.

“What?” your mock, “cat got your tongue?”

“Is everything alright?”

You and Sukuna both halt, your heads twisting to face whoever spoke with Sukuna letting go of you faster than you can even blink. You only catch a tiny glimpse of his fear, the terror that somebody caught him in the act.

Thankfully, it was only Suguru.

Your body hums with relief.

One hand is in his pocket, the other keeping a helmet tucked under his wing. His stance is relaxed but his irises are piercing daggers sinking into Sukuna’s skull.

“Everything’s fine-” Sukuna insists.

“Suguru,” you call out at the same time, instantly going to him and finding your place by his side.

The word pathetic hammers in the back of your mind but you need deal with one problem at a time, and right now you don’t care about looking desperate if it means escaping the shackles of Ryomen Sukuna.

Suguru’s eyes don’t leave your ex-lover, but he inches closer towards you to assert his ground.

Sukuna frowns, the expression on his face all too familiar.

You clutch Suguru’s sleeve, “Nothing to fret over. Do you mind taking me home?”

He turns to face you, a mixture of worry with a flare of anger on that handsome face.

“Yeah, I’ll take you home.”

“Tsk,” Sukuna grumbles with frustration, “Don’t cheapen yourself by fucking off with some whore…”

A static shock trickles each point of the triangle where you all stand. The hair on the back of your neck stands upright, your attention moving to Suguru whose entire face darkens with a fury that you’ve never seen before. He steps forward, his helmet dropping to his hand like he’s ready to wield it as a weapon, and the target is the spot on Sukuna’s skull that he’s been carefully observing. Your vision goes white imagining the outcome of this blow out, and you can practically hear the crack of the impact if Suguru follows through.

Despite how much he deserved it, you know just how powerful Sukuna is.

He would ruin Suguru without any remorse.

“Suguru,” you beg, stepping forward and clutching onto his shirt as you reel him away from the man before you.

His nostrils flare, the intoxicating poison of wrath swirling in his irises which quickly diffuses upon finding you.

“Take me home?” You softly repeat, earnest and sincere, all the while erasing Sukuna from your presence entirely.

It only takes a few seconds for Suguru to register your request, but he complies by reaching for your hand and knotting his fingers between your own. He grips it protectively, eyes looking straight ahead as he leads you down the street and far away from the chaos behind you.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The patter of your feet colliding onto the concrete surface echoes around you. A part of you is embarrassed, the other ashamed, a third grateful while a fourth shivers anxiously. You’re thankful that Suguru is at least allowing the silence to linger because it’s giving you a chance to settle from the roller coaster of emotions you just experienced. You try not to think about the pressure of his grip, or how the length of his fingers are wrapped securely around yours and instead piece together some semblance of an explanation worthy for him to listen to.

You eventually decide that you’ll just grab a cab back to your place. That you’ll thank Suguru for playing the role of rescuer, and hand off the cheque that you’ve been holding onto. You won’t be a burden, bother him any longer or a do anything else to force his empathy.

Suguru pauses in front of a jet black motorbike. The color itself blending into the darkness around you. You clear your throat ready to make your declaration, but you’re silenced when you feel the weight of his helmet press against your palms.

“Wear this,” he commands. “I’ll take you to my place.”

Your mouth goes slack, your practiced words shrinking to the back of your throat.

His place.

“Your place?” You find yourself whispering your thoughts out loud.

Suguru reaches for the handle of his bike, tapping his index finger against it, his back facing you. “If you want.”

He hops on before searching you for an answer. The look animates you back to reality and you nod your head before swiftly putting on the helmet. You find your place behind him, taking a second longer to adjust in your dress. You knot your arms around his waist, your eyes noting his exposed head.

“You don’t have a helmet.” You point out.

“I don’t live that far,” he answers back, “besides, I didn’t think I’d be traveling with precious cargo.”

He taps his palm over your clasped hands. “Hold tight for me, alright?”

You nod your head, covering your face with the shield visor before resting your cheek against his back.

Suguru takes off.

The wind whips against your bare arms, the pressure sweeping between your legs as Suguru swerves between each lane. The city blurs into vivid colors, only resurfacing when you come to an immediate halt at the traffic light. The adrenaline courses through your veins, the exhilarating sensation a thrill that you’ve never experienced before. Unfortunately, the journey was short lived and within twenty minutes you find yourself coming to a halt in an underground parking lot.

Suguru parks the bike, hopping off before reaching his hand out to assist you.

Your legs felt like jelly when it hits the surface, and you tumble on your own footing as Suguru reaches his other hand out to steady you by holding your waist.

“You okay? Was I going to fast?”

You take off the helmet, attempting to make yourself look somewhat presentable.

“No, no” you answer a little breathless, “that…that was actually kind of fun…”

“First time?”

You nod your head.

Suguru hums.

He takes the helmet away from you and directs you straight to the entrance of his apartment building. He pulls out an electronic key, and presses it against the elevator door. The elevator pings, the panels sliding open as you both step inside. Suguru clicks the button to his floor and you both stand on opposite sides watching the numbers go up.

Suguru lived in a newer development, you could tell when you walked through the hallway as he stands in front of his apartment door, and uses the same key to grant you both entrance.

As you enter the hallway, you’re greeted by a wall with mounted iron hooks. There’s five to be exact, each one holding a different helmet with one space empty. Suguru fits the helmet back onto the vacant spot, before glancing over his shoulder and finding you still by the door struggling to take off your heels.

He returns and kneels before you. His hands carefully moving your fingers away.

“Let me help with that”

“You don’t have to-” but you’re interrupted with him patting his thigh in gesture.

You bite your bottom lip and place one foot against him, careful not to dig your heel into him.

He delicately unravels the straps around your ankle and slips of the heel with a brush to the back of your calf, making the muscle twitch.

“Other foot,” he instructs, then repeats.

After placing your shoes neatly by the door, he stands up and reaches for your hand once more. “This way”

You take it warmly, and follow him while trying your best not to acknowledge the noticeable height difference with you two standing side by side.

You never paid much attention to it before, you didn't have too really considering you both spent most of your time together in parallel positions.

Suguru leads you into the living room, and a small gasp escapes you when you are met with floor to ceiling windows. The horizon is of the city skyline, but it’s half blocked by a decent size balcony which is covered in greenery. The scene contrasts the inside of Suguru’s apartment, which is more minimal. To your right is a small dining nook, the light above an accent piece that added some detail to the decor. To your left is a small furniture set, the sage green fabric making you avert your gaze with shame because your recognized that very same couch in most of Suguru’s videos.

You find yourself quickly staring at your feet.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea?”

“Tea would be great,” you answer back, returning to look directly at him from underneath your lashes. “Do you have anything herbal?”

“Mhmm.”

You follow him into the kitchen and realize that the man keeps his place meticulously clean. The back counter is what catches your attention the most. Suguru has a full serviced at home barista station set up for his own convenience. You pick out the coffee grinder, espresso machine, assortment of tea pots, jars of fresh leaves and coffee bags all neatly organized.

Suguru pulls out one jar with a hand written label that reads "lemon balm and chamomile".

You slip off your purse and place it on the counter behind him. “Did you make all these yourself?”

“My parents used to run a tea shop in Hokkaido,” he answers back.

“A tea shop?” You squeak, a little too excited from the morsel of information about his personal life that he just bestowed. “That must have been lovely…”

“It was,” he answers, his voice growing small.

You watch him fill the kettle with water, before placing it on the electric stove to warm up. He opens the jar, closing the gap of space between you both and lifts it to your nose.

“Take a deep breath in,”

You oblige, and inhale.

“Oh my,” you sigh out loud, your fingers subconsciously clasping over his own as your eyes flutter from the aroma of citrus, ginger, flora and subtle spice. It calms every firing nerve in your body. “That smells wonderful”

When you open them again, you see that Suguru is looking at you thoughtfully.

“It tastes good too,” he says proudly, and your heart glows at the reaction. “I was a terrible night owl as a kid. Still am, I guess. My mom used to make this to help me go to sleep…”

“That’s really sweet,” you admit, wondering how lovely it must be to be looked after with such care.

He slips away again, taking a spoon and putting a generous amount of the blend into a ceramic tea pot. You hear the tea bubble lightly, but your head spins as Suguru cages you in place while you both wait for it to reach the right temperature. Your back is against the counter, his arms by your side.

“That guy you were talking to. Who was that?” He questions, cutting right to the chase.

“Nobody important,” you confess, “he’s an asshole.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry about what he said to you. What he called you…”

Suguru’s fingers dig into the counter, making the muscles in his arms flex with irritation.

“Don’t apologize for him. Don’t apologize for any of them.” He firmly maintains. “Their words are empty to me...”

“You almost bashed his head in,” you point out, a tiny smile easing the tension binding around the man before you.

“I almost bashed his head because of the way he spoke to you-”

Your eyes widen.

Was he being protective? You think, but shake your head when you think of what kind of pitiful state you must have been that would cause Suguru to react in such a way.

Pathetic.

Your shoulders dwindle slightly and you shake it off to gather yourself once more.

“He was a terrible mistake. I was young, and stupid. I thought I knew better when I really had no fucking clue…”

You didn’t realize how bitter you sounded until two fingers press underneath your jaw.

His thumb taps your chin in a featherlight touch. “Is it over? Whatever it was?”

“Of course,” you answer, the truth acrid on your tongue. “I’m to marry Naoya Zen’in, remember?”

Suguru frowns. “He’s no better. I told you that myself.”

You circle your hand around his wrist. “I’ll take anyone over Sukuna. Even if that person is Naoya…”

“Why can’t you just choose?”

You press your lips together and sigh. “Because it’s a transaction. I’m a token in my father’s universe. If he weds me off to the Zen’in’s then it’s profitable. Good for business…”

“I’m sure if you speak with him, he’ll understand-”

“Don’t be so naive,” you answer as you return to meet his gaze. “My father doesn’t love me. He just owns me. I spent most of my adolescence alone while he was busy working or galavanting off with his mistress. I think he assumed that if he kept shoving money my way, I wouldn’t notice his absence…”

The kettle sings, making you both jump in place as the water bubbles aggressively and a small spiral of steam releases from the lip. Suguru returns to making your beverage. Picking up the kettle and pouring the hot water into the pot. He places it on a tray, along with a beautiful cup.

“The tea needs a couple of minutes to steep. In the meanwhile, I’m going to change into something more comfortable.” He announces, “You want some spare clothes?”

You look down at your designer frock, the material snug on your body.

“Yeah, I’d like that”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Suguru’s white shirt falls to your mid thigh, the material a little see through and revealing the bra you had on underneath. You eye the pair of worn boxers he handed to you to wear as shorts, but slyly tuck your bottom lip between your teeth before leaving it behind and walking out with your bare legs on display.

You’re not quite sure what the plan is here, but you don't see yourself leaving anytime soon.

You head back towards the kitchen where you pick up your purse, your dress folded between your hands carefully. Suguru is opening the door to the balcony, having changed into a cut sleeve shirt that exposes his arms and a hint of his ribs, as well as a pair of loose shorts. When he hears you enter, his attention instantly falls to your plush thighs, a hint of crimson blushing his cheek.

“Where can I keep my stuff?” You ask innocently, pretending to ignore his reaction.

“Anywhere is fine,” he answers back, his voice thick.

He tells you that he’ll wait for you outside, and in the meantime you put down your stuff onto the coffee table in front of his sofa.

You unzip your purse, Suguru’s cheque staring you at you with wide, scolding eyes.

Pathetic.

You furrow your brows at the voice inside your head, and swipe the payment before folding it and tucking it securely against your hip underneath the waistband of your underwear.

You head outside, sliding the window close behind you.

Suguru is sitting on a deck chair, the two of you camouflaged by the array of his overgrown plants. He pours your cup of tea, the aroma twirling between the current of the wind as he offers it your way. You pick it up, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. A heavy sigh escapes you, and you remain standing leaning back against the cool glass surface as you stare out into the distance.

“Like it?” Suguru asks, and you only notice then that he has also brought out a second cup for himself and is pouring his own drink.

“It’s divine,” you respond.

“I’m glad”

The two of you sit in silence once more, mindlessly sipping your tea while contemplating the other person. You’re both at a clear standstill, carefully tiptoeing over the boundary that has so been strictly set in place.

A reminder of that is the folded cheque digging into your skin.

“How did you find out about contacting me?” Suguru randomly wonders.

You look towards him and he shrugs before adding on, “I never asked. I find myself curious.”

You thrum your nails against the glass cup, taking another sip of your tea before replying, “I saw you at a party with Satoru. I was with a group of friends, and one of them noticed me recognizing you. She asked if I was…familiar with your work. And when I told her I was she informed me that you both were…intimate.”

“Was it Mei?”

Your face falls at the blatant disregard of confidentiality.

“How-How did you know?”

Suguru huffs, and sips his tea.

“She’s the only other client I had close to our age. Wasn’t hard to make the connection…”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Go for it,” he replies.

“I’ve always been curious as to how you wound up doing what you do,” you bite your bottom lip nervously, your hands trembling slightly holding your glass and you hope that Suguru wouldn’t notice your sudden unease.

“Ah,” he acknowledges, his free hand moving to rub the back of his neck and you can’t help but sneak a peak at his abdomen from the side. “Well, I told you how I wound up making the videos. For a long time I just did solo work, but I knew I could make more money if I had on-screen partners to film with. I had a few good connections with some actresses and hired a friend to make a video with me…”

You knew exactly which one he was talking about.

The actress in question was well known, and the video was an amateur clip that was filmed on the very same couch that you walked passed earlier.

You clench your thighs together.

You don’t even want to admit how many times you came to that particular video.

“I didn’t know it would blow up in the way that it did. Shoko and I made a killing off it. We both saw the potential and we wound up doing six full episodes - trying out different techniques, roleplaying in a few…”

“But you stopped posting after that…”

Suguru pauses. “How would you know that?”

You swallow a big gulp of tea.

“I might have been a big fan of your work before we met.”

“Really?” He answers with a slight tilt of his head, clearly very amused.

“I wouldn’t have reached out to just anyone, you know. But I was really interested in...your work, and when I learned about your little side gig. I couldn’t resist…”

“Well, color me flattered, sweetheart.”

You swirl the last bits of tea in your cup.

“So, why did you stop posting?”

“I kept the videos up. They’re good and I still make revenue with every ad or view. Satoru’s career was picking up around that time, and he had just gotten clean. He needed somebody to hold him accountable so I started tagging along at his events. I didn’t realize how many people would recognizeme. My first client wasn’t even "a client", he gestures with air quotes, "she was just some woman I met and slept with. I woke up the next morning to an empty hotel room. All that she left behind was an envelope of cash…”

He pauses.

“I didn’t know what to feel. A part of me was insulted but another part had never seen that much money handed over so easily. The videos were great but what I earned in a day, is what I got in just a few hours. I was in my mid-twenties, just left the brink of making ends meet and desperate for security. I deposited the cash and kept going. Somehow it snowballed into…” he gestures his arms out, “this.”

He pours himself another cup of tea. “At first I was a little reckless. Took on too many clients it damn near gave me a health scare. So, I started spacing them out. Keeping to a set number a month and maintaining a high price. I didn’t think that so many people would actually pay for my services, but they do...and I'm comfortable.”

“Does it ever overwhelm you?”

“Not anymore. Keeping my partners to a minimum helps. I’m safe and get tested regularly, as I mentioned when we first met,” He lifts the teapot your direction to offer you a second cup, and you accept it by approaching him and allowing him to fill your glass.

“The thing is I went from never knowing when I was going to eat to having three meals a day. I don’t think I’d change that for the world…”

“What about your family? Your friends?” You find yourself mindlessly asking. "How do they feel about this?"

“Satoru and Shoko are the only ones who know. Everyone else thinks it’s porn that funds my life. As for my family,” Suguru stops, his voice scratchy as he quickly clears his throat. “Well, they don’t have to worry about it. My parents passed away when I was fifteen. It's just been me ever since”

The tea burns your lip and your body trembles at the statement.

“I’m so sorry…”

He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly.

There’s a heaviness in the air, and despite how hard he’s trying to hide it you can see how the memory tears him apart.

“My mom passed away giving birth to me,” you find yourself disclosing to even the scale, “I think that’s probably why my father resents me so much. He never got a son, and lost his wife in the process”

“I’m sorry to hear that too…”

You mirror his shrug. “It’s weird. I find myself curious about her - but there’s a detachment when I look at her. Sometimes I think about how different my life might be if she was still around. Or, if she was just like my father and everything would still be the same…”

“Well, since we are speaking of hypotheticals,” Suguru moves on, shifting the topic as he angles his body more in your direction. “If you had the freedom to whatever you wanted, what would you do?”

“Me?” You gasp, shocked by his pointed question.

He smiles an easy smile, “I don’t see anybody else around.”

You hum thoughtfully. “This might take a minute…”

He places his cup of tea on the tray by his side and then pats his free hand on his thigh.

“C’mere and think.”

Your heart flies up your throat, pulsing just at the base. “You want me to sit on your lap?”

Suguru nods his head.

You gulp down the vessel, returning it back to its place. You glide your way towards him, placing the tea cup just next to his own, before settling down onto his lap.

Suguru wraps his arm around your waist, securing you close into his frame.

“Do you hold your other clients like this?”

He shakes his head no.

“So, you like holding me…” you bluntly point out, “why’s that?”

Suguru’s face is directly in front of yours, so beautiful you can almost faint right here in his arms. He fingers dig into your waist, his other arm curving over your thigh and gently drawing circles on your hip.

“Because you fit nicely against me”

A swarm of butterflies take flight, making you feel lighter than air. You swear he might kiss you then but instead he returns to his question. “So, tell me what would you do?”

The answer comes to you far easier than you think. From the moment you saw him tonight, you know the truth in the depths of your heart. “I’d like to run away with you,” you confess before stuttering out, “or-or at least somebody like you. Someone who is kind and sweet and thoughtful...”

Suguru leans back against the chair, lifting up one leg and adjusting your positions. He’s careful not to kick the tray with the tea.

“And where would we go?”

You sling your arms around his neck, “anywhere - anywhere but here.”

Suguru slides his palm over the slop of your rear, slipping it underneath the fabric of his shirt and tracing a line over the dimples on your lower back.

“What would we do?”

“We could lay outside just like this and watch the stars.”

He hums, “we don’t get any stars out here in the city...”

“No, we don’t.”

“What else would we do?”

His other hand starts to unbutton the front of your shirt, revealing the details of the lace underneath. He cups your right breast, his lips shifting to find your neck.

“We’d do this too,” you sing merrily.

“Look at stars and fuck our brains out?” He teases, his teeth nipping at your skin. “Sounds like a dream to me…”

He gropes the fat of your breast, unknotting every single secret. “what else?”

“We’ll sleep all day, and kiss until we’re bored of one another…”

The hand on your breast moves to circle your neck, Suguru’s thumb massaging the column.

“I’d never grow bored kissing you-”

Your body renders against his touch. “Suguru,” you moan, your lips seeking his own.

Before you can even meet for the kiss, he mumbles your name and follows up with the claim: “you should run away with me.”

You giggle, still living in the proposed fantasy. “I’m trying to…”

“I’m being serious”

The tone of his voice is the reason why you stop to kiss him, pulling away to face the man before you.

There's no denying the truth on his face - he is actually quite serious about the declaration.

You hear the dreaded word once more: pathetic. Pathetic because this man is an expert at fulfilling fantasies, is a professional when it comes to healing the hearts of the lonely.

Pulling yourself out of this delusional imagination, you push off him before standing up straight.

“That’s not funny, Suguru”

“Who says I’m being funny?” He responds sincerely.

“What is this? What are we doing? What am I doing? You can’t just-” you lament, pressing your forehead to hand in disbelief as you enter the confines of his apartment, taking a second to breathe. “You can’t just say things like that-”

He calls out your name again, but the kraken has already been released.

He follows, tracking into his abode right behind you, all the while watching you stand in the middle of his living room with your quivering hands reaching for the waistband of your underwear.

“This was a terrible idea. I shouldn’t have-I shouldn’t have gone through with all of this,” you yank out the cheque, showing it to him. “You don’t have to take pity on me. I know I’m just another desperate, pathetic client, alright? I promise you don't have to keep putting up with me and my drama after this. And you sure as hell don't have to keep giving me these mixed messages which only confuse me. I can’t have things getting complicated right before this engagement is about to happen. So, here. Take this cheque and let’s just forget everything else about tonight.”

Suguru stands there, pensive. His eyes look to the folded paper in your hand, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. Instead of reaching for the paper, he simply walks past you, making you spin on your heel as you follow his movements with sheer bewilderment.

He heads towards the shelf behind you and pulls out a tiny box. He removes something from it, before walking back and facing you once more.

“Shit got complicated about eight cheques ago, sweetheart,” he negates, holding the thin stack papers between his two fingers as he brings it to your face. His eyes fall to to the crumpled one you are currently holding, “Well, counting the one in your hand, I’d say nine...”

You can’t believe it.

You pick up the wad and sift through each paper; each cheque one of yours, the date issued a reflection of your last nine meetings with Suguru.

None of them cashed in.

“Why do you still have these?”

Two hands find your waist, your forearms fall into Suguru’s chest as you stare mindlessly at the cheques fanned out between your fingers.

“I didn’t have it on my conscious to deposit them once I realized my feelings for you. I'm sorry about what you heard earlier, but what Mahito said doesn't apply to you at all,” he responds. “You stopped being a client to me for quite some time...”

You look up at him.

His touch tightens around your waist. “You can’t marry Naoya. Or, you shouldn’t. But if you do, I don’t want us to stop seeing one another. We can work something out…”

“Suguru,” you pine, dropping the papers in your hand, each one twirling onto the ground, thousands at your feet.

His lips catch yours in a subtle peck, all before circling over your bottom lip and sucking on the plush base. He slides his tongue between your lips, feeling yourcrumple into him as the paper crinkles beneath your feet. You moan feeling the sensation of his tongue slide across yours - he tastes like running across a field of chamomile flowers, like you’re holding a basket of fresh, ripe lemons.

Like you're savoring the most beautiful sunrise.

His hands return to finish unbuttoning your shirt, shrugging the material off your shoulders and exposing your expensive lingerie set. He grips your hips, your ass - his touch hungry before pressing his pelvis closer to your frame so you can feel his aching member beneath his shorts.

You squeak into another kiss when he swiftly picks you up from the back of your thighs and carries you across the living room.

He places you onto his sofa like you’re made of porcelain, keeping you on the edge as he kneels to the ground, his knees sinking into the rug. Two hands find your inner thighs which he pushes apart to reveal the pretty triangle fabric covering your sweet cunt. He kisses your clit over the material. Once, twice, three times…until you’re sighing into the pillow behind you. His tongue drags up, pressing your clothing against your sex, one hand drawing upward to find yours which he holds lovingly. His index and middle finger hook underneath your underwear, and he tugs it aside to reveal your slick coated pussy.

He kisses your clit again, leaving a path down your damp lips which only makes you moan angelically.

“This is why I’d never get bored kissing you,” he coos, “You sound like heaven whenever I do...”

Your only response is a vowel, your hand holding onto Suguru’s for dear life as he returns to eat out with such devotion it almost brings tears to your eyes. You pant softly, his wet tongue making you weep between your legs and he gathers your essence and swallows it to parch his craving. You whine feeling the snap of your underwear pinch into your skin when Suguru lets go of the material to mold his palm over the slope of your pelvis. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, his tongue sinking between your wet folds, lips suckling on the petals of your cunt.

Your hips arch off the sofa, desperate for friction, but Suguru pins you firmly back down.

“Easy, easy…” he appeases, “don’t cum just yet. Hold off f’me, just for a little bit…”

He’s never asked because there was never a reason to. For the most part, he was always there to service you. Allowed you to use his body to get you off as many times as you so desired.

Your voice breaks, “okay,” you answer, drawing out a long exhale when he dives back in.

The hand on your pelvis climbs up the steps of your ribs, reaching for band of your bra right at the middle. He curls his finger over the boning, and tugs the material allowing your breasts to spill free. He finds the bud of your nipple and tweaks it between his finger, pinching and pulling the aching nub until your writhing beneath him.

He slurps and sucks, while you moan and whimper, forcing yourself to hold off for as much as your can but you find that it’s far harder to do when your lower belly quakes as it sits on the brink of release.

“Suguru, Suguru…” you beg, reaching your free hand to your breast and clenching over his fingers. “Suguru, I can’t-m’gonna cum if you don’t stop…”

He groans against your cunt, pulling away from your pulsing core and letting go of your hand to wipe the dampness off his chin.

He licks his lips, drunk off lust and of how you taste.

He keeps his body upright, drags your legs to secure them around his waist as he straightens your back. His hands unhook your bra from behind, the scent of you strong on his lips as he leans up for a kiss. Your hands fall to his shoulders, your belly fluttering as your sex begs for more stimulation.

Suguru loosens the bra, allowing it to fall to your elbows before kneading your breasts - his thumb swipes back and forth over your nipples. He devours your cry, wolfs down every panting breath as he moans into the kiss. Your hands slip underneath his shirt, taking in the lines of strong abdomen.

“Take if off,” you plead between breaths, “Take it off, please…”

Suguru listens, breaking apart from the kiss to toss his shirt to the side while you slip off your bra. Your lover’s hand finds your waist, his fingers pinching into the soft flesh. He leans forward to kiss the side of your neck, making a path down the curve and across the field of your décolletage.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs into your breast, his lips snagging your nipple as his tongue rolls over the bud.

