#gojo X y/n

[slvttyplum]

the eiffel tower is beautiful, especially at night. the bright lights shining down on the city, the unique design, it was all so interesting and loved by many.

luckily for you, you got to see the eiffel tower many times; some might say you were the eiffel tower, and they wouldn't be wrong, your mouth full of satoru while suguru stuffed you deep.

this had to be your favorite position to be in, being stuck between the two while you were being fucked from both ends.

while suguru was sliding in and out of you, trying to keep himself from finishing, holding out the best he could, you were focused on the dick in front of you.

your tongue sliding over his shaft, then to his tip, licking up the cum that was slowly coming out.

satoru throat-fucking you, thrusting hard while grabbing the sides of your head and throwing his head back, he loved the way your mouth felt, but he was in love with the way your throat squeezed around his tip.

both their hands intertwined above you as they go at the same speed, your body overflowing with pleasure, your eyes watery and your mind elsewhere, you were on cloud nine; you couldn't even react.

as suguru fucked into you, your body pushed forward, and your mouth pushed all the way on satoru's dick.

as much as the three of you did this position, the teasing never stopped. trying to one-up each other, but they still found teasing you more pleasurable, satoru throat deep, fucking your mouth while tears slid down your face.

"look at that; you can't get enough. mm mm, keep it in your mouth." suguru laughing while he smacks your ass, going deeper, the goal to overstimulate you, and they did it every time; they liked the way your eyes would look hazy by the time they were done.

they switched placements every once in a while, but they had preferences.

satoru loved your mouth; he loved the way it got tight when he pushed deep and watching your eyes try to stay open when he thrust himself into you.

suguru liked your pussy a little more, your ass jiggling every time he slid back inside of you and your thighs shaking when you couldn't take it anymore.

there were pros to where they were placed, but it was always up to you; everything was. that's why you always ended up on all fours, taking both of them at the same time.

they didn't care what position they were in; they just wanted to be with you.

[butterflytint]

in your web of lies - s. gojo

summary: as a devoted student of science, you put all your time just to that. Misfortune falls upon you when you are faced with being in the same class as satoru gojo, your longtime academic rival and essentially the bane of your existence. It goes one step further when his strange behavior seems to get even stranger as the web slinging hero of New York suddenly swings into your life. . . not that there's any correlation.

pairing: spiderman!gojo x fem!reader

warnings: college au, excessive banter, guns, violence, death/bloodshed mentioned, sexual content, smut, porn with plot, mