#and by that I mean he was really doing his best

[tonycries]

Hot Nerd Summer - G.S.

Synopsis. The best way to beat your tall, nerdy, hot academic rival during finals? Fúck him!

Pairing. Gojo x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, nerd!Gojo, academic-rivals-to-Iovers, first times (Gojo), unprotected, hándjobs, semi-public (library), exhíbitíonism, he goes FÉRAL, coming back for more, slight switch!Gojo, face-sítting (fem rec.), 69, PÚSSYDRÚNK Gojo, size kínk, he’s BIG, rough s, running from it, creampíes, making him cúm dry, cúmplay, toys, punk!Geto cameo, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.2k

A/N. Happy Vesak to anyone that celebrates!!

“That jerkwad got 0.4% higher than me again, Suguru.” You’re fighting the urge to wallow your face on top of the café’s cluttered table, instead shaking a weary Geto Suguru by his broad shoulders. “Again! I’ll never make the top of Yaga’s Dean’s List now.”

Geto wonders whether this would be a good time to slip away- no. He shudders, thinking about the way said ‘jerkwad’ was probably skulking around, looking to lament about the very same thing. 

Honestly, if this was a romcom it would be almost cute. Almost. 

“Gojo’s just too- too smart.” You’re rubbing your aching temples, as if the words pained you to utter. “And infuriating, of course. And cocky and a try-hard and-”

“Honestly, you two should just duke things out in the bedroom.” He takes a looong sip of his milkshake, letting the silence drag on as you gape. 

“Suguru that’s…” Bracing himself for yet another monologue on your supposed rival. Damn valedictorians- finals season was getting to you. “-that’s genius.”

He frowns. 

Okay, finals season was really getting to you. 

Taking a confused second to check his drink - strawberry milkshake, low sugar, as usual - he concludes that he definitely wasn’t spiked in any way and was definitely hearing you wrong. Of course, an understandable mistake. And so he’s clearing his gruff throat, “…what the fuck?”

Your long-time friend watches from across the table as you nod your head, a satisfied sort of smile plastering across your face - the very same one you often bore whenever you beat Gojo on a test, or a quiz, or a group project. 

Or anything, really.

“That’s exactly it- I should fuck him.”

Yeah, he sets down the cup he was holding, he was definitely spiked. Or, maybe he was dead and this was his own personal hell.

“Ooookay, that’s enough all-nighters.” Geto’s plastering one of his ringed hands across your forehead, searching for a high temperature. “How about we get you to Shoko for some examination-”

“No no, listen.”

“I’m scared.”

Swatting away his well-meaning palms, you’re leaning towards him, so close that your lips waft the silver piercings decorating his ear. “If I fuck him—” Geto shivers, one of his ripped arms settling on top of the table in conspiring unison. “-he won’t have time to study. And if he doesn’t have time to study…”

The snake bites lining his rosy lips glint as they formulate a smirk, sleazy. “Oh, you dirty girl.”

DING-DING–!

And it’s as if the universe was having a good laugh at your expense. 

Because right at that very moment, the cute lil’ bell on top of the café doorway sings as it swings open - and with it, ducks inside Gojo Satoru. 

In all his refined, cranky glory - wiry-framed glasses nestled high on his nosebridge, strong, sweater-covered arms straining with the weight of damn near half the library stacked in a column, snowy bangs doing very little to hide the withering glare he was immediately firing your way.

The spitting image of the other valedictorian you’d been fighting both tooth and nail against since the start of freshman year. 

You remember how it all started like it was just yesterday; you’d been sitting eagerly at the very front row of Professor Gakuganji’s lecture hall. Your sheer buzzing energy only matched by the white-haired boy seated next to you - perhaps a kindred spirit, maybe you’d even become friends, you naively thought.

That is, until Gakuganji had asked for a volunteer to start off ice-breakers that the both of you had shot up in your seat. Racing to be first. 

Faces snapping to each other in shock, mouths tightening. An invisible war - which had, very famously, turned into a palpable war over the last few semesters. One that you’re sure nearly every student on campus had heard about (and bet on, you remember Shoko tittering about some betting pool.)

It didn’t help that you two had practically the same classes each year - and it really didn’t help that Gojo put all he had into one-upping you any time since that fateful meeting.  

Always clamoring out of his seat to answer questions first, always trailing after teachers if he caught you sucking up to them, too, always checking out the same books after you did.

Hell, at one point you’d been convinced that he genuinely lived in the library.

“You’re staring~” Geto sing-songs, resting his grinning face on one hand as he watches the bee-line of your eyesight. 

“Ugh- I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Flashing, cerulean eyes narrow as you rip your own gaze away, and Gojo’s sauntering over to a cosy seat near the back with an audible ‘hmpf!’ 

Bastard- that was your second-favorite seat. You should sit there next time…

“Look at him.” You’re spitting, feeling only slightly ridiculous at the raw vitriol in that sentence until Gojo physically turns around in his chair to flip you off. Haughtily, he swivels back to shift through his countless textbooks, surely studying for the upcoming final exam in a few days. “Bet he cuddles those books to sleep and that’s how he beat me today.”

Rays of sunlight dappling his pale hair, the straps of his backpack make his shoulder muscles ripple. For a nerd, he sure did take care to make everyone on campus secretly swoon.

…except for you, of course. 

Crossing your arms, you roll your eyes - more to tear them away from the way that Gojo’s glasses made his eyes twinkle in the daytime.

“Not for long. Mark my words, Suguru, I’ll fuck him-” Murmuring, you pointedly ignore the gawking looks from the customers surrounding your table. “-I’ll fuck his brains out.”

Eyelids twitching slightly, Geto makes sure to graciously bow his head in an apology towards the older lady seated at the beside you two - clutching her chest as if she was about to have a cardiac arrest. “And you realize that by fucking him…he fucks you, too?”

“Oh.” Honestly, for someone so smart you could be so stupid sometimes. You ignore the heat that runs through your veins at the notion, and stuff your face into your long-cold coffee. Sputtering, “I-It’ll be fine.”

Famous last words. 

.

.

.

“A-are you following me or just obsessed?”

“Nothing to be obsessed about here.”

“Then why are you following-”

“Maybe you’re following me, bast- I mean, Gojo.”

BANG!

And Gojo really should’ve been worried about ruining his squeaky-clean record with the campus librarian, slamming a few thickset books down on his usual studying spot was very unlike her model helper, of course. 

But right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Not when you - campus princess, top pick for valedictorian, pain-in-his-ass - were face-to-face with him and standing the closest you ever had amidst that time you’d sat together on your first day. 

And calling him by his name.

Jaw clenched, he steps towards his familiar chair by the shadowed corner - and you do, too.

Long legs maneuvering to claim his seat - and you do, too, right next to him.

Pushing his glasses-clad face into the first textbook he picks up, he doesn’t even notice that it’s upside down - not until you’re tapping your finger on the gilded corner of it and Gojo flinches. “You’re reading that the wrong way, y’know?”

“…it’s a form of studying.”

“I’m sure.”

“And- and what are you doing? Miss valedictorian has given up on being valedictorian so she’s here to bother me?” He seethes, finally taking a good look at you since you’d randomly ambushed him on his daily trip to the library. Tracking him around like a lost puppy and oh- oh, Gojo almost regrets it.

Because he might wear glasses, but he wasn’t blind.

Fuck, did you really have to wear a cutesy top so low-cut? And a skirt so tight, he hated how your thighs were so pretty - ones he’d only seen in his imagination- nightmares. His nightmares, for sure. 

It’s no wonder that half the student body in your department would kill to be in this position, and the other half would kill him for daring to sit his gloomy, unpopular self next to you.

Gojo gulps as he inadvertently memorizes the lacy black shade of your bra strap, barely catching onto your humming response. 

“Studying.” You casually raise your own book, something related to the content covered on the test tomorrow, surely. 

“B-but- here-”

“And here I was under the impression that the library was public to all.” You’re cutting off his rambling by creeping an inch forwards. So close that you’re wafted with a cloud of his homey, ink n’ vanilla scent. Purring, “Is it not?”

“No! I know you- you just wanna steal my super secret Satoru studying tips.” He points at you, accusatorial. 

Scoffing- why did you want to subject yourself to this nonsense again? Oh, right, that coveted spot at the forefront of Yaga’s Dean’s List, that’s why. “‘Studying tips’ my ass, you’re just scared I’ll beat you on the exam tomorrow.”

“You couldn’t beat me if Yaga stripped naked and danced with the answers in front of you.”

“Hmm–” You pretend to take down notes, “So is that what you think about before a final?”

“N-no- even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Raising a brow, “Right…” And by the way that Gojo trembled at your tone of voice, shifting his glasses higher into his unruly bangs, you knew you had him in the palm of your hand. “Because you’re scared.”

“Am not.”

“Am too.”

“Am not-”

“Am too. It’s alright, scaredy-cat-” You’re making a big show of letting the library chair screeeech against the polished hardwood floors as you stand up, fingers itching for your bag. “-I’ll just take my leave then, since you’re so sca-”

“Sit.”

And it wasn’t a plea, it wasn’t even a request.

Gojo had his warm, engulfing palm surrounding your wrist and all but dragging you back to sit back down with an unceremonious plop! 

Hard and rough. 

Before you’d even registered it - before you’d finished blinking - in an instant, he was back to his normally grouchy self. Grimacing face darted back between his pages, hulking body hunched low as he washed himself of the memory of your (unfairly) pretty self seated right next to him. 

This was all a bad dream, he repeated to himself, as if a mantra. But then why was he feeling so…hot? Maybe this was one of those annoying side quests in video games- if he doesn’t interact, he won’t react. 

Yeah, that sounded about right. He just won’t interact.

He will not–

“Your pen’s too loud.”

“Your breathing’s too loud.” 

“So you want me to die-”

“Yes, please.” You’re sniping back on autopilot, your exceptionally silent pen scribbling along one of your flashcards. This really wasn’t how you saw your masterplan going - but it was too late to back out now. If there was anything that was revealed during this lengthy rivalry, it was that you weren’t a quitter. Huffing, “Do you always talk so much when you study?”

“Oh- I’m sorry, princess, want me to kiss your feet while I’m at it?”

“Didn’t think you were one for a foot fetish.”

“H-huh? No! What are you-” 

And that slight waver in his voice makes you pause- it makes you snap your head up, just in time to catch the scorching red blush breezing down the back of Gojo’s neck. Visibly peeking through the edge of his creamy vest even as he buries his face into his upside-down book. 

“Awww- what’s that?” Snickering, you take your chance to nudge your chair closer to his. Teasing. Until thighs met shaky thighs, shoulders bumped sculptured shoulders, and your syrupy breath made the tips of his ears flush. Voice low, “Can’t handle a lil’ sex talk, Satoru?”

Saying his first name- fuck!

He’s slamming his left arm where the heat of your sighs had burned his sensitive earlobe, grumpy baritone cracking– “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Are you a virgin?” You blink, your scheme giving way to genuine curiosity. 

The way that Gojo’s mouth gapes is more than enough of an answer to you. Glasses slipping down his clammy skin, meaty legs shivering as you experimentally brush your palm to feel the flex of his outer thigh. He was…chiseled. 

Blinking, “Really? Not even a handjob?”

And fuck- were you glad that he’d chosen a slightly distant corner of the library. 

Because your hands might be rovering sensually underneath the table, but the tightness in Gojo’s slacks was obvious. 

And it’s not that you spent a lot of time thinking about how big your mortal enemy might be underneath all his formal, upright outfits - but you just didn’t think he’d be this staggering. Perhaps average, at best. 

But one slight glimpse through your peripheral vision left your greedy mouth parting - he was long. So, so long from the end of his body to way past halfway down his thick thigh. 

And so massively girthy that you’re half-counting each jolting throb from the edges of your eyesight. 

Your mouth waters something slick at the primal heat radiating from between his legs. Trying your very hardest not to let your jaw drop as your pupils dare to snake down, down, down—

“Wanna change that?” The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them- and Gojo looks ruined at the very idea.

Eyes glittering, cherry-pink lips falling into a soft oh! “Wh-what are you…”

You hesitate, this was Gojo after all. And you might feel your panties getting damper by the minute but he… Finger balling into a fist as you start to pull away, “Want me to stop-”

“Backing out, miss valedictorian?” 

Fuck- it happens like a flash of lightining. 

In a nanosecond you’re thinking you should pull away, and the next Gojo has his slender fingers gripping your wrist. Tugging your palm to creep right down the bulging cylindrical length twitching between his legs as if you were weightless. 

He was desperate. He was shifting, lurching his hips up off the rickety chair completely so that your soft fingers brush further down his fat, weeping clothed cock. 

An uncharacteristically dark drawl seeping into his voice, “Couldn’t score on the exam and now you can’t score- ngh.”

But, of course, this Gojo Satoru was all talk - his spit-glossed lips wobbling with a whimper the very moment you slip your hands to skim the hem of his pants. 

Pop. 

There goes one of his polished buttons, all sensible. Anything but the way that Gojo’s sexily slouching his toned body into the library desk, a heady gasp departing his lips. “Finish what you- hah! started.”

Pop. 

And you knew that those dexterous digits of his could easily wander down his complicated buttons- but right now Gojo was fumbling. 

He was gnawing on the bubblegum insides of his cheek and keening as he struggled to remove his trousers. 

Pop.

Pop! 

One of the silvery buttons end up clattering down on the wooden floors. Finally - finally - freeing his aching, bloated cock. 

And you’re not just seeing it first - you’re hearing it. The very crown of his reddened tip hitting halfway up his cotton vest with a wettened splat! Eyeing the darkening patch of cloth with a gulp.

Gojo’s long lashes flap— hissing at the strike of cold air where he was most sensitive. “Wh-who’s the scaredy-cat now?”

But how could you not be spellbound?

Mentally, you’re counting nine - maybe even near ten - entire inches of his thick, vein-covered shaft. 

The mushroomed edge of his cockhead blushing the prettiest shade of strawberry pink, and he was just as needily swollen. Spraying out a few glistening trails of pre that puddle up cutely near the curly tufts of white lining his v-line. He was just aching for your touch.

Ruining. 

Jolting like he was zapped with a thousand bolts of electricity the moment your thumb smears the pearly bubble of precum that’d started to leak out of him. Breathless, “Who’s a scaredy-cat?”

“You-hngh!” He’s gritting down on his lower lip as a groan erupts from his throat, teary eyelids wrenching shut at the blissful sensation.

Your hand was so soft- so heavenly. 

Just the slightest trace of your fingerpads gliding down Gojo’s puffy pink veins sends him heaving, the heated figure of his body leaning into your touch. “W-wait-” He spits out through snarling pearly whites as the length of your fingers squeezes the fattened base of his cock sensually. “Fuh-fuck! What the fuck- s-sexual pleasure. Shared sexual pleasure feels like this?”

Just lightly pumping up to press the mountains of your palm into his tender underside. Gojo was so rock-hard that your skin’s memorizing every zig-zagging line of his pulsing veins. “Hmm–?”

“This- how-” Azure eyes pleading up at you, “Hck! How-”

And you’re unsure whether he was babbling at the simplest drag of your hand or yearning for actual responses - but you never did leave a question unanswered. “Mmm– yeah? Like it, Satoru?”

“L-lov-” That little confession almost dribbles from his lips just from the way you’re cooing his first name. Ethereal ivory strands plastering to his forehead as he hastily shakes the thought free, voice breaking. In disbelief. 

He’s tugging his slightly-fogged glasses up his nosebridge, “How does it feel like this- why- fuuuuck– should be…illegal.”

You’re fighting back a moan yourself, the dainty ends of your fingernails fluttering all the way from his drenched happy trail up, up, up, up to kiss his coral-pink slit. 

Glittering a webbed wad of pre that drips down to your wrist as you’re caressing his sensitive outline. Just loooong, lazy traces that feel so good he’s sweating bullets from the sides of his temples. 

“The arteries on the dorsal- Don’t stop–”

“So bossy.”

Gojo finds himself jerking impatiently. He finds himself flinching when you choose that very moment to lean your puckered lips over and plant a wet smack! of spit right down his bulbous, bulging tip. Starting up a sultry pace, “Think I like you better when you’re hah- like this, Satoru.”

“Shut up- fuck- mmm, right there-”

With two palms white-knuckled on the chair’s armrests, he’s stooping his muddled head over and rutting- animalistically. Milking himself on every drag of your plush hands, “Please- please.”

Oh, you really liked it when he begged. 

And you’re pacing your hand even slower, squeezing the pointed globe of his ruby-red tip with a resounding squeeelch! “H-haaaah! There? There? I-if you touch me there…”

“Say that for me again- that ‘pretty please.’” When he can only lower his head deeper and wetly mumble- “Again- oh.”

You shouldn’t have underestimated him - you really shouldn’t have underestimated him. 

Because the moment your wrist strains with the warning signs of slowing your tempo even more- Gojo’s snaps his right hand to hold your hand still and thrusts. 

The weeping thickness of his cocktip mazes between your fingers like a searchlight, he’s fountaining out a warm ribbon of pre that froths down your hand once his long length emerges. 

“F-for the distal end of the glans, the primary source of sexual pleasure- your hand’s fucking h-heaven…oh.” He’s letting rip a guttural grunt, the muscles on his neck ticking. Half-lidded, drunken eyes circling around dizzily until they finally fall upon your shocked oh! face. “Too bad I c-can’t say the same for your mouth-”

“Hey!” 

And you would’ve said something further - you should’ve. You were trying to, yet that very moment Gojo fucks his slenderly toned hips up in such a hard thrust that it makes your pinky nearly bruise at the thwack! of his heavy balls hitting yours. 

He was so fucking hard that the spank of his sagged balls make your skin sting, oh-so-tight that it leaves him standing uprightly erect even when you’re cupping his hilt. 

“Nghhhh f-fuck. Yeah- yeahhh take it- take it just like that, princess.” Gojo’s voice drops into a carnal growl as he’s hooding his eyes over and staring right at where he was using your hand. The thickened digits of his fingers squeezing your own righter ‘round the gummy tip, looser to pound his base. “No one’s ever touched me like this.”

Your hands were so much smaller than his own - than his cock, too.

Damn near dwarfing your touch, he’s throbbing his girth so much fucking fatter that every jolt makes your own wrist shiver with intensity. Faster. 

A few speckles of syrupy drool dribbling down the side of his curling lips, “Should’ve told me if- haaah-” And just then, you’re fingering your thumb to tease the flared ridge of his mushroom crownhead. Making Gojo shudder his pecs and droop his face to mouth down your neck. 

Red hot. Your poor nerdy rival was blushing so hard that wherever he made contact with your throat made your flesh sizzle. “-if this was what you wanted s-so badly—”

“Fuck, Satoru-”

“You guys?!” 

The sudden interruption of an upbeat voice is so abrupt that Gojo can’t do anything less incriminating than pushin’ his moaning, twisting face further into the crook of your neck. Hips subtly shifting on the chair to hide your sinfulness from view, it makes the pads of your fingers snag on one of Gojo’s prominent lightning bolted veins- and leaves him biting down on your throat to muddle a whimper. 

“H-Haibara?” Your voice breaks once you’re lifting your head to stare up at the beaming smile of your fellow classmate. “What umm– brings you here?”

Innocently oblivious to the mess Gojo was drooling from the orifice at his cock as your pace gets sloppier. Faster. You’re coughing lightly to mask the repeated fwop! emanating when the back of your fisted hand hits the front of his toned pelvis. 

“Same as you, of course.” Your audience replies, enunciating his point with a nod towards the papers and textbooks scattered about you two. Clapping his hands, “How wonderful it is to see the two of you studying together- I always did tell Kento you two would end up friends.”

And of course it wasn’t abnormal for Gojo Satoru to ignore anyone and everyone except his books. 

Of course it wasn’t strange- but Haibara sweetly asks, anyway. Tone dripping in concern, “Is he alright, though?”

Gojo’s bucking up to your touch when he’s addressed, one that he’s masking as a flinch. Using that as lewd leverage to squeeze and squeeze the delicate line of his tip, up n’ down. 

Forcing out a slight chuckle, “O-oh, he’s alright. Just resting.” Pointedly pumping your wrist until it was aching, all the way from the bloated bottom of his cock to thumb up his dripping crownhead that Gojo has to mask with shivers. Sneakily, you chance a grope of your free hand to tenderly squeeze his achy balls. “He can’t keep up with my…flashcards, y’know how it is.”

Haibara nods, “Right of course, of course- it’s so sweet how supportive the two of you are with each other’s studies.”

And underneath his panting, cloudy breath, you’re making out Gojo scoffing. The frigid rim of his glasses cratering against the pulse on the side of your neck as he throb-throb-throbs in your hand. 

Twitching. Slobbering. Rutting- everything he could possibly do to milk his fat, swollen cock on your hands without anyone else here noticing. Punishingly, he sinks his honed canines into your skin— “C-cum- gonna–”

Urgently, your cadence turns nearly frantic. Furious, tugging pulls that leave the mahogany chair creaking with slight rickets. 

“Y-yeah– Satoru- deserves it. He’s been working so hard.” You breathe, unsure who it was for. 

But it makes the man melting at your touch hiss— the candy-pink divot homed right on the top of his barreling length so hot with slippery cobwebs of pre. Drooling out more. Jolting even more. Glasses sliding down. 

Your classmate only grins, “Awww–” Taking the slightest step closer and your warm hand tightens in panic. “You two would make the cutest couple!”

And that’s just about when Gojo cums–

Hot, hard. 

So, so heavy with the sheer volume of buttery, sappy white cum he was spilling into your lap. You fight to keep your smile from widening at the way his heated pink shaft drizzles with streaming streaks of seed that stains the skin of your outer thighs.

Gojo lets out a soft gasp of breath once he’s twitching his lusty cock to slap down on your flesh and chase the heat of your cunt. 

Right where he feels himself slip n’ slide across the slick outer sheen dampening from your core— right where he needed to fuck you. Just the darkened edge of his dilated pupil peeks out from the crook of your neck to stare at your audience dead-on. In front of him, if he had to.

And you could sense it, too.

Which is why you’re hastily waving off Haibara’s comment– “Ahh– well, it’s too soon for that.”

“You never know~” Casually scratching the back of his neck, not a thing was amiss in the way that Haibara’s perking up. “I should leave you two to it, then. And I have to tell Kento about this new development and I haven’t studied and-”

You don’t dare let your sigh of relief escape until after he’d walked away with an eager wave. 

Gojo himself was letting go of the area he’d been gnawing on your neck with a soppy pwah! Unsteadily lifting his head just to inch forwards and teeter-

Oh, he looked absolutely fucked-out. 

All heavily-lidded eyes that blinked slowly, and a mouth now shiny with a fresh coating of transparent spittle. Spectacles askew, hair rumpled, collar hauled to the side as if he was undressing himself. 

Greedy slobber bubbles up by the side of his flushed lips and trickles when he catches sight of your hands still wrapped around his softening cock. 

Not looking ‘round you two - not even caring if anyone sees, he’s gently lifting your dominant wrist over to hover near his gulping maw. “Made me make s-such a mess, princess.”

Your fingers trembly at the sheer scorching gusts of his humid breath, Gojo bores right into your eyes as he unfastens his jaw and lets his pinkish tongue liiiiick right up your cream-coated fingers. And the only thing hotter than his ropes of seed were the slimy edges of his tongue. 

Weaving between your pinky, takin’ extra care on your ring finger. 

Each and every one. One by one, he’s sapping down wet slurps with his mouth as he sucks on each glob of white decorating your digits like his favorite lollies. 

“W-we’re–” Gojo starts, his glittering lips still speckled with a bead of frosting. Of cum as he cleans you off. Dry Adam’s apple bobbing, “We’re never– hah.” Before strangling his words with a pained grunt and salivating the ridges of his tastebuds down your fingers in a final French kiss. 

Then another. And another. And another- like he couldn’t fucking get enough. 

And it viscerally ached him somewhere deeply primal inside to curl his rugged palm around your wrist and wrench himself away with a moistened pop! that resonates like music in the empty library air. 

Mouth curling as he pushes up his glasses for the nth time, “We’re never studying together again.”

Speechless, it’s just then that you’re noticing that- oh. Gojo Satoru has dimples. 

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru failed that test.

He totally, totally failed that test. 

Which wouldn’t have been as completely soul-crushing to watch his streak of constant A++ grades be torn down before his very eyes had that final actually been difficult. But Yaga had, mercifully, decided to go easy on them this time - and Gojo should have been able to ace this exam in his sleep.

Which was quite difficult for him to pull off such a feat when he found himself unable to think about anything but you.

Well, given, that wasn’t exactly an outlandish state-of-mind for him. 

Though, usually it’s more along the lines of how ridiculous it was that you thought you’d top Yaga’s Dean’s List instead of him, how your essay wasn’t even that great (okay, maybe it was- but his was better!), or wondering whether it was part of your strategy to look so gorgeous that you distract the entire department into failing.

But today - even right now - all he could wonder about was how ah, question number five- you’d wrapped all five of your pretty lil’ fingers around his cock. 

How soft they were, how perfect they looked pumping his painfully hard girth and fuck- soon enough he was blessed with a half-chubbed dick tightening his pants, and a muddled brain that’d already started writing his answer about you, your damn hands, and you. 

Fuck, he could feel his skin flaring at the mere memory again. 

“Goddammit-” He’s grinding the backs of his molars until he’s tasting metal, staring at the empty lined paper that would usually have been filled and stapled to the backs of his final. “Goddammit.”

And then Gojo stands- so abruptly that several blissfully ignorant students recoil at the sudden movement from their stoic classmate. Papers flying, usual backpack left behind. 

It’s as if a storm, the steps leading him the row or two further up the lecture hall groan and protest at Gojo’s stomping. Closer to where you were - with your face in your hands, and your expression harrowed as if you’d just seen a ghost. 

“You.” He’s starting, rumbling voice low. 

You wince at the sound, as if only just noticing the man towering up to you. Settling your widened eyes off of your…curiously blank sheets of extra paper, only to stare up at Gojo and grimace again. “You.”

And any and all irritation regarding the little predicament you’d put him in vanishes as he realizes. 

You failed that test, too.

SLAM!

Two roughened hands of his strike down on your table to lean in so close, the rows surrounding you two hushing so quiet that you could hear every single one of Gojo’s ragged breaths. Close. 

So, so close. 

You’re counting every single white lash of his, every spike of pale blue in his sapphire irises, every glint in his snarl. So close that your nose tingles with the perfume of that familiar sultry vanilla. 

He watches, expressionless, as your thighs squeeze together beneath you. Shit. 

“Y-you.” Gojo’s voice was rough, as hoarse as if he was trying to keep something deep and dark out of it. “Tonight. My dorm.” Risking a glance around the nosy rest of the hall, his face burns at the unsuccessful way they were pretending not to be listening. “For…studying.”

A wolf whistle rings through the tense air— “Get a room!”

“They’re about to~”

“I knew this would happen.”

“Please keep talking to a minimum, some students are taking extra time on the test.” Yaga’s bored drone shatters the mirth - only to heighten it by twofold just as soon as Gojo feels the slightest hint of relief. “Please keep flirting to a minimum, too.”

And then he turns back to you and you wink.

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

.

.

.

“Oh-ohhh mm, Gojo–” Your head throws back against the carpet of Gojo’s stifling bedroom, your lips gluing together with strands of spit as soon as he kisses your inner thigh and salivates. Mouth churning with wads of spit ready to devour you-

“Satoru.”

“Wh-what?” It takes you every ounce of strength in your sprawled-out body to question in response. 

Head lurching just the slightest few degrees to gaze upon the way he was stuffed nose-deep between your legs - glasses, cocky grin and all. 

Gojo takes the lecherous time to perk his flared nostrils over and sniiiiff–! the aroma of your wetness, his overeager maw spilling a thin trail of spittle at the saccharine-sweet scent of your dripping pussy. “Call me- hah! Satoru.”

Shit- how did you even get here?

Skirt and blouse off, needy.

It’s as if one second you’re explaining (quite ashamedly, mind you) how your plan had backfired and you’d bombed that test, sputtering as Gojo rolls his eyes knowingly. And the next…

Spank! You don’t have to look down to already feel the twisted curl of Gojo’s smirk against your thighs, one of his hands soothing across where he’d oh-so-rudely spanked the right of your ass cheek. 

“Zoning out already? Your Bartholin gland is working overtime to lubricate.” He hums, the frigid metal frames leaving your hips squirming. Tilting his head, “You’re wet.”

“Y-you wish-” You’re huffing and puffing despite the way you’re smearing your legs even more widely agape with primal need. Just begging him for something, anything, with each squelching wave of slick pouring from between your pussylips. 

Gojo leaves one kiss near your cute belly button, another on the hemline of your clingy panties. 

Mwah, mwah– soft, puckered lips trace allll over except where you were aching for him the most. He’s snickering at through a hot gasp once the sharp edges of his teeth snag on the forefront of your underwear and let it snap! back.

“Think you’re soooo fuckin’ smart, huh?”  Gojo spits, furiously. “Always so intelligent- so smug.” Dragging the crescent nubs of his fingernails down the sides of your body– 

Tearing down your panties, flopping through the crevice of your folds to give you just a singular push of his miry tongue. Just a singular kiss, a singular snog of his flattened muscle slapping down on your entrance. “Let’s see how s-smart you really are, then, miss valedictorian.”

And despite the way he’s running his mouth, his tongue sings a different tune. Just like jelly- shyly wobbling on the puffy outside of your pussylips and lapping up gulp after gulp of your sap. 

He was parched- and couldn’t help but tickle your cunt like a man thirsting for years. Thirsting for years, and yet, he couldn’t help the way he’s slouching back slightly on his knees with a burning blush–

“Y-you’re only saying that because-” He jolts at the sudden rut of your hips, sending a slobbering stroooke straightly down your slit. “-because you can’t handle anything else.”

Gojo quirks a cloudy brow, “Anything…oh.”

And though it pained a carnal part of you to - though your pussy was quivering in protest - you find your arm reaching out to grab the prim collar of Gojo’s white sweater and traaawl him all the way up. “Wan’ you in my hah- mouth, Satoru.”

“Ngh–” He’s nibbling his plush bottom lip to bite back a fucking whine– and the moment that slight smirk starts twitching your lips, Gojo scoops your legs up in a surprisingly strong hold. 

Big, beefy arms lifting you in midair and throwing you down on the bed. You yelp as you bounce- he’s careless, desperate, the only thing he needs right now is to have you on his bed. On his mouth-

“Th-think I can’t handle a b-blow- fellatio, huh?” 

He’s grumbling as he lays himself flatly on the cushy mattress, letting those navy sheets be rumpled once he’s sitting back sexily. And you’re almost wishing you could turn yourself around and ogle that handsome vision settling right between your legs. 

“Oh- oh.” Gojo mouths gapes as he really - really takes in the sight of you. All sopping wet and needy for him. Shuddering steadily in and out to regain his breath in some way, “Oh my god- fuck, what a prettyyy pussy.”

“H-hnghh, fuck–” Your mouth drops once large palms spread-spread-spreeead your cheeks apart and let your dewdropped slick drip! down into his throat. 

Shivering, every time his claggy breath stroked your pried-open entrance. Leaving a wide, hot open-mouthed kiss right where Gojo could spy your glistening hole winking. 

You were just a three-course meal sitting above him. And he was ready to crane his neck and diiive–

ZIIIIIIP–!

“Shit- princess, what are you- fuck!”

Your grin grows when you stagger off Gojo’s plaid pants and let his reddened, swollen cock hit your chin with a plap! “Whaaat–?” 

He was standing tall, proud. 

Soooo many swollen, throbbing inches standing up rock-hard n’ straight just from the mere idea of having your saccharine pussy on his mouth.

Thighs trembling where you were straddling his head, fuck, if Gojo was in any better state of mind he’d have registered the way your syrupy pussy grows wetter. “Scared?”

He blushes- he keens, mindlessly bucking his hips to chase the heat of your mouth. “N-no. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to sexual stimulation-”

“You talk too much.”

“Then…”

You’re whimpering, your spine bowing into the perfect curvature once Gojo claws a firm handful of your ass and pulls you to him to kiss your pretty pussy. “Get up here.” Letting the thickened air ring with the smack of his glossy lips gluing to your outer folds, “Get up- get up here so that I can fucking show you, miss valedictorian.”

And he might have absolutely zero experience - but that didn’t mean that Gojo wasn’t hungry. 

He’s not waiting around for you to tease him to death with your sweet, puckered lips. No- he’s tugging you down his lengthy body and latching ‘round the nub of your clit first. 

“She- she’s the clit, huh?”

“Sh-shit…oh my ngh- Satoru!”

Tittering, “Course she is- located at the top of the vulva and responsible f-for connecting the network of erectile tissue. And she has you alll stupid.”

Your treacly cunt was giving him the cutest lil’ welcome by pouring a wave of sticky slick right down his chin, he’s sliding the wetness against the innards of your squeezing thighs and pushing himself nose-deep.

Glasses cluttering, vein-decorated forearms flexing. “How’s that–?” Endlessly listing off the three-hundred different ways to toy with your sensitive clit, he’s swervin’ the glazed point of his tongue in cute hearts. Groaning into your pussy, “Mmmm– your turn- o-oh fuck!”

And you weren’t just teasing him, you were simply waiting for the perfect moment to plop your saturated mouth in a clammy smooch over Gojo’s round, smooth cockhead.

Lapping the narrowed margin of your tongue to rim that split-end on his tip, your tastebuds scorch with the warm cream of his pre. Buttering up your flat muscles as you jerk your head and draaaag a long, languid lick. “What’s that?”

Letting out the cutest pitched ‘fuck!’, Gojo bucks his hips to plunge between your hot maw with a wet fwop! 

Hissing, “I was mistaken, your mouth is heaven.” 

Gulping him deeper-

“Haaaah- wait.” It’s like he’s easing and then back- too much for his sensitive, inexperienced cock. “Stimulating my c-cock with a tongue so good. Now that’s- that’s just fucking- unfair-” 

Spanking your cunt with a splatter of wadded saliva before teething his canines along your clit and pinching. Groaning right into that mess, “Unfair- th-that’s unfair- fuck! Shit, how do you make everything feel so good- You always do hafta ch-cheat, huh?”

He has to battle with himself not to cum right then and there. 

But he wasn’t going down without a fight.

You’re just starting to lavish your silky tongue over the sensitive veins snaking along his meaty base, chin tickling with curly white hairs- when Gojo wraps an arm around your waist and pulls—

“Wh-who’s cheating now?”

“And who do ya think you are?” Gojo pleads- he strains. Your body being slightly bumped up n’ down like a rollercoaster after each heave of his broad pectorals. 

And just playing with your clit wasn’t enough, he needed to use his inhuman strength to make you rest your entire weight. “Just- sit–” Throat hatching with lilting groans once your mouth is sliiiding sensually down his pink shaft. Gojo’s speaking between French kisses to your cunt, grunting like it hurt him to break off. 

And even though he’s practically still closed, you swear you could count every one of his eight, ladder-like abs.

“But I could ngh- suffocate-”

Rutting- deep back into your mouth till his bawling mushroom tip swabs the very back of your throat. “So? Then it’ll be my ngh- first and last time. Respiration is overrated, just- fucking- sit.”

Yelping, it’s all you can do to claw your nails down each of Gojo’s thick, milky thighs once he grabs onto your body and slams you down on his readily awaiting mouth. 

“Fuck- fuck!” Eyes widened, tone crazed. He doesn’t know where to look when he’s slobbering his heated mouth in dragging licks up and down between your puffed-up folds, occasionally peeking inside your fluttering hole and giving your ring of muscle a sloooow stretched-out circle. 

Gojo slaps the velvety underside of his tongue down on your sensitive entrance and watches as your syrupy slick pooours. “Don’t know how long I-I’ve dreamt of this, princess-”

“Y-you have?”

Though, it comes out gurgled and half-moaned around the fattened circumference of Gojo’s pulsating, long cock. He was just so big that you’d barely even slid his heavy shaft down halfway until he’s probing your throat thoroughly. 

Fattened balls tightened once he speaks, “You- have- nooooo fucking idea-” Punctuated with heavy, slashing strokes of his tongue. 

You’re damn near sobbing at the sheer surprisingly strength of his - the pleasure. Gojo was technical in his approach, a snagging lil’ circle to make your hole stretch cutely- before gifting himself a looong lick from the base of your pussy right up to your clit. 

“Every time before a test- e-every time after. Ngh- every time someone would l-look at you in those pretty skirts and- fuuuuck! wanted to fuck that damn mouth shut every time you’d insult me. Every time- made you wanna scream.”

Swiping his simmering tastebuds down with circles. Hearts. Something that felt like an S–

“Tha’s right- goood girl, you got that one right.” He’s piping up from between your dampened inner thighs. Fucking you with his tongue just the way his weighty cock was bawling and begging to fuck you.

And it takes you one more sweltering kiss, two more until you’re lifting your mouth back off of Gojo’s fat cock in realization- did you just say that out loud? 

“Mhmm—” Gojo answers, voice breaking with a slight whine at the loss of heat. Promptly, you’re pushing your hips back to ride his mouth shut and gawking at the way it makes his shaft twitch wildly. Like a madman, he’s rutting up to capture your sweet, sweet lips once more- 

“Th-think I like it better when you- ngh-” You somehow manage to get out through sappy wet bobs of your mouth, every squelch! drawn out by the suction of your hollowed lips deafening in his cozy bedroom. You start to feverishly pump the solid inches of his you couldn’t fit inside, holding onto one side of his muscular glutes for balance. “-when you shut up.”

“N’ you’re better when you have- my-” It was even worse with every buzzzzing vibration of his voice tingling your clit. The bed rickets in unison with your whines as he drills up into your slickened mouth maddeningly, plummy tip scouring your inner cheeks. “-biiig fucking cock in y-your mouth.”

And then Gojo wasn’t just making out with your cunt till he’s pussydrunk- he’s slithering one of his slender, pale fingers until it’s all glazed with a satiny layer of sap and caressing your entrance. 

Tenderly, he slips just the thick first pad of it past the tight muscle before you’re clenching- being dragged even further up his face. 

“C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon please-” Pushing and pushing, he couldn’t handle the singlest bit of resistance unless he wanted to tear up. 

The size of his digit is just so looong and nimble enough that Gojo finds himself in awe at the way your snug hole opens up to swallow him eagerly. Crying out bulbous tears of sap, you’re just arching your back and taking every one thrust. Two. Three. Four–

Swatting your clit with the pointed fringe of his chin, he’s flopping his tongue over in a textured pattern on top of your perky clit. One that makes you gasp— “A? A?”

“Mhmm—” Teething your swollen folds at the grooving tickle of his prominent middle veins on the roof of your mouth, the way you’re announcing everything he spells is just so hot that Gojo bucks until you choke. “Next-”

Struggling, flowing so much damper at the muscles of his front. God- he was sooo fucking fit. Using every ounce to push– “Mmpf- ngh-” Mouth so full that your cheeks bulge, “J?”

“What’s that? Wha’s that?” Gojo almost throws his head back into the bedsprings and chuckles. “Miss vale-hah! valedictorian can’t even spell-” Toying the mushy tip of his tongue over your clit again, “What’s that?”

“T- please. Not gonna last-”

“Mmmm–” He’s so close now that you could feel the cold press of his glasses, all drenched at this point. Even more so when Gojo adds in a third finger and lets it just graze the splotchy area of your g-spot.

“Sa-toru, your glasses-”

He didn’t even care. He didn’t even need them at this point. 

“Use the momentum of your hips. Move. Ride.” 

In three different ways. Riding him exactly how he wanted you to in languid, slobbering drags and he’s never been more in heaven. The nubs of your hardened nipples rubbin’ all sensitive through your bra where Gojo manhandles you to glissade down his tensed core. 

His throbbing shaft twitching and striking the roof of your mouth, he’s getting fervent. Burning hot. “Aww- pretty princess is all dumb. What’s- that?”

His tongue’s so dexterous that even your hazed mind can make out each syllable, each letter. Faster. Harder. “O- ngh! S’an O-” Trembling palms cupping his balls, “R- M’so fucking close.”

And you could already guess the next looping drag of his tongue. The precise syllable on your tongue once you’re throwing your head back and shattering– “U- You- fuck! Satoru–!” You didn’t even have to try to open your mouth and let the wadded ribbon of saliva dangle off from it. 

Striking Gojo’s veiny shaft and making him buck-

“That’s it- nghhh- c’mon, princess, scream my name.”

“Saaa–toru. C-cummin- ngh.” You don’t even have the privilege of finishing your damn sentence before he’s plopping in four of his prolonged fingers and making your wave of euphoria burst. 

So hard that your vision dots with pure white. You’re leaking from both your maw and your fluttering eyelids now, “P-please.” Mouth flooded with so many whimpers and torrents of slobber. You’re so far thrust into your blissful high that you don’t even realize you’ve stuck the first few inches of Gojo’s spit-glazed cock inside your watered mouth. 

“Yeah- yeahhh what do ya want?”

“C-cum.”

“Hmm–?”

Shoveling right inside like your favorite pinkish ice cream once you’re peeking over your shoulder and mumbling– “C-cum, Toru–”

And there it was - that did it.

You, saying his first name. Like that.

The only thing more it takes before creeps his sweaty palm over the crown of your skull and pushes- straight down. Straight full of his lengthy, rummaging fat cock, until your nose nuzzles the slight fuzz of silky white at the base. 

Eyes sprinting to the back of your head, your throat gets all clogged-up with his throbbing inches before he fills it up even further.

Oh, oh- you never thought you could ever be so damn full. 

It’s as if he’s torn apart your throat and was probin’ the curve of his bulging mushroom tip right into the base of your lungs. Flooding it up with sploshing wires of stringy cum, pumping and pumping each ribbon until it’d formulated a buttery frosting everywhere he could reach.

“O-ohhh fuck- nghhhh fuck-” Bottomed-out, yet pushing down even further. “Y-you…”

With a splattering bubble of drool that trickles from the rosy corner of his lips- Gojo couldn’t even clearly see from his tear-shattered vision, and yet, he was staring dead-on at your relaxed throat. 

Mindlessly, the sensory tip of his index traces that bulging cylindrical outline being fucked against the underside of your neck. Dooown all nine inches. Gojo jostles your weakened knees apart and lets his overspilling cock dab the corners and crevices of your hot mouth.

The bloated, flaring ridge of his slit moving it all over. Breathlessly giggling, “You really- really t-took it ngh- all…you- oh.” Heavy, pink balls tightening as if he could cum again- “How’s that, little miss valedictorian?”

You swallowed.

“S’that…all you got?”

And he couldn’t get enough.

It was just too adorable how your snarky mouth was hoarse n’ all spellbound by the time Gojo slides his veined cock a few more vulgar times down your tongue and pulls out with a plop!

“Ngh- T-Toru-”

“Shiiit- don’t call me that- fuuuck don’t call me- oh.” He couldn’t even speak. The polished frames of his glasses nearly dangling off, Gojo manhandles your boneless body around to sit prettily on his manspread lap. 

To admire you properly.

And all it takes is that singular glimpse of you. 

That clouded vision of you above him - your eyes glassy with a film of lust, mouth sopping wet with milky wads of seed that drip! drip! drip! down between his toned pecs. 

Your fucked-out hips glissading back down the uprightly laid length of his girth - over every vein, every ridge - with a whine-

And the man damn near loses it.

He’s whining, bucking- his feet planting up to gyrate his hot cock against your skin like he was aching for more. “Need it.” You’re almost startled as two of Gojo’s palms latch onto your hips and make you push, “Please- I mean- fuck.” Shit, he couldn’t stop himself from babbling pussdrunkenly. 

That carnal urge pulsing from his bulging tip to push deeply inside you.

You’re feeling Gojo swell up even fatter - even harder - behind the cheeks of your ass and find yourself pushing back with a greedy pap! of skin-on-skin. “Don’t tell me…”

“Shut up.” Kissing you, he tastes salted caramel and nearly cums again.

Lecherous grin growing even wider, you break off. “Awww—” Your previous dazed state slowly fading with the last few tingles of your orgasm, “Wittle Toru’s first time?”

“Shut up.”

He’s straining his neck and snapping his jaw with a click! Honed canines threatening the fragile skin of your nipples, you’re pushing back on his feverish flesh. 

Gojo looked so pretty like this that you just couldn’t help it - all stinging, red cheeks, and your pussy slicking a gooey lustre that plasters from his dripping chin all the way to damn near the tips of his ears. 

Puddling. 

“No need to worry.” You shove on his blushing collarbones with a whimper, his cock was so hard that it hurt. “I’ll be ngh- gentle, Satoru, so oh- fuck!”

But Gojo Satoru didn’t wait this long to be fucking gentle. 

No- just like the way he’s longed to whenever you always got so close, so fiery shutting him up during arguments - Gojo thrusts the big, bulging tip of his cock between your swollen folds and pushes. 

His first. 

Finding his muscular thighs trembling, mouth parting, pupils rolling until all you could see was the pure white of his eyes. Something dark and primal breaks at the back of his ravaged throat, “O-oh.” And he’s gasping with the effort to compose himself- to say something snarky. 

But all Gojo can do is hold onto the girthy base of his shaft and let it drip with a glaze of syrupy pre. Mouth opening n’ closing, breath catching. 

“Wait- you’re so-” Bucking his hips just the slightest inch off the dampened sheets and letting it slide pointedly along your walls. “-y-you’re so soft- and warm. And ngh- nghhh fuck! Th-this is what the adventitia- what your pretty pussy feels like?”

Watery eyes widening once you nod, “Th-then m’neeever pulling out. Your lamina propria’s gonna mold to my cock, miss valedictorian.” 

Cooing, he hastily tugs off his cottony sweater, fumbling once the syrupy pool of slick you’d leaked all over his neckline makes it stick to his skin like an adhesive. And oh- fuck.

You’d felt every line and shapely curve of Gojo’s chiseled abs down your front. Hell, you could still feel the way your tummy was aching with the stinging ridges of him pressed up against you- and yet, it still doesn’t prepare you for just how sexily toned your smug rival was. 

All naturally muscular edges of his broad shoulders, and his ivory happy trail was wobbling with the bumps of his abs. All flexing. All tense. 

All heated against your naked thighs as he grips your ass cheeks and pushes you down, down, down–

“Ngh…oh– Toru!”

“S-soooo sweet.” Voice hitching, he’s squinting his eyes cutely in pleasure at that silken, soft hug of your walls. You’re shaping around his thickly barreling length so tight that he’s roughly handling you to lift up and down- up and down. Deeper. “So ngh- so much better than that…PocketPussy3000 I named after ya, princess.”

And you would be snarking back- teasing him, had it not been for the way that Gojo was so fucking big that he made your mind stupidly dizzy. 

“B-big?” Gojo croaks out from underneath you- oh, shit, you’d said that out loud. Again. “Am I…” Drifting his glassy eyes downwards to watch where your puffy pussylips were bulging whilst struggling to take him. “-really that big?”

Biting down on the insides of your cheek as you lie, “N-no.”

Experimentally, Gojo gives another feral rut. Watching as your pretty eyes nearly bulge out of your head, your maw falling ajar into a perfect ‘o’. 

He’s fucking up into you with his massive cock and barely even trying to dig the smooth, left-leaning curve of his achy girth into your every nook and cranny. Veins bloated up so wide that they carve a zig-zagged pattern against your tight channel after every ba-dump–!

Gojo really was that big. 

“H-heh.” Octaves higher, wild. He’s chuckling as if he still couldn’t even believe it when Gojo’s right hand creeps up the side of your hips to press down on your tummy. 

“Mmm– hck! If you’re gonna press there, Satoru-”

“Why? S’a biiig stretch for the poor stratified squamous epithelium isn’t it?” Feeling himself with the edges of his ravenous, long digits as he sliiiides in- rocking n’ rocking upwards against your snug resistance. Speaking over the creaky bedcoils, “Say it- tell me.”

Arms rested upon his flexing deltoids, you throw your head back after each solid inch he was blowing your cunt up with. Until it felt like your walls were being snagged on to the maximum, “B-big-”

“Nuh uh, princess- biiiig stretch. Say it w’me now-”

“Big- ngh!” You’re fighting against Gojo’s sloppy cadence from behind you to roll your hips back onto his trembling thighs. Deeper. Deeper. “Biiig stretch–”

“That’s right—” Oh, you’ve never been more irresistible to him. And Gojo’s palm massages the bumpin’ bulge being pounded against your tummy, until you can feel every crease of his palm lines. It makes his filthy mouth salivate to feel the stretch inside as you keep swallowing his cock deeper. “Again now- nghhh- biiig stretch.”

“Biiiig stretch- oh, fuck!”

Just about the only thing you can do is spit out a string of swears when Gojo bottoms out and hits the base of your pussy with a sharp spank! 

Tendrils of white rubbin’ your outer pussy raw, the circumference of his length bullying inside to stretch your hole into such a cute oh! The exact same shape that your mouth was turning into right now, “Please- fuck mmm–”

Squelches! ring out after every springy bounce you plant on Gojo’s length, your calves burning with the sheer effort it takes to smooch your puckered ring over his tip and slide, slide, slide all the way down to his hilt. 

Breathing out in a pant, “Oh, you’ve taken all of me- all of me? Seriously- fuck!” Gojo lets his inexperienced hips drive all the way upwards in carnal, uncontrolled ruts. “Tha’s just right- fuh-fuck back t’me like that mmm-”

“Getting hck! really cocky–” You’re biting, your overworked pussy quivering as you clench. “-Toru.”

And oh, that makes him shatter. 

Hips mindless, head flopping backwards, mouth opening with the prettiest, more pornographic whine. You’d just made the Gojo Satoru whine with your pussy.

His drunken gaze only half-opening to stare at you through dilated eyes, glasses completely fogged-up and useless now that you’re roughly riding him. Smart mouth babbling, “D-don’t think you’re- winning–”

It was a competition even now. 

Like a race to who could get the other to break first, he’s matching your papping cadence and even more. And through the tears clung to your lashes, you’re spying the way that Gojo’s v-line was swollen n’ red with slamming contact. 

Your hand glissading down his sweat-glistening skin to trace his sensitive abs, “Oh yeah? And you think- hck-” Another sluuurping clench, another topple of his head. His sanity. “-y-you’re winning?”

“Still haven’t found the mmm– Gräfenberg spot yet, princess.” He’s smirking, one hand rested upon your right ass cheek to keep on stirrin’ his rummaging length in swivels inside of you. The other thumbing over your neglected clit in the meantime, muttering. “Anterior wall under the urethra…roughly hnghhh– this many inches deep and part of the sensitive clitoral network…”

His split-ending, bawling cocktip probes your glossy walls like a spotlight. Your g-spot being the bullseye that he’s targeting dead on. Grinning. 

“-here.”

Precisely, you feel the heat of his prominent spherical cockhead drive up n’ down the entire length of that sensitive bundle of nerves. Digging the curve of his shaft generously into where you saw stars-

“Who’s winning hck! what now?”

Sloppily kissing him, just to quieten the man down. “Oh- sh-shut up.”

“Hm…” Gojo’s accurate whack! of his girth against your g-spot lets off the loudest, most lecherous squeeeelch. And he’s proddin’ his sensitive slit against your cervix just to feel it, “Can you shut up when I fuck you like- this-”

You can’t. 

Mewling, your knees hit halt and wedge the swollen n’ aching nub of your clit against his supple palm. Letting his skin streak a good rub over where your core was painfully needy, “Y-you grew bigger.”

“Hmmm–?”

You’re riding him craaaazy with your hips, pussy walls clinging onto his slick cock so tightly that you’re rendered weak with every vein. Every throb. Every growth of his shaft pounding even fatter until you could barely even clench-

Bigger. Harder. Tongue slathering with a glaze of syrupy spit, “B-big– got ngh! bigger.”

“What’s that? What’s thaaaat?” His pummeling dick scouring down your walls, erupting in a proud splosh of rich precum at that cute lil’ compliment. “Bigger? Heh- my princess ngh likes, big- don’tcha?”

At this point you’re driven wild, your dewy pupils circlin’ around the insides of your eye comically. Mouth hanging open with stupid little ‘oh’s’ and ‘yesses.’

Gojo narrows his eyes once you start blubbering, bashing his tip extra hard into your g-spot so that he could have you fully dumb on his cock. “Mmm– c’mon, miss valedictorian.” Lips twitching, “Use your big girl words.”

“Hngh- hard-”

“Yeahhh– m’pretty fucking- hard- huh?”

“Harder.”

Oh- it’s a wonder he didn’t cum right then- shit, Gojo thinks he almost is. 

A thin, ropey string of hot seed that hits your womb the moment he’s flattening his feet on the cushion of the bed to thrash a mean thwack! onto your spongy cervix. 

Digging his geysering divot so deep against the bottom of your glutinous cunt that he grits his teeth and plugs his weepy crown shut. 

Trying not to cum- praying not to cum, “Harder? Harder?” Repeated in such a high, unsteady pitch. His dazed eyes peeking over his glasses and widening, “My girl wants it harder?”

Nodding, “Please, Toru– m’soooo close.”

“Then- greedy fucking- girl- better- take it.” And he wasn’t just pummeling your poor pussy, he was pummeling it like a madman. You could practically see the rippling of his muscular body, sheer power that was being channeled into each thrust. 

Each strike. Each damp smooch with your g-spot. 

You didn’t even realize you were clawing at his shoulders in an attempt to crawl away until his left hand pushes down on your sweat-matted scalp. 

Holding your face still, Gojo watches every cute minute reaction of yours as he goes hard. Then slow. Then sloppy. Alternating his pace until you’re sure you’ve memorized the patterns of his hammering veins on each side. “N’ that means nghh- nooo running away.”

“No runnin’-” Babbling through tears, every strike makes your brain spin. “Not gonna last- nghh fuck…not gonna last, Toru.”

“Swallowing my cock so much- S’this what you wanted after every hah- argument? Every time you yelled? Filthy giiirl, shoulda just asked.”

And Gojo was murmuring such filth into your ear that you can’t help but shrill– “Let me cum- ngh- let me cum-”

“Tch- demanding.”

“Please-”

“Better…how about ‘pretty pl–’ oh fuck.” 

Before he can revel in his victory, before he can tease you any further - you’re reaching one of your jittery hands behind your back and palming at Gojo’s tight, aching ballsack. Tracing your sultry touch just where he was red n’ raw with the slamming impact of your ass.

Hips speeding up, creaking getting louder. 

“Oh hah- haaaa–” Gojo tosses his head back and bucks- bucks and bucks and bucks as if he was trying to milk your orgasm sooner. Rovering thumb pressing down on your clit like his favorite button, “Cheater, cheater~”

You didn’t know who was off worse - you who was drooling out a sappy puddle after every repeated three slams of his cock each passing second. Letting your droopy body be manhandled into bouncing in a S-A-T-O-R-U that you’re not even sure Gojo realizes he’s making you spell out. 

Didn’t even register. Didn’t even know. 

Or Gojo who was trembling with every squeeze of your gushing walls, frantically letting his glasses slide off even further so that he wasn’t hypnotized and on the verge of losing just by watching you ride him dry.

You’re too hot to handle. 

A perk that you’re immediately abusing as you push his glasses cleanly back onto his nosebridge n’ smudge away the misted fog. 

“Ngh f-fuck–” Chin hitting your sweaty chest once he’s manoeuvering you into a wiiiide O to muddle together the letters of his name. Claiming your pretty pussy. Claiming him. “-fuck you, Satoru.”

Gojo leans in closer with puckered lips, close enough to kiss. “I’m fucking you, princess.” To shut you up while sucking on your tongue while it hits. 

And Gojo’s so caught up in every movement of your body that he doesn’t even realize he’s finishing off in such a wet, voluminous way until it’s dripping out of you. Mouth parting, “O-oh…”

Your own orgasm takes over your body like a wave, being suddenly hit with strikes of white-hot pleasure that send goosebumps trailing down your spine. Every push of Gojo’s slick shaft feels so good that it makes your vision flash white, whimpering each time his slimy mushroom tip was kissin’ your sweetest spots. 

“Cumming–” You’re calling out belatedly, hips creaming yourself on his. “I’m– oh.”

“H-heh.” And Gojo was actually giggling- giggling. Faintly noting the hot-headed mess that was his brain right now, he could only flutter his long lashes at each spike of pleasure and stare. 

Ogling the way your puffy pussylips were gulping after every streak of his cum, the creamy white mess pouring out into you until your womb felt heavy. 

Over and over he’s thrusting inside, making- almost forcing his cock to pour out every drop. Every ounce until it was dry.

Showered, sloppy wads of seed plastered across your hole, you could feel the pearly mess dangling out of you each time your cunt hit his pelvis. Formulating a ring of syrupy cum that made Gojo just swallow past his parched throat, “I win.”

“No.” You’re huffing. Stubborn, even as you’re sagging down until your face was cushioned by his pecs, perking your hips to milk out his last few dredges until Gojo was cumming dry. “I win-”

Dry- you’d made him cum dry.

Humping upwards so that oodles of sap would slip down your cervix and make you shudder. Both your popped ears buzzing with the splat! of cobwebbed cum that glues down your thighs. “Nuh uh, princess. I totally won that.”

“Hngh- yuh uh.”

“Nuh-”

And maybe you were the least drunken of the two, because you’re the only one with enough murky sense right now to put an end to the endless argument. 

Shutting Gojo Satoru up for once in his life by reaching your hand over to dig underneath his navy pillow - searching for that glint of something you’re sure you’d caught in your lustful haze moments prior. 

He can only lay beneath you and blush and blush once you pull out…that.

The PocketPussy3000 he’d named after you– the very same one he’d fuck up into night after long, lonely night thinking about his damn “rival.” 

Fuck…he should’ve known the valedictorian wouldn’t forget. 

“Named after me, huh? Cute.”

Indignantly pushing up his frames, “Wh-what is the meaning of this-”

“Let’s consider it a tie.” You croon, in that exact tone he knew was dangerous. And his brainy suspicions are proven correct when, the very next moment, you’re pulling yourself off of him with a dampened pop! 

Letting a stream of ivory creamy swoosh down below to sheen his pale thighs - Gojo has never looked prettier, you think.

“Oh- oh my god…ngh- oh my god, princess.”

The apples of his cheeks scorching, mouth gaping, tired n’ thoroughly overstimulated pink cock flinching when you hover that rubbery toy over. Letting off a sopping slurp as you start to bully his reddened tip between the folds and jerk him off– “Round two?”

.

.

.

“It can’t be-”

“So that last time seriously wasn’t about studying?”

“You owe me five thousand yen.”

And you swear you’re catching about half the class and Yaga himself exchanges betting pools of money the very moment you and Gojo enter the lecture hall. Together. Hand-in-hand.

Fuck- was your rivalry really that infamous? 

Because Gojo’s fingers weave even tighter with yours as you pass by countless stares, numerous cellphones out to take paparazzi shots of the markings on your neck that you’re sure will end up on some sort of campus bulletin board by the end of the hour. 

Ah, maybe you should’ve done one of those ‘soft-launches’ first…

Too late for that, you think, seated at your usual spot on one of the first few rows and wearily watches as Yaga happily counts the spoils of his bet. 

Sneaking a glance at your gloomy boyfriend, you try not to snicker- not only did he receive a stupendous second placement on the last exam, tied with you, it’s as if every single person here blatantly couldn’t tear their eyes off of his hunched, blushing figure. 

Nervously pushing his glasses up to his bangs– “Maybe we should ah…‘cut class’ as they call it, princess-”

“So-” There’s a slamming weight of a strong forearm on your shoulder, ringed fingers possessive - and another one on Gojo’s - that could only mean one person. “Unless my milkshake was spiked again, I take it that the scheme- I mean, study session went well? Even though I did get first place on our last final.” 

Before you can answer, Geto’s husky voice heats up your ear, low. Dangerous. “Y’know, I hear this next assignment’s a…group project.”

A/N. Hehehe I MISSED Nerdjo so I just had to…

Plagiarism not authorized.

[rafesangelita]

♡ bsf!rafe reads something he wasn’t supposed to..

warnings: use of the name ‘daddy’ (kinda a lot, so if you don’t like this nickname, don’t read pls), male masturbation, handjob (but not really??), suggestive ending

ding—!

rafe’s ears perked up at the sound of your phone going off, a series of notifications ringing out as you sat in front of your vanity. applying the lipgloss rafe loved so much, you eyed his reflection in the mirror as he laid sprawled out on your bed, patiently waiting for you to be done with your makeup so you two could go out for dinner. “can you check my phone, please ray? it’s probably one of my girlfriends.” he grabbed the device from where it sat on your nightstand, your playlist playing softly in the background as he unlocked your phone, opening your recent text threads.

scanning down the list, his eyes zeroed in on the name ‘josh ♡’, his jaw clenching as he clicked on the contact. you were too busy singing along to your favorite song and spritzing your face with setting spray to notice rafe scrolling through your private messages with another guy, his eyes scanning down the flirtatious advances and even a few selfies here and there. you looked amazing in them, of course, and he couldn’t stand that you had granted another person to see you looking that good. scrolling down to the most recent messages, he read the texts you two exchanged just last night.

[8:21 PM] josh ♡ : why won’t you just call me daddy? like how do you expect this to go any further if you don’t call me what i want you to?

[8:27 PM] do you hear yourself? if me not calling you daddy is what’s going to be a factor in us not speaking to each other anymore, then that’s perfectly fine. you aren’t even ‘daddy’ material.. my best friend has more grit than you do.

“what was it?” your voice made rafe jump, his eyes widening slightly as he shook his head, trying his best not to show that you had completely flipped his world upside down with a single name. “oh, just some text alerts from sephora.” he cleared his throat awkwardly before excusing himself to go to the bathroom. once he was away from you, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, his mind racing at what exactly you were insinuating in your text. he didn’t know what to think. were you alluding to the fact that he was indeed ‘daddy material’ or were you just trying to piss off that loser?

putting his own kinks aside, rafe cursed under his breath as he imagined you referring to him as that god forsaken word, the dirty thoughts in his head only being fueled by him not even having to ask you to call him something as depraved as daddy. he envisioned you so many times crying out for him, his fantasy of fucking his best friend haunting him every single night. groaning at the reminder that you were basically forbidden fruit, rafe sighed out in frustration when his jeans suddenly felt two sizes too tight. “rafe, i’m ready!” you sung out, your heels clicking against the hardwood floor in the hallway.

rafe panicked, shouting out a “o-okay, i’ll be right out!” as you snapped pictures of yourself for your instagram story. while you were scrolling aimlessly on your phone to pass time, rafe was splashing cold water on himself in a poor attempt to get his cock to stop straining against his pants, a groan leaving his lips as he palmed himself through the denim material. you froze when you heard the sound, your eyes lifting up from your phone as you fixated your gaze on the door knob. “rafe? are you okay?” as soon as he heard your voice, he shut the water off to the sink. “fuck— yes! yes, i’m fine!”

you continued waiting, now sitting at the top of the stairs while rafe struggled to tug one out. “come on, what the fuck?!” he whispered to himself, his cock aching mean and rock hard in his fist. “i’m starving!” you whined, resting your forehead against the staircase. “okay, that’s just unfair. i waited nearly two hours for you to get ready and now you can’t wait for me when i have an actual problem going on?!” rafe grumbled, his jaw ticking as he only made himself feel more embarrassed than he already was. problem? you turned around, walking over to the door.

you could hear him breathing heavy, a slick sound making your eyebrows knit in confusion. biting your cheek, you whispered a ‘fuck it..’ before opening the door, your jaw dropping to the floor at the sight. “oh, shit—!” rafe cupped himself, hiding everything from your view as you stood there dumbfounded. “why would you come in here?!” he shouted, your eyes raking down his form until they settled on his hands. “that’s why you’re taking so long? because you’re too busy jerking off?” rafe watched as you stepped closer, his eyes screwing shut as you leaned against the counter.

“i’ve been trying to make it go away,” he shifted uncomfortably, “it’s not like i can control this.” you were standing just a few feet away from the very thing that’s made you lose sleep just thinking about. you two had it so bad for each other and neither of you had a single clue about it. rafe stared at you as you blinked up at him, a playful glint sparkling in your eyes. “sooo.. what happened?” he shook his head, feeling slightly guilty that you caught him doing this in your bathroom. “look, we don’t need to go over anything—”

“you saw my texts with that guy, didn’t you?”

rafe swallowed thickly, a sigh leaving his lips before he nodded. “how did you know?” rafe asked, embarrassed. “i looked at my phone when you ran off over here and saw that the messages had been opened.” he narrowed his gaze at you, a shock of realization hitting him. “you knew i was going to see them. that’s why you asked me to check who was texting you.” rafe watched as your lips curved into a smile, his eyes turning dark as you put your hand over his. “i would’ve called you daddy a long time ago if it meant finding you like this.” you pulled his hand away so he wasn’t concealing himself from your view anymore, his jaw clenching as you took him in your palm.

he felt hot and heavy as you stroked him, his forehead falling against your shoulder. “oh, fuck,” he moaned, pulling you closer to him so that you could feel his bulge poking your tummy, “say it again.” rafe lifted his head, both of you sharing a knowing look before you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. he immediately tasted the sweet vanilla of your lipgloss, both of you pausing to take in the fact that you were actually kissing each other after all this time of just being friends. bringing your mouth close to his ear, you pecked the sensitive spot on his neck before whispering.

“daddy, will you please take me back to my room?”

thank you nonnie for celebrating with me ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

[randompiecesofwriting]

Coffee Snob

Summary: Robby meets his neighbor in the middle of the night on the rooftop of his apartment building, quickly establishing a relationship he wasn’t fully expecting and finding it to be more serious than originally thought when she shows up in his ER a few days later

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Reader gets stitches but process isn’t described at all, Author has absolutely no medical knowledge, Robby’s a worrywart

Author’s Note: Thank you everyone who read my Jack fic Wrong Name! It got way more love an attention than I ever thought it would and that means the absolute world to me! This is my first Robby fic so of course let me know what you think and I hope you like it!

There was a man in your spot.

You’ve been up here nearly every night for the past few months and never had there been a man in your spot.

Usually you crave the silence this spot gave you, the peace of nighttime, the calm connectivity of the city below you. A man in your spot threatened to burst that bubble.

But seeing this man, in his fraying hoodie, with his legs dangling over the edge, drinking a beer, didn’t bring you any bitterness or disappointment. Rather you felt strangely calm.

Before you could fully process what you were doing you gave the handle to the roof access door a little jiggle and kicked the rocks beneath your feet softly, letting him know you were here before calling out “You know I’m not an expert but I’m pretty sure heights and alcohol don’t mix well”

He pivoted around slowly, your loud entrance having the desired effect of warning him of your arrival rather than startling him.

Soft brown eyes connected with yours in silence for a moment, you taking the opportunity to see just how downtrodden the man before you looked before his eyes flickered down to your hands, noting the beer that dangled from your fingers with a quiet huff “not an expert huh”

“Not an expert” you confirmed, taking a slow step forward “I practice this as an amateur”

He snorted under his breath at that. Turning back to the city before him, you taking that as a silent invitation to join him, planting yourself just far enough away to avoid making it awkward. “You know that’s my spot”

At that a dejected chuckle came out of him, an acknowledgement of an inside joke you weren’t apart of before shaking his head “not an expert but you have a spot”

“Never said I usually drink up here” you tossed the comment out as you twisted the top off your drink, giving his abandoned can next to him a toast before taking a swig.

The silence blanketed the two of you for a moment, somehow avoiding ever being oppressive or awkward, before he broke it “usually my spot’s at work”

“ahhh” you hummed, watching the lights of the city below you “so you’re the expert here then”

He laughed at that, a big sigh coming out of him as his shoulders finally fell slightly “never said I usually drink up there”

You let your eyes drift over his form for a second, taking the time to finally properly appreciate the man beside you “Honestly I kind of hope not, you strike me as someone with a job I wouldn’t want alcohol mixed with”

Another chuckle left the man, his chin tucking down into his chest as if to hide it “What gave that away, the scrubs?”

You smiled mischievously at him from behind the lip of your bottle, taking the time to take another swig, letting the silence between the two of you settle a bit before speaking “since you’re not offering the information that mean I get to guess?”

A deep breath left him as he looked you over for a second, clearly debating how much further he really wanted to venture into this conversation before answering with a shrug “give it your best shot”

You shifted slightly to better face him, picking your knee up and brining it onto the rooftop with you to fully look at the man before you, giving a dramatic hum before answering “Well the rooftop viewing is hinting at you being a bit of an adrenaline junkie, posture screams that you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, eyes tell me you’ve seen far too much tragedy in your time, dark scrubs to hide bodily fluid stains” you scrunched your nose up slightly at that,  pointedly ignoring the man’s startled gaze as you continued “and finally zip-up hoodie to help you contend with both inside and outside temperatures when necessary. I’m going to go with ER doc”

You tried to bite back your shit eating grin as the man before you froze on the spot, his entire body seeming to go through a system-reboot before a shocked huff escaped him, his neck forcing his head to bring his gaze back to the city as a chuckle finally escaped him “alright that was impressive”

“What can I say it’s a gift” you shrugged humbly, taking another swig before continuing “plus Ethel on the second floor will not stop talking about Michael, the handsome ER doctor who’s single and would really benefit from getting to know a nice girl like me”

At that a real laugh spilled from his lips, his eyes casting up to the sky as he sighed, giving his head a soft shake as he did so “I didn’t realize Ethel was so worried about me”

“You are alone in the middle of the night on the roof drinking”

He snapped his gaze over to you at your words, throwing a pointed look at the bottle in your hands before raising a single brow.

“Didn’t you hear I’m a nice girl”

Another sharp exhalation through his nose, another soft shake of his head, another comfortable silence wrapping around the two of you.

“Robby”

“hmm” you hummed back the silent question, raising a brow of your own in response.

“Most people call me Robby”

“Y/N” you offered your own name in response, extending a hand to him “nice to meet you Dr.Robby”

He smiled at that, the first honest one you had gotten all night, before he slipped his hand into yours “It’s nice to meet you Y/N”

-

You were there again the next night.

Robby wasn’t sure whether he had been hoping you would be or not.

Originally he had sought out the rooftop for the quiet it would offer, for the solace of it all when things got too overwhelming, another person being there threatened to ruin that.

But for some reason in his head you didn’t really count against that.

“So does the alcohol and heights thing still apply if someone else brought it”

You threw your gaze over your shoulder at his words with a warm smile and he couldn’t help but notice that you didn’t seem at all surprised to see him there, couldn’t help but wonder if you had been looking forward to this as much as he had.

“You’ll have to tell me, I thought we had decided you were the expert here”

“I believe that is what you decided” he volleyed back, handing you one of the cans as he sat down beside you, watching you crack it open and take a sip, scrunching your nose up slightly at the taste before looking down at the label.

“Okay if you’re going to start supplying the beer for these we’re going to have to work on your taste” he tried not to attach too much weight to the implied invitation in your words.

“what’s wrong with these?”

“They’re so one note, so flat, so quintessentially IPA” you spoke with heightened dramatics and he couldn’t help but note just how much he appreciated the lightness of the conversation, the inconsequence of it all, the opportunity to finally talk about something other than the hospital. “I’m fairly certain if you were to look up wheat beer in the dictionary the entry would just be a photo of this can”

“So your problem with it is that it tastes like beer?”

You glared at him at that, Robby unable to fully bite down the smirk that grew on his lips at the expression “My problem is that it tastes like beer stripped of anything that could make it interesting.”

“So it’s not bad it’s just boring”

“That’s arguably worse”

“mm no I’m fairly certain I’d rather drink a boring beer than a bad one”

“You willing spent your own money on this swill you no longer get to have an opinion” he couldn’t help but laugh at that, shake his head slightly as you went on “It’s like coffee. You know when you brew it poorly, or use a shitty machine and instead of getting the subtle fruity or chocolate notes of the beans you just get bitter brown water”

And a part of him was almost excited to be the butt of your next joke, to reveal what he had to say next, something you seemed to be able to read in his eyes. “No”

“You’re going to hate me for this”

“Michael please”

He was grinning at the use of his first name, at the sheer desperation in your tone “I’m fairly certain the only coffee I drink comes from a ten dollar machine that’s as old as I am”

You reacted as if you had been physically struck, hand going to your chest as you winced “I can’t believe you’ve never had good coffee”

“I’ve had good coffee before”

“Never experienced a proper pour over”

“I just said that’s the coffee I drink day to day”

“Never taken the time to appreciate the subtle flavors of a good brew”

“Some days it’s just about the caffeine”

“I’m making you coffee for your next shift” Your words yanked him out of the conversation suddenly, his brain taking a few seconds to fully comprehend your words.

“Wait what”

“What time do you leave? 7? 8?” You steamrolled right through his confusion, the favor already a done deal in your head.

“No you don’t have to-“

“I’ll put it in a to-go cup for you” You cut him right off, the sentence coming off so matter of fact-ly it had him chuckling.

“If I���m rushing to work I won’t have time to properly enjoy it”

You shrugged at that, throwing him a cheeky wink as you spoke “guess you’ll have to stop by early then”

A silence settled over the two of you at that, Robby taking the opportunity to properly look at you for the first time that night as you gazed over the city. “Coffee snob, can’t stand boring food, old burns on your forearms. I’m guessing chef”

You grinned at him from his periphery and Robby found himself reciprocating the expression easily. “Ethel’s such a gossip”

He snorted at that, taking a sip of his drink, suddenly a bit more excited for what the morning held for him than usual.

-

You had tried to convince the rest of the kitchen you would be fine, that surely if you just held pressure against it for another ten minutes that the bleeding would finally stop on its own.

None of them of course believed you, but in your opinion it was a valiant effort that should be noted.

You’d at least been able to fend them off from trying to go with you, the poor kid who had accidently cut you looked like he was ready to carry you there himself with the way he carried the guilt of your injury on his shoulders.

But you made it to the PTMH on your own, packed into a waiting room holding more people than it felt like it was fire rated for, and finally taken back to a room after a doctor had caught sight of the shade of red you had stained the once white prep towel you had been using for pressure.

As you were led back a part of you wondered if you should ask for him. This was afterall his hospital, you probably could’ve been seen sooner if you had pulled that card. But was it really your card to pull? You’ve sat on the roof a few times with the man, made him coffee once, did that somehow entitle you to specifically request him?

And even if it did was that really fair? The staff clearly had a system in place, prioritizing, as they should, the most severe cases first you absolutely weren’t going to mess with that.

So instead you kept your mouth shut and followed the doctor who had introduced herself as Mckay and the med student Javadi back to a bed in the ED.

You sat up on the bed as you had been instructed, Dr.Mckay moving to the computer and typing away immediately while Javadi moved to prep a suture kit, the two working together in surprisingly good tandem.

“Now Y/N since this is a teaching hospital do you mind if I let my med student take over here?” Dr.Mckay asked with a comforting smile, gesturing to the girl who didn’t look like she was old enough to be out of high school let alone a doctor.

“No I’ll happily be your pin cushion” Javadi froze at your words, giving you a wide eye look before looking over at Dr.Mckay for direction who only laughed good naturally from behind the terminal and gave her student a small nod to continue.

The rest of the appointment passed without a hiccup. Javadi stitching you up like an absolute pro and sending you on your way with instructions on how to care for it and to see a doctor in a week to get them removed.

You had almost made it through your entire visit without seeing him when on your way out you heard your name being called from behind you.

With one hand still on the door you spun around to look at who had called your name, the rapid sudden movement making you lightheaded and slightly woozy on the spot, your legs starting to wobble beneath you.

Two strong arms caught your own before the world could tilt too much, the new grounding force as well as the stillness more than enough to keep you upright and centered to the spot.

The soft, brown eyes now staring deeply into your own, however, clearly hadn’t picked up on your newfound steadiness. Snapping sharply back and forth between your own, calling your name urgently as his grip on you tightened.

“Robby I’m fine” you tried to brush him off but the man before you wasn’t having any of it.

“What’s wrong are you-“ he paused suddenly, his thumb catching on the bandage on your forearm drawing his gaze down “are you a patient?”

“I was a patient” you corrected him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before pulling your arms back from him “just a few stitches I’ve already been discharged”

“Few stitches and you’re feeling dizzy did they even have you on fluids?” He asked with a frown, barely listening to your “no” in response before he was pulling you into the nearest empty room by your hand.

“I don’t need fluids” you protested weakly as he ignored you completely, helping you up onto the bed and immediately going to the terminal in the room and logging in.

“Can’t believe they would send you on your way without any fluids who patched you up?” his complaint was spoken gruffly under his breath, just soft enough you weren’t entirely sure if it was a question for you or the computer.

“Robby please”

He finally paused at that, finally looked up at you and made proper eye contact, peering at you from above his glasses with a clearly displeased expression.

“Ask me the questions” His brows furrowed slightly in response, his head tilting ever so slightly to one side making you dramatically roll your eyes “fine I’ll do it. Are you experiencing any light-headedness, dizziness, or nausea?” You pretended to think on it for a second, humming softly before answering, ticking each response off on your fingers as you did so “no, no, and no”

Robby looked nothing short of completely unimpressed by your skit, merely raising a single eyebrow in response.

“I just turned around too fast” you tried to explain with no small amount of exasperation in your voice “world went off kilter for a second because of it but that’s it”

At that he sighed heavily, taking off his glasses and giving his eyes a tired rub before he straightened his posture, crossing his arms over his chest before gesturing down to your arm “what happened”

You huffed a little at how the words were less a question than a command “accident at work, got sliced by a knife. Bleeding wouldn’t stop so I came here”

He clearly wasn’t completely placated by your answer but let it slide anyway, taking a seat on a rolling stool and coming up next to you “can I see?”

Wordlessly you placed your arm in his hands, watching his fingers delicately undo the dressing Javadi had just wrapped for you minutes before. He took a deep breath once the stitches were unearthed, taking a moment to properly look at each of them as his thumb stroked softly back and forth over the skin around it.

“Stitches look good”

“Javadi did a good job”

His sharp gaze again cut up to you with a small frown on his face, his thumbs back and forth movement halting “you had a med student working on you”

“You just said she did good” you shot back with a tired laugh, a sound that finally had the corners of his lips tilting up.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Your own small smile dropped instantly at his question, at the rawness of it, the vulnerability.

“It was no big deal. I didn’t want to bother you with it”

“Bother me with it” he repeated almost bitterly under his breath with a shake of his head, pivoting slightly to reach for a new set of dressings, getting ready to start wrapping up your arm again before speaking louder this time “how long were you waiting out there”

You shrugged at that, choosing to focus your gaze down on your arm as he started to wrap it rather than the man himself “Not long, there were people who needed-“

“And yet you’re lightheaded from blood-loss”

He took in a sharp breath right after the words slipped out of him, Robby recognizing the sharpness in his tone before you could point it out to him and giving himself a deep breath to try and reset before continuing “Just- next time bother me okay. I don’t care how small it is”

“Okay” you agreed blindly, Robby seeming to notice your lack of attention and giving your wrist a soft squeeze, physically pulling your gaze up to meet his.

“I mean it. No matter what. You find yourself in the Pitt I want you to ask for me okay. Or Jack Abbot if I’m not here he’ll take care of you”

And you couldn’t help but smile softly at his concern, nodding along with him before repeating yourself with more conviction “okay”

He mirrored your smile with one of his own, giving you a nod before softly placing your arm back in your lap and backing up a bit, you having not noticed how close he had gotten over the course of looking you over. “Now you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine” you assured him “promise I’ll find the juice with the highest sugar content the minute I get back to work”

He smile fell instantly at your words, head going back into his hands as he groaned dramatically “of course you’re going back to work”

And you couldn’t help but laugh at his theatrics “dinner rush, they need me. I’ll cut back though, won’t do anything with this arm scouts honor”

“were you even a scout?” His tone was nothing short of unamused making your snort.

“I’ll send someone by with dinner for the whole staff” you tried to distract him with a grin, Robby unable to bite down his own in response.

“At least tell me someone is coming by to pick you up”

“nah I walked here”

Another dramatic groan, one you weren’t entirely sure wasn’t fully for your benefit “You’re killing me here honey”

He started to stand at that, as if he hadn’t thrown your entire world off kilter again with a simple pet name, and started to take off his gloves “Text me when you make it back to the restaurant okay” he paused after that, seemed almost unsure of his next words before he forced them out “and come by mine tonight when you’re done I’ll change your dressings for you”

“I can change my own-“

“Let me” he interrupted with a soft a plea.

You couldn’t help but pause at that, to look the man before you over once, to note the sincerity in his expression before answering “I may be pretty late” you tried to warn him, playing it off like you were trying to get him to back down, fully knowing you were hoping he wouldn’t.

“doesn’t matter” his answer came quick and without any real thought behind it, as if the conclusion were obvious “I know where to get a good coffee if I need it”

“make a guy a cup of coffee once and all of a sudden he thinks he’s entitled to more” you teased with a smirk

He chuckled softly at that, hiding his gaze down in his hands briefly before looking back up at you “You’ll come right?”

“Yeah Mike I’ll be there”

A lopsided smile grew on his face at the nickname “good” he pushed the door open behind him and stood slightly off to the side to allow you to pass, letting his hand fall to the small of your back as you did so “now get out of here before I hook you up to an IV anyways”

You laughed off the threat. Ignoring the tingle left behind from his touch as he ushered you forward, not making it very far before a blonde woman in scrubs came rushing in, nose buried in a tablet.

“Robby there you are we have a-“ she cut herself off as she raised her eyes to the scene before her, her gaze zeroing in quickly on the hand Robby still had on your spine, on the closeness between you two, a grin that could only be described as downright wolfish growing on her face as she cut her eyes to meet Robby’s “this blue tumbler?”

You raised a brow at the question, cutting your eyes up to meet Robby’s only to see his cheeks starting to go pink as he ducked his head ever so slightly with a soft sigh “Y/N this is Dana, the only person able to keep this entire ED running in something resembling order, also the person who stole the coffee you gave me the other day”

Immediately you were grinning at the woman, relishing the way she was able to make Robby sweat from beneath her gaze “You tried it? What did you think?”

She took a second longer to pull her gaze from Robby, relishing the way he squirmed before her before she smiled warmly at you “best damn cup of coffee I’ve ever had”

“Thank you!” You exclaimed in relief, giving Robby a pointed elbow in the side as you said it “this man doesn’t properly appreciate a good cup of coffee I swear. You ever been to Brewsters on Canton?”

She shook her head at your question, popping one hip to stand more comfortably as if she were settling into the conversation “that where you get it from?”

“Where I got he beans from” You nodded eagerly “you go on Tuesdays ask for Joey he’ll hook you up with the freshly roasted shit”

“Okay Dana did you need something” Robby cut in before she could respond in pure exasperation, sending the woman a silent glare that you couldn’t help but giggle at.

She seemed to bite back her own laugh as well, her smirk sent at Robby filled with mirth as she nodded “asthmatic kid’s family in asking to see you. Not an emergency I think they just got questions”

“Thank you Dana I’ll be right there” he sent her what was obviously a dismissal with a pointed glare, Dana taking the whole thing in stride and fading back from the two of you, never going too far and looking much too interested in her tablet to really be doing anything productive.

“I like her” You chuckled up at him, the corners of his own mouth tipping up despite his obvious best attempt to remain stern.

“Yeah that’s what I was afraid of”

You grinned back at him at that, reaching out almost instinctually to give his arm a soft squeeze as you started to drift towards the exit “alright doc I’ll let you get back to it”

“I mean it you feel even slightly dizzy I want you back here for an IV” he called after you, staying rooted on the spot as you parted.

“Aye yai cap” you mock saluted with a smirk “tell the woman eavesdropping in the corner I’ll send you in with a cup of coffee for her tomorrow”

“Thank you sweetheart” Dana called back with a grin, not even bothering to pretend she wasn’t doing exactly that.

You grinned back at her and with a final nod left the ED, the door barely swinging back shut behind you before Dana was beside Robby once again, the two of them watching the door close fully with vastly different expressions.

Dana chuckled under her breath, pressing the tablet in her hands to Robby’s chest as she clapped his shoulder and gave it a shake “you are so screwed Robinavitch”

Almost numbly Robby grabbed the tablet from her and peered down at it, barely noting the words that came out under his breath as he said them “yeah I know”

Dana cackled loudly at that, leaving her attending in his spot as she started to make her way back to the nursing station “oh I cannot wait to tell Abbot”

That seemed to knock Robby out of his stupor, his head whipping around to watch the charge nurse disappear around the corner. “Wait Dana”

[gojoest]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

━━━ synopsis: fate has a strange way of birthing love. you married gojo satoru to stay close to his father — an arranged union built to conceal a scandalous affair. but somewhere between the lies and the silence, another secret began to stir quietly in your chest. one that did not belong to his father at all. 

━━━ content warning: MDNI, fem! reader (she/her), arranged marriage, affair, infidelity, love triangle, age gap (late 50s vs late 20s/early 30s), reader’s age isn’t necessarily specified but she’s written with late 20s/early30s in mind, unreliable narrator, original characters (satoru’s parents: gojo akihito & gojo saori), falling in love, sexual themes but no explicit content, alcohol consumption in a few scenes, reader is drunk in one scene, flashbacks, character death, murder, twists, there’s a specific fire scene that is heavily inspired by the manhwa “betrayal of dignity”, pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, ask to tag if something triggering is missing 

━━━ pairing: gojo satoru x fem! reader ; gojo akihito (oc) x fem! reader 

━━━ word count: 20k+ (…idk what happened there tbh) 

━━━ author’s note: hello guys! this is the idea i first mentioned back in october and it’s finally coming to life! it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written so please be gentle and kind — to me, to the story, and to reader. i did my best to proofread while editing but apologies in advance for any typos, inconsistencies or mistakes that might’ve slipped through! i hope you enjoy the read ♡

Love can make you do crazy things.  

Sometimes it’s a silly behavior that you exhibit, one that isn’t akin to your usual self, one that makes you a bit of a fool. 

You find yourself taking detours to “accidentally” bump into someone. Your heart races at the sight of them, and you disguise your longing behind an awkward ‘What a coincidence!’, but what you really mean is ‘I really wanted to see you! I couldn’t stay away.’ It’s harmless — charming, even. 

But what happens when love blooms where it shouldn’t? When it takes root in poisoned soil, nurtured by secrecy and betrayal — can it still be called innocent? When the heart wants what it shouldn’t, when desire threatens to unravel lives and twist fates — is it still harmless? Still endearing? 

No. The fool knows better — but doesn’t care. 

Blinded by love, reason is cast aside. Judgment dulls. Morality slips through desperate fingers. The choices no longer belong to conscience; they belong to longing. 

Science says that falling in love mimics a drug high — dopamine rushes, rational thought hijacked, impulse overrides consequence. You become addicted. You crave. And in that craving, you’d do anything to have it. No matter the cost. 

-- 

The air in the room is thick. With the windows shut, the scent of sex lingers — trapped between the four walls of the hotel room, clinging to your skin and his. Your bodies lie tangled, worn out and still close. 

“Nobody saw you come in, right?” the whitehaired man beside you breaks the silence, voice low but tender. His breathing has steadied, back to its usual calm rhythm. 

You tilt your head, cheek still pressed against his damp chest. His hand, which had been trailing lazily along your bare back, moves up to cradle your neck — gentle, almost instinctive. Like he’s trying to spare you any discomfort, even now. It makes you smile, the way he always trembles for you. 

“No, no one saw me”, you murmur. “It’s not like this is the first time.” 

“It’s the first time since you got married”, he replies, his tone quieter, more guarded. 

“Is this why you’re so tense?” you let out a feeble laugh. “Nothing’s changed, really — except now we’re both married...” the smile on your lips slowly fades. Your lips part, more words caught behind them. 

...not to each other though — you want to say, but you don’t. You don’t want to break the moment. It’s been too long since you last had this. 

“Actually”, he trails off, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. 

At times like this, you’re reminded, again, how large he is. He barely shifts beneath you, just stretches one arm to grab the pack, the other still wrapped around your waist. He lights a cigarette with practiced ease, tucks it between his lips, and inhales deeply.  

“There’s one thing that has changed”, he says, smoke curling from his mouth. 

“Oh?” 

“I see you every day now.” 

A faint smile touches his lips, softening his blue eyes. He kisses the top of your head, gaze lingering on you. 

That’s right. You do see each other every day now. It’s the consequence of living under the same roof. 

“But even so, moments like this... they’ve become rare. That bothers me.” 

The warmth leaves his voice. His eyes grow distant, pale and cold. “Seems like he is keeping you too busy. Maybe he’s starting to like you.” he speaks in a dull voice. 

“You think so?” 

“He’s around the house more, with you. He used to be gone all the time. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” His tone hardens. “He wasn’t supposed to act like this.” 

You let out a dry, uneasy chuckle. “Maybe he’s taking after you. Maybe I bewitched him... just like I bewitched you.” 

You don’t mean it. It’s just a tease, but the words land wrong.  

“Don’t joke about it”, he mutters, exhaling sharply. His brows furrow, tension creeping back into his features. “That’d be... problematic.” 

The man beside you is Gojo Akihito — your lover. The former head of the Gojo Clan. He is also the father of your husband. The current head of the clan — Gojo Satoru. 

...you only meant to lighten the mood. But just like his plan —  

It’s not working. 

-- 

Rumor has it: The clan head, Gojo Satoru, is completely enamored with his wife. 

It has become the talk of the mansion.  

“Did you see”, one maid whispers, nudging her colleague as they set the long dining table. “He brought her flowers, again.” 

“That’s nothing”, another chimes in, lowering her voice. “The other day he asked me how to make omurice. Said he wanted to learn it properly.” 

The first two maids lean in, wide-eyed. “And? What happened?” 

“I went into the kitchen early next morning”, she continues with a conspiratorial grin, “And there he was. Apron and everything. Cooking omurice from scratch. Said it was for his wife. Even served it on a fancy plate — with flowers from the garden. I think he picked them himself.” 

The maids collectively gasp, hands covering mouths, eyes sparkling. 

“He’s completely smitten”, one sighs, nearly swooning. “I heard he turned down every arranged match before her — didn’t even consider them. Then out of nowhere, he agrees to this one without a second thought.” 

“At first, I figured he just caved from the pressure”, another adds. “You know how the elders kept pushing. I thought he married her to shut them up.” 

“But now? Look at him. That’s not obligation. That’s a man in love.” 

A round of dreamy sighs circles the table. 

“Remember how he used to show up maybe once every couple of months? Only if something serious needed his attention?” 

“Now we see him every day”, one nods. “And if he’s not home, it feels... weird.” 

“He always comes back”, says another. “No matter how late. And the first thing he does is go see her.” 

“That’s not all”, the first maid says, lowering her voice even more. “The other day, he came home with a wound.” 

“No way. Him?” one of the others gasps. “He’s untouchable — who even got close enough to land a hit?” 

“Exactly. And do you know what he did? He let her clean him up. She asked for the first aid kit, and he just... smiled. The whole time. Like it didn’t hurt at all.” 

A chorus of quiet squeals follows, full of awe and disbelief. 

“He let himself be struck just so she’d fuss over him?” one whispers, covering her mouth. “God, he’s hopeless.” 

But before the fantasy could grow any richer, a sharp voice cuts through the air. 

“If you’re done gossiping”, Akihito says coolly from the doorway, “Perhaps you could focus on the work you’re actually being paid to do. Call everyone when dinner is ready.” 

The maids freeze, spines straightening, heads bowing in rapid succession. “Y-yes, sir. Our apologies.” 

Akihito didn’t linger. He didn’t need to. 

It wasn’t their chatter that irritated him. It was what they were whispering about. What they were seeing — what he couldn’t ignore. That’s what got under his skin. 

--  

“Good evening, wife.” 

You blink at the mirror just as a bouquet of forget-me-nots is gently laid in front of you on the vanity. Satoru leans in behind you, his reflection appearing over your shoulder, smiling. “You look beautiful, as always.” he murmurs against your ear. 

You shift slightly in your chair, but his hands land softly on your shoulders, holding you in place — not forcefully, but firmly enough to suggest he’s not letting you leave just yet.  

“Want me to brush your hair?” 

You sigh and meet his eyes in the mirror. “I can do it myself.” 

“I know”, he says smoothly. “But I want to.” 

Persistent. That’s one thing you’ve learned about him in the month you’ve been married — Satoru always gets what he wants. If you said no now, you wouldn’t put it past him to slip gum into your hair just so you’d have to ask for help. 

Just like he did with your slippers. 

He wanted to put them on for you one morning — for no reason other than his own mischief, you’re sure — but you refused. Later, fresh out of the shower, they were gone. All of them. Every pair. Oh no, we’re out of slippers! Guess I’ll just carry you — he said with that shameless grin of his. And he did. Said the floor was too cold. Couldn’t let his wife get sick, after all. He carried you around the house all morning. Then, right before leaving to run some errands together, he knelt, slipped your shoes on like some smug prince, and you let him — half amused, half annoyed. 

The bastard always wins. 

“Fine”, you relent now, sitting back. 

“Don’t worry”, he says, picking up the brush. “I’ll be gentle.” 

So far, nothing about this marriage has matched what Akihito told you. It was supposed to be nothing more than a formality. He reassured you countless times that his son would not even glance at you — let alone lay a hand on you; that you would probably just see him just once, on your wedding day, and that would be the end of it. But so far, Akihito was wrong about everything. 

He’s never home, huh? — You see him every day. 

He won’t touch you, huh? — Then why does he look for every excuse to be close? Going as far as to get himself injured on purpose and come back without healing himself so you’ll tend to him... Why does he always find a reason to touch your arm, your hand, your back? Why... Maybe, he wants to get in your pants? That must be it... right? Why else would he try so hard to make things work? It’s not like you two married out of love. You could’ve just quietly existed as his wife on paper; he certainly doesn’t have to bother making you an actual part of his life. 

Sure, he is a huge tease. But it’s not the annoying kind. It’s... disarming. You hate to admit it, but there’s something about him. A pull. A quiet magnetism that makes you want to lean in instead of pull away. And sometimes, you forget — forget why you came to be his wife in the first place, that this was never meant to be more than convenience serving the purposes of a scandalous affair. 

Until you remember. Until you look at him and see shadows of Akihito — the resemblance too striking to ignore. A younger version of the man who changed everything for you. 

You sigh, unable to keep your thoughts from wandering. 

“Did I hurt you?”, Satoru asks, suddenly pausing mid-stroke. 

You glance at his reflection. For just a second, there’s something soft in his expression. Worry. “No”, you say. “Just thinking.” 

“About?” 

He continues brushing, careful not to let the bristles graze your skin. Instead, his hand absorbs the pressure — the motion surprisingly tender. Then his hand drops. Light fingertips brush your neck. Two fingers lift your chin, tilting your head back until your eyes meet. “Thinking about someone else while I’m this close to you?” he asks, brows furrowed. His tone is calm, but the edge in it isn’t playful. It’s sharp. Serious. 

“Jealous?” you smirk, trying to deflect. 

He places the brush down and leans in. His head hovering over yours. There’s barely any distance left. When you both breathe out a veil of warm air falls and fills the tiny gap left between your faces. “Very”, he says quietly, his face deprived of the usual grin. “Makes me want to do terrible things to the man in your thoughts.” He’s not joking. Not even a little. 

“I was thinking about you, actually”, you reply. It’s not technically a lie.  

Not accustomed to such intimate closeness with him, heat starts to spread across your cheeks, your heartbeat acting peculiarly too. The nearness is too much. You share a bed, yes — but neither of you has ever dared cross the middle. Not yet. Why beat so fast suddenly, heart? Must be the fact he’s looming over you like this that is making you uncomfortable. Trying to break the tension, you joke. “If you’re planning on doing terrible things to yourself, make sure you don’t die. I’d hate to be widowed so young.” 

His expression falters. For a second, you see it — genuine surprise. It’s satisfying. He blinks, once, twice, head pulling back slightly, fingers at your jaw trembling with something unspoken. But it doesn’t last. He recovers quickly. 

A breathy laugh escapes him as he leans in again. “You were thinking about me? What, something dirty?” 

You scoff. “You wish.” 

“I do”, he replies instantly. “And don’t worry — you’ll get there soon enough.” 

The audacity. 

“What makes you so sure I’ll get there”, you shoot back. He grins, guiding your face back toward the mirror. “If you can’t see it up close...” He taps the glass. “Just look there. I’m kind of a masterpiece.” 

“The only piece you are is a piece of work”, you mutter, turning your head with a huff, your hair brushing against his face. You expect a quip in return. But he goes still. Sniffs. 

“Hmm... What’s that smell?” He leans closer, nose buried briefly in your hair. ��I didn’t know you smoked.” 

You freeze. Akihito’s cigarettes. You didn’t wash your hair after the hotel. Damn it. 

“I don’t”, you reply, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. 

“You smell like cigarettes.” 

“I was with a friend earlier. She smokes. Maybe that’s why.” you lie. 

Satoru watches you carefully through the mirror. “Good. You shouldn’t smoke”, he says at last, straightening up. “My wife has to live a long life. With me.” A smile tugs at his lips. A playful smirk, back to normal. 

You try to summon a sharp retort. Something clever. But all you manage is a tight, fake smile as your heart thunders in your chest. You were almost caught. 

Then— 

Knock-knock. 

“Dinner is ready, sir. Madam.” one of the maids calls from outside. 

“Hai-hai~”, Satoru casually yells out. “We’ll be down in a minute.” 

-- 

The dining room is too quiet. The kind of quiet that isn’t peace, but tension — stretched thin between the four people who sit on the table. It makes the softest sounds feel sharp. Or maybe it’s just in your head, considering the situation. 

It’s tradition, apparently — whenever everyone is home, meals are eaten together. Your least favorite part of the day. Understandably so, given the circumstances: you willingly put yourself here, fully aware you’d be sitting across from the woman whose husband you’re secretly sleeping with, and beside the son you’re technically cheating on — with his father. 

You sit beside your husband, Satoru. Across from you, Akihito — your lover, your secret. Next to him is Saori, your lover’s wife and husband’s mother — regal and silent, her expression unreadable as always, like she’s wearing a careful mask. 

No one speaks when the food is served. Just the mechanical act of eating, a silence that presses against your ribs like guilt. Your appetite has all but vanished since becoming the bride of the Gojo Clan, your stomach perpetually knotted with remorse. Sometimes even water feels repulsive. You often catch yourself wondering why you’re even doing this. Is it really love? You begin to question the choice you made, weighing it with a heaviness that never seems to lift. 

Then, as always, the silence shatters. Satoru reaches over, casual as anything, and plucks a bite of greens from your plate with his chopsticks. “Yours always taste better”, he grins, dropping them in his mouth. “Must be the way you chew”, he says with a mouthful.  

A small, soft laugh escapes you before you can catch it. There he goes with his silly antics again, you think. He somehow always knows how to tug you out of your head, whether you want him to or not. 

Akihito’s chopsticks pause mid-motion. His eyes narrow, barely, but you feel the weight of it. “Interesting”, he says, voice low and smooth, but with a faint edge. “I thought you never touched your greens.” 

Satoru doesn’t look away from you as he chews, slow and deliberate. “Tastes change.” 

The air thins. You take a sip of wine to steady your hands and avoid meeting Akihito’s eyes. You can feel them — heavy, disapproving, and not very kind. 

“They do”, Akihito replies after a moment, setting his chopsticks down with a soft click. “Although not always for the better.”  

You want to look at him, to read what he’s really thinking — but you don’t dare. Sometimes it feels like even a glance might betray you. Especially now, as Satoru shifts slightly in his seat, angling himself subtly closer to you, as if rising to meet some unspoken challenge. 

“I suppose it depends”, Satoru says lightly, the smile still playing on his lips. “Sometimes, watching someone savor something — it can spark a craving in you too.” He smiles at you then — softly — and something flutters in your chest that has no business being there. Then, he adds, with just enough weight to sharpen the air again. “But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, old man? How tastes change over time.” 

You freeze, just for a moment. Akihito doesn’t blink. His tone stays dry, his face unreadable. “Was there a point to that?” 

Satoru leans back slightly. “Just that, at your age, I’d expect you to be less surprised when people... shift.” 

Across from you, Saori finally lifts her wine glass. She doesn’t drink — not yet — but she swirls the red liquid slowly, her gaze shifting from father to son like she’s watching something she’s already seen before. They clash often, you’ve noticed. Not loudly, not outright — but it’s always there. A push and pull beneath the surface, a cold war of words and glances. 

Sometimes, you wonder if Satoru knows about the affair. He says things — subtle, but cutting — that make you pause, that make you think he might be more aware than he lets on. Maybe that’s why he’s pursuing you so intently — just to prove a point to his father. But then, there are moments when his gaze softens when he looks at you, when his touch lingers just a second too long. He goes out of his way every day just to be near you. And in those moments, it feels too sincere to be a game. You start to think he might actually mean it. That he’s not just chasing you out of spite — but because he truly wants you. 

You reach for your own glass again, taking another sip of wine, as if it might wash away the tension thickening by the second. But it doesn't. Setting the glass back down, your hand lingers at its base. Your fingers brush against Satoru’s hand that rests on the table between you two. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his pinky curls beneath yours — just enough to be felt, not seen. You don’t pull away. You know Akihito sees it. You feel it. The tick in his jaw is barely visible, but you notice it. 

“I’ve been seeing you around way more frequently, Satoru. I hope marriage hasn’t dulled your focus”, he says, his voice smooth and pointed. “There are more important things than... comfort.” 

The irony, you think. The words sound like a joke to you, coming from the same man who orchestrated your marriage just to keep you closer and see you more freely. You barely manage to swallow a scoff. 

Satoru leans back in his chair, unfazed. “You’d be surprised”, he says lightly. “Sometimes comfort is the only thing keeping people from falling apart.”  

“It’s rare”, Saori speaks at last, “to see affection in this house. Perhaps we shouldn’t discourage it.” Her words are gentle, kind — at least, on the surface. But they carry the weight of something unspoken, a quiet complaint from a woman who has never been loved by her husband — not in the way a lover is. 

The silence that follows is anything but gentle. Her words hang in the air, delicate yet heavy, like the last note of a song no one knows how to follow. No one speaks. Not right away. You watch Akihito, wondering if he’ll respond — if he even knows how. But his expression remains unreadable, carved from habit more than emotion. Then, without looking at anyone in particular, he speaks, as if the comment never touched him at all. “I meant to tell you”, Akihito says, cutting through the quiet like a blade, “The elders requested a meeting with you tomorrow morning.” 

Satoru’s glass of water stills halfway to his lips. “Can’t”, he says casually. “I’m taking my wife out.” 

You blink. That’s the first you’ve heard of it. 

Akihito’s expression doesn’t change, but the muscle in his jaw tightens — just once, sharply — as he exhales through his nose. “You can reschedule”, he says. “The clan elders don’t appreciate being made to wait.” 

Satoru shrugs. “Neither does she.” He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, but the weight of it presses into your ribs like heat. 

The silence that follows is tight, full of things no one says. Saori watches Akihito this time, her gaze sharp as cut glass. Her husband is acting odd. And she notices everything. 

--  

Gojo Akihito was a man carved from discipline. Now in his late fifties, he was a figure both respected and quietly feared. When he entered a room, silence followed. Backs straightened. Conversations halted. People instinctively adjusted their posture — as if simply being in his presence demanded their best. His presence was weighty, not in a menacing way, but with a gravity that commanded reverence. His name alone held power — spoken softly, carefully, like it belonged to someone who mattered more than most. And he did. Shaped by the will of the elders, Akihito had been molded into the ideal head of the Gojo Clan: composed, unwavering, and dutiful. Obedience had been stitched into his bones from childhood. He was taught not to dream, but to serve. To lead with strength and never stray from what was expected. 

His path had been set before he could walk it — become strong, inherit the clan, marry a chosen wife, produce an heir. And he did. His talents bloomed early. Power came easily to him, and with it, authority. He married Saori, a woman selected by the elders, and fulfilled his role without resistance. Love was never part of the arrangement — but respect was. Even in the absence of affection, he treated her with dignity. They never became lovers — much to Saori’s quiet sorrow, for she had loved him from the very beginning. After they conceived Satoru, he never touched her again. As if it had been part of a duty — fulfilled, then forgotten. 

When he stepped down and passed the title of clan head to his son, Akihito did not fade quietly into the background. His voice still carried weight, often more so than of the current leader. To many, he remained the pillar of the clan. The rock. Unmoving. Unshakeable. Dependable. But even stone erodes, given time. Even the strongest man can change. Even a rock, under enough heat — can melt. 

-- 

Akihito wasn’t supposed to be here. The streets were too narrow, too loud, brimming with color and life in a way that felt foreign to him. He was meant to be elsewhere, at a meeting across town — another empty ritual of clan maintenance. But his driver took a wrong turn, and instead of rerouting, Akihito had stepped out, needing a walk. Needing air. Needing space from the weight that always clung to his shoulders. That’s when he saw you. 

At first, it was nothing. You were just a figure in the crowd — young, distracted, smiling faintly at your phone, coffee in hand. But something about you… stopped him. You passed by without noticing him, and the moment stretched too long. Something about you felt familiar, though he couldn’t place why. A detail misplaced in time. A memory from a life he never lived. He turned — just slightly. Just enough to watch you go. You entered a nearby café tucked between cramped buildings. Small. A little worn. Too cozy, too youthful for someone like him. He should have kept walking. But he followed you inside. He told himself it was curiosity. That he needed a moment to sit, make a call, kill time. But deep down, even then, he knew. He picked a seat in the corner. Three tables away from you. 

He returned the next day. And the next. It was irrational. Dangerous. He wasn’t the kind of man who indulged temptations. His life had been a masterclass in restraint — each step measured, each emotion disciplined out of existence. But you… You sat in the same spot each day, sipping a drink, sometimes reading, sometimes just staring out the window with that faraway look that seemed to see something no one else could. He wondered what you saw. He wondered what you wanted. He wondered what it would feel like to be the thing you looked at that way.  And he hated himself for it. 

You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t know that the man sitting a few tables away had once been the most powerful figure in one of Japan’s oldest sorcerer clans. That he had blood on his hands and responsibilities that still echoed through every inch of his life. You didn’t know that his marriage was nothing more than a political alignment. That he had followed every rule. Sacrificed every selfish urge. That he had never, in over fifty years, been in love. Not until now. 

On the third day, he stopped resisting and made a decision. He stood up, walked to your table, and asked — “May I sit?” 

-- 

Three tables. He was sitting three tables away from you — again. Just like yesterday. And the day before that. Today made the third. 

You’d noticed him immediately. How could you not? Tall, impeccably dressed, white hair, broad shoulders, and unmistakably refined. You guessed he was in his fifties, but he wore it well — almost too well. Dressed in a designer suit, he looked out of place in this cozy, slightly run-down café filled with students and twenty-somethings. Yet, there he was. 

Each time you stole a glance, he was gazing out the window, never once meeting your eyes. But something about him — his presence, the stillness in the way he sat, the ghost of a smile on his lips — kept drawing your attention. Maybe you were imagining things. But, perhaps, was he there… for you? Just as you started telling yourself it was all in your head, he moved. Ah, he’s leaving— 

No — he wasn’t. He was walking toward you. 

Your breath caught. Your eyes widened as he came to a stop at your table. 

“May I sit?” he asked, voice smooth but low, as if careful not to disturb the air between you. You blinked, pulse rising. “Why here?” you asked, managing a dry smile. “There are plenty of other tables, including the one you’ve been using for the past few days.” You motioned toward his old table. “I like the view better from here,” he replied calmly, and took the seat without waiting for permission. 

The view, of course, was you. He had resisted the pull for two days. But today, Gojo Akihito gave in. In his fifties, for the first time in his life — he fell in love. And for the first time… he broke a rule. 

-- 

He didn’t touch you. Not for weeks. Not inappropriately, not even in passing. His interest was always wrapped in respect, laced with a restraint that was somehow more intoxicating than overt desire. He spoke little, but with purpose. He listened like it was sacred. Asked questions no one else had ever bothered to. You told yourself it was harmless. That you liked the attention he was giving you. That you weren’t doing anything wrong… with a married man. It’s just a connection — nothing more. But the way he looked at you… like you were something precious, something rare, he had no right to touch but desperately wanted to — it stirred something in you. 

When he kissed you for the first time, it wasn’t impulse. It was quiet. Measured. Like a man saying a prayer before stepping into hell. And you let him. After that, the pretense faded. You started meeting behind closed doors…  

You were in love, yes. Or maybe, looking back now, you only thought you were. Not the way he was. You were free, while Akihito was chained to a life he could never escape. The deeper Akihito sank into you, the more you floated above him. Untethered. Capable of leaving. And that was what terrified him the most. He needed something stronger — something permanent — to bind you to him. 

One year into your affair, Akihito proposed something unthinkable. 

“An arranged marriage?” you gasped, your voice cracking in disbelief. “To your son?” You tried to push away from him, stepping out of the bathtub, but he caught your wrist and pulled you back in. 

“I miss you too much when you’re away”, he murmured against your shoulder. His breath was hot. His arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you close, anchoring you to him in the steaming water. “Not knowing when I’ll see you again — it’s unbearable. And knowing it won’t be tomorrow? I hate that.” 

You sat between his legs, your bare back pressed to his chest, steam rising around you like a veil. His head dipped to the curve of your neck. You said nothing. Your lips trembled with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, with a sob that didn’t quite leave your throat. 

You spoke every day. But meetings were rare. Always discreet. Always in motion. Hotels changed with every rendezvous. Different rooms, different names, different times of arrival. You booked separate rooms but only ever used one. Because what you shared was a scandal. And the walls, anywhere, could talk. He was the former head of the Gojo Clan. A public man. A married man. And in the Gojo Clan, divorce was taboo. Unspoken but absolute. Marriage ended only with death. 

“It’s madness”, you whispered. “You’d just… hand me over to another man like that?” 

“I’m not handing you over”, he said, voice low and tired. “It’ll be just on paper. You know what Satoru’s like — he’s obsessed with his work. Sorcery is the only thing he’s ever cared about. He won’t touch you.” He paused. He knew how it sounded. But to him, it made sense. He was convinced this was the best way to keep you close. Satoru, as far as Akihito knew, had no interest in romance, no time for love. If you married his son, your place in the clan would be secured — and so would your bond to him. Even if you tried to leave him one day, you’d still be part of his world. Divorce, after all, was never an option. “Think about it”, he continued. “We’d be able to see each other more freely. People wouldn’t question it if we were spotted together — we’d be family. It would raise fewer suspicions than what we’re doing now.” 

You stared into the steam, into nothing. “...fine.” You caved. 

Neither of you knew then just how flawed the plan truly was. The flaw had a name: Gojo Satoru. 

-- 

Back in your shared bedroom, you close the door behind you and turn to face Satoru. He’s already tugging off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair. You squint at him, arms crossed. “What was that earlier?” He pauses, one sock halfway off. “Hm?” He looks up at you, eyebrow arched in that maddeningly innocent way. 

“‘I’m taking my wife out’”, you echo flatly. “We made no such plans.” 

He chuckles — a low, amused sound. “Ah. That.” Straightening up, he begins rolling his sleeves to the elbows, wandering toward the bed. “I was too distracted by your beauty when I got home, I must’ve forgotten to tell you.” 

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me what exactly?” 

“That everyone wants to meet you”, he says, as if it’s obvious. 

“Everyone?” you eye him. 

“My students. My colleagues. Most of them think I made up this whole marriage thing just for attention.” He grins like it’s the most absurd idea in the world. “So tomorrow, you’re coming with me. I need to show them that my wife is, in fact, a very real, very stunning person~” 

You blink. “So you didn’t just blurt it out to get out of meeting the elders?” 

He scoffs and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. “Please. I don’t need an excuse to avoid them. I’ll meet them when I feel like it — not when they demand it.” Of course he would say that. “Besides”, he adds lazily, “I figured we could hang out a little after. Grab a bite or go somewhere. A proper date.” 

You stare at him. “A date?” — “Yeah”, he shoots. “You know, two people spending time together on purpose because they want to?” 

“Satoru”, you sigh, “you don’t have to bother with this kind of thing. This is an arranged marriage, let me remind you. We’re not... required to play house.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with mock curiosity. “Who said couples in arranged marriages can’t go on dates? That’s a rule now? If it is, I must’ve missed the fine print.” 

He’s relentless — in a strangely charming way. Always pushing, always poking. And the worst part is... he knows you don’t exactly hate it. You glance away, shaking your head. “Alright”, you say finally, “fine” — and he immediately beams like he’s just won something. And maybe he has — in his own strange way. Satoru doesn’t need much to feel victorious. But there’s something you have noticed — how a yes from you is usually worth a trophy in his world, even if you offer it begrudgingly. 

You watch him for a moment, unsure what to make of the warmth blooming quietly in your chest. It's not love. It can’t be. Right? But it’s something. A softening, maybe. A flicker of possibility. Your fingers absently toy with the edge of your sleeve. That strange flutter you’ve been ignoring — the one he keeps coaxing out of you — is getting harder to deny. What exactly are you doing? — you ask yourself. 

And then your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out quickly and glance down at the screen. 

Akihito: Come to the guest house. 

Just like that, reality presses its weight back onto your shoulders. It doesn’t look like Satoru noticed anything, but your hands are already closing the message, hiding the screen like a child caught with stolen sweets. “I’m going to the kitchen”, you say, too quickly. “I want something sweet.” 

Satoru sits up a little. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get—” 

“No.” You cut him off, maybe too fast. “I’m not sure what I want yet, so I’ll just look around.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment. Something unreadable flickers there — brief, sharp, gone too fast. Then he leans back on his hands, still smiling. “Alright, my picky little bride. Don’t be long.” 

You force a light laugh and slip out the door. 

-- 

Akihito hears your knock — light, familiar — before the door opens. You’re still in your dinner clothes, but your hair is looser now, lipstick faded. You look comfortable, relaxed — and he does not exactly like that. You step quietly, and he lets you come to him without saying a word. For a moment, neither of you speak. 

He looks somewhat tense, but the air between you is still warm with memory — earlier today, your skin beneath his hands, your lips murmuring his name into a hotel pillow. And yet. “I’m sorry for calling you over like this”, he says finally, his voice low. “I just needed to see you.” 

You smile faintly. “You saw me at dinner.” 

“Not like this.” His eyes search yours. “Not alone. Not without... him.” 

You stiffen slightly — not defensively. Just aware. Akihito gestures to the seat beside him. You sit.

“He’s not the same”, he murmurs after a pause. “Satoru. He’s changing.” 

You don’t respond at first. You fold your hands in your lap. 

“You know what he used to be like? Detached. Cold. Always disappearing on missions. He never gave a damn about what anyone thought of him — never entertained sentiment. And now?” He scoffs softly. “Flowers. Cooking. Holding your hand under the table like some infatuated schoolboy...” 

Your mouth opens — then closes. You can’t find the right words. 

“You saw it too, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. “At dinner. The way he looks at you.” 

Your gaze falters. Not guilty — not quite — but cautious. “He’s just playing the part, Aki”, you say eventually. “He’s always been theatrical.” 

Akihito shakes his head. “No. That wasn’t an act.” There’s no bitterness in his voice. No anger. Just... disbelief. Like he’s watching something slip through his fingers that he didn’t expect to lose. “Before you came into his life, he never stayed home. Never cared about meals or traditions or people. He never had time for anything... personal.” 

You look down. 

Akihito studies your profile, as if memorizing it. The curve of your brow, the slope of your cheek. “I know I’m the one who suggested this arrangement”, he says, and his voice is more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I told myself it was the best way to keep you close. Safe. But now...” He trails off. 

You reach out, take his hand in yours. “I’m still yours, Aki”, you say gently. “You know that.” 

“I want to believe that”, he murmurs. You squeeze his hand. “You can.” 

But your voice falters, just slightly. Just enough for him to notice. His eyes flick up to your face. There’s no accusation in them. Only fear. The quiet, creeping kind that lives under the surface of a man who’s spent a lifetime being in control. 

“I know he’s not you”, you add softly. “I know why I said yes to this. You don’t have to worry.” 

Akihito nods slowly. But his silence stretches too long. You lean your head against his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your hair. Grateful. Reassured — or trying to be. But the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Because for the first time, he isn’t sure if the threat is outside of what you have... or is growing inside it. 

-- 

“Don’t worry, they don’t bite”, Satoru chuckles, watching you fidget with your sleeves like you’re about to walk into a job interview. You shoot him a dry look. “You say that like you’re not the worst of them.” 

“Me? I’m the warm-up act. They are the terrifying ones”, he teases, nodding toward the lounge room door. You roll your eyes but don’t stop playing with your cuffs. 

“You’ll be fine”, he adds, nudging your elbow gently. “Just flash that charming smile and pretend I’m not hovering behind you like a lovesick fool.” 

“You are hovering.” 

“I’m setting the scene”, he grins. “For dramatic effect.” 

You scoff. “I’m not scared, you know.” 

“Of course not”, he nods solemnly. “You’re just fidgeting because you’re excited to meet my fan club.” You shoot him a sideways glare. He leans over, voice lowering just a touch. “They’re going to love you”, he says, softer now. “They’ve never seen me with someone like you.” 

“Someone like me?” 

“Someone who makes me behave.” 

You don’t get the chance to press him on that. He throws the door open before you can respond — and the room instantly freezes. Chairs creak to a halt. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. All heads turn. A spoon hovers midair. A can of soda stops halfway to someone’s lips. Even the air feels like it’s holding its breath. And all of it — every flicker of curiosity, disbelief, and blatant awe — is aimed squarely at you. 

“Guys”, Satoru announces, all flair and no shame, “This is my wife. Try not to scare her off.” You manage a composed smile, offering a polite nod. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

The reactions come in like dominos. 

Yuuji blinks so fast he looks like a malfunctioning cartoon. “She’s real. She’s actually real.”

Nobara lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. How is he married to her?” 

“There’s definitely something wrong with her”, Megumi mutters, arms crossed.

“Blink twice if you’re being held hostage”, Maki deadpans without missing a beat.

Even stoic Shoko lifts her eyebrows, taking a slow drag of her cigarette. “I genuinely thought he made you up.”

Ijichi bows at the waist, glasses fogged slightly from the tea steam. “Gojo-san speaks of you often. I assumed it was... metaphorical.” Nanami says absolutely nothing. Just closes his eyes and exhales, a slow, pained breath that says this is beneath me, but also of course this is happening. 

Meanwhile, Geto is the picture of calm. Reclined on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, he simply smirks and raises his hand in greeting. “About time you dragged her here, Satoru.” 

“Don’t encourage him”, Nanami mutters without opening his eyes. 

You can’t help it — you laugh. A light, genuine thing that breaks the awkward spell in the room like shattering glass. The tension in your chest uncoils slightly, and Satoru beams beside you. 

“Oh god”, Nobara groans. “Even her laugh is gorgeous. This is unbelievable.” 

“Do you need help?” Megumi asks again, completely serious.

“She’s under some kind of spell, huh?” Yuuji whispers. “Do we do something? Help her?” 

“No need to rescue her”, Satoru says smugly. “She married me willingly” 

“That’s even worse”, Nanami mutters. 

“You guys are insufferable”, you finally say, smiling despite yourself. 

“You’re perfect for him then”, Shoko hums. 

“Alright, alright, don’t scare her off on her first visit”, Geto says, rising from the couch. He strolls over, offering his hand. “I’m Suguru. Satoru’s better half.” 

“Hey!” Satoru protests. 

You shake Geto’s hand. “Pleasure.” 

“It really is”, he replies smoothly. “Though we may have to talk about your taste in men.” 

“I’ve made peace with it”, you reply with a smirk. The room erupts into scattered chuckles. Even Megumi snorts. Satoru clutches his chest. “I feel so betrayed.” 

“Get in line”, Nanami mutters again. 

“Come on”, Geto waves you over. “Sit. Eat something. Let us dissect your personality in peace.” As you move to join them, Satoru’s hand brushes your lower back — a barely-there touch. Protective. Familiar. You glance at him. He’s still smiling like the sun — blinding and hard to read beneath the surface.  

You ease yourself into a spot between Suguru and Satoru on the long couch. Plates and cups shift around. The lounge settles into casual chaos again, but it’s warmer now — less like scrutiny, more like curious acceptance. As conversations spark up around you, you feel it — a brush at your side. Subtle, deliberate. Satoru’s hand slides across the space between you on the couch. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even look your way. But under the table, his fingers quietly reach for yours. At first, you don’t respond. The chatter of the room covers the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. It feels like everyone might notice, even though no one’s looking. And still — slowly — your fingers curl around his. 

You glance sideways at him. He’s still grinning and bickering with Geto about who’s ageing better — but there’s a flicker in his eyes when they meet yours. Something warm. Something that longs. And Satoru doesn’t look like he’s letting go of your hand anytime soon. 

-- 

Even after leaving the school and walking toward the car, Satoru hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. And, truthfully, you haven’t tried to pull away either. His hand is warm and steady, fingers loosely laced with yours like it’s always been this natural. “They’re very chaotic”, you say as you walk side by side, the late afternoon sun painting golden highlights into his white hair. “But adorably so.” 

Satoru gasps. “How come you never say that about me?” 

“I do say you’re chaotic.” 

“Not that part”, he pouts, dragging your hand slightly as he walks. “Say I’m adorable too.”

You glance up at him with a smirk. “Why make me lie now?” 

He clutches his chest like you just wounded him. “Unbelievable. And here I was, thinking we were having a romantic moment.” 

“You pouted like a toddler five seconds ago. That was the opposite of romantic.” 

“That was endearing, thank you very much.” He sighs dramatically, unlocking the car with a flick of his keys. “One day you’ll realize just how lucky you are to have married me.”

You chuckle. “I’m still trying to figure that out.” 

As the engine hums to life and the radio kicks in with something mellow, he steals a glance at you. “You liked them, though?”

You nod. “They’re all... a lot. But in a good way. I liked them. They like you, too — though it’s hilarious how some of them thought I was a figment of your imagination at first.” 

“That’s fair”, he shrugs. “Even I sometimes think you’re too good to be real.” You don’t reply to that — partly because it’s sweet, partly because it makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to admit. 

-- 

Instead of taking you to a fancy restaurant, Satoru pulls the car up near a quiet park tucked into a tree-lined stretch of the city. It’s not crowded, the evening air is crisp, and the swings creak gently in the breeze. 

“A date doesn’t have to be complicated”, he says, hands behind his head, strolling beside you. “This used to be my favorite spot when I ditched meetings.”

You laugh. “What a responsible clan head.” 

“Oh, terribly irresponsible”, he agrees proudly. “Now — race you to the swings!”

You both make a break for it, laughing as your shoes hit gravel. You get there first, narrowly beating him (because he let you), and triumphantly claim the left swing. Satoru sits on the other — except, the chains creak loudly as he settles in, clearly too tall and too big for the tiny seat. 

“God, you look ridiculous”, you say between laughs.

“Hey”, he grins. “Let me have my moment.” He tries to swing but his feet keep dragging on the ground. You get off and try to push him but fail spectacularly. “You’re too heavy!” you exclaim. He snorts. “I’m muscle and grace, I’ll have you know.” 

“Lift your legs then! That’s the only way this will work.” 

“If I lift my legs, the swing will snap and we’ll both die.”  

You dissolve into laughter, arms over your chest as you watch him try — and fail — to get any lift. “Hop off now”, you say. “It’s your turn to push me.”

He gets off, and you take over. He starts pushing you gently, and you find yourself relaxing, head tilted back toward the sky as you glide back and forth. You don’t notice how quiet he’s gone until the swing slows and you look back to find him watching you — softly, openly, with none of his usual teasing in sight. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. He shrugs. “You look happy. I like seeing you like this.” 

Your heart stumbles. And just like that, the real world catches up — Akihito, the marriage, the plan... Guilt prickles under your skin. You’re not supposed to feel this warm around Satoru. Not this content. He notices the shift in your eyes, tension in your smile. “Hey.” He walks in front of the swing, kneeling slightly to meet your gaze. “Where did you go just now?” 

You open your mouth — but you don’t know what to say. There’s too much. You’re not even sure what you’re feeling anymore. Satoru doesn’t push. He simply lifts a hand to brush your cheek with his knuckles, gentler than anyone would expect from a man like him. “If you’re scared”, he says, “I’ll wait. But I’m not stopping.” 

You should say something — anything — but you don’t. Instead, you lean forward without thinking. Just a little. Just enough. And he meets you halfway. You kiss. It’s soft. Uncomplicated. Barely a breath long — but enough to make your stomach flip and your thoughts scramble. You pull back just as fast, cheeks feeling hot, and suddenly shoot up to your feet. 

“I—uh—I’m going to head to the car”, you stammer, already backing away. “Give me fifteen minutes. Just... wait, okay? Don’t come right now.” Satoru blinks after you as you run off, flustered. A slow smile spreads across his lips. He lifts a hand, touching his fingers to where your lips met his. “Why shy away like this now?” he murmurs to himself, chuckling. “It’s not like this is our first kiss...” 

His smile lingers, a little softer now. Almost nostalgic. He watches the direction you went, lost in thought. Because only he remembers. You’ve kissed before. But back then, you didn’t know who he was. And you still don’t remember. 

-- 

Satoru remembers it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. The memory came rushing back the moment he saw your picture — the proposed match for the arranged marriage. The others in the room kept talking, formalities piling up like a tide of obligations, but he barely heard a word.  

It was you — the girl who stole his first kiss. The girl he never managed to find again. 

It happened years ago, sometime past midnight. He had just wrapped up a mission — a dull one, barely worth remembering — and was wandering the streets of Tokyo, eating red bean mochi with one hand and scrolling his phone with the other. Still in uniform, still buzzing from leftover cursed energy, still too wired to sleep. As he strolled past a row of late-night bars and clubs, the music leaked into the street like fog. Somewhere between neon signs and cigarette smoke, he spotted you — a girl slumped on the curb outside a nightclub, arms wrapped around your knees, head lolling sleepily to one side. You looked like you were dozing off. Alone. Vulnerable.  

He kept walking. At first. But something didn’t sit right. There were a few guys loitering nearby — drunk, leering, the kind of men that don’t need a reason to ruin someone’s night. One of them peeled away from the group and started approaching you, calling out something Satoru didn’t care to hear. He stopped at a vending machine, fingers patting his pockets as if he were looking for coins — but really, he was watching. Calculating. When the guy crouched beside you and reached out to brush your hair behind your ear, Satoru moved. Fast. “Sorry I took so long”, he said loudly, slinging his jacket over your shoulders in one smooth motion as he stepped between you and the stranger. 

The man froze. 

Satoru didn’t raise his voice, didn’t flare cursed energy — just looked at him. Cold. Unblinking. Dangerous. The guy got the message. “I was just making sure she was okay”, the creep stammered. 

“Yeah”, Satoru said flatly. “She is. Now leave.” He didn’t have to say it twice. Once the guys scurried off, Satoru crouched beside you, tilting his head. “Hey. Not a great place for a nap, you know?” You stirred, muttering something incoherent. “I’m serious”, he said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “It’s not safe out here.” 

“Can’t walk”, you mumbled. “Not sure if I’m spinning, or everything else is.” 

He blinked. “That bad, huh?”

You squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“A kidnapper?”

“Definitely not.”

“Hmm”, you leaned your cheek against your knee. “Guess you’ll do.” 

Satoru stared. “What does that mean?” You reached and tugged his sleeve, and with surprising strength, pulled him to sit beside you. Then, without warning, you laid your head in his lap. “What are you—?” 

“You’re warm”, you sighed, nestling closer. “And you smell nice. But I kind of feel like throwing up.” 

“Please don’t”, he said instantly, trying not to panic. “This is my favorite outfit.” 

You giggled. “You’re funny.”

He looked down at you, at the way your hair fanned across his thighs, at the curve of your sleepy smile. “What are you even doing out here alone?” he asked. 

“I lost my friends”, you mumbled. “Or maybe they lost me. Who’s to say...” 

“You got a phone?” 

You held it up proudly. It was dead. “Perfect”, he sighed. 

Eventually, when it became clear you weren’t going to get up willingly, he gathered you into his arms and stood. “Alright, mystery girl. I’m getting you somewhere safe — where’s your place?” 

“Wait, wait”, you slurred, squinting suspiciously at him. “I don’t know you. I can’t just tell you where I live!” 

“You’re literally unconscious on the sidewalk and I’m carrying you like a bridal bouquet. I think we’re past that point.” 

You didn’t answer. Your head lolled onto his shoulder. He sighed, glanced around. He didn’t know your name, didn’t know where you lived — but you looked about college-aged, and the university campus wasn’t far. It was the best guess he had. So he started walking.  

Halfway there, a group of girls came jogging down the sidewalk, calling some name (yours). They looked frantic — until they saw you in his arms.  “Oh god”, one of them exhaled. “We’ve been looking for her everywhere!” 

They reached out to take you, but you lifted your head groggily, blinking at him like you’d just remembered he existed. You took off his sunglasses and placed him on his head, then cupped his face in both hands, surprisingly gentle. 

“You’re pretty”, you said. 

He blinked. 

Then you leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and quick. “Thank you”, you whispered. “For keeping me warm.” 

And just like that, your friends pulled you away — you still wearing his jacket, him still too stunned to speak. He stood there long after you were gone, fingers pressed to his lips, dazed. “What a weird girl”, he muttered. 

But he’d already fallen for you. 

He tried to find you after that, of course — visited the area again, lingered by the campus, even asked around in his own way. But your name, your face... all of it had vanished like a dream after waking. Until years later — when he saw your photo again. And this time? He said yes without hesitation. 

-- 

The days begin to blend. Soft, warm mornings. Laughter over late breakfast. The rustle of flower petals against your cheek as you wake — a new habit Satoru’s picked up. You open your eyes to a fresh bouquet on your pillow, tied together with a silk ribbon and a folded note tucked inside. 

Roses are red, violets are blue, don’t open the curtains, I'm watching you ;)  S. 

You roll your eyes but smile. By now, your phone is full of messages from him — some voice notes, some texts. Some completely random, like: 

Voice message — 9:07 AM 

Hey, I found this stray cat that reminds me of you. They ignored me when I tried to pet them and just walked off. Thought that was kinda romantic~  

Text — 10:12 AM 

Do you miss me or are you pretending I don’t exist again? Be honest. I can take it. (Don’t be honest) 

Sometimes he’s halfway through a mission and still finds the time to send you a photo of some stupid little charm at a shrine that “looks cursed like you” — and by the time he returns home, you’ve forgotten how silence used to fill the rooms before he came. 

You start leaving notes back. Hiding snacks in his coat. One time, you sent him flowers — as a joke. A massive, bright pink bouquet delivered right to the faculty lounge at Jujutsu Tech. 

Yuuji nearly dropped his drink when he saw it. “Sensei, I thought you were the man in this relationship... but I guess you really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” 

Satoru beamed as he held the bouquet. “Listen, Yuuji, I think she’s got me on a leash. And honestly? I don’t mind it.” 

Geto didn’t even blink. “You’ve always liked being domesticated.” 

Nanami groaned in the distance. “Please take your romance outside school grounds.” 

Your life with him feels like a sitcom at times. Like you’ve somehow fallen into a slice-of-life version of your own story. And strangely, you don’t hate it.

But not all lives move at the same pace. 

Akihito watches it unfold from the shadows of his own silence. This was not part of the plan. You’re playing your role way too well to his liking. Are you humoring Satoru’s peculiar behavior for the sake of keeping the peace... or is there something more to it?

He feels the distance stretching. You reply to his messages slower now. When he calls, you sound distracted — not cold, just... somewhere else. Sometimes when he walks by your and Satoru’s room, he hears his son’s voice talking to you and it cuts deeper than he expects. Laughing. Teasing. Talking to you in a tone Akihito used to think was only his to use. 

He remembers your last few moments together, how they’ve been growing shorter. More careful. Your touches — once confident, rooted in secret familiarity — now come with hesitation. Like you’re aware of something new. Something blooming in the cracks you didn’t plan for. You were slipping. And for the first time in a very long time, Akihito doesn’t know what to do. 

He doesn’t confront you. He won’t. Because even now, he trusts you. Even now, he tells himself you would never betray him like that... But still — he’s left staring at the space beside him that used to be filled by you, fingers curled into fists he won’t raise, breathing through a storm he never thought he’d have to weather. 

--  

Evening settles softly across the room like a warm blanket. The lights are dim, casting a gentle golden hue over the shared bedroom you’ve both slowly grown used to — not just as a space, but as a kind of quiet haven. You sit on the bed with your knees tucked close to your chest, absently flipping through some old magazine you already checked out twice. Satoru is nearby, sprawled across the foot of the bed, fiddling with his phone but mostly stealing glances at you. The silence between you is easy now. Not empty, not awkward — just comfortable. 

Still, something hangs between you, unspoken but undeniably there. It’s been lingering ever since that kiss in the park. You haven’t kissed again since, but your touches linger longer now — a brush of fingers as you pass something to him, the slow curl of his hand around yours when you walk beside each other. Close, but careful. 

Tonight feels different. 

“Do you ever miss the chaos?” you ask, not looking up from the page. “Before we... whatever this is.” 

“Before we became a domestic power couple?” Satoru teases, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. “Tragic. I used to be wild. Now I fold your laundry.” You laugh. “You don’t fold my laundry.” 

“I would. For the record. If it meant you’d smile like that.”  

You glance at him now, and his expression softens when your eyes meet. The air changes. It’s in the way he shifts, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. There’s something different in his gaze — not just affection, but hunger veiled by hesitance. You feel it too. That same flutter deep in your belly. The nervous kind. The kind that tastes like anticipation. He moves closer, slowly, watching you for any flicker of hesitation. When he reaches out, his fingers brush lightly along your jaw, his thumb barely skimming your cheek. You don’t move away.

“You’ve been looking at me like that for a while now”, you whisper.

He smiles, a little crooked, a little shy — rare, for him. “Yeah. I’ve been... trying to behave.” 

Your lips part, but you don’t speak. Satoru leans in, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slower than last time. Less impulsive. More reverent. His hand cups the back of your head gently as he pulls you closer, tasting your breath as if he’s been craving it every day since the last time. And then he pulls back. Breath shaky. Eyes shut. You blink, still dazed from the kiss. “Satoru? What are you doing?” 

He exhales a slow, uneven breath. “Waiting for you to slap me.”

You stare at him. That rare vulnerability in his voice knocks the breath right out of your lungs. “Why would I slap you?” 

“I didn’t ask. I didn’t warn you. I just... kissed you. Again. I told myself I’d wait until you wanted me.” 

You hesitate only for a heartbeat. Then, you lean forward and take his face in your hands, gently pulling him back into you. Your lips find his, and this time there’s no pause. No retreat. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize you. Every angle. Every sound you make. Your hands find their way under the hem of is shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin, and he shivers beneath your touch. You break the kiss long enough to whisper, “Come closer.”

His forehead rests against yours. “Only if you want me to.” 

“I do”, you breathe, voice trembling but sure. “I want this. I want you.” His arms tighten around you, and it’s slow, almost reverent, the way he lays you down — like you’re something sacred. Clothes are shed without urgency, and his hands trace the lines of your body like he’s reading scripture. The rest unfolds in quiet gasps and whispered names. It's not just desire — it’s need. Familiar, frightening, warm... 

...when it’s over, the silence that follows is different from all the ones that came before. You lie beside him, heart still racing, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your arm. He doesn’t speak. He just watches you, memorizing the curve of your lips, the way your chest raises and falls. And for a moment, you forget every plan. Every lie. Every secret. For a moment, it feels like love. The kind that sneaks up on you — quiet, uninvited, and impossible to ignore. You lie tangled together, your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tenderly caressing your bare skin. Hearts still thudding. 

Satoru is the one to break the silence, his voice light, teasing (as usual). “So... You really don’t remember me, huh?” 

You blink, lifting your head just enough to glance at him. “What?” 

“Brutal...”, he laughs. “And here I was, thinking I made a lasting impression that night.” 

You narrow your eyes, unsure if he’s joking. “What are you talking about?” 

“Nahh, I get it — you were pretty drunk”, he says, dragging the words out like a cat playing with mouse. 

“Oh god—” You sit up suddenly, sheet gathering around your chest. “Don’t tell me we’ve hooked up in the past and I don’t remember it?” Satoru bursts out laughing. “No, not like that.”

You squint at him. “Then stop being so cryptic and tell me!” 

He stretches, hands behind his head, smug and insufferable. “Let’s just say… you were outside a bar. Alone. Slumped on the curb. And I saved your life.”

You blink again. He continues, barely hiding his amusement. “Some creep tried to hit on you. I intervened, obviously. You asked if I was a kidnapper, told me I smelled nice, then fell asleep in my lap.”

Your jaw drops. “No way.” 

“Oh, there’s more,” he says with a mock-serious nod. “You called me pretty. And you kissed me.”

You gape. “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not,” he says, lips twitching. “And you stole my jacket, by the way.”

Your eyes widen. Something flickers at the edge of your memory. “Wait— that was your jacket?”

Satoru raises his brows, clearly enjoying himself. “Yep.” 

“I always wondered where it came from”, you mumble, stunned. “I kept it for years. I thought maybe someone just… gave it to me out of pity.” 

“Well, I did give it to you”, he says, softer now. “But it wasn’t pity.” 

You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing it all. “I can’t believe it. That was you.” 

He shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal — but his voice betrays him when he says, “Yeah. I looked for you, you know? Went back to that street, hung around your supposed campus. Thought about that stupid night more times than I’d ever admit.” 

You gasp. 

“When your photo showed up in the marriage proposal packet?” He looks over at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I said yes before they even finished reading your name.” 

You stare at him, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” 

He smiles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because you didn’t look at me like this before.” You lean in, heart heavy with something warm and aching. “How do I look at you now?” 

“Like you might not disappear this time.” 

-- 

You slip into your nightgown, your skin still tingling with traces of warmth and tenderness. The sound of water runs in the background — Satoru in the shower, humming something off-key. A lazy smile plays on your lips as you step out of the bedroom, quietly padding down the hallway. You tell yourself it’s just to grab snacks. Maybe a drink. Something to soothe the afterglow that’s left your heart both full and aching. 

But as you reach the kitchen and flick on the soft underlight, your body seizes.

Akihito is there. Standing in the low light like a phantom, glass in one hand, his other curled into a loose fist at his side. The bottle of whiskey beside him is nearly half-empty. He doesn’t speak right away — just stares at you, and it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. Not like this. There’s pain, yes. But buried under that is something sharper. Something raw. 

“Akihito...” you breathe, barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t answer. Just brings the glass to his lips again, slowly, as if buying time — or trying to keep himself from saying what’s already clawing its way up his throat. Akihito, huh? You used to call him Aki... 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing slightly as he steps forward. You don’t move — not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t quite dare. He stops in front of you, closer than comfort allows. The scent of whiskey and something tired hangs on him — disappointment. His eyes flicker over your face, and you know he sees it. The softness in your cheeks. The haze still lingering in your gaze. The warmth that isn’t his. He knows. Of course he does. But he wants to confirm, one last time. 

His hand reaches toward you, swiftly lifting your nightgown to brush his fingers against your cunt, bare, still wet and sore. You flinch, instinctively stepping back — but his free hand snaps around your wrist. He withdraws his fingers, bringing them close to your face, then slowly rubs them together. Smearing the slick, laced with remnants that don’t belong to him. “You slept with him”, he says, low, flat. No question. Just a quiet accusation. 

Your breath catches. 

He leans in, close enough for his words to brush against your skin. “Do you love him?”

Before your lips can part, before your heart even finds a beat, a new voice breaks the silence. 

“Hey, I was looking for y—” Satoru enters the room, still damp from the shower, water clinging to his chest, a towel slung low around his waist, another in his hands as he rubs it through his hair. The moment he sees his father, he stops mid-step. His eyes lock at his hand around your wrist. His tone drops, his jaw clenches. He immediately yanks his hand away from you, then his eyes dart to the whiskey on the counter. “Old man, did you get drunk enough to mistake my wife for yours?” 

Akihito doesn’t answer right away, but he tenses. For a moment, he seems to fold in on himself — trying, perhaps, to remember who he is, and who he’s supposed to be. “I lost my balance for a second”, he mutters. Then without another glance at either of you, he brushes past and disappears down the hall. 

The silence he leaves behind is deafening. You’re frozen. Like glass on the verge of shattering. Guilt crawls under your skin like a fever. You want to scream. You want to run. You feel like you’ve betrayed them both. 

Satoru looks at you. His expression softens the moment he sees your face. “Hey...” voice gentle now. “You okay? You look a bit... pale.” He tries to joke, but there’s a note of worry breeding into his words. “Did I... maybe go a little too hard on you back there?” A faint smirk, halfhearted. His eyes, though, are searching.  

You force yourself to nod, to smile like you’re fine. “No. I’m okay. I just—” you glance toward the hallway, “I got startled. I didn’t expect to see anyone else awake.”

Satoru doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push either. He just reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch almost reverent. “Next time, tell me”, he says softly. “I’ll walk you around the house like a proper husband.” 

You laugh — weakly, but you manage it. Neither of you says what you’re thinking. Neither of you asks the questions hanging thick in the air. But both of you feel it. Something has shifted. And in the stillness that follows, all you can do is hold your breath and pretend it’s not already slipping out of your control. 

-- 

The soft creak of Akihito’s footsteps disappears into the silence of the hallway as if he is retreating from more than just a room. By the time he reaches the bedroom he shares with Saori, the burn in his chest has settled into something heavier, duller. She is already asleep, curled into herself beneath the silk sheets. He doesn’t even look at her. Akihito pours himself another drink from the decanter near the dresser, the sound of the liquid filling the glass louder than it should. His hand shakes as he brings it to his lips. He has lost count of how many glasses he had tonight. 

He believed he was in control, never imagining, even for a moment, that you might be the one to falter. He sits on the edge of the bed for a while, nursing the bitterness on his tongue, trying to down what feels like the unraveling of everything. His grip tightens around the glass until his knuckles turn white. And eventually, the weight of it — the whiskey, the pain, the loss — pulls him down. He settles in bed, fully clothed, eyes open to the dark. Only when the alcohol dulls the sharpest edges of his thoughts does sleep finally claim him. 

Saori wakes sometime later — hours, maybe. She doesn’t know what stirred her at first. The clock ticks quietly. The room is still. But then she hears it. A soft sound. A broken voice. Akihito. At first, she thinks he is awake, whispering. But when she turns to face him, she sees the tight lines on his brow, his face twisted in restless dreaming. 

...a name falls from his lips like a prayer. Your name.

“Don’t leave me...” He shifts, face turned toward her, eyes shut tight. His voice cracks in a way she has never heard before. “I love you... please... don’t go...” 

Saori doesn’t move. She doesn’t breathe. For a long moment, all she can do is stare at the man she spent more than half her life beside. The man who kept so much from her. Until now.

Everything made sense to her now. All of it. The proposal of a random girl — a nobody, by traditional standards — as a bride for the clan head. His obsessive oversight of your marriage. His silence. His sudden, inexplicable shifts in mood. All the times he came home reeking of another woman. And now this. 

She sits up slowly, placing her hand on her lap as the cold realization settles deep into her bones. Her husband has never said her name like that, even in dreams. A sharp, unfamiliar ache blooms in her chest. It isn’t jealousy — though that is part of it. It is grief. For a marriage that never really belonged to her. For a love that was never hers to begin with. She turns to look at Akihito once more. His lips move soundlessly now, breath uneven. Vulnerable in a way he has never let himself be when conscious. Saori whispers, her voice nearly a breath, “You poor, stupid man...” 

And she doesn’t know whether to feel pity, rage, or heartbreak. So she sits there — in the dim quiet, beside the man who is dreaming of someone else — and tries to remember what it feels like to be chosen. 

-- 

The morning sun spills through sheer drapes. Saori sits before her vanity, back perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap as the house attendant brushes through her hair. She stares at her reflection — still, expressionless. But her eyes, always sharp, betray thought in motion. There’s no puffiness in them, no redness, no sign of the long night she endured beside her sleeping husband and the dreams he whispered into the dark. Not a trace of it reached the surface. Because Gojo Saori does not falter. 

She was raised for this life. Trained from the moment she could walk and speak — in manners, in posture, in etiquette. In silence. In sacrifice. She was chosen for the Gojo Clan as if born for it, bred for it. A perfect match to elevate status and maintain lineage. An ideal bride, by design. Not merely beautiful, but refined. Not merely obedient, but poised. Regal in her restraint. And still, he never loved her. Gojo Akihito, the man she married at twenty-one, gave her everything a wife could ask for — wealth, status, a name that carried power. But not his heart. Never his heart. She spent years trying to earn it anyway. With devotion. With loyalty so fierce it could have moved mountains if he had only looked her way and seen her properly. 

But last night... Last night, in the hush of the sleeping room they shared for so many years, he spoke someone else’s name. Not once. Not carelessly. Lovingly. 

Saori meets her own gaze in the mirror — unwavering, unflinching. She should’ve wept, perhaps. Cried the way lesser women might. Collapsed into trembling disbelief or broken rage. But she had no time for that. No space, in the skin she wears, for such indulgence. Her family name was teetered on scandal, and she bled too much grace into this place to see it torn down now — not by a girl’s foolishness, not by a man’s longing. Gojo Saori was, above else, a guardian of the image. But the image was beginning to crack. And she was ready to protect what needed protecting.  

--  

You sit at the table, eyes tracing the rim of your teacup, steam curling softly into the morning air. You haven’t taken a sip. You haven’t touched your plate. Your stomach is tight, twisted with guilt... especially after last night. 

Satoru is full of light and ease, as he always is — grinning, teasing, tossing playful remarks into the stillness like stones skipping across a glassy lake. His hand brushes yours casually, fingertips lingering just long enough to warm your skin. It's comforting in a way, how unchanged he is. But his energy doesn’t reach you this morning. You smile when you’re supposed to. You answer when he prompts you. But your mind is far away — caught between the memory of last night’s warmth and the echo of Akihito’s voice, flat and cracked with disappointment. 

Akihito sits quietly, as he always does, but today his silence feels heavier. His fingers press against the bridge of his nose, slow and methodical, as if trying to will away a migraine. He hasn’t touched his food. His presence across the table burns into you like a brand. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel his restraint like a tremor in the room — barely contained, always building. 

Saori is a vision of composure. She lifts her teacup with perfect posture, takes delicate sips, and sets it down with the precision of someone who has performed this same ritual every morning of her life. Her face is unreadable — not blank, but too measured. There's something behind her stillness, something coiled. But you can’t tell what. She gives nothing away. 

Satoru leans in toward you with a lopsided grin, voice dipped in mischief. His hand brushes your arm again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he senses how fragile you feel. “You’re awfully quiet today”, he points out. You blink, startled — his voice snapping you out of your spiral — and you force a breath, a small smile. He’s trying to bring you back. The way he always does. “I didn’t get much sleep last night”, you manage, voice low and tight. 

“Tired, huh?” he echoes with a soft laugh, leaning in closer. His voice drops to a whisper, just for you. “Guess that’s what happens after a long, productive night... right?” 

Your heart stumbles. The words land like a thunderclap, disguised as a joke, but sharp enough to cut through your skin. His wink is lighthearted — harmless in his mind — but you freeze. You don’t laugh. You can’t. The knot in your stomach coils tighter, shame rising in your chest. You drop your gaze and press your lips together, every nerve on fire. 

Then comes the sound. A sharp, sudden crack. 

Akihito’s hand clenches around his teacup — or what’s left of it. Porcelain shards glint, splintered across the table and floor. His palm is cut, a slow trickle of blood winding through the lines of his hand, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He stares at the broken cup like it’s something far away. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched. A man unraveling slowly — but silently. 

Satoru turns toward him, his gaze casual, almost detached. He says nothing. 

Saori moves immediately, her composure untouched as she rises and then immediately kneels beside him without ceremony, inspecting the wound with clinical care. Her voice is even, steady. “Are you alright?” Akihito doesn’t respond. His eyes are still fixed on the broken shards. His breath is shallow. Hollow. You wonder if he even knows where he is. Saori retrieves the first aid kit from the cabinet, her movements smooth, practiced. She tends to the cut with quiet precision, wrapping the bandage around his hand in silence. She doesn’t look at you, not directly — but her awareness is piercing. You can feel her watching, even when her eyes aren’t on you. 

You try not to flinch under the weight of it. 

Satoru watches you now. Truly watches you, and only you. There’s concern in his eyes, but beneath it, something darker — a flicker of something unreadable, as if he’s seeing straight through you. 

--  

You walk Satoru to the front of the estate, the morning sun slowly warming the stone path. He lingers, reluctant to go. “Are you sure you want me to leave?” he asks, searching your face. “You’ve been... kind of out of it all morning.”

You manage a smile, reaching up to smooth a hand through his hair. “I told you, I’m just tired.”  

He’s clearly unconvinced. “Then let me stay. I’ll take the day off, we’ll snuggle in bed, watch trashy movies, eat junk food — whatever you want.” 

“No”, you cut him off gently. “They’ll chew you out for skipping another day because of me. I’m fine, I promise. I just... need a little time to myself.” 

He watches you for a moment longer, visibly debating. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You better call me if you change your mind. Or even if you don’t. I just want to hear your voice.” 

“I will”, you say, trying to mean it. 

“You won’t”, he mutters. “But I’ll pretend to believe you.” 

You watch him walk away until he’s out of sight. And then the weight returns, heavy and unforgiving. You turn and head back toward your room, your steps slow. You were planning to reach out to Akihito — to talk, to finally be honest. At least with him. You need to say the words out loud. 

Halfway to your door, one of the maids appears at the end of the corridor, bowing her head respectfully as she approaches. “Lady Saori has asked if you would join her for tea in the garden”, she says. 

You blink. “Tea?” 

“She’s waiting for you now”, the maid adds.  

Your stomach twists. This is a first. Saori has never invited you anywhere, never initiated anything outside of polite formality. And now — tea? You murmur your thanks and change direction, heading toward the garden with careful steps. When you arrive, Saori is already seated beneath the wide shade of the cherry blossom tree. Everything is picturesque — the porcelain tea set arranged perfectly, delicate sweets on a lacquer tray. Not a single detail out of place. She looks up as you approach, her posture composed, her expression mild. 

“Hello again”, she says, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Please, sit.”

You lower yourself slowly. “Thank you.” 

She pours the tea herself. No attendants. No distractions. Just you and her. “We’ve never had the chance to talk”, she says, tone pleasant. “Just the two of us.” 

You nod faintly. “I guess not.” 

She picks up her cup, takes a small sip, and sets it down again. “Satoru seems happy.”

You glance at her, cautious. “He is.” 

“I can tell. He’s always been bright, but lately there’s something different. Something new. He’s softer. His laugh is more genuine.” She offers a smile. “He clearly cares for you — deeply.” 

Your mouth goes dry. “Thank you.” 

She hums softly, and then — without a change in tone — asks, “And how are things between you and my husband?”

The question hits you like a stone dropped into still water. No warning. No shift in expression.  

You stiffen, staring at her.

She doesn’t look away, “Not well, I imagine?” voice still calm. 

“I—” 

“I don’t want to hear it”, she cuts in, quiet but firm. 

Silence settles like a weight. Her voice remains calm, but the steel beneath it is undeniable. “I am not blind.” 

You lower your gaze. 

“I see the way Akihito looks at you. I see what it’s done to him.” Her fingers rest gently on the rim of her teacup. “And I know the kind of woman it takes to twist a man like him into something unrecognizable.” 

You flinch. 

“I won’t let this continue. I won’t let you unravel this family from the inside out. If you stay on this path, you won’t just break Akihito — you’ll destroy Satoru too. He’s already too attached. Too invested. And when this blows apart — because it will, like all secrets do — do you really think he won’t be the one to bleed for it?” 

You look up at her, heart pounding. Her words feel like nails driven into your spine. There’s no venom in her voce. No raised pitch. Just control. Cold and deliberate. “I’m giving you a choice”, she says. “You leave. On your own terms. Or I will make sure you have no terms at all.” 

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. What can you even say? What are you supposed to do? Argue? 

“Think it over”, she says, lifting her teacup again. “Before it becomes something you can’t come back from.” Then her eyes meet yours one last time — still poised, but with a new edge. “And don’t even think about telling Akihito we had this conversation.” she adds softly. “Unless you want Satoru to know about it too.” 

-- 

You barely make it back to your room before your legs give out. The door shuts behind you and you crash onto the bed, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s useless now. The dam is breaking. Your shoulders shake, and the sob that leaves you is hoarse, pulled from a place so deep it feels like you’re splitting open. 

Everything was falling apart — like a chain of dominoes tipping one after another. One thing went wrong, and the rest followed, collapsing in swift, inevitable sequence. The worst part? The love blooming quietly in your chest. There’s no use pretending anymore. You can try to lie to everyone else — maybe even try to lie to yourself. But the truth is carved into your every glance, every touch, every breath, every unspoken word between you and Satoru. You love him. But you’re not allowed to have him. Not after this. Not when the damage has already begun to spill over the edges.  

You sit in the stillness for a while, until your tears run dry and resolve begins to settle in their place. There’s one thing left to do — the thing you intended before everything spiraled. You need to speak with Akihito. You pick up your phone and type out the message. 

Meet me in an hour. I’ll send you the location of the hotel. 

Then you get up, dress in silence, and leave. 

-- 

The room is quiet when he arrives. Akihito steps inside and finds you standing by the window, framed in soft, diffused light. There’s something different in your posture — something heavier. He doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at you, then takes a step forward. 

He dropped everything and came to you. Still hoping. That small, foolish hope still flickers in him — that maybe, despite everything, you’ve called him here because you’ve come back. He reaches for you, arms out as if to hold you again. But you step back. 

“No”, you say, voice tight. “We can’t do this anymore.” 

His hands drop to his sides. “What?” his voice barely comes out. You swallow the lump rising in your throat. “Aki... we can’t.” He stares at you. Then — a bitter, hollow laugh escapes him. “So that’s it?” His voice cracks. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you? And all this was for nothing?” 

You close your eyes. The silence answers for you. He paces away, running a hand through his hair, then back again. “God”, he mutters. “I thought this was the perfect plan. I thought — if I couldn’t have you publicly, I could at least have you close. Through him. Knowing he wouldn’t want you, wouldn’t touch you. Knowing that you loved me...” He looks at you now, eyes sharp with grief. “But I was wrong about both.” 

You wrap your arms around yourself. “This was a terrible idea from the start, and you know it”, you whisper. “I should’ve never agreed. I should’ve never let it get this far. I wish I’d never—” 

“Don’t”, he snaps, suddenly raw. “Don’t say you wish you never met me. Don’t.” 

Your breath hitches, but you don’t take it back. His voice lowers, thick with disbelief. “You don’t really mean it... right?”

Your silence cuts deeper than any answer.

He lets out a sharp breath, like it hurts, and moves to step toward you again, in utter denial of what’s unfolding before his eyes. 

“No”, you say, firmer this time. “Please. Just let this be the end.” 

You reach for the door. He follows. For the first time, you leave the hotel room together — not like all the other times, not hidden, not careful. You’re walking away, and he’s chasing you, hand reaching desperately for yours. 

“Wait—!” 

Akihito’s hand closes around your wrist just as you step onto the sidewalk, his grip tight, desperate — like holding on could somehow undo everything unraveling between you.

And then you hear it — a familiar voice calls your name. 

“...is that you?” 

You freeze. Shoko stands a few feet away, dressed in her uniform. Her gaze flicks from your face to where Akihito’s hand still clings to yours, and her expression changes in an instant. 

And just like that — in the space of a single day — everything you’ve tried to keep buried begins to rise. Crashing, all at once, to the surface. 

-- 

The sun is long gone by the time Satoru returns, the estate cloaked in stillness. He steps inside, calling your name softly. When you appear at the end of the hall, barefoot in the dim light, something in him settles — and then, just as quickly, something else begins to stir. You look like yourself, and yet... not. Your smile is soft but distant, your eyes shimmering in a way he can’t place. “I’m home”, he says, shrugging off his jacket. “Missed me?” 

You nod, walking up to him. You press a hand to his chest. “Little bit.” He smiles and leans down to kiss you, and when your lips meet, he feels it — the way you cling just a little tighter, hold just a little longer. It’s like you’re trying to memorize the way he tastes.  

Later, in your shared room, the lights are low and the silence is velvet. You’re already in bed when he returns from the shower, his white hair damp and tousled, towel slung loosely around his neck. He slips in beside you, cold fingers brushing your arm. You shiver, not from the chill — from the weight of what’s to come.

“You said you needed some time for yourself this morning, but you’re still like this”, he murmurs, pulling you close. “I don’t like it.”

You nestle against his chest, pressing your cheek to his skin. “I’m okay now.” 

There’s something in your voice that makes him pause. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, grounding himself in the curve of your spine, the warmth of your breath against him. 

“You smell like cotton candy”, you whisper.

He chuckles, nose brushing the crown of your head. “It’s that new shampoo. Smells fancy, huh?”

You don’t answer. You just reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his like it’s the last time... “Will you stay with me?” you ask softly.

“I’m not going anywhere.” he breathes.

“Good”, you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Then, come closer.”

Satoru tilts his head down to look at you, a flicker of unease moving behind his gaze. “Of course”, he says. “Where else would I go?” 

You pull him down to kiss you again. Deep. Slow. There’s no teasing. No games. Just something desperate threaded through every movement. Like a goodbye wrapped in silk. When you make love, there’s no rush. No fire. Just the quiet rhythm of two people trying to suspend time — to stretch a moment into forever. You whisper his name like a prayer. He kisses your temple like he’s stealing a promise he doesn’t know he’s about to break. 

Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on your bare shoulder. Your breathing evens. Sleep comes to you quickly — a peace you haven’t known in a while.  

But Satoru doesn’t sleep. He watches you in the darkness, his blue eyes searching your face, as if trying to decode something written there. Something unsaid. You’ve never look so peaceful. And, honestly, that’s what scares him. His chest tightens. Something in his gut whispers that he’s missing something. That he’s not seeing the full picture. That maybe... you’re slipping through his fingers.

“Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” he murmurs, barely audible, brushing a thumb along your cheek. You stir, but don’t wake. He leans down and kisses your forehead — gentle, reverent. “I love you”, he whispers into your hair. And for a moment, he lets himself believe it’s enough to keep you. 

-- 

A week passes. The Gojo estate buzzes with preparations for the annual celebration — Saori and Akihito’s wedding anniversary. As always, Saori is at the heart of it all, composed and efficient, orchestrating every detail with practiced grace. Akihito, on the other hand, remains distant. Detached. You barely see him around the mansion. Not a word has passed between you since that day at the hotel. It feels like he’s quietly disappearing — withdrawing, piece by piece — and yet, an uneasy weight sits in your chest. Something feels off. Unfinished. 

One afternoon, as you help Saori sort through invitations, she brings it up — casually. “Have you made up your mind?” she asks, her eyes never lifting from the stack of envelopes. You pause, fingers brushing the edge of an envelope, and answer softly — almost absently. “Who knows.” 

-- 

Morning light filters through the sheer curtains. You’re already awake, lying still in Satoru’s arms. His breath is warm against the nape of your neck, one arm draped lazily around your waist, holding you in place like an anchor. Carefully, you ease out from under his arm. He shifts but doesn’t wake. Bare feet touch the cold floor as you rise and stand in the light, allowing yourself one last look. He’s lying on his back now, hair a tousled against the pillow. Peaceful. Vulnerable in a way only sleep allows. Your chest aches. 

In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and lift your gaze to the mirror. Your eyes are red. Hollow. The skin beneath them bruised with fatigue. But beneath the weariness, there’s something else — resolve. When you return to the room, Satoru is stirring. He squints at you with a sleepy grin. “Come back”, he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “I sleep better when you’re here.”  

You smile softly. “Can't. You know today’s the big day.” 

He stretches like a cat, arms reaching above his head, the sheet slipping down to his hips. “Ugh. Right. Completely forgot about that”, he groans and then rolls onto his side. You manage a quiet laugh. As he nestles back into the pillow, you linger in the doorway. “I love you.” you whisper — quietly, so quietly he won’t hear. Then you close the door behind you. And with that, the countdown begins. 

--  

The Gojo estate is nothing short of magnificent tonight. The garden glows beneath a canopy of paper lanterns, warm amber light spilling across the sea of guests. Tables are dressed in fresh flowers. Soft music hums in the background, blending into murmured conversations and the gentle clinking of glasses. Tonight is a celebration of image — Akihito and Saori’s wedding anniversary. Saori is elegance incarnate, her smile as polished as the pearls at her neck. Akihito stands beside her, composed, offering polite nods and minimal words. Together, they are the picture of grace. But the image is just that — a facade. There’s nothing worth celebrating. Nothing real about the harmony they pretend to share. 

Across the garden, Satoru floats through the evening like a disruption in the symmetry. Dressed in a loose gray suit, tie nowhere in sight, he laughs too loud, drowns juice from a champagne glass, and teases the elders with casual disrespect. No one bats an eye — it’s just Satoru being Satoru. But those who know him — really know him — can see it. He’s restless. His eyes keep scanning the crowd. At first subtly. Then, with growing urgency. You’re not out here. You slipped away earlier, saying something about fixing your dress. But that was over thirty minutes ago. Long enough for the knot in his stomach to tighten. Long enough for his laugh to start sounding forced. 

He leans toward Shoko, who’s sipping wine with a bored expression. “Have you seen her?” 

“Nope”, Shoko replies, unbothered. “Didn’t she say she was heading to the bathroom?” 

“Yeah”, Satoru’s fingers drum against the table. “But how long does fixing a dress take?” 

Across the garden, Akihito and Saori stand side by side as guests gather for the toast. She leans in, whispers something. He nods — but his gaze flickers, briefly, toward the house. 

An elder raises a glass. “To love. To strength. To bonds that stand the test of time.” 

Glasses rise.

Clink.

Applause follows. The illusion holds.

Until— 

BOOM. 

A thunderous crack splits the air. The ground shakes. Heat pulses across the garden like a wave. Screams erupt. From the left wing of the estate, fire bursts through the windows — a wall of flame swallowing the air. Smoke billows thick and choking. Music cuts out. Plates crash. Glass shatters. 

Satoru’s glass falls from his hand and explodes against the ground. Something sharp drives into his chest. He knows — you’re still inside. But before the thought is fully formed, he’s already running.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” His voice cuts through the chaos as he barrels through the guests. 

Akihito starts to follow, face pale, but Saori grabs his arm. Her gaze then snaps to her son. “Satoru, STOP!” she cries — but he doesn’t hear.

To Satoru, the world is silent now. There is only the roar of the fire and the pounding of his heart. He bursts through the estate doors, sprinting toward the source of the flames. He forgets his technique. Forgets his own safety. Forgets everything — except you.

“Please, baby— please, my love— I’m coming, please— Don’t do this to me, please—”, he keeps chanting.

The deeper he goes, the more warped the hall becomes — blackened, unrecognizable. He reaches the kitchen — but it’s empty. Panic claws up his throat. He turns, runs to the nearby bathroom. Kicks the door open. Heat smacks him like a wall. Smoke clogs his lungs. He pulls his sleeve over his mouth and steps inside.  

Then he sees it — someone collapsed near the sink, limbs sprawled. Still. His heart stops. He nearly slips as he rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside the figure. Burnt and unrecognizable. But the dress — what’s left of it — is familiar. The color. The delicate trim. There’s a necklace around the neck, half-melted, but unmistakably yours. “No”, he whispers. “No, no, no—” 

His hand hovers over your body. His throat tightens. Everything around him is heat, noise, pressure, but in his ears, there’s only silence. Like the world just folded in on itself. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears hit his lips — salt and ash. “I was just with you...” he whispers, almost childlike, broken. “You were laughing with me a moment ago...” He leans in, presses his forehead to your shoulder, and breathes raggedly. Body shaking.  

Behind him, voices start to echo. Footsteps. Shouting. Geto is coming to pull him out. But Satoru doesn’t hear any of it. He doesn’t move. He can’t. For the first time in his life, it feels like he’s lost. 

-- 

The fire was quickly contained. The Gojo mansion still stands, its structure untouched. Only the left wing of the first floor bears the marks of the fire. The investigation concluded that the fire was caused by an overheating motor in the bathroom’s ventilation system, a tragic accident. Only one life was lost: yours. 

Your funeral was two days ago. A private ceremony. Satoru didn’t speak during it. He barely moved. Just stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes hidden behind the blindfold. Quiet. In a way he’s never been. 

Now, days later, the world still spins — people still laugh, they breathe, they live. But he’s still here. In the room that was once your shared bedroom. Alone. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaos of your things scattered around the room. Your belongings — still as you left them — seem to scream your absence. He can’t bring himself to touch them. Not yet. Not ever. The book you were reading, the bottle of perfume on the nightstand, your lotion, your earrings, the brush on the vanity, and your nightgown — neatly folded on your side of the bed. It all kills him. The maids are prohibited from entering the room. He’s made sure of it. The silence of the space, with all its untouched remnants of you, is his alone to bear. 

He buries his face in your pillow, hoping to catch even the faintest trace of your scent. But it’s long gone. A strangled breath leaves him. Then another. And then... he breaks. His hands shake as he scrolls through his phone, endlessly flipping through old texts. Rereading them. The messages that still feel so alive — your voice echoing in his mind. One voicemail stands out. The one you left days before the accident. He presses play. 

“Satoru, stop leaving the toilet seat up! I’m too sleepy in the mornings to notice, but my butt definitely doesn't appreciate an unexpected ice bath.” 

He laughs. Just once. And then, he breaks again. Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, curls into himself, his body crumpling into fetal position. He cries. Not quietly. No. He cries like he’s been holding it in his entire life, like the ground beneath him finally gave way and left him with nothing to stand on. No air. No reason. 

They say he’s doing fine. Around others, he smiles. He jokes. He walks with that same easy confidence, says the right things, acts like nothing’s changed. But Geto and Shoko know better. They see it in the way he visits your grave every day. The way his shoulders stiffen when someone dares mention your name. The way his hands tremble when they’re not stuffed in his pockets. He’s unraveling. Slowly. Quietly. And still, no one knows the truth. Not yet. Not even him. 

Only Shoko does. 

-- 

You follow Shoko into the morgue at Jujutsu Tech, each step slow and soundless. She doesn’t speak. Just moves steadily toward a counter, where she sets a folder down. Her back remains to you. The silence stretches long and taut. Then— 

“I wasn’t sure what to make of what I saw earlier”, she finally says. “But the fact that you followed me here... it confirms my suspicions.” 

You try to speak, but no words come out. Only a shaky breath escapes, heavy with guilt, regret, and everything you’ve been holding in for far too long. Shoko turns to face you. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes are sharp.

“You look like you want to say something”, she says. “So say it.” 

The words stumble out at first, fractured and raw. But then they come faster, pouring from you. You tell her everything — the affair, the reason behind the arranged marriage, the lies... everything. And the worst of it — that somehow, in the wreckage of it all, you fell in love with Satoru. You nearly choke saying it aloud, the weight of the truth crushing in your chest.

Shoko listens in silence. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t interrupt. When you finally stop, she speaks with her usual stillness. “Why are you telling me this?” Then, sharper, “Why not tell Gojo?” 

“No”, you say quickly. “I can’t... I won’t do this to him.”

She tilts her head, gaze narrowing. “You already did”, she replies flatly. “Whether you tell him or not doesn’t change that.” 

Your throat tightens. “I know... and I need you to help me.” 

“Help you?” she repeats. “Why would I?” 

“Because I don’t want him to hurt, not like this.” 

There’s a long pause. Shoko just watches you — assessing, weighing. Then she steps closer, her voice low. “But he will hurt. In a way I’m not sure he’ll ever come back from.”

You meet her gaze, desperation burning in yours. “Please.”

She says nothing, but something seems to be shifting in her. 

“There’s something that will hurt him less than the truth”, you say. “I need you to find a body. Someone who resembles me. Imbue it with my residuals — only you can do that. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Her arms cross slowly. “You want me to find a corpse?” she asks. “You want me to help you fake your death? Is that it?” 

You nod, eyes dropping. “He’ll be better off thinking I’m dead than knowing what I’ve done.” 

“You’re underestimating him”, Shoko says, shaking her head. “You don’t know what you mean to him. This isn’t mercy — it’ll destroy him.”

Her words cut like glass, but you close your eyes. “Please”, you whisper. 

“When?”, Shoko asks, and you blink. “When do you need the body?” she repeats, rubbing the bridge of her nose. 

-- 

(One month later) 

You moved away. Far away. To a small village tucked in the mountains, hidden in a forgotten corner of the country. It’s quiet here — the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand anything from you. No one knows your name here. Not your real one, anyway. You rent a modest cottage, barely furnished, but clean. You wake with the sun, tend to your tiny garden, then walk to the local pub where you started working just enough to get by. It’s simple. Monotonous. A life carved from necessity, not desire. And yet, every night before bed, you check your phone. One conversation always sits at the top of your inbox: Shoko. 

Your last message was three days ago. 

You: How is he? 

Her reply came the next morning. 

Shoko: Still breathing. Don’t ask for more. 

You didn’t. You never do. 

-- 

(Back at Jujutsu Tech) 

Satoru has just returned from a mission, and it’s clear he’s not himself. He’s sharp, but off. The usual cocky confidence has slipped into irritation, and he drifts through the halls with his mind elsewhere. Distracted. A clipboard hangs loosely in his hand, and he’s on the hunt for Shoko — she’s supposed to fill out a report. 

These days, he only drops the act around her. Or Geto. Or, of course, when alone. When he’s not pretending, he’s quiet. Drained. Nothing like the Gojo Satoru everyone knows. 

As he nears the morgue, he slows. A muffled voice cuts through the silence behind the door. It’s Shoko, on the phone. He’s about to knock when he hears it. 

Your name. 

Satoru freezes. Is he finally losing his mind? But then, there’s more— 

“...you need to stop asking.” 

A pause. Then, softer— 

“He... He doesn’t talk about you still. He’s not okay. But you knew he wouldn’t be.” 

The world stills. He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. It’s like his mind is short-circuiting. Did he hear that right? His grip tightens on the clipboard until it creaks beneath his fingers. But then, it comes again. 

Your name. 

He stands there, stunned for a moment, before his body moves of its own accord. The door opens with a slow creak.

Shoko looks up, and she sighs. “...I have work to do”, she says quietly, and ends the call.

Satoru steps inside and shuts the door behind him. He throws the clipboard aside. He is not smiling, and he’s no longer wearing his blindfold. And for the first time in a month, his eyes are fully visible — different, bottomless, rimmed in red — and they are fixed on her. “Care to explain?”, he says, voice low, flat. 

Shoko doesn’t play dumb. She doesn’t lie. She leans back against the wall, her posture shifting to something almost resigned. She exhales, a soft sound, like she’s been waiting for this moment. She knew it would come. And for the first time in weeks, Satoru’s eyes — his grief-clouded eyes — are lit by something else. Hope. 

“She’s alive.”, Shoko says. The words hang in the air between them, and Satoru’s world shifts. He doesn’t react at first. Just stands there, trying to process her words. 

Finally, his voice cracks — barely audible, barely more than a whisper, like something fragile. “You let me bury her.” 

Shoko’s gaze softens for a moment, but then she sighs, a sound that’s more exhausted than regretful. “She said it’d hurt you less.” 

“Less?” He laughs once, a shar, disbelieving sound. “Less than what?” 

“The truth.” The words come from Shoko with unflinching clarity. “She had an affair with your father.”

Shoko waits. For a reaction. For anger. For questions. For anything.  

But Satoru doesn’t blink. He only asks one question. “Where is she?” 

-- 

The Gojo estate still stands. The first floor — once scorched by fire — has long since been renovated. But beneath the surface, the scars of the past remain. For those who know, it’s impossible to forget what was lost. Akihito sits in the living room, staring down at the floor, his expression hollow. The once commanding patriarch is now a broken shell. His hands tremble as he takes a sip of his drink, his gaze unfocused, consumed by grief. He hasn’t spoken much in weeks. Every time he tries, his voice cracks. The loss of you has shattered him. Sometimes he tells himself it was better this way — better to lose you to death than to watch you belong to someone else. Even if that someone else was his son. For a moment, that thought would make it easier to breathe. But then again, what did it matter? You were gone. And something in him knew — the fire wasn’t an accident. He suspected Saori. Maybe she found out. Maybe she did this to you. Should he kill her? But that wouldn’t bring you back. And besides... the clan. He still had a duty to do. 

Saori sits nearby, her gaze fixed out the window, her lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile. Her eyes flicker to Akihito for a brief moment, but there’s no sympathy in them — only contentment. After everything, she believes fate has finally righted itself. She watches him fall apart with quiet detachment, a sense of calm in her stillness. At least now, he is more hers than he is yours. “Perhaps it was fate”, she murmurs softly, her words for no one but the walls. Akihito’s eyes remain distant, his thoughts far removed from her voice. He’s too lost to hear anything she says — too far gone to care. 

Then, the door opens. Satoru enters, no grand gesture, no announcement. His presence fills the room immediately, thick and heavy, like an impending storm. Akihito doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to. He knows why his son is here — he can feel it in the air before he even steps further in. Saori glances at Satoru, her eyes narrowing slightly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. She rises without a word, understanding that this conversation isn’t for her. She leaves quietly, walking past her son with only a brief, knowing look.

The door clicks shut behind her. 

Akihito slumps lower in his seat, but he doesn’t look at his son. He doesn’t need to. The way Satoru stands there, rigid, fists clenched, eyes dark and filled with fury. Akihito feels the weight of it, heavy in the room, before he even lifts his head to look at him.

“You know”, Akihito says quietly, his voice hoarse, a statement rather than a question. Satoru stands still, his jaw clenched tight, eyes burning. He doesn’t answer. The air between them crackles with the unsaid. Akihito presses on, his voice low, laced with a tremor. “How did you find out?” 

Still, Satoru remains silent. His fists tremble at his sides, his breathing shallow, ragged. The words catch in his throat, a clash of fury and hurt. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse and strained, as though forcing each word past the tightness in his chest.

“You broke her.” he spits, finally. “You broke the one thing most precious to me.” 

Akihito flinches, the weight of the accusation landing heavily on him. His gaze hardens, but he can’t meet Satoru’s eyes. There’s nothing to say. His son is right — he did break her. And by doing so, he broke his son as well. 

Satoru steps forward suddenly, his movements swift and calculated. The space between them closes in an instant, and Satoru’s eyes, wide with intensity, burn through the silence as he towers over his own father. There’s something primal in the air now — a rawness, an energy that could consume the entire room, the entire estate, if left unchecked. Akihito doesn’t react, he just sits there, knowing what’s coming. He accepts it. The man he once was, gone. And this son — this powerful, broken son — is the reckoning he’s been waiting for. 

“Do you have anything to say?” Satoru’s voice is barely containing the storm inside him. His hands shake, still clenched tightly into fists, but there’s a note of something darker in his gaze — an edge that suggests the breaking point is near. Akihito looks at him, pained, defeated, but remains silent. The words don’t come. 

The sound that follows — sharp and violent — could be a fist crashing into flesh or a bone snapping under pressure. It’s unclear, too quick to pinpoint. The air itself seems to shatter with it.

Satoru turns without another word, leaving the mansion. His hands are covered in blood.

Behind him, a scream shatters the silence. Saori’s scream, high and frantic, echoes through the halls. Saori doesn’t know it yet, but her time is coming too. Soon enough. 

-- 

Satoru knew. He had known for a while. It wasn’t a dramatic discovery. It was quiet and accidental, in fact. It happened early into your marriage, when you were still distant with him — polite but clipped. Somehow always guarded. He thought it was the nerves at first. Shyness. The weight of tradition. But then a month passed, and you still wouldn’t meet his eyes unless it was absolutely necessary. Still flinched when he reached for you. He could handle awkward beginnings, of course — especially for you. He wasn’t expecting a fairytale, you didn’t even remember him. But what he couldn’t handle was not knowing you, the way that you never let him in. 

So he did what a curious man with too little patience like himself might do. He followed you. Not out of suspicion of course. He thought if he observed you from a distance, he might’ve learned things you weren’t ready to tell or show him. Your habits. Anything. And then, one afternoon, he watched you enter a hotel. Alone. Odd. 

Ten minutes later, his father arrived. Very odd. 

Satoru waited. Two hours later, you walked out. Head down, hair slightly mussed. You didn’t see him. Shortly after, Akihito exited the building, adjusting his coat, wearing an expression Satoru had rarely seen on him — satisfied, secretive. And that was it. He didn’t even use his Six Eyes at first. Part of him didn’t want confirmation. Part of him hoped it was just a coincidence. But shortly after, he let his technique drift over your form. And there it was. Residuals. His father’s cursed energy. All over you. 

...and everything began to click. Your stiffness. The arranged marriage. His father’s sudden interest in choosing his bride. How Akihito had spoken of you before the engagement with just a touch too much fondness.  It wasn’t an arranged marriage; it was a cover. You weren’t his. You were his father’s. 

Satoru never confronted you, never let on that he knew. He just watched. Watched the way you disappeared for hours and returned with a soft look in your eyes that was never for him. Watched the way Akihito seemed lighter after seeing you. Watched the lie of a marriage unfold, thread by thread, every day. He never blamed you, though. He thought, maybe this was fate’s twisted way of bringing you back together. Yes, he could’ve easily destroyed it, could’ve exposed the affair and made the clan turn against Akihito. But that would’ve meant the clan turning against you as well. And Satoru never wanted to ruin you, he wanted to keep you.  

So he waited. Watched. Loved you in silence. And when he caught glimpses — that maybe you were beginning to see him, not just the son of the man you loved, that you were starting to change — that was all it took. He clung to that.

Because the thing about Gojo Satoru is that, when he wants something — really, truly wants it — he doesn’t stop. Not rules. Not family. Nothing can stop him.

You had been stolen from him once — the night on the curb, when fate gave you to him and then ripped you away before he could even ask your name. Then it happened again. His father got to you first.

Now, he wasn’t going to let you be taken away from him for the third time. No matter what. Even if it meant choosing heart over blood.

If you had faked your death and disappeared because you believed you couldn’t exist in a world with both of them, then all he had to do was remove the one standing in the way. To keep you. 

-- 

You’re wiping down the tables at the pub, preparing for the new day. Half-focused. Letting the repetitive motion ground you, steady your nerves. Trying not to think about the ghost of him that’s never really left you.  

The door creaks open behind you.

“We’re not open yet”, you immediately call out. Politely, without turning around. “Please come back in an hour.” 

Silence. Neither a response, nor footsteps indicating that the person is leaving. You glance over your shoulder, ready to repeat yourself, but the words catch in your throat. 

Satoru is standing there, leaning against the doorframe. “Won’t you make an exception for me?” he says softly. It’s meant to sound like him — teasing, light — but his voice gives him away. It’s quiet, fragile. Like it might crack if he tries any harder to keep it steady. 

The rag slips from your hands. You freeze. Then slowly, you turn. But you don’t meet his eyes. You don’t dare. “Why would you come here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s not a question of how he found you. The answer was simple. Shoko. 

He steps forward, slowly. “For you.” 

“For me”, you echo under your breath, more to yourself than to him, a bitter laugh escaping you. “For me, huh?” you repeat.

“For you.” — he says again, with no hesitation. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shrink, as if you could fold into nothing. As if it might protect you from the weight of what he’s carrying in his voice. “Did you ever consider that maybe I didn’t want to be found?” 

“I did”, he says. “I considered a lot of things, actually.” He pauses before he takes another step, and then adds, “But the fact you did something so reckless... made me consider that you cared more than I imagined.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You don’t understand—” 

“I do.” He cuts in gently. “You thought if you stayed, you’d destroy us both.” 

You finally look up, meeting his eyes for the first time, and something inside you threatens to cave, the devastation in him nearly buckling your knees. “I did something unforgivable.” 

He exhales, like what he’s about to say is so obvious it needn’t be said out loud. But he does it anyway — “I was ready to do anything for you.” 

“Even if what I did was truly terrible?” 

“Even then.” 

He takes another step, and then another, until the distance between is gone. Until he’s close enough to touch. You want to move. To put space between you, but your feet don’t listen. And his presence — it roots you in place like gravity.

“You could’ve told me everything”, he murmurs. “You should’ve told me.” A pause. “I already knew.” 

“What?”, your breath stutters. 

His eyes darken, and a faint, bitter smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I’ve known for a while.” 

“But... Shoko... didn’t Shoko—” 

“It wasn’t her.” He shakes his head. “I found out myself.” He falls silent for a moment, like the memory stings to recall. 

“And you never said anything?” 

“I had my reasons”, he says softly. “Just like you had yours.” He lifts his hand — the lightest touch — and tilts your chin up. The gentleness nearly undoes you. You try to speak, but the words tangle with the sob building in your chest. It slips out instead — small, broken. His fingers brush beneath your eye, catching the tear before it falls. Even as his own hand trembles. “One word from you would’ve changed everything”, he whispers. “I would’ve burned everything down to keep you safe. Happy.” 

You slowly break under the weight of his words, forehead falling to his chest. You feel the tension in him — not anger, not judgment. Just ache. His arms wrap around you. 

“You were always my girl”, he breathes into your hair. “Even when you didn’t know it. Even when you were his. From the moment you fell asleep on my lap outside that club, you were mine.” 

You tilt your head up, lips trembling. “I’m... I’m really s—” 

“Shh.” 

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. “I know.”

And then, his lips charge closer — you meet him halfway into a soft, slow kiss. One that is both an ache and a release all at once.

It hurts to want him this much. It hurts to know what you did. It hurts to know that he still looks at you with so much love, even when he knows it all. It hurts, that despite everything, it’s still you.  

-- 

You never thought you’d find peace again. Not truly. But now, the mornings are calm. The nights are quiet. The days pass without dread — light, easy, almost gentle. You and Satoru settled into this small life together, tucked away from the rest of the world. 

He left it all behind — the clan, the title, the crushing weight of being the strongest. Here, he isn’t Gojo Satoru, head of the Gojo Clan or the face of sorcerer society. Here, he’s just Satoru. Your Satoru. The one who wakes up beside you each morning, arm draped around your waist, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your ear. The one who insists on cooking breakfast and makes an unspeakable mess in the kitchen. The one who still leaves the toilet seat up just to hear you scold him — and grins when you do. 

Your belly is growing now — small, round, and full of promise. Sometimes he speaks to it like he already knows who your child will be. Sometimes he rests his head there and falls asleep. Other times, he lies awake with his hand on your baby bump, eyes full of wonder and fear, whispering that he hopes he’ll be good enough — for both of you. 

There are things left unspoken between you. You’ve never asked what happened after he left the clan — or more accurately, what happened before he left. You suspect the truth, of course. There’s no way not to. But you don’t press. And he doesn’t offer. 

Still, you think of Akihito sometimes. It’s impossible not to — he was a turning point, a fire you walked through to become who you are now. And sometimes, in the right light, Satoru looks so much like him. The same build, the same jawline, the same eyes.

But you know better. He’s nothing like him. Akihito, for all his love, always chose the clan in the end. His desires may have been selfish, but they were always entwined with duty. He loved you, yes. But he never chose you. Not truly. 

But Satoru did. He always chose you — even when it broke him. Even when it meant walking away from everything he was. Even when it meant taking a life — his own blood — to protect yours.

When he said, “I was ready to do anything for you”,

...he really meant it. 

[ruinix]

Thinking about dad!quinn who’s perfect not only with the newborn baby, but also with mama and he looks smoking hot walking out the hospital-💕

Hey there, lovely. Little confession, sometimes I just stare at my ceiling and think of Quinn and his future kiddos. He'll be such a great dad. I know it. I am a 100% believer of him being the best dad in the future. Do note that I have no idea how delivery rooms are...I've never been pregnant (thank goodness, i am not ready). This one ended up having a little bonus in your POV. As usual, you can skip it if you don't wanna read it... :> I hope you'll like this. 🥺🧎🏻‍♀️

His Little Princess

TW/CW: None, Fluff, a bit suggestive tones. Pregnancy and birthing (Pregnant!reader; mentions of cravings, pain during labor, epidural), Quinn being a fussy partner and dad

Count: 3889 words (+ 942) | Masterlist

You press a kiss on Quinn’s cheek, making him instantly turn towards you, his hands wrapping around you, so he can kiss you fully on the lips. Not so subtly, he runs his hands over the swell of your belly. His heart flutters in his chest.

“40 weeks, my Love,” he giddily reminds you, rubbing his nose against yours.

“Any time now,” you replied with a giggle. “Just going to sit on my ball.”

Without a word, Quinn escorts you to your yoga ball, his head filling up with worry at the sight of your waddle. He’s always concerned with how your center of gravity has shifted, with how your legs are probably aching, but he won’t dare try to touch you if you’re going to sit on it. You made it perfectly clear that you need your space when you’re doing that, especially when you caught him basically drooling over how you ass looked.

“You want something?” Quinn asks while you settle. “Apples?”

“Yes, please.” You nod happily. “No skin?”

“Anything for you, my Love.” He kisses your head before he turns to prepare apples.

Taking one from the fridge, from the fruit drawer that was brimming with Honey crisp apples, the one you have craved constantly throughout the pregnancy, which are perfectly red with splotches of yellow and green, he easily skins it. He never really knew how to do that before. He would always get huge chunks of apple flesh with the skin, but now, he can remove the skin in a continuous spiral.

“Can you give me a few slices with a bit of skin, Quinny?” you ask loudly as you turn on the TV to watch your show.

“How many?” He asks, finishing the first apple, slicing it into six.

“Just a few.”

Your vague answers don’t faze Quinn anymore. They never do. Before and during this pregnancy. But the way your ass moves right now though, it makes him gulp, secretly praying that you might ask him to help you get the baby out faster. That help meaning you and him gently fucking you, but you’re not. He can only sigh and swallow his horny thoughts.

It only leads to him getting worried and jittery. The baby might come any moment now. The problem is Quinn has always been so jittery all throughout your pregnancy. He tried—still trying—to appear so put together and calm. He must or else he will lose it in a frenzy of nerves. You don’t deserve him crashing out ever. Not when you’ve done so much carrying your—and his—child.

Catching you smoothen your hands over your tummy, he finishes up with your apples. He quickly places it on the table near you, then he softly runs a hand over your stomach, his cheeks burning when you press your hand over his, his soul lurching when the baby kicked right against his palm, his alarm ringing when he sees your wince after another kick.

“She says, hi,” you say in a tight voice.

“Are you okay?” He asks, kneeling on the floor, holding himself back from taking his hand away because you are clenching his fingers tightly. He watches you take deep breaths.

“It was a strong kick,” you sigh. “I’m fine.”

He cannot be contained. He is panicking. The baby kicking so hard had made you sore so many times, yet he cannot get used to it. He hates seeing you in pain.

 Slowly he leans down, pressing a kiss right where he felt the kick. He says, “Take it easy on mommy, Princess.” He kisses again, feeling a softer push just below. “That’s it. Gentle, sweetie.”

“She always listens to you,” you softly say, your eyes shining with tears. “Oh, Quinn, I wanna see her already.”

He reaches up, swiping the tears that fell with his thumbs, then he kisses your cheeks, over the tear tracks, on your lips. He already knows that you’re worrying about your little one “getting stuck” or past due, about pushing her out, about little fingers or toes missing because it’s possible. Anything’s possible and that worries you. It also worries Quinn. So much.

“Me too, my Love. She’s going to be fine,” he eases you. “She’ll be pretty and perfect.”

“What if—”

Quinn cuts you off with a small peck on the lips. “It will be okay. No matter what. She’ll be perfect.”

“Promise?” You stare at him with wide eyes.

“Yes. I promise.” He nods, offering you a slice of apple. The worry in your eyes dissipates as you accept it. “Scoot over so I can watch too.”

You grin, expertly maneuvering yourself, while he settles on the couch. He tries to watch the show, but nerves are bubbling up his throat. Something just feels off. Still, as usual, he settles, reminding himself that it would be okay. He keeps looking at you to ground himself. You look so peaceful while you watch the show and munch on your apple, taking little sips of your well-decorated water bottle.

Right now, you can easily get spooked, so Quinn keeps his worries to himself. Although, all he wants to do is hover over you, make sure you’re all safe and comfortable like he always did throughout the pregnancy. 

He does his best, because it’s what you deserve. Every craving you ask for—no matter how late you suddenly craved it, no matter how tired he was—is provided. The only thing he asked for was to press his ears and hands against your belly, to feel the little baby inside, even when she was still so small. When he was on the road, he would use Uber to get them for you or bribe your friends and his to deliver exactly what you wanted.

He wonders now if you need a massage. He loved doing that. Your feet. Your ankles. Your legs. Your back. Even your breasts. They’re always so tender. He makes sure to press kisses on your skin, right where you’re aching, muttering his apologies, and praises and compliments about how strong and amazing you are. Because you are.

His eyes follow your feet that are planted on the floor. You’re wearing the grippy socks that you bought online with cute bears on them. The sight of them makes him feel giddy. You have quite the selection of socks now. He always inspects them when he kneels and helps you into your shoes, doing your laces or straps. Sometimes he will mentally curse at the shoehorn that you purchased—technically it’s for both of you but he rarely uses it—while he also thanks its existence because it helps you whenever he’s not home.

The number of times you two went out shopping. He can still feel his excitement from those sprees. He took it upon himself to listen and be attentive to the quality of everything. Durability. Longevity. Comfort. He had taken out his phone as soon as the shop clerk finished explaining the features to look up reviews on YouTube or TikTok. Thank fuck for those apps. Nothing had hopefully escaped him. He would be so critical until you told him what you wanted with the reason being “just because”. Quinn gladly agreed—still will today—and bought whatever it is.

When it comes to clothes, he still feels mushy at the memory of the little pajamas, dresses, onesies, mittens, socks, bibs, and beanies. They’re all so fucking cute. Plus, the way you smiled while you were looking at them got him falling for you again and again. You just looked so at ease, so excited, so happy. He is happy too.

When you two shopped for maternity clothes, all the help he could do was to hold everything you chose and wait while you fit them all. Everything is so amazing on you. For every outfit, he felt his knees grew so fucking weak that he had to sit down, gazing at you with hearts for eyes, his chest squeezing at the mere sight of your beauty and at the sight of your tummy being showcased by the clothes. Every time you two came home, he would be severely attached to you. He cried his eyes out while he hugged you so tightly. He can’t help himself. He just loves you so much and you are carrying his child. Even now, you are wearing leggings and a flowery shirt that cinches under your breasts and flares like a dress. You are so effortlessly beautiful and hot.

When you stand up to get something from the kitchen, his eyes follow you. He wants to come up behind you and take all your weight with his big hands securely lifting your belly. He’s done it so many times after he saw it in TikTok and he will do it again. However, he just ends up staring at you from the couch, truly mesmerized. He always is.

Back to that app, it really helped him a lot. There are lots of mothers there that shared their experiences—in addition to the help he received from his Mom—which helped him prepare the hospital bags for you and the baby. Those bags are already in the car, waiting for the big day. On top of all that, he also finished stocking the nursery just a week ago.

Quinn is proud that he did his diligent research. Maybe, a tad too diligent, because when he offered you his servitude for your perineal massage—which he had heard about after he went into deep, deep scrolling through natural birth—he confused you so much. It was understandable because what the fuck is a perineal, right?

You thought Quinn was being fucking horny—which he is always. But then, after a lengthy doctor’s appointment, it was explained and suggested since you were in your 34th week. He wasn’t blind that you got embarrassed for not believing him and clearly you were expecting him to gloat. He didn’t. Why would he? It would’ve hurt you and him. So he said the same words he had said before when he was still suggesting it, “I will help you.”

The waterworks that day were long. He didn’t let go of you until your tears were dried, until you two fell asleep instead of starting the massage. You spent the whole next day trying to do the massage without you laughing at Quinn’s look of focus.

“I need to pee,” your voice breaks him out of his daydreaming.

“Do you need help?” He’s already standing when you shake your head. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you repeat, mimicking his voice. You laugh, making your cheeks flush. “You are so silly, Quinn.”

He watches you disappear in the hallway. His hands start to shake from the nerves. He needs a clear view of you. The need to stand outside the bathroom and wait for you is making him jumpy. He tries to settle himself, rubbing a hand over his chest, sitting down then standing back up again. He starts to pace. It really, really, really feels like something is off.

Minutes pass.

The feeling just expands and expands, festering the longer he doesn’t see you.

He needs—

Then he hears you call his name.

Quinn never ran so fast.

“What? What is it?” Quinn asks, opening the door so quickly. He finds you sitting on the toilet. Your eyes are so wide. Your calmness is the only thing that’s keeping him from losing it because for some reason, he knows. “What is it?”

“I thought I peed myself…but my water broke.” You carefully stand. “I want to change first.”

“Okay,” he nods.

He quickly supports you. He’s trying his best not to panic, but his hands are shaking as he helps you out of your clothes, into a new dress, into sandals. He’s dissociating. Everything is blurring and the only thing keeping him afloat is the feel of your hands gripping his. He can barely function as he does your seatbelt. He tries to calm down, but he is fraying, panting as he falls to his knees with his eyesight blurring.

“The stuff.” He grips your hand. “I need to get our—”

“Quinn,” you firmly say. Your other hand finding his cheek, urging him to look at you. He does. “You’ve prepared this car weeks ago. The bags are in the trunk. Get it together, Q.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. He finally gets the strength to stand. “We need to hurry.”

He rounds the car, only to realize he doesn’t have his fucking key. He nearly bolts until your hand rests on his shoulder.

Softly and unhurriedly, you give him the car keys. “We have precious cargo, Q. Please drive safely,” you say, giving him a nod.

“I will.”

The car ride to the hospital is quick. Quinn takes that time to calm down, to ground himself. He manages that, not losing his head when your contractions started halfway through the ride. He didn’t spiral then. He has collected and tucked his frayed edges. He manages to get you safe in the hospital and now both of you are in a labor room with the bags stored on the couch.

He’s on you, gripping your hands when you let out a pained groan. He listens to the labor nurses, gulping down the panic that still tries to come up, because he will not stress you over him again. You are going through so much. You need him whole. And he is.

He attentively watches the doctor check the baby through an ultrasound, sighing in relief that the little princess is still in prime position and your cervix is slowly dilating. No C-section is needed. Just like what you wanted, but the contractions are truly getting to you. Every groan and moan of pain, every squeeze of his hand, every sob is getting to him. His heart squeezes in a painful way. Even more so, when your labor progresses, which means the interval of contractions is more frequent.

"It hurts, Quinn. Hurts,” you cry out, breaking his heart. "I need something. I can't. Make it stop."

You don’t need to tell him twice. He shouts for a nurse to get the forms. He understands that you’re asking for an epidural and you’ll get it. Whatever you need he’ll give it to you. As the nurse explains the consent forms, you grip his arms tightly, sitting up. He helps you change your position, on your knees and the headboard. The nurse sets up a bar for you to grip. 

“You’ll be okay, mama,” the nurse eases, tucking the forms into her arms, stepping out.

Quinn almost yells for them to hurry the fuck up, but the anesthesiologist appears to administer it. The yelp coming from you makes him twitch. He almost punches the specialist who explains it will work in ten-to-twenty minutes. Why the fuck not immediately? He wants to demand that. He just needs you not be in pain.

“I’m here, my Love,” he whispers, kissing your temples as you sag against him. He wipes your sweat with a soft towel. “You are doing amazing.”

“How are you so calm? You were panicking an hour ago,” you hiss, groaning as another contraction run through you.

Quinn isn’t calm now. He’s losing his shit. He worries about you. He worries about the little one. An hour. It has been an hour. He doesn’t know if that’s normal. He wants to search it up, but he doesn’t want you to see him fucking fumble with his phone when you’re doubling in pain. He wants to ask the nurse, but he doesn’t want to leave you. He wants to call his parents who are on their way to Vancouver and his brothers who are still in New Jersey.

He may have tucked away his frayed edges, but they are still unravelling. He is unravelling. Inwardly. He can’t tell you about it. So, he presses soft kisses on your shoulders when you shift to lay down.

“No words, Q?” You sigh in relief, your grip on him loosening. “It’s working. I think.”

“Yeah?” he asks. You nod, blinking at him. He knows you’re still waiting for his answer while he wipes away your sweat. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“What if I don’t want more kids in the future?” You blurt out just as a nurse walks in. The nurse clears her throat, doing her business of checking your status. Your attention burns into his soul. “Q?”

“I’ll get a vasectomy,” he says in a low tone, clearly aware of another person’s attention. The nurse is a bit…nosy. Why is she not going away? What the fuck.

“What?” you ask, looking so confused.

“I mean it. You hated your birth control so you will not be going back to that.” He tucks your hair behind your ears. “If you don’t want more kids, then I don’t too.”

Ever since he met you, whatever makes you happy makes him happy. Genuinely. He is so attuned to you. Everything he does is for you. He needs you to be happy and be you. That’s all he wants. All he needs. Because you breathe life into him now. His heart beats inside yours. You’ve taken it from him since before you married, since before you accepted him as your boyfriend, since before you met each other.

Quinn doesn’t want to take his heart back.

It will be yours.

Forever.

Until you two grow old.

Until you two find each other in the next life.

“I mean it. Just tell me what you want. I’ll make it happen.” Quinn grips your hand. He leans for a kiss but stops when the nurse stands up.

“You two are so sweet, but you’re crowning now, mama,” the nurse announces.

Maybe Quinn spoke too soon. He is spiraling. The obstetrician and labor nurses come in. He’s helped into a hospital gown and a hair cap over his head. His ears are ringing as he holds your hand. He can’t focus on what’s happening. He’s just there. His lips are moving and whispering encouragement into your ear, but he’s gone.

Gone until loud cries break him out of the haze.

The little princess—his and yours—is so small as they bring her to your chest. Quinn’s heart tumbles at the sight of you cooing and welcoming her. Such a little one who is still wet yet so incredibly red, crying her eyes out, showing off her strong lungs. His eyes fill up with tears because she is so beautiful like you.

“You’re amazing,” Quinn sobs, kissing your head, kissing a soft peck on your lips. “I love you so much, my Love. You did it. You are so strong.”

“Oh, Quinn,” you sniffle. “She got all her fingers and toes.”

She does. Now you don’t need to worry. He doesn’t need to worry.

“Look at her ears. They’re so hairy.”