Your fingers curl around the back of his head, loosening his bun as you untie the knot. His hair falls like waterfall, the strands tickling your bare skin. Suguru’s hand slips between your legs, his middle and forefinger meeting your clit. You hiss at the contact, sinking your teeth between your bottom lip when Suguru sucks on your breast while simultaneously drawing circles on the bundle of nerves between your legs.

Your breath grows heavier, your hips bucking into him from the sensation of his touch.

“Feels good,” you mumble, “feels so good with you…”

He shivers, relieving your breast as his lips search for your own.

He adds more pressure between your legs, increasing the speed while your tongues dance. When your thighs noticeably quiver he slows down, pinching your clit between his fingers as he softly pecks your cheek.

“The condoms are in my room…”

Your sharp nails scratch the back of his neck lightly, “I have one in my purse.”

Suguru nods feverishly, reaching back to the coffee table and rummaging through your purse. He picks out the shiny wrapper, and stands up to take off his shorts.

“Wait, can I?” You request, gazing up at him with glittering eyes.

Suguru swallows hard, and nods his head.

Your eyes dilate rolling his shorts down, focusing on the tent in the fabric and watching his cock spring free and lightly smack his lower belly. Suguru brings the condom to his lips and rips it open with his teeth, but his eyes flutter when your perfectly manicured hands glide up the length of his shaft.

You trace the prominent vein, your thumb swiping over the pre-cum beading over the angry tip. You lick your lips, leaning closer to kiss the base and listening to Suguru sigh.

You’ve only given him a blow job once before, and that was because you asked if you could. Suguru sets no expectations for himself when it comes to work, but that doesn’t mean that you haven’t fantasized about giving him head countless times.

You wrap your fingers around his length and stroke mildly, your lips fanning over his cock before reaching the tip.

“Sweetheart, don’t-” Suguru murmurs in an attempt to stop you, but you’re already enclosing your lips around the head and pressing your tongue over the slit.

His head falls back as you suck, a curse leaving him.

You move slowly at first, dragging your tongue back and forth as you stroke the base. Sukuna was far rougher with you when you went down on him, but Suguru is allowing you to take him at your own pace. Inch by inch, until you were bobbing your head back and forth, strings of saliva webbing off his cock and sticking your lips.

He thrusts once, not rough enough to hurt but the jerk catches you by surprise.

You carefully release him, mindlessly wiping your bottom lip and the sight makes his cock twitch.

Suguru pulls the condom out, and rolls it over his shaft.

He settles onto the empty seta by your side, and you crawl over the expanse of his gorgeous, chiseled body to kiss him once again.

His circles his fingers around his cock, his other hand guiding your hip as he aligns the tip to your entrance. Your nail nicks his pec when he pushes against the hole, your mouth circling over his own as you lower down his shaft.

He fills you up so, so good. Makes your body vibrate with unshakeable desire.

He groans until he bottoms out , the hand on your hip dipping down from your pubis to your lower belly like he’s trying to outline how deep he actually is before returning it back in place and securing his other hand on the opposite hip.

Your breasts flatten against his chest, your hands holding on to his strong shoulders for support as you roll our hips.

Suguru works in tandem with your rhythm to fuck you passionately.

His lips find yours once again for a final kiss, before the two of you get caught up in the moment when he swiftly picks up the pace.

His hips arch violently, while yours sink - your bodies moving silk.

“Unghh, oh god, yes-yes-yes~” you moan.

Suguru’s grip almost feels painful, you know for a fact that he’ll be marking your hips with a few bruises. “Gonna cum-” he rasps, “s-shit, I’m fucking close-fucking close-”

Your pussy tightens, practically holds his dick in a death grip that makes release a broken moan. His cock contracts upon his release, the sensation bringing you to the edge of yours as the muscles in your lower belly and inner thighs spasm around him. You leave crescents on his skin, your bodies shaking as you both take a second to breathe coming down from your climax.

You collapse into him, his arms circling behind you, with his racing heart pulsing into your own. He moves so you’re laying side by side, your body sandwiched between him and the couch since he takes up most of the room. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling him grow soft inside you.

Your stuttering breath finally finds a resting poin when he brings your hand and holds it against his heart.

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper with a kiss to his neck.

“Whatever you decide, we’ll figure out.” Suguru answers sincerely.

“I can’t marry Naoya,” you admit out loud, shocked for actually saying it for the very first time. “And I can't share you with anyone else - it already kills me having to do so.”

Suguru looks down at you, a reassuring smile resting on his lips. “There won’t be anyone else.”

“I can't just...leave. I can't just drop everything and walking away. It isn’t going to be easy-” you add on, “It’ll take me some time.”

“I can wait”

“It might get messy…”

“When is it ever not?”

“But we’ve never been in a relationship-” you insist, logic breaking through the barrier of your happiness. “How do we know if this will even work out properly? What if this thing between us fades?”

“I guess we’re both taking a gamble here…”

You both stare into the other’s eyes.

“Do you think it’s worth the risk?” You ask.

Suguru’s face softens but he leans forward to kiss your forehead.

“I think it’s worth a try.”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

TWO YEARS LATER

“You running out on Naoya on your wedding night is still the hot topic.” Kento explains over the phone, “People kept bringing it up, and for whatever reason they just can't seem to get over it.”

The guilt in your stomach twists into a very small knot, over time the size of it has shrunk to a point where you not longer carry any remorse regarding your scheming behavior.

You had a plan, and the plan worked.

"Let's not forget who was there to help..." you contend, disregarding the negativity surrounding your decision.

After you and Suguru spoke, you decided to carry on the facade, agreeing to the engagement and soon after the wedding with Naoya Zen'in. All the while you and Suguru were busy planning your way to cut and run. He cashed in your unsigned checks, and you pilfered a decent amount of the wedding budget which you kept into a seperate savings account.

You played the role as obedient daughter well, and no one was the wiser.

“Besides, I maintain that it's still the best decision I ever made,” you reply, stepping out of your room and into the kitchen where you are greeted by the sound of clinking dishes.

Your eyes shift to Suguru - his hair far longer now, flowing beautifully down his back, the front layers tied into a small bun. You smell dinner in the air, and your stomach grumbles with anticipation.

Nanami doesn't reply, but you can hear that he's distracted from the television in the background.

“What are you watching?” you ask your friend.

The man simply sighs.

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing with that reaction. Is it Satoru’s new drama show?”

At the mention of his best friend you notice your lover glance over his shoulder, quietly tilting his head to direct you towards him. You smile his way, your feet pattering against the hardwood floor as you move closer to him. He bundles one arm around your shoulder, keeping you close while continuing to sauté the vegetables in the pan.

He kisses the top of your head.

“It’s all the rage,” you add on to your phone call, “Suguru and I plan on watching the next episode tonight.”

Kento remains quiet.

You release yourself from Suguru’s grasp, and instead hop onto the kitchen counter right next to him.

He reduces the heat and picks up the lid before covering the pan.

“I’m guessing you two haven’t-”

“No,” Kento curtly replies. “Not since that night…”

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be,” he responds with frustration. “I screwed it up”

“You know I could just ask Sugu too reach out-”

“ Don’t,” Kento sighs regrettably. “It doesn’t matter. I heard he’s moved on”

You quirk your brow, your eyes shifting to Suguru who was back to chopping some fresh herbs.

“Oh?”

“It’s for the best I guess,” Kento reassures. “He should be happy with whoever-the-fuck he chooses.”

“You deserve happiness too, Kento.”

“You can be happy for the both of us,” he replies, gulping down a drink. “Anyway, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting my lawyer for dinner.”

“When are you going to visit us next?”

“Probably around November, December. I just need a few things to ease up on my end-”

You bite your bottom lip, “I look forward to it.”

“Take care, love”

“You too, Ken.”

You hang up the phone and lean your head against the cupboard as you watch Suguru rinse his hand, a trail of crimson spiraling down the faucet.

“I cut my finger”

You pick up a clean towel by your side, and gesture him towards you.

Suguru extends his thumb out, and you curl the fabric over to keep pressure on the small cut.

“You ought to be careful”

“Your legs are a distraction,”

You stare up at him playfully, and he leans down to kiss the corner of your lips.

“How’s Nanami?”

Your lover is indebted to your friend. If it wasn’t for Nanami, the two of you wouldn’t have been able to set up this comfortably. He’s the one who found you the humble two-story abode in Hokkaido, and was also the person who set up your personal bank accounts while ensuring that you would both have a safe and quick getaway on the night of your almost-wedding.

“Fine, I think-” you reply, before removing the towel to check the damage. Thankfully, it wasn't anything serious. A little deeper than a paper cut.“Licking his wounds over a broken heart, but fine.”

Suguru reaches for the drawer next to you, and pulls out the emergency band aids. You reach for the box in his hand, taking out one and removing the plaster from the back. You secure it around his cut, and Suguru holds your fingers between his.

He arches down to kiss your brow. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“You’re welcome, handsome”

“Dinner will be ready in a few if you want to set the table”

You nod your head in acknowledgement, and drop down onto the ground before proceeding with your task.

You set the place mats down, a bowl for the soup and another for the rice and cooked vegetables. Your finger traces the rim of the one in front of your seat, a tiny chip from when you accidentally dropped it in the sink while cleaning it a few weeks ago.

Fragments of these blemishes are all around you - making you almost forget that you once lived in a perfect, curated bubble. But you would take these flaws over everything else. These markings may be worn, but they are a reminder of the home you've been building.

A home that is entirely yours.

“Baby, you want a drink?” Suguru calls from the kitchen.

“Melon soda, please” you reply, placing the bowl down.

“We’re out, I’ve got to pick some up tomorrow.”

“What are you having?”

“A beer,” he chuckles, and it sends a tremor of joy between the valves of your heart.

“I’ll share yours”

Suguru pulls out the bottle, cracking the cap off as he pops it using the side of the kitchen counter to do so.

You two meet each other halfway in the space that you've been nesting in. Suguru’s eyes never leave yours when he takes the first sip, and once done he passes the chilled bottle towards you.

“Am I ever going to have you back in the kitchen helping me with dinner?”

You shake your head no, and bite at the lip of the bottle before taking a sip. “I thought we agreed I was a hazard after the raw chicken fiasco and the almost-fire debacle…”

He laughs, “no, you agreed. I said it wasn’t a big deal”

“You just said that because you love me,” you respond, pressing the bottle into his chest as he takes it from your hand.

“That goes without saying…” he answers, slinging his arm around your waist and pulling you into his frame.

You lift yourself up on your toes, and kiss his nose.

“Do you think it’s worth the risk of me attempting to cook for you again?” You whisper against his lips.

Suguru smiles, a hand cupping your cheek as he leans forward to seal his reply with a kiss.

“I think it’s worth the try”

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

tag list: @rottiens @an-ever-angry-bi @mononijikayu @brownskinnedgirll

#geto x reader #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #geto x y/n #geto angst #geto smut #geto fluff #suguru geto angst #suguru geto fluff #suguru geto smut #jujutsu kaisen fan fiction #suguru geto fan fiction #suguru geto fanfic

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charmedimsure · 3 months ago

Text

THE NEXT EPISODE || thanos

pairing: Thanos/Choi Su-bong x f!reader

summary: You and Su-bong reunite after his stay at rehab. No debt/no games AU.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: rehab, drinking, drugs, addiction, depression

A/N: i've been working on this for like two weeks and i still feel like i could work on it more. i love this mini series i made and i'm excited to see how other people like it :) if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

Part 1: Wake Up Call

Today is the big day. The day Su-bong has been working towards for the past six months.

Today he gets out of rehab.

He originally tried to quit on his own, but after multiple relapses, he decided he needed help. Due to his multiple addictions and how long he's been addicted for, the doctors at the facility suggested a longer stay for him, to which he agreed.

Before he left, he gave you the keys to his apartment, putting you in charge of managing the place while he's away. You also promised to get rid of anything in his apartment that could potentially be abused.

Rehab had actually not been bad. It certainly wasn't easy, but Su-bong felt better about it knowing there were so many other people there going through the same thing as him. He had ended up making some really good friends there, friends that he was excited to see again once they all got out. A few of them had made plans to meet up at a coffee house soon, about a week after Su-bong is released.

The thing Su-bong has been looking forward to the most while in rehab is seeing you again. The only visitors that were allowed were family members, so he had to settle for just talking to you on the phone.

"Can I see you soon?" Su-bong asks into the phone.

"I have to work today, but I'm off tomorrow if you want to come by?" you say. "Oh, and I left something for you on your counter."

Su-bong smiles into the phone. "You didn't have to do that."

"Don't get too excited, it's not much," you laugh. "But I just wanted to give you something to congratulate you."