“Hairy? Just a bit fuzzy,” he thinks, gazing at his daughter’s ears. He can’t help but look between you and the baby. He can’t even hear the doctor announcing that you will be delivering your placenta next. He’s cataloging your shared features. “Nose. Definitely your nose. Your lips.”

While she also has your smile? Quinn hopes she does. You have the prettiest smile.

“She got a little birthmark behind her ear,” he says out loud. You and one of the nurses look. It’s the slightest birthmark. Just two shades darker than the baby’s complexion. It’s almost like…

“It’s like a little heart,” the nurse remarks.

Quinn nods. His heart almost melts when his little one finally stops crying, getting more at ease with the world. He quickly starts snapping some photos, smiling when you grin so proudly. You should be proud.

He almost jumps when it’s his turn for a skin-to-skin contact. He nearly vibrates as he made to sit down after you deliver your placenta and the baby is brought against this chest.

It finally clicks in his head how small his baby is. He can cover her whole back with his hand. When he reaches for the curled-up fist, he chokes at how little her fingers are.

Then those fingers just open and clasp around his pinky.

Immediately, he looks towards you. His tears fall in heaps. He can barely see you as he feels the soft steady breaths of the baby, her heart beating quite fast. Is it supposed to be this fast? He doesn’t fucking know. Maybe it’s just his heart? No. It’s not. His little baby’s heart. Oh, so precious.

He blinks hard, keeping the tears away, looking around to see if someone is panicking, but no one is. He hears snippets of words.

“She’s healthy baby.”

“Needs to get cleaned up.”

“You did well, mama. No tears.”

“Thank goodness. Quinn, did you heart that? The massages worked,” you say in a soft yet exhausted voice. That has him in full alert, watching you so intently. You still look pretty, but you are blinking so slowly. A smile is on your face as you reach for him. He stands, holding his daughter securely, giving her to you when your hand runs over her back. “Just want to sleep a bit.”

“Is that normal?” He asks the doctor and nurses who clearly see his distress as you fucking pass out. “My wife—”

“Is fine, Mr. Hughes,” a nurse says, giving him a reassuring nod. “It’s normal to be exhausted after you gave birth. She’s fine. No excessive bleeding. We will clean up and we’ll take your little one in a few.”

He nods, not knowing what else to do, so he leans closer to you, brushing your hair away, brushing his knuckles gently over the baby’s cheek. Oh, so soft. His heart melts when she tries to open her eyes. He gasps when she somehow manages. Just a quick flutter that exposes her eyes are the color of his. His. His baby girl has his eyes.

He starts crying again, sobbing into your hair.

He can’t help it.

He’s feeling so much love, and it comes out as tears.

At some point, he doesn’t know how much time has passed, but someone is helping him to calm down as his unnamed baby is taken away for necessary checkups. He knows she’s in good hands, so he stays with you, not even stepping out of the room so the forms are being brought to him. He feels guilty for being such a fucking diva for that, but he can’t leave you. He doesn’t think he can even step out of the room without crashing out.

Then he makes his calls, going through the list of his contacts, telling everyone about his perfect baby girl in whispered yet prideful tone. His hand is wrapped around yours.

“She got her nose and her lips, Mom. Got the fuzziest ears,” he sniffles. “So perfect.”

He finishes his last call. Gazing at you, he feels his emotions overflowing once more. For the last time before you wake up, he cries.

A promise forms in his heart, carving itself deeper that he will carry it every day of his life.

He promises to protect his little one and live for her.

He’ll love her as he loves you.

˚｡⋆ ❀ ˖ Bonus: Your POV ˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

When it’s time to be discharged, you stare at Quinn who carefully helps you into a wheelchair. He has been fussing over you for the whole stay. His cheeks are still flushed when he notes your dress—as if he didn’t buy it with you—after his arrival from a quick trip to the car and the reception area for your discharge papers. He’s so cute. Always so gentle. Even more so now when he greets your daughter, calling her his princess, before he lifts her up from the hospital bassinet.

You heard and saw him cry so much. Your Quinn has been on an emotional roller-coaster as you have. He looks at you with so much warmth and affection, so much pride for you and your baby, so much love and adoration, so much want that you can’t even think about how different your body is now. You told him that you might not want another child, and he replied something about a vasectomy. He’s always putting you first. And it’s clear he will be putting your daughter first too.

You can already see her getting so spoiled but also keeping her well-behaved. Quinn has that air of being the perfect dad.

You just know it and you’ll be right next to him in caring for the little one.

Honestly, you don’t even know if you want another child or not. That’s okay. Never once in your life did Quinn rush you to a decision. Always so patient and kind. But the way he’s staring at you, you might be leaning on the former. He looks so hot in his white linen shirt and khaki shorts. If he doesn’t stop dressing like that, it will be a quick decision.

But you won’t say that just yet.

You just gave birth.

Again, there’s no use to rush.

“Here she is, my Love. All bundled up.” Quinn grins as he presents his baby girl.

“You swaddled her up so well, Quinny,” you chuckle, holding her securely, softly and lightly caressing the little mark behind her fuzzy ear.

It’s still so amusing to you how hard Quinn insisted that her ears are just fuzzy and not hairy. You don’t think that he knows that it will be gone in a few weeks. It’s always so refreshing knot that he doesn’t know everything, because this man had researched quite a lot. Sometimes it amazes you. Sometimes it annoys you. Because, seriously, how can someone—a first time dad—know so much more than you? Still, it’s what makes Quinn the best.

“All settled?” he asks, kissing your cheek, his three-day-old scruff feels so rough and nice.

“Yes. I wanna go home now. Our parents are waiting,” you remind him. You see the way he pursed his lip in a tight line, his eyebrows frowning, so you scold him, “You can’t monopolize our princess, Quinn.”

Luckily, all of your parents are understanding that you two prefer them not to visit in the hospital, that you two just needed the calm to settle your little one, but the three-day stay has you already wanting to show off your daughter. Quinn looks like he just wants to keep you and his baby to himself. Like a mighty dragon hoarding his golden treasures. Gosh, he’s so silly, hoarding you to himself after he gloated so much over the phone calls and video calls.

“Quinny,” you whine, pouting that has him immediately melting.

“Fine,” he sighs, booping your daughter’s nose which got her cooing. You two go still at the how delicate she moves which is barely since she is still sleeping. “They need to be quiet.”

“Quinn, you already told them that.” You chuckle as he grumbles while pushing the wheelchair.

He told everyone that they need to be quiet. He’s already getting too protective over the little one. He’s firm with the no-kisses rule, hand washing, and facemasks. You try to tell him that the masks can go, but he won’t have it. You saw how his hackles were rising and the panic in his eyes were doubling, so you agreed. You ended up consoling him for ten minutes, telling him that your and his parents agreed.

“Maybe they should stay at a hotel.” Quinn hovers over you as you stand up and place the little princess in her baby seat.

“We got lots of room, Quinny.” You let him secure the seatbelt, seeing the way he blinks his tears away. “She’ll be okay.”

“You’ll be okay?” He steps into your space, his arm going around you. “I don’t want them to overwhelm you. You need to rest.”

Oh, he’s worrying about you.

You reach up, your heart beating harder in your chest when he leans his head into your touch. “I’ll be fine. They’re also excited to meet our baby. I want them to see how she looks like you and did you hear? They’re preparing dinner for us. Our moms told me they got some tricks to show me.”

You can see his brain going into a full overload. He’s overthinking again, so you rest your forehead against his. You feel his shuddering sigh as you give him a small kiss.

“Just tell me if you get uncomfortable with anything.”

“Okay,” you say. It’s clearly not enough so you add, “I promise.”

A beautiful smile spreads on his face. He’s so handsome. Your stomach is filling up with butterflies. You swoon as he opens your door for you and do your seatbelt. You silently watch him round the car and enter. You can’t help but think that he’s so perfect and that you are so lucky.

[slttygeto]

“will you still have a crush?”

pairing: husband! suguru x wife! reader.

genre: fluff.

note: smth very short thats been sitting in my drafts for a while and i decided to work on since my insomnia kicked in. enjoy.

suguru can feel you staring at him, which he finds quite hilarious.

you on the other hand? you were fuming. or at least trying to.

because you know the argument you just had with suguru wasn’t really an argument, and that you were probably being dramatic and absolutely—no, certainly needed to hear suguru laugh again —he laughed so hard that he had tears in his eyes and you could feel your face heating up.

god, he was so fucking attractive.

so the question was—do you have a crush on me?

suguru had responded with—we have been married for four years. which was obviously the wrong answer and your husband should’ve known that.

“okay so you hate me.”

“baby, I married you.”

“what if someone dared you to?” to which suguru grimaced at.

“I’m not 15.”

“oh but you wish you were.”

stepping closer to you, making sure that he can still see the pancakes from his spot just in case they burn, suguru bends down to your level. “what does that mean baby?”

you try your best to unaffected by the close proximity, this was your husband for fuck’s sake. but even years later, the brown of his eyes makes you feel weak in the knees.

“you’d be the age where you hadn’t met me yet.” you add with a roll to your eyes, crossing your arms over your puffed out chest.

it catches suguru off guard, but he is clearly enjoying the little show you were putting on. because a few moments later, he is resting his forehead on your shoulder and his entire body trembles.

“what— are you laughing?!”

your husband cradles your face in his hands, pulling away from your shoulder to kiss your lips while you jokingly push him away.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry that was just so—“

“don’t talk to me! you don’t even take me seriously anymore!”

“I do! I just didn’t expect that kind of response.” he tries to reason with you, but to no avail.

and so now you were on the couch pouting, and he was sitting on the other side of the couch with a plate of pancakes.

“are you sure you don’t want some pancakes?”

“I wish I put poison in them.” you mutter under your breath, and suguru still thinks you’re the funniest person alive.

“a murderer announcing how they’re going to kill their target?” he teases, leaning closer to you while you pretend to stare anywhere but at his face.

“yeah and I would make sure no one finds your body.”

“how would you do that, baby?” you raise an eyebrow at him, and he mirrors your action, bringing his face closer to you. “I am kind of a big guy. wouldn’t that be a hassle to you?”

screw him for knowing how to make you fold.

“…I would have anger fueled strength.”

he gasps dramatically. “anger fueled?”

you nod. “because you hate me.”

“because I said I married you.”

“which was basically ignoring the question ‘do you have a crush on me?’ so yeah.”

“interesting.”

“to someone who’s full of disdain and hatred, yes it would be very interesting.”

the longer suguru stared at you, the more he effortlessly towered over you on the couch, the harder it was to keep the act going. his brown eyes stare deeply into your soul as he sets the plate down, turning to face you.

it’s silent at first, just his eyes staring at you and your face slowly warming up under his intense gaze.

“…what?” you finally break the silence, blinking repeatedly.

“four years down the road, and you still blink so much when you’re nervous.”

a habit no one noticed, not even your own mother. your eyes get watery when you’re nervous, they’re truly the mirror to your soul—

of course suguru would know that better than anyone else.

you sit there, lips parted in awe at his words and your face feeling like a furnace. if there was any person in the world who could make you feel like a teenager falling in love for the first time, it would be suguru.

“..sounds like you have a crush on me or something.” you mumble under your breath, trying your best not to crack under his gaze and he laughs, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“maybe, who knows?”

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

[seokmn]

⠀︵⠀STRAIGHT OUT OF THE MOVIES ⠀◌Ⳋ ✧ ── don't you love when you're a player and your crush has to pull out the ‘10 things i hate about you’ card?

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 1.2k words warnings: mingyu calls reader doll and gorgeous lua's note: happy late bday my sweetie @mi9yuz :))

ᯓ★ "so won't you smile? i'm shooting a movie"

“So it’s a deal.” Mingyu said as he took a bite of your ice cream.

You looked at him in confusion and surprise. “First of all, that was extremely rude. Don’t you ever eat my ice cream again, okay? Second of all, what are you talking about?”

“If you win the match, I’ll ask you to be mine.”

“So,” you take a bite of your cream while looking at him like he made an unfunny joke. “You’re saying that if I win the next game, we’ll become official?”

“That’s right. I mean, not you you, but if your team wins. I’ll finally ask you the question I bet you’re dying to hear.”

You laughed, and Mingyu smiled. “What? You’re about to tell me that you never wanted me asking you to be mine? I’m sure you already imagined me being your boyfriend, I’m such boyfriend material that you can’t help but think how good I’d be to you, am I right?”

He was right. You did imagine him being your boyfriend- countless times if you have to be honest. You really couldn’t help but think how amazing life would be if you had him as officially yours, if you could introduce him to your friends as your boyfriend and not as the famous long pause as if trying to figure out what to say before saying friend.

“I never imagined that I would hope to lose a match so badly,” you held back a smirk, but when you saw that Mingyu was looking at you like a lost puppy, pouting and clinging to your arm, you let out a choked laughter. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you hate me that much? Don’t you wanna be mine? My only one, the one I’ll cherish forever and ever?”

“Dramatic, aren’t you?” You took a large bite from his ice cream and stood up before he could even process your past action. “I have to go now, see you later?”

“Whe-where are you going?”

“Practice for the upcoming match. Maybe this match is the most important one of my life so far, but just maybe.”

Mingyu’s expression softened as he sat still on the bench, looking at you with shiny eyes. “Yeah, you really should go practice. I don’t date losers.”

“Noted. See ya!”

“See ya, potential future lover!”

You chuckled and walked away; your heart skipping a beat at the thought of becoming his significant other. You knew that your team had to win that match in a way or another - Mingyu had to be yours, and you had to be his.

When the day had come, you were listening to your coach’s words, but your eyes were fixated on where Mingyu was sitting with his friends. They were holding signs that showed their support for your team, but Mingyu’s sign wasn’t hyping up your team, it was hyping you up. You and you only.

“Did you hear me, Y/N?” Your coach’s voice made you stop looking at Mingyu and his friends, and that was when you noticed all of your teammates looking at you, worried that you weren’t paying attention to his words and could possibly screw up during the match.

“I did, coach. Don’t worry.”

“Alright then, you can do it. Let’s go!”

As the match started, your focus shifted towards the game and you promised to yourself to give your best, maybe even more than your best.

You watched your opponents and tried to guess their next moves, all that while running and helping your teammates out to pass the ball to each other.

During the breaks, you would look at the benches full of people, but your eyes always landed on them - Mingyu and his friends. Those were the only moments when you could hear their shouts, because once the game started again every sound that wasn’t your heartbeat or your teammates and coach’s voices would fade away immediately.

When the match was over, you were exhausted, but extremely happy; your team had won and your dream was about to come true.

You looked towards Mingyu’s direction with a huge smile on your face, only to be met with only his friends that were shrugging his shoulders and shaking their heads while mouthing that they didn’t know where Mingyu was. You frowned and looked around, trying to find him and failing miserably.

Your heart clenched at the thought of him losing the last minutes of the game, losing the announcement that said that your team was the winner.

Some of your teammates hugged you from behind, congratulating you and themselves for winning and you decided to play along. However, everyone’s attention turned to the crowd when they heard shouts:

“Go get her, dude!”

“Y/N, he’s coming for you!”

Not a minute after Mingyu’s friends shouts, you heard a voice on the speaker singing ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’, it was Mingyu’s voice.

You gasped and started to look around, trying to find him. When you did, he was wearing a dark blue suit and striped shirt; he was holding a small bouquet with white roses in one hand and a mic in another. He looked absolutely stunning.

He walked towards you while still singing. People in the crowd were recording and murmuring about the moment, but your focus was only on the boy in front of you, singing that beautiful song to you and making it seem like it was a moment straight out of the movies.

Once he finished the song, your cheeks felt sore from smiling so much. Mingyu put the microphone down on the grass and handed you the bouquet.

“I can’t believe you really did that.”

“Well, I had some lessons with the best, Patrick Verona,” He smirked and took your hand. “So, tell me. Don’t you wanna be my love? The owner of my heart? The reason why I breathe?”

“Are you always that cheesy?”

“Only when it comes to you. So, yes or no?”

“You know I want to.” Your smile got wider, something that you didn’t even know that it was possible.

Mingyu mirrored your smile and leaned forward to kiss you, but you leaned back and placed your hand on his chest. “I’m sweaty and probably stinky, are you sure you want to kiss me right now?”

Mingyu seemed to think about it for a moment. “I remember talking about not dating losers, not about not dating sweaty and stinky yet gorgeous dolls.”

You chuckled. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s why you love me.” He said before pressing his lips against yours and kissing you in a slow pace as you kissed him back.

His friends and some other people started to shout praises at you. It not only seemed like the final scene of a movie, but it felt like one.

When you broke the kiss, he hummed and looked in your eyes. “Yeah, I’m not kissing you after any of your matches again.”

You hit his chest while laughing, making him let you an “ouch” in a mocking way. “I was kidding, I swear! But how about you go take a shower and then we go out, hm? Our first date as a couple.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice. But only if you pay me an ice cream and do not steal bites from it.”

“Now you’re asking too much, you know that your ice cream always tastes sweeter than mine, but I can try to not eat it if it means that much to you.”

[lustlvii]

Ateez members when you squirt. Ft hyung line

Including: Hongjoong , Seonghwa, Yunho, Yeosang x fem!reader (all separate!)

Warnings: studio sex (hongjoong) dirty talk, squirting, name calling (slut, dumb little thing), mean! seonghwa, porn no plot, overstimulation, possessive! yeosang, unprotected sex, choking (yunho), size kink (yunho), Daddy kink (Yunho), dirty dirty dirty just dirty so prepare yourself, lmk if I missed anything

Authors note: I'm so happy the maknae line received lots of love 😚 here's the hyungs!!! I love yunho btw 😋

Hongjoong.

“Don’t move.” His voice cut sharp through the low hum of the studio monitors, barely audible over the looping instrumental still playing in the background.

You were supposed to be here for feedback on a demo. Just to sit pretty in his lap while he worked. But then he slipped his hand between your legs during playback—just to “check something.”

And now you were panting, lips bitten raw, clinging to the armrests of his black studio chair like they were the only things keeping you tethered to earth.

Hongjoong’s fingers were coated in your slick, his knuckles deep inside you while the pad of his thumb rubbed quick, unforgiving circles over your clit.

“Look at you,” he murmured into your neck, voice low and dangerous. “So fuckin’ wet in my chair. Acting like you didn’t wear that skirt just so I’d do this.”

“Joong—p-please—” you whimpered, voice cracking, not even sure what you were begging for. To stop? To keep going? You didn’t even know anymore.

“You feel that?” he whispered as he crooked his fingers just right, curling them up against that spongey spot inside you that made your legs kick. “You’re close, aren’t you? So fucking close.”

Your hips bucked. The coil in your belly was snapping tighter and tighter and—

“Oh my god—!”

In a split second, his hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your cry as a gush of wetness spilled out of you, soaking the front of his sweats, the leather of his chair, and dripping down your thighs.

You squirted.

All over him.

Hongjoong stilled. His fingers still nestled deep inside your pulsing heat, the other hand still clamped over your mouth. His breath was shallow. And then he laughed.

“Holy shit.”

You squirmed, blinking hard, barely able to see through the tears blurring your vision. “I-I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry I—”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulled his soaked hand back slowly, glistening in the dim LED light, watching your cunt twitch around nothing now. “Fuck. That was beautiful.”

You flinched when he leaned down and licked the mess off his own fingers, groaning like he’d just tasted the best meal of his life.

“You made a mess, baby,” he mocked sweetly, palming the soaked fabric of your panties now stuck to your skin. “Didn’t think I could make you squirt, huh?”

You shook your head, cheeks burning.

Hongjoong gripped your chin, forced you to meet his gaze—intense and hungry, his pupils blown wide with lust. “You’re gonna do it again,” he said simply, like it was fact. Like you owed him that.

“W-what? I—I can’t—”

“You can.”

He dragged you off his lap, bent you over the mixing console, careful not to press any buttons—though at this point, you wouldn’t have noticed if the whole song deleted itself.

“Gonna fuck you now,” he growled, freeing himself and shoving back into your soaked, trembling hole. “And this time, you’re gonna squirt on my cock like a good little slut.”

The music kept playing. The beat rolled on. But all you could hear was the slap of skin, the lewd squelch of your wetness, and Hongjoong’s filthy voice in your ear:

“That’s it, baby. Dumb little thing. Cumming again already? God—you really are mine.”

And you did. Again. And again. Until you couldn’t even cry anymore, only whimper and shake and thank him with slurred babbles.

The studio was ruined.

He didn’t care. He kissed the crown of your head and whispered with a devilish smirk:

“Let’s get that on the next track.”

Seonghwa.

Seonghwa was so pretty when he was gentle. The soft-spoken voice, the feather-light kisses, the way he tucked your hair behind your ear like you were glass.

But that wasn’t the version of him hovering over you now.

His hands were planted beside your head, and his hips were deep—so deep inside you, your belly ached. Sweat glistened down his neck, damp strands of hair stuck to his forehead. And his dark eyes… they weren’t soft anymore.

“Thought you said you could handle it, princess.” He thrust in once, slow but devastatingly deep. “So why are you crying?”

“I-I’m not—ah! Hwa—!”

Your voice pitched up into a sob as the next thrust knocked the breath from your lungs. You could feel yourself getting wetter, feel your thighs trembling and twitching as he pulled back and slammed into you again.

“Liar.”

He dipped his head low, kissing the tears from your cheeks while his cock bullied your walls open all over again.

“You said you could take it.” A hand slid under your leg and pushed your knee up to your chest. “You begged for it, remember?”

You nodded weakly, fingers gripping the sheets, eyes rolling back.

His pace was cruel now. Calculated. Your slick coated his lower stomach, smearing against his skin with every thrust.

“God, this pussy’s filthy. You’re fucking dripping,” he hissed. “Look at you. You're making a mess on me.”

“H-Hwa—please, it’s too much—!”

“Too much?” he echoed, mocking, as his thumb found your clit and started circling fast, relentless strokes. “This too much? Or this?” He pressed harder.

That’s when it happened—your entire body seized up and then released.

Warm liquid gushed out from you, soaking his thighs, your own skin, the sheets. You squirted so violently it splashed his hips.

Seonghwa didn’t stop. Not even close.

He growled low in his throat and pulled out for a second just to watch it. Watched your cunt pulse and gush and spasm like you were ruined from the inside out.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, voice husky and hoarse. “You squirted for me.”

You could barely breathe. “I—didn’t mean—”

“Yes you did,” he cut in. “You wanted to. Your body begged for it. Don’t pretend you’re not a little slut for it now.”

You whimpered, biting your knuckles.

Seonghwa climbed back between your legs, cock still hard, dragging it up and down your soaked slit. He didn’t slide in yet—just rubbed his tip against your clit, teasing, tapping. Watching you squirm.

“Wanna do it again.”

“I—I can’t,” you breathed out, voice hoarse from moaning.

“You can. You will.” He finally pushed back inside—too slow, too deep—and your eyes immediately crossed.

“There’s my girl,” he purred, kissing your jaw, then nipping it. “Gonna fill you up this time, make you squirt while I cum in you. Don’t stop till you do.”

And he fucked you through it, again and again, until the only words you could say were half-spoken sobs and the sound of your own squirt hitting the ruined sheets.

Yunho.

“Holy shit.”

Yunho froze for a half-second, blinking down at where you lay trembling beneath him—your thighs shaking, your pussy gushing.

Clear liquid sprayed from between your legs, soaking his stomach, his cock, and the sheets beneath you both.

He stared, wide-eyed, lips parted. Then his expression twisted.

Into a grin.

“Did you just fucking squirt?”

You let out a choked sob, covering your face with your hands in pure embarrassment.

“D-Don’t—Yunho—”

“Oh no, no,” he laughed darkly, reaching up to yank your wrists away and pin them to the bed. “You don’t get to hide from me now, princess.”

His cock was still buried inside you, twitching, hot and hard and pressing deliciously against the spot that had just made you lose control.

“You squirted all over me, baby. That’s what this pretty little cunt does when it gets really full, huh?”

You couldn’t even talk. Just moaned, legs weak, cunt still fluttering from the orgasm that wrecked you.

“Was it too much?” he cooed mockingly, thrusting his hips once—slow, just to feel you twitch again. “Can’t handle it?”

You shook your head. “C-Can… but—”

“But what?” he leaned closer, lips brushing your ear. “Wanna do it again?”

Your moan gave you away.

He groaned, like he was the one about to fall apart.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled. “Knew this pussy would be obsessed with me. Can’t even stop leaking.”

With your legs still spread open and held wide, Yunho started to move again. More deliberate this time—less punishing, more controlled. Watching you the whole time like a man obsessed.

And when your thighs twitched again—when your moans pitched up, when your hips tried to wiggle away from the pressure—

He sped up.

“Don’t you fucking dare run from it,” he hissed. “Wanna see it again. Wanna feel you gush around my cock, baby.”

“I can’t—! S’too much—”

“You can. You’re gonna squirt for me again, just like the messy little thing you are.”

Your toes curled. Eyes rolled. The pressure hit you even harder than the first time—like a dam about to break.

And then—

“F-Fuck—Yunho—!”

It happened. Again.

Your second squirt hit his thighs, his cock, your belly, everything.

Yunho’s laugh was breathless, wrecked. He kept fucking you through it, holding your legs in place, watching you fall apart with complete awe and total pride.

“That’s my girl. That’s my dumb, messy girl.”

You were crying by the time your third orgasm hit.

And he didn’t stop. Not even close.

“Not done ‘til you’ve soaked the whole fucking bed.”

Yeosang.

You had always assumed Yeosang would be soft.

Gentle. Polite. Almost shy.

But now you were underneath him—spread open, legs over his shoulders, dress bunched around your waist, his cock buried inside you—completely wrecked and shaking.

And Yeosang?

Yeosang hadn’t said a word.

Not one.

Just stared down at you with that unreadable, infuriatingly calm look on his face while he fucked you slowly—so deep, so controlled, so consistent it was driving you insane.

Your fingers twisted in the sheets. “Y-Yeo—can’t—”

His hand came up to your throat—gently, but firm enough to make your next gasp catch—and his hips rolled again.

Right into that spot.

Right into that place he kept hitting again and again and again.

“You can,” he finally said, voice quiet but sharp. “You can take it, baby.”

You whined, vision blurring. “M’gonna—f-feels—”

Yeosang looked down between your bodies, his brows twitching ever so slightly when he saw it.

The wet.

The way your pussy clenched hard around him and started gushing—clear liquid spraying with each helpless jolt of your hips.

You squirted.

You didn’t mean to. Didn’t expect to. But it happened.

“Oh.” His voice dipped lower. Still calm. Still steady. But different.

“You’re squirting?” he murmured, more to himself than you. “That’s how good it feels?”

You covered your face. “I-I—Yeosang—”

He reached down and pulled your hands away, grabbing both wrists and pinning them above your head.

“Don’t hide,” he said, and this time there was a flicker of something smug in his eyes. “Let me see what I did to you.”

You shuddered.

And then he did it again.

Same angle. Same roll. Same deep thrust right against the spot that made your body jerk.

You squirted again.

“Mm.” He tilted his head, blinking slowly. “So messy. What a cute little thing you are.”

“Yeo—Yeosang—too much—!”

“Then cum again.”

That deadpan. That almost disinterested tone as he kept pounding into your soaked cunt, no change in pace, no hesitation, just quiet confidence as he made you come again—

—and squirt again.

The sheets were soaked. Your thighs were shaking. You were gasping, clawing, babbling.

And Yeosang was still looking at you like you were his favorite fucking experiment.

“Didn’t know you could do that,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Guess I’ll have to keep making it happen. Over and over. Until you can't even blink without dripping all over me.”

Writing by @lustlvii please do not translate or publish anywhere

[leashybebes]

Tommy's regretted the crack about competition since the second it left his mouth. First for the vulnerable insecurity it exposed. Then for the way it blew that second chance apart.

But now? Now with Evan saying things like yeah, but he was upset, we both were, and it's fine, he didn't mean anything by it and I mean, he wasn't wrong, you know how I get and but god, it was so good to see Christopher and Pepa again, he regrets it like he never has before.

Because if he says what he's thinking (man, what a fucking dick) then he's - what? A jealous ex? Trying to turn Evan against his best friend who he already said with his own stupid mouth that he saw as a threat? Yeah, no thanks. Evan's clear eyed, obviously wholeheartedly on board with what he's saying, and this accidental run in at the grocery store is so completely not the time for Tommy to say he was wrong he was wrong please tell me you know that he was wrong please tell me you know you're better than that please tell me you know you're allowed to feel exactly how you feel please tell me you know you're trying so hard and that means something please tell me you know you're good.

"Do you, uh. Do you wanna get coffee?" he asks instead.

Evan blinks, like he's surprised, like they haven't spent ten minutes talking next to the avocados, getting in people's way, earning themselves dirty looks and just - not caring.

"I would love that," Evan says.

They abandon their baskets in the end, only having picked up a few things each. Tommy can shop later, but there's something about the deliberate lack of tension in Evan's shoulders, the deliberate absence of grief in his face that makes him feel ephemeral, insubstantial, like he'll disappear if Tommy looks away from him for longer than a blink.

He lets their elbows bump as they walk two blocks to a coffee shop, keeps his eyes on Evan as they order drinks, find a table in the sun. It's familiar, but it's not. They each paid for their own coffees, for one thing, and Evan doesn't look adorably nervous this time. He looks tired. Just tired. Tommy wonders how deep he's locked down everything other than tired, and why he felt the need (what a fucking dick, he doesn't say again).

"How are you holding up?" he asks, taking care to make his voice soft.

Evan looks down at his coffee. Looks back up at Tommy. Looks over Tommy's shoulder at the street. Looks back to him. "R-really bad," he admits quietly.

"Okay," Tommy says. "That's okay, Evan. Do you wanna talk about it?"

[robinminustherichard]

Fuck it Friday pt2

BuckTommy Reconciliation | Eddie Critical

"Eddie isn't your competition."

Tommy blinks, having just gotten grabbed and dragged in-between the 118 & 217 engines, faced with a dust-covered and almost crazed looking Evan. It's not exactly the reunion he had been trying to stop himself from hoping for.

"Uh--" he says, but isn't really sure what to say here.

"What did you say to me, when you picked me up out of that hallway? The night in the lab."

Tommy pretends to think, but he knows without having to. The words have been playing in his head since they night.

"I told you I was there, I told you I was sorry."

Evan nods, eyes wide. He's standing just a half step away from Tommy, breathing just a little labored.

"What else?"

"I said, uh, 'you did everything you could'."

Evan nods, and his gloved hand reaches out for Tommy. Tommy lets him, still confused and trying to keep up.

"Bobby made me leave. He made me leave him to die, and I don't know if I could have gotten off that floor if you didn't come for me."

"Evan--"

"No, please, I need to...I need to say this. I was devastated, and I'm still devastated. And you picked me up, you told me you were there for me. You told me that I did everything I could to save him."

"Of course I did." Tommy says, simply and without exaggeration. "Because you did."

Buck nods seriously, and his expression darkens for a moment.

"I have spent every minute since you put me in an ambulance that night trying to be there for everyone else, like Bobby wanted me to be. I've tried to be okay. And you know what my bes-" Evan's voice cracks, he purses his lips a moment in frustration and grief, "you know what my best friend said? That I was making Bobby's death all about myself. That everyone felt like they don't know how to 'handle' me."

Evan looks gutted at his own words, biting his lip but still looking right at Tommy.

"Eddie was never your competition, Tommy. He never will be. Because he's telling me that I didn't do enough to save Bobby, that I make everything into the tragedy of Evan Buckley."

Tommy feels rage well up within him, hot and volatile. He connects his back roughly with the truck behind him to ground himself and lets Evan finish.

"But you--" Evan says, voice cut down to a whisper, eyes blinking rapidly as they water, "you came and got me. Before that, you came when I called. And I have a hell of a lot to apologize for, but Tommy I have never felt anything like what I feel for you before. If you'll let me, I swear to you that every day I will show you how much you mean to me. How much I love you. I will make sure you never think you have competition again."

Tommy swallows thickly, struck by the speech. Evan patiently waits for him to answer, his cheeks getting more red by the second.

"I'm gonna kick Diaz's ass," Tommy says, squeezing Buck's hand, "and I'm going to kiss the hell out of you."

A smile breaks across Evan's face, and it's beautiful in the dying sunlight around them.

"Not necessarily in that order." Tommy says, and grabs Evan by the turnouts, smashing their lips together in a kiss that's definitely going to get him another talking to if they're caught. He tries to keep it brief enough to avoid that, but Evan makes a disappointed sound that stops him from pulling away completely.

"I love you too," Tommy mumbles against his lips, "of course I do. How could I not?"

Their moment is soundly popped then by Gerrard yelling out "Buckley!", and Tommy sighs before reaching out to straighten Evan's turnouts and get a good look at him. They can't help but smile at each other.

"So," Evan tells him, head tilting and mouth smirking in the way he knows always got exactly what he wanted from Tommy, "what are you doing Saturday?"

Tommy scoffs theatrically but it doesn't get rid of the smile on his face.

"That's my line, Buckley."