"I'll be happy with anything you give me," he says.

"Cheesy," you groan, making him laugh. A small gasp comes from Su-bong's phone. "Shoot, my boss just texted me I have to go in early. I'm sorry, I gotta go. Text me when you get home, okay?"

"All good," Su-bong says. "Yeah, I'll text you. Let me know when you get to the club and back home safe."

"I will," he can hear the smile in your voice. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Su-bong walks into his apartment. A chill washes over him. It's been so long since he was here, and he's changed so much. He puts his things down, walking into his kitchen.

A feeling of dread fills him. Was six months enough? Is he really able to do this?

A glint catches his eye, and he sees a small chain sitting on his counter. Attached to it is a dog tag. He picks it up, examining it. When he notices a clasp on the side of the dog tag, he opens it, revealing a small note in your handwriting.

'I'm proud of you <3'

A comfortable warmth fills his body as he smiles at your note. He closes the tag, immediately putting the chain around his neck.

He looks around his place. It holds way too many memories of his time before rehab. Waking up with a headache so bad he's worried his head might implode, turning over to see some random girl in his bed who's name he can't remember. That's not how he wants to live anymore.

He takes a water bottle from the fridge, which you must have put in there for him, and sits on his couch, looking up listings for available apartments. Preferably one close to you.

Su-bong feels his heart race as he stands in front of your apartment door. He's been waiting for this moment for six months. With a deep breath, he knocks on the door.

Footsteps are heard from the other side of the door. Something makes a loud bang and he hears you curse, making his lips twitch upwards.

The door opens and there you are. He swears you've only gotten more beautiful since he last saw you.

"Woah, I almost didn't recognize you," you smile.

He smiles, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. He hadn't dyed his hair since before rehab, leaving it at its natural dark brown. "Yeah, I've been getting that a lot."

"I like it," you say. "You look much more like Su-bong."

He feels his face heat up, muttering a shy 'thank you'.

You step to the side, opening the door wider. "Come in! I'll go grab a snack."

Su-bong walks into your apartment, a smile playing on his face at the familiar set up. You move to the kitchen and he sits on your couch. He chuckles at the new blanket laying next to him, clearly having been used recently.

He looks up as you walk back into the room, placing a bowl of pretzels and a bottle of blue Gatorade on the coffee table in front of him. You remembered.

He gestures toward the blanket. "That new?"

You put a pretzel in your mouth and smile at him, nodding enthusiastically. "My mom got it for me. You have to feel it, it's so soft." He chuckles as you cover your mouth with your hand, too excited to tell him about the blanket to wait until you've swallowed your food.

He reaches out to the blanket, eyes widening when his fingers graze the fabric. "Holy shit."

"Right?!" you laugh, picking up the blanket and sitting down. You toss it over both of your legs. You take a moment to study his face. "You look really good, Su-bong."

He feels himself blush, turning away in embarrassment. "Yeah, my pupils are finally the correct size."

You laugh at the comment. "Yes, that. But you also just look much healthier. Much happier."

He nods. "I feel happier. I thought I was happy all those nights at the club, drinking away my life. But now I know that wasn't real happiness." He looks at you, looking deep into your eyes. "This is real happiness."

Now it's your turn to look away, feeling heat rush to your face. "I'm glad. You deserve happiness."

He smiles.

"Even though you once tried to pay me to take off my shirt."

Su-bong cringes, bringing his hand to his face as you laugh. "Can you please stop bringing that up?"

You shake your head. "No way. This is the punishment you get for that. Me making fun of you. I think it's a fair exchange."

He laughs. "Fair enough."

You continue talking for the next hour or so, telling each other about everything and nothing. Su-bong's heart soars every time he is able to make you laugh. He's made music his entire life, but no song could ever compare to the sweet tune of your laughter.

"On Sunday I'm gonna meet up with a few friends from rehab at that new coffee place around the corner," he says. "Do you want to come?"

You shake your head. "Thank you for the invitation but I don't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't be intruding," he assures. "I, uh, talked about you a lot and they really want to meet you."

Your face heats up at his admission, nodding. "In that case, I'd love to go."

He smiles. "Good."

You put on a movie to watch, saying you saw one while he was away and couldn't wait to show it to him. Throughout the movie, Su-bong sneaks glances at you. He's wanted you ever since he first laid his eyes on you. You were the hot bartender with a fiery personality.

Now, though, as he watches you chew your lip in concentration, he sees just how amazing you truly are. You're the beautiful girl who changed his life for the better. The amazing girl who gave him a reason to become a better person. The kind girl who talked on the phone with him every day while he was in rehab.

You're his best friend. And he's deeply in love with you.

Su-bong opens the door to the coffee house, letting you walk inside first before entering as well.

"Hey, Su-bong!" a voice yells, getting his attention. He smiles when he sees his friends, waving at them. He motions for you to follow him as you head over to the table.

"Hey guys," he greets, giving each of them a small hug. It feels nice to see them on the outside. They all accomplished the same thing, and they'll forever be close for doing it together.

He looks to you. "Oh right. This is Jung-su, Shin-il, and Ji-hae."

Each of them wave and smile at you as he says their names. Once he introduces you, they all seem to get a similar look on their faces.

"Oh, so you're the girl he keeps talking about," Shin-il smirks. Su-bong lightly smacks his arm, making the boy laugh.

"Shin-il, be quiet!" Ji-hae rolls her eyes. She turns to you. "He told us about how you helped him get sober. We're glad he had someone so supportive helping him."

You smile. "I just wanted to help any way I could. He's the one who ultimately chose to get help." You smile at him and he feels his heart melt. "And I'm glad he was able to make some great friends in there, from what he's told me."

"Aw, you talked about us?" Jung-su flashes Su-bong with puppy eyes, making the ladder roll his own.

"Plus, now he doesn't call me 'Señorita' anymore, so really I got something out of it too," you say.

The table bursts out in laughter and Su-bong hides his face behind his hands. "Maybe it was a mistake bringing you here, I didn't realize you were all going to gang up on me."

You laugh, rubbing his arm. "I'm just kidding. Come on, let's go get something to drink."

You move to stand but he puts a hand on your shoulder. "I got it. What do you want?"

You tell him your order, thanking him as he walks to the counter.

Ji-hae leans across the table to you. "He really likes you, you know," she smiles. "Talked about you all the time."

You smile. "He's a really great guy. I wish I could've talked to him sooner, maybe he would've gotten help sooner. He's my best friend now."

"You should go out with him," she says. "Based on how he talked about you, he'd treat you right."

You turn to look at Su-bong, smiling as he rocks back and forth on his feet while waiting in line.

"I do like him," you say, turning back to Ji-hae. "I just want to give him some time first. He just got out of rehab, I feel like he should have some time to figure out what he really wants and adjust to sobriety, if that makes sense."

"Totally," Jung-su says, nodding his head. "I've been out two months now and I still feel like this is all new."

"Just please be there for him," Shin-il asks.

You nod. "I'm not going anywhere."

On the other side of the coffee house, while waiting for your drinks, Su-bong feels a hand grasp his shoulder.

"Holy shit man," a familiar voice says behind him. "You dropped off the face of the earth!"

Su-bong turns to see the smiling face of Nam-gyu.

"Where have you been, dude?"

Su-bong opens his mouth to answer but is cut off when Nam-gyu continues.

"You know what, it doesn't matter." He pulls a small bag out of his jacket pocket. "I just got some new shit. It's fucking insane, man. You gotta try it."

He stares at the pills. This is the first time that drugs have been so accessible to him since before rehab. A cold sweat breaks out and his breath gets quicker. It would be so easy. All he'd have to do is pop one little pill.

He turns back to look at the table. You're sitting there, laughing with Jung-su. The sound flows to his ears and a soft smile graces his face. The sweat stops and his breathing goes back to normal.

He doesn't need pills anymore. He has you. And you make him so much happier than pills ever have or ever will.

He turns back to Nam-gyu, straightening his posture. "No, I don't do that stuff anymore."

Nam-gyu gives him a look. "Are you kidding, dude? You can't get this shit anywhere, and you're turning it down? What the fuck happened to you, Thanos?"

"It's Su-bong, actually," he says.

"No more Thanos!? What's going on?"

Su-bong opens his mouth to respond, but is beaten by another voice.

"Nam-gyu, leave him alone, please," you say, putting a hand on Su-bong's shoulder as you step beside him.

Nam-gyu looks between the two of you before a knowing smile spreads on his face.

"Oh, I see," he says. "So this is the guy you've been calling all the time." The barista calls out his name and he takes his cup. "Knew it was only a matter of time before you two got together, I should've bet on it." He turns, walking toward the door. "I'll see you at work!"

You wave to him as he leaves, turning to Su-bong. "Are you okay? He didn't give you anything, did he?"

He shakes his head. "He offered, but I said no. I was expecting him to be a lot less understanding."

"I've been talking to him the past few months at work, turns out he's not bad when he's not constantly sticking his nose up someone else's ass," you say, making Su-bong laugh. His name is called and you take the cups from the barista, thanking them before handing Su-bong's drink to him, taking his hand and leading him back to the table.

"Welcome back, Señorita," Shin-il smirks.

The table bursts out in laughter again and Su-bong stands from the table, waving goodbye to everyone. You grab his wrist before he can get too far, laughing along with him as he sits back down next to you.

It's been about five months since Su-bong got out of rehab. He's been doing very good, resisting every time he feels even the slightest temptation.

He's gotten back into music and is working on his next album, which is going to be the first he's releasing that's not under the name "Thanos", instead rebranding as Choi Su-bong. You're of course his biggest supporter and he plays you all of his songs to get your opinion. You've even helped on a few songs, and he plans on crediting you as a co-writer.

Remembering what you told him nearly a year ago, he surprised you one day with your own guitar, taking the time to teach you how to play. You're still learning, but he loves everything you play, nearly as much as he loves your laugh whenever you play the wrong note.

You've been dancing around each other for the past few months, both aware of your feelings, but liking what you have going on between you for now. As time passes, though, Su-bong can feel himself getting closer to the edge, ready to take the leap.

One day you're both sitting in Su-bong's new apartment when he turns to you.

"Hey," Su-bong says. You look up from your phone at him. "I uh, I want to play something for you, if that's okay."

You smile, locking your phone and putting it face-down on the couch. "Yeah, I'd love that."

He stands up and reaches his hand out towards you. You take it, standing as he leads you to his piano. He sits on the bench, making room for you to sit beside him.

"I actually wrote this for you," he says, shyly looking at you. You smile at him, giving him a nod of encouragement. With a deep breath, he begins playing the notes before singing.

"I text a postcard sent to you Did it go through? Sending all my love to you You are the moonlight of my life every night Giving all my love to you."

You feel your eyes start to water as you listen to the words. His words reflect exactly how you feel, put in a way that makes it more beautiful than anything you could say to him.

You've heard him sing more ties than you can count. But sitting here next to him, listening as he pours his heart out to you, you don't think any song will ever compare.

"With every breath that I am worth Here on Earth I'm sending all my love to you So if you dare to second guess You can rest Assured that all my love's for you."

Su-bong puts his entire heart into the song. He had started writing it on the piano they had at the rehabilitation center. He had written a few songs while he was there, but this one was specifically inspired by you. The lyrics were from notes he would write down while talking to you, things that came to his head as your sweet voice drifted through the speaker of his phone.

"My beating heart belongs to you I walked for miles till I found you I'm here to honor you If I lose everything in the fire I'm sending all my love to you."

He stops playing, bringing his arms to his sides. He slowly looks up at you. "You've done so much for me. I don't think I can ever pay you back, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying if you'll let me."

A tear escapes your eye. You sniffle, nodding your head.

Su-bong reaches out to cup your cheek, wiping away the tear with his thumb. He looks down to your lips before looking back up to your eyes. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please."

He leans forward, closing his eyes as his lips make contact with yours. Su-bong has kissed girls before, more than he'd like to admit, but he feels like a teenager kissing their crush for the first time.

This is a moment nearly a year in the making. All of his longing for you, his adoration of you is put into the kiss.

He pulls back, regaining his breath as he looks over your face. Your kiss-swollen lips are just begging to be kissed again, but there's something that needs to be done first.

"I love you," he says. "I've loved you for a long time. You're the most amazing person I've ever met and there's nothing I want more than to be with you."

You smile at him, and he feels starstruck by how beautiful you are. "I love you too, Su-bong," you say. "I'm forever grateful that you showed me the real you that day in my apartment. Because I love the real you. So much."

Su-bong's face lights up in a smile, leaning forward to capture your lips again in an awkward kiss that makes you both laugh.

All his hard work is paying off. He is finally worthy of happiness. He is finally worthy of you. And he's going to spend every day making sure he stays worthy.

Song: Last Night on Earth by Green Day

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