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 lovey dovey | various hsr men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; your boyfriend is tooootally the type of guy to...

love mail — a girl gotta do what a girl gotta do. good NIGHT. (it's 8pm as of posting) another short one :p i'm starting to grow to like writing these...

anaxa's the typa guy to prefer slowburn over anything. he wants to earn you, really. doesn't like it when things are too easy because he appreciates the art of courting, though if you DO make it easy for him he still tries to be romantic. wanting to at least feel like he's doing something right to receive such love from you </3

mydei's is the typa guy to appreciate when you bring him in for a dance while he's in the kitchen. while waiting for a dish to cook or the oven to preheat, you begin to hum a familiar song and take his hand. he lets out that deep chuckle of his, indulging in your antics as you two slowdance to your humming. it's so domestic i threw up hi guys

phainon is ABSOLUTELY the type of guy to cross half a battlefield just to help you during a fight. doesn't care how much he's hurt, the distance he has to run, he's at your side immediately. absolutely tears the enemy apart too like.. he is NOT losing anyone else.

dan heng is soooo the type of guy to love taking pictures of you :) candids, proper photoshoots, during dates.. all of it! he adores having his formerly barren camera roll be full of his brightest part of his day. he also keeps some photographs in his wallet, phonecase, all of that! isn't a big words guy so uses this as his way of appreciation <3

dr ratio is the typa guy to use you as his muse. has used your beauty as inspiration for sculptures and doesn't hold back on his compliments for you. you will STRUGGLE to be insecure with how insistent and sharp he is about how perfectly you're 'carved' to be. will playfully debate w u about it

boothill's the typa guy to let you leave your mark on his mechanical body. stickers, kiss marks if you feel like it, little accessories.. do whatever you want, wears it proudly like a medal. personal favorite is his wedding ring <3

moze is the typa guy to like going invisible before hugging you from behind. it used to startle you, but you've grown to appreciate it. he was only like this in the beginning, since he was quietly embarrassed about affection and wasn't sure how to approach it the way you did. decided this was the best way. although you miss it cause it was cute, you like how he doesn't feel the need to anymore. he's grown comfortable with affection <3

jing yuan is the typa guy to know your little 'questions' and subtle hints to things. ask him if he's hungry? he has your cravings being ordered on the phone. does something look nice on you? he already has his wallet out to pay for it. he also makes sure not to walk too fast and matches your pace, all while of course holding your hand. nothing works anymore because he just knows you too well 💔 gives you kisses on your forehead for trying. if you're unhappy he knows to follow up to your cheek, and if it doesn't work he finishes with a kiss to your lips. that one always works :)

gallagher the typa guy to LOOOVE flirting when your tipsy. sometimes you forget he's your boyfriend and get all giggly like when you first met him, it's his favorite thing. doesn't push it too far ofc because he wants to be respectful when you're under the influence, but it takes a lot of years of practice to be able to hold his constraint when you lean in for a kiss.. all sweet with your hands pressed up against his chest

caelus is totally the typa guy who loves to let you wear his jacket. for one, everybody knows it is his, and you wearing it means he's yours <3 so that means nobody approaches you and he likes it that way. also it's comfortable and fashionable! you never get cold :D (and you see his arms so i suppose it's a bonus)

luka is ONE HUNDRED percent the type of guy to love playfighting but he always lets you win. it's always fun with you, you're always so giggly and play dirty, plus while he can totally counter it, he doesn't. let's you have your fun the whole time! unless you start teasing him and that's when he locks in (to tease you back)

blade is the typa guy to appreciate the fact you patch him up. while you're doing so he mumbles about how perfect you are, how he's undeserving of your kindness as he takes one of your hands and kisses your palm softly, making you cup his cheek as he continues his praise of your amazing care for him. sometimes goes overboard and is too focused on showing you how thankful he is and forgets to have his injuries properly treated :p

luocha is the typa guy to like sleeping shirtless. doesn't know why he started this habit, just knows that it started when you two started to sleep together in the same bed. he liked waking up and really feeling you being there. it meant everything to him, this kind of vulnerability. it was beyond lust, it was trust.

gepard is the type of guy to always be flustered easily. we all know it, we love it, but your favorite moments are when you surprise him while he's on duty. when he's stationed to more isolated parts of belobog, he always seems bored or you know.. maybe just doing his duty. whatever it is, he's clearly too focused to let any emotion slide. so when you show up, all smiley and sweet, your energy bounces off of him and he can't help but get all giggly too. only to realize he's still on watch, gets embarrassed, and you relish in the sweet red on his cheeks.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[frogpotat]

two mikes what they doing

Left Michael belongs to me, Right Michael is by the amazing @chloesimaginationthings! Her Michael design is so fun to draw.

its really funny to see a bunch of different michael headcanons, and to think about them interacting.

Chloe's Michael is just so incredibly chill. like he totally eats pizza and bubblegum all day in between experiencing the horrors. and like he uses simultaneously the least and most practical thing to keep his body from falling apart. like the whole corpse thing definitely bothers him but he doesnt let it stop him from chilling and being silly.

meanwhile my michael is so full of self-loathing, has to medicate bc he hallucinates vividly, and he just stitches himself together because even if its painful it means one less thing to worry about. but like despite everything he tries his best to enjoy the little things and be as kind and gentle as possible.

idk i love well defined characters as much as the next guy but something about seeing fans make and share art about essentially ocs going by the same name is just really special to me. does this make literally any sense--

[bjlipss]

— bug, part vii.

contents: college!sukuna x weird!reader. weird as in just odd and confusing behaviour but nonetheless cute, nothing pervy-weird. reader wears glasses because yes. really awkward and silly hehe. fem reader should be mentioned. yes they kiss and they do that a lot

part vi <- part vii -> part viii

it’s not like it’s a date date.

not really.

except—you know. sukuna asked. and you said yes. and then you smiled at him like it was the best thing anyone’s ever said to you, and now he’s standing outside your dorm room with clammy hands, trying not to sweat through his black hoodie.

he’s been standing there for like… a minute. maybe longer. just staring at your door.

which is stupid. he’s not nervous. not really. he’s been in fights that raised his blood pressure less than this.

but then the door creaks open—

and he just about forgets how to breathe.

you’re wearing a dress.

not a fancy one, nothing dramatic, but… it’s soft and floaty and falls around your knees just right. the sleeves are a little sheer. there’s a frilly bow at the collar, tied slightly crooked. your lips are glossy, your glasses are smudge-free, and your hair looks brushed and styled and like you tried.

and sukuna—who’s normally very good at not losing his cool—just stands there, totally silent, like a man who’s just seen god.

“hi,” you say, shy and small, tugging at your sleeve. “do i… do i look okay, suku?”

his mouth opens. nothing comes out. suku? he is weak.

you fidget. “is it too much? i wasn’t sure—”

“no,” he blurts. “you look…”

you look dangerous, he thinks. you look like you could ruin him.

“…really fucking good,” he finishes, voice a little hoarse.

your eyes go wide. your whole face pinkens.

he clears his throat, ears going red. “i mean. yeah. you always do. but. yeah.”

you beam.

he is, absolutely, one hundred percent, going to die.

—

you end up at a ramen shop just off campus.

it’s a tiny place tucked between a laundromat and a secondhand bookstore. warm and clattery inside, with handwritten signs on the walls and the scent of broth and garlic in the air. you picked it, of course. sukuna’s not picky, but you’re weirdly passionate about hole-in-the-wall food joints, and you’ve been talking about “this one place with the good gyoza” all week.

so now you’re here. across from him in a booth by the window, animated and glowing and talking a mile a minute while your legs bounce under the table.

he doesn’t say much at first. he just watches.

he’s not sure he’s ever seen someone talk so much and say so little and somehow still hold his entire attention. you tell him all about the jellyfish exhibit at the aquarium (again), about the fruit you found that looks like a brain, about the ghost you swear lives in the dorm laundry room.

you call him rude things affectionately. you slurp your noodles loud enough to draw stares. you drop your chopsticks three times and make him retrieve them from the floor while mumbling an apology through a mouthful of bean sprouts.

and he… can’t stop smiling.

which is horrifying. he’s not a smiler.

you glance up mid-bite and pause, frowning. “what?”

he blinks. “huh?”

“you’re staring.”

he shrugs. “you’re pretty.”

you choke. “what?”

“you heard me.”

you look down fast, suddenly all shy, and that’s when you say it:

“you have very kissable lips, you know.”

he almost knocks over his water.

you say it so casually. like you’re commenting on the weather. like his entire existence doesn’t just about short-circuit at those words.

“what?” he rasps.

you blink at him, all innocent. “what?”

he can’t speak. can’t breathe.

you go back to your noodles like nothing happened.

he grips the edge of the table so hard it creaks.

—

dessert is a shared bowl of matcha mochi with red bean. you feed him a bite with your spoon. he nearly forgets his own name.

and then you’re walking again, side by side, quiet now. the city’s quieter too—softer, somehow. streetlights blur into gold halos. the air smells like early spring and fried food and something sweet he can’t name.

your hand brushes his. he twitches. glances at you.

you glance back, shy smile curling your lips.

then you slide your fingers into his—light and gentle like you’re not sure he’ll let you. like you expect him to pull away.

he doesn’t.

he stops walking instead.

you stop too, blinking up at him. the streetlight above flickers.

his voice is low when he speaks. not rough, not sharp. just quiet.

“i want to kiss you.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“i’ve been thinking about it all night,” he says, like a confession. “and before that. and every time you look at me like I’m worth something.”

your breath catches.

“but i won’t,” he murmurs. “not tonight.”

“…why not?” you whisper.

he shifts closer. lifts your hand to his chest, lets you feel how fast his heart’s beating.

“because,” he says, voice hoarse, “once i start, i won’t wanna stop.”

and you—blushing, dazed, glowing like the inside of a star—you just nod.

“okay,” you whisper. “maybe next time.”

he smiles, soft and a little broken.

he walks you to your door. you thank him for the night, call it fun, and hug him so tight he sways a little under the weight of it. he doesn’t kiss you.

but he thinks about it the whole walk home.

and then again. and again. and again.

—

it happens when he walks you home again.

third time this week. not that he minds.

you talk the whole way—about birds that mate for life and which bread is best (he says rye, you say the fluffy supermarket kind with no nutritional value, the kind that tastes like air and nostalgia), and he listens. nods along, snorts when you tell him penguins gift each other pebbles.

you don’t even notice that you’re swinging your arms in sync. he does.

when you reach your building, you pause like always, standing in the glow of the yellow streetlamp. there’s a moth circling the light, and you track it lazily with your eyes, blinking up at it, then up at him.

you smile. soft. sleepy. the corners of your lips quirking without effort. like you don’t even know what you do to him.

and something in him just clicks.

like, yeah. now. i need this.

he takes one step closer. close enough that you go still, blinking in surprise, shoulders hunching slightly like you’re not sure what to expect. your breath catches. he’s looking at you like he’s deciding something. like he already has.

“wanna kiss you,” he mutters, voice gravel-low, like it’s being pulled out of him.

you freeze for half a second. blink once. twice. then breathe, “oh.”

he raises a brow, amused, just barely. “that okay?”

you nod, quickly, heart hammering. “okay.”

and then he does.

slow, at first—like he’s giving you time to pull back, to change your mind, to breathe.

you don’t.

your lips meet his too fast, a little too hard. you bump his nose and clutch his hoodie like it’s an anchor and tilt your head the wrong way, and it’s clumsy, breathless, adorable.

he lets out a quiet grunt of surprise against your mouth.

“what was that, loser,” he murmurs, chuckling, as you pull back half a centimeter, embarrassed.

“sorry,” you mumble. “i don’t—I’ve never really—i mean—”

“hey.” his hand comes up, thumb grazing the edge of your jaw. “shut up. just…” his voice lowers, lips brushing yours, “slow down.”

you nod again. “okay.”

this time, he kisses you with intent.

his hand slides into your hair, thumb stroking just behind your ear. his mouth is warm, sure, soft but confident—he presses in slowly, lets it build. your lips part on instinct, a tiny gasp escaping you, and he immediately groans into your mouth like he can’t help it.

you taste like your favorite lip balm, and whatever candy you snuck from your pocket earlier, and something soft and sweet that makes him feel dizzy.

your hands fist his hoodie, and you rise slightly on your toes like you want more.

so he gives it to you.

a longer kiss—deeper this time. his tongue flicks against yours, gentle, teasing, and you shiver. he kisses you like it’s a language only he knows, like he wants to teach you. and you follow every cue he gives, slow and careful and completely, stupidly sincere.

your glasses are askew. your heart is pounding. you whimper softly when he pulls away for air.

he swears under his breath. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“was that bad?” you ask, breathless, lips kiss-swollen.

he just stares at you. like you’ve reached into his chest and taken hold of something vital.

“no,” he says. “it’s just—fuck, you’re—”

he doesn’t finish the thought, kisses you again instead.

your hands slide up into his hair and he practically melts. his arm curls around your waist, tugging you flush against him like he doesn’t want to let go, ever. your body fits against his so perfectly it’s almost unfair.

he groans again when you sigh into his mouth.

“still okay, baby?” he murmurs, between kisses, mouth brushing yours, breath warm.

you nod again, a little dazed. “mhm. yeah.”

so he keeps going. quick kisses—little nips and stolen gasps, peppered along your lips, your jaw, your cheek.

you giggle, breath hitching. “sukuna—”

“hmm?” another kiss, this one lazy and drawn out.

“we’re—outside,” you mumble. “people could see.”

“don’t care,” he mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth again. “let ‘em.”

you’re breathless. glowing. everything about you feels real and close and perfect.

you blink up at him when he finally stops, lips flushed, eyes wide. you look like you’re trying to process the universe.

“…so,” you murmur, “that was really nice.”

he huffs a laugh. “yeah?”

you nod slowly. “can we do it again?”

his grin is feral and fond all at once.

“you’re gonna destroy me,” he says, shaking his head.

then he leans in again.

and kisses you until you forget your own name.

[midnghtprentiss]

yours - jack abbot x f!doctor!reader

a/n: this is for “ a doctor day” which i am so happy to be a part of. it took me some time to think about something cool but i tried my best to work with this prompt. so i really really really hope you enjoy it as much as me. i tried to be subtle about the color cause in my head it means something really bigger. 

a big thank you to @letsgobarbs @ananonymousaffair @clubsoft for creating this project!!!

prompt: The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless.

color: pink.

word count: +3k

Everything started with an offer for you to go teach at a hospital in London. You were so excited, it was your dream since medical school and you’ve worked hard to experience the things you always wanted. It started small: residency, then you got masters and a doctorate. The job offer wasn’t out of the blue, they were watching your every move, gluing to the details of your incredible brain. 

You loved working at the ED, the adrenaline, the sight of doing something good and to actually do what you loved. You found valuable things there: friends, family and love. You found Jack there. He was your rock, the biggest supporter you could ever get and he couldn’t get in the way of you getting what you always wanted. The moment you told him what they offered he knew being selfish would kill him and letting you go would kill him either. 

The breakup was clean with a lot of tears and feelings. Too many words were said meaning the same thing: you loved him and he loved you more than anyone. 

“Will you miss me?” You whispered, cuddled with him. 

“Every day til you come back to me.” He smelled your hair, pulling you closer. 

So he let you go, even if meant to put his plans on stand by. The house, the ring, the children. He would wait and so did you. 

The day you left was the day he lost himself in his own mind. Jack was quieter, more introspective and a little sadder, Robby pointed out for Dana once. He was still capable of doing his job, of course he was. But you weren’t there to help him, to make funny remarks about him or to share a candy bar when the chaos finally stopped. You weren’t there for him to take you home, in fact, you were making yourself a home somewhere else that wasn’t with him. 

He was terrified of you meeting another person that could easily erase him from your mind. The idea of you marrying someone else haunted him more often than he could admit. He would never forgive himself if the children of another man had the eyes of the girl he couldn’t forget - his girl.

You stopped talking to each other as a silent agreement. It was easy to do your jobs if the anxiety of someone waiting for the call or text wasn’t on your mind all the time. Suddenly three months became three years and the lump in your throat, the knot in Jack’s chest, got loose. 

The countless nights you almost called him to hear his voice or text to know how he was doing, if he was eating, sleeping and trying to be a normal person. Jack almost did the same too. He dialed your number and gave up, he wrote you letters and a journal to inform you about how he was dealing with the distance.

You moved on, made friends, got yourself a home with the things you only dreamed off before and got your shit together. You were a really popular name among the medical teaching. You did some impressive research, amazing experiments and innovations on the field, especially on emergency education, the top of your field. Jack watched you from afar the whole time, he read your papers, he watched your online classes, he did everything to keep you close to him. And he waited patiently for you. 

Pitt was watching you again, they needed someone like you to teach new doctors on the night shift and to take the hospital to the next level, so they offered you another deal. 

You accepted right away. No questions asked. 

Your first call was to Robby and Dana, you decided to let them know you were coming back to work at the hospital again. They were really happy, especially Dana for getting her coffee partner back. You thought about texting Jack, but the uncertain feeling if we ever wanted to hear about you again made you tremble with fear, so you didn’t. Perhaps he already knew you were coming back. 

He did. 

The cold Pittsburg breeze brought back the familiar memories once again. The laughter, the tears, the pain and the comfort. You needed that so bad, you almost didn’t feel the moisture on your cheeks and your heavy breathing. 

Nothing like home, right?

You got into the hospital fifteen minutes before your shift started. You were overjoyed to be there surrounded by so many familiar faces. Princess and Perlah were the first ones to see you, for a fraction of seconds you almost missed their hugs. 

“You are so back! Thank God.” Princess held you tighter, shaking you in her arms. 

“I’m so glad to be back.” They let you go and you went straight to the nursing station, catching Robby and Dana’s attention. 

“I can’t believe my eyes.” Robby’s words made you blush, embracing them. “We missed you here, London.” 

“London?” You questioned him with eyebrows raised. 

“Only the best of us came back, I’m glad you did.” Dana whispered, kissing your temple. 

“I can’t wait to see you making these guys peed in their pants.” 

“It’s going to be a pleasure to make them fear me.” Robby gasped, making you laugh a little louder. 

The nurses joined in for a warm hug and some small talk, even Garcia showed up to see you and you were really surprised to find out she’s literally dating a girl from the residency. She just mouthed you that you talk more later and moved back to the OR. You really missed those people and suddenly life was so much better and lighter. 

He was watching everything from the other side of the room. His heart filled with something he couldn’t give a name right away. You looked different in his eyes. Maybe your hair, your bone structure, your cheeks. He didn’t know. Still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.  You were there, so close to him and he was paralyzed. Frozen in his own world. 

Jack spent nights imagining how he would react when you come back, how he would take you in his arms and forget the rest about the rest, kiss your face and plead you to not walk away ever again, to make his arms home once more. But you were right there and he lost his ability to move and be a fucking person. 

You caught his eyes and gave him a shy smile. Not going straight to him, giving the time you knew he was going to need before doing something else and besides, you were so involved with the crew that for a millisecond you forgot about the butterfly in your stomach almost making you throw up there. 

He wasn’t ready to talk to you. Not yet. Jack heard the rumors, he knew you’ll be back soon to be in the hospital again. Same shift, same people, different you, different him. He hated the change. At the same time, he needed to have you right over there next to him to make sure you weren’t going anywhere far from him. His mind was racing with millions of things and most of them were about you.

By the time the shift started, you were already with the students, talking about your work and what you expect them to do and learned from you. They noticed how smillish and nice you seem just for the way you lead them through the trauma bay introducing one by one to the team. First Shen, who was too energetic by your return to stop talking and then Ellis, who were all sweet and great with everybody else. Bridget couldn’t keep her hands to herself, hugging you in all the opportunities she had. And then Jack, he was serious the whole time, shaking the students hands and quickly looking at you. 

“This is the night shift crew. If I’m not around you can always ask them for help. Doctor Shen is the sweetest person here but you don’t want to piss him off. Dr. Ellis is an amazing teacher if you want to learn something and I’m pretty sure you want to, again guys, don’t piss her off.” You took a deep breath and looked at him. “This is doctor Abbot, he is the best trauma surgeon here and if I were you, I’ll try to be nice to him, he’s a surprise box to solve problems and rage Dr. Walsh.”

You tried your best to focus on them, ignoring his hot gaze on your face, reading you microexpressions like it was his newspaper. His presence made you overwhelmed enough to stumble in a few words. They introduced themselves to them and led them to the patients they were looking for at night. 

Jack liked the new version of you. Confident, smarter, better. Watching you teach was absolutely incredible, you delivered everything without problems, making these kids really think and understand what took him years to do. The more he looked, the more he wanted to take you home and forget about the three years you were gone. 

“Want a picture, Abbot?” You teased him, leaning against the counter with a tablet in hand. 

“If looking at a pretty thing is a crime put me in the fucking jail.” He crossed his arms, locking your gaze. 

“Good to know your taste hasn't changed.” 

“We’re talking about something really serious and I don’t play about anything that revolves around you.” He admitted, coming closer to where you were. “You were missed around here.” 

“I missed being here too.” Your words sounded like a whisper as he was getting closer. 

“We need to talk.” Jack held your arm, softly caressing your skin. 

“Abbot’s pancakes?” 

“You’re still bossy, wow.” He would do whatever you asked. “Whatever you want, gorgeous.” 

“Asshole.” You dismissed him, going the other way shaking your head. 

The next hours felt like you’ve never gone away for three years. The crew was the same you remembered but better and your tiredness didn’t turn out to be an issue. At 07 am you were pretty awake, the adrenaline was making you excited and you couldn’t stop moving around the room. 

You spent at least twenty minutes explaining about your patients to the day crew before really leaving the ER. It was a great day for you, the familiar taste of doing what you love with people you love made your heart ache with happiness. You were glad to be there again. 

Jack was waiting for you at the parking lot, hands in his pockets and eyes on you. You approached him slowly, stopping a few steps away. He watched your face with a discreet smirk, shaking his head. 

He followed you to your car, making sure you were safe enough to drive to his house - the same one you shared for almost two years. The unease on your chest was making you almost throw up in your car. You parked in the driveway, watching the house from the outside for a while. He was still watching you, he couldn’t stop himself from that. 

The small garden you cultivated was still intact, the pink flowers you loved and a few other plants that weren’t there before. He took care of the garden religiously for you. That was his way of hoping you come back to him. You walked towards the entrance slowly, capturing the details you missed while away. Jack finally put the swing on the front porch, like you planned on doing to make the house seem more cozy. 

“I thought it would be nice to sit here sometimes to watch the neighborhood.” He mentioned and opened the door for you. 

The inside was the same you remembered. The picture frames, the decoration. He changed some furniture but the rest looked the same. He still kept the picture of you two above the fireplace with the same flowers you used to put there. In your heed, when he did those things brought him some hope to believe you were coming back to him.

“You still buy the flowers?” You asked, turning your face to look at him. 

“Every wednesday at the farmers market.” He nodded, walking to the kitchen. 

Everything looked the same, like you never left. Even the cinnamon smell you absolutely loved lingered in the air. 

The kitchen was absolutely your favorite place in the house. You got to spend hours sitting at the table doing your shit or just baking whatever came to your head, sipping tea and being loved. Jack had the perfect vision from the living room when you were in the kitchen. He never told you but he had a lot of pictures of you sitting there existing like you’re the only God he believed. 

He served you some coffee and went back to the other side of the counter, putting the ingredients to do the pancakes you asked. The comfortable silence was pleasant, reminding you of the morning you shared in the same way: him doing the breakfast and you enjoying the view. 

“How was London? Last time I heard you were the chief of the trauma department there.” Jack was trying his best to avoid the topic he needed to talk about. 

“It was good. Cold, rainy and absolutely no pancakes.” You joked, crossing your arms over the table. “I had a good time, did things I only dreamed of, taught a lot of people and got to travel a bit.” 

“You traveled? Where did you go?” He seemed interested. 

“I went to visit Greece, did a tour around Italy with a couple of friends, my nephews came to visit me during winter and we went skiing in Switzerland.” You sipped more coffee, smiling at the memories. “I went to a safari, Jack!” Your words slipped in a funny way and he recognized how happy you were. “You would’ve loved that.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Suddenly he stopped in his tracks to finally watch you. 

You appeared relaxed, leaning against the chair, hair messed in a bun, jacket already off and barefoot. Looking like an absolute dream. Like the love of his life. 

“I missed you, you know? A lot.” You admitted, looking away from him. “I almost called you so many times and never had the courage to do it.” 

“I would’ve picked on the first ring.” He chuckled, mixing the ingredients trying to not stare for too long. “I wrote you some letters and a journal.” 

“You did?” Jack nodded, making you smile larger. “I may have taken some pictures of things and places that reminded me of you and kept them on an album to give to you. I hope you enjoy the crazy selfies and the endless comments on the people.” He laughed, picturing the scenes. 

He took his time to finish the pancakes, putting them on the table and sitting across from you with his cup of coffee. The dynamics between you haven’t changed at all, he still knew what you needed before you asked and you still read his face with ease. 

“I thought I had lost you forever.” Jack declared, making you stop. “The day I let you go was the worst day of my life, I felt so powerless and selfish. I couldn’t be the reason you give up your dreams because they were in you before I was present in your life and being the motive of your unhappiness was going to kill me.” You felt your stomach drop. “The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless. The night shift sucked without you there, our bed was cold, I barely slept thinking about you.”

“The idea of you finding somebody else and deciding to marry and have children.” He didn’t continue and you held his hand. 

“Jack, I am yours and yours only.” You squeezed his hand. “I spent a few weeks crying before bed, wanting to run back to you. The day I went on that plane I left a piece of my heart with you. The life we were building, the plans, the marriage, the children.” You mumbled with tears, chuckling. “Never crossed my mind doing those things with anybody else. It’s always been you and it’s always gonna be. Besides, European guys are not that attractive.” His jaw tensed and you burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you.” 

“I hate this.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Whatever you say, honey.” You winked, giggling under your breath. 

“Does this mean we can start over?” He asked, holding your gaze. 

“Always, Jack.” You smiled. 

That’s how after breakfast you ended up moving back to your place. The countless boxes with your stuff, bags filled with clothes and your favorite book collection around his living room. You were tired but nothing like the feeling of being home with him. Jack sent you to sleep a while later, finding you curled in his side of the bed, holding his pillow to smell his scent. 

He enjoyed the quietness of the morning to go through the album you made him. Pink cover with some shells and his name in gold letters. On the first page he found a small note you wrote. 

“To Jack.  I hope you know I thought about you a lot and these memories are an extension of my endless love for you.  Love, your girl.”

He couldn't contain a smile with the note, sighing as he passed to the next pages. The first real picture was you outside the hospital in London, bright smile, fearless, beautiful as ever. The note under the picture made him giggle, flushed.  

“You wished me good day before I took this. It was in fact a good day ‘cause I imagined you with me all the time.”

He kept passing the pages, amused by the great photos and the small remarks that sounded too much like you. His favorite was one of you sitting at the safari cart, wearing a pink cap, caressing a giraffe with one hand and with the other showing the necklace he gifted you a few years ago, the largest smile he’d ever seen, eyes shining and cheeks red from laughing. A look he recognized damn well. What made the picture even better was the small text. 

“I was in the safari in this. When theguide was tooking the picture the fucking lion roared next to the cart, almost peed my pants. Definitely not like Lion King, Disney lied to us. The cap was a gift from a child at the village I visited, he said it was to protect me and I truly believed in his words. The necklace is to represent you with me there and the giraffe, well, I’m in love. You would’ve loved this trip. I want to come back with you. Honeymoon maybe?”  Love, your (not so) wild girl.” 

He saw fragments of yourself, a version he was glad you enjoyed while doing the things you loved and still think about him so highly. He didn’t deserve you. Jack would never admit that you’re the light of his life, the shining star that guides him home every time he feels lost. 

You were exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

In his life, in his home, his bed, laying in his sheets with your favorite pink pajamas, being absolutely his. 

[the-whole-thing-through]

I know this is kinda just a joke, but actually, I really want to ask ppl who say that killing Foggy was the right decision and that the show had to make a bold move, and that it's "realistic" and that Matt Murdock is a character defined by pain and loss and tragedy....how would you end the story? Like seriously, what do you think would be a satisfactory ending for this new Daredevil series? Because it WILL end, but the characters won't, they will remain.

I've said this ad nauseam on reddit, but the way that the OG series ended at season 3, with that last remaining shot of Nelson, Murdock and Page together, was, to me, the BEST possible ending for that show and for these characters. An absolute masterpiece. God, just thinking about it gives me a warm glow in my chest. Despite being canceled in its prime, with more stories to tell, they managed to deliver to the audience literally the most satisfactory ending that was possible. NM&P. All three together. All three looking forward to a bright future together. Finally united in honesty, understanding, and trust. Mutual love and affection. Each three with their roles and their parts to play: the vigilante, the lawyer and the investigator. Each of equal importance to one another, nobody considered less important to the narrative.

I appreciate the way that the creators chose to end the show with the Matt/Karen romance open ended and ambiguous, although I know many shippers disagree with me. Not only would it have felt unearned to have Matt and Karen shown as explicitly together in that last moment, it also would have retracted from the overarching theme and message of the show, which is what we see in the last shot: it's Nelson, Murdock, and Page. They had to be apart in order to realize that all three of them are better working together. The golden trio. The holy trinity. Having the ending be Matt/Karen oh and Foggy, like he's an afterthought or a third wheel, was clearly something that they were trying to avoid, and they were right to do so. The OG showrunner and writers NEVER disrespected Foggy or treated him as a joke or "just" the comics relief. He was a main character with his own love interest, his own plot line, his own family and friends and support system. And he is VITAL to the overall dynamic, and to Matt's happiness. Which brings me to my main point.

Matt cannot be happy without Foggy, period. If Foggy is permanently dead, then the ending for DDBA is already torched. Whatever it is, it can't ever REALLY be satisfactory. To the people who say that it's "realistic" I mean, yeah, maybe. But is it satisfactory? If the show ends, and Matt is back to just being Daredevil, exactly as he was in the beginning, but no Foggy, it's an obvious downgrade to what we had before, no? I have no idea why the writers of DDBA want to torch their own projected ending in such a fashion. It's like aspiring that your assignment will get, at best, a C+ instead of an A.

I'm sure many ppl will be happy no matter what if their fav ship ends up working out, but even then, it's STILL only a glass half full situation. If the show ends with just Murdock and Page, but no Nelson, something is still going to be missing, and that something is Foggy Nelson. I don't for a second believe that either Matt OR Karen will ever truly be completely happy after Foggy's death. People discount Karen and Foggy's relationship, but he was her best friend, her surrogate brother, who supported her after Matt's "death." Who immediately stepped up to be her lawyer and confidant after she told him about killing Wesley. Who never once judged her or made her feel less than.

Asking for the audience to be ok with some sort of projected "Happily Ever After" ending without the beating heart of Daredevil is an insane ask, truly, and I honestly don't think that those who are unconcerned about Foggy's death, or who think that the show did it "right" have given any thought to just HOW this story can possibly end. Thinking that Matt would ever be truly ok again after losing Foggy, or that he could ever have a happy ending, just fundamentally gets Matt's character, and the entire show of Daredevil, wrong. Daredevil is not the story of a man who loses everything and perseveres despite it all. Its the story of a man who perseveres despite it all, BECAUSE he still has something left to lose. Karen and Foggy are the heart and soul of Daredevil, and the heart and soul of Matt's world. Take out one, and the entire thing topples like a house of cards. If the new show runner doesn't understand this (and it's seeming more and more like he just doesn't get Matt at all) then I give up. Just toss the entire thing in the trash at that point.

marvel saw these scenes and said "what if we make everyone miserable?"

[fiamat12]

Re: Let's Get This Done... No, I mean REALLY!

The "kissing" pics

It's obvious to us that this entire weekend was FAKE and came out of nowhere after that Cyprus pic of L popped up and after signs of a Lukola soft launch. Coincidental? I say no...

So what is the extra push needed to get this DONE done? I know!!! Everything that fans clocked as L NOT exhibiting bf behavior. And why is this important? Imo, I believe part of her argument was that she was being bullied online. How do we remedy that? "Defend" her!

So here's a list of things she got in one weekend that she never got in at least a year & a half of being in L's sphere (maybe because she's not his gf, but I digress):

• A red carpet at a major event as L's gf

• Attendance at a major event as L's gf

• Couples photos inside the after party (she had only gotten one at the film Baftas)

• Photos w/ L actually looking happy/ like he likes her

• Professionally styled for an event

• Inclusion in a grid post

• A "launch" article as L's gf in the media

• And finally, the denouement, "candid" pics of them being affectionate w/ one another - in this case "kissing" since we said the last time we'd seen them kiss was NYE 2024...

They *almost* achieved it. L did his best duck lips and A tried to make hanging all over him look natural. Funny thing is he looks disassociated even from afar, and his body language still screams no. I've had a more affectionate kiss from my Uncle! (I kid you not, he's a mouth kisser when he greets the fam 🤷🏼‍♀️).

As Savage so, well, savagely puts it, "when you tell your cousin she can tag along to prom and she books a full glam team". Sorry A, he just can't pull off romantic w/ you. In fact, L has kissed several women in other projects but A still reads as lil sis or bratty cousin.

Anyway, here's the candid shots outside the ceremony w/ once again no one around.

Keep going... ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Side note: Fans didn't bully her. She trolled the fandom and did nothing to make herself likeable and then wonders why she got hate? GIRL

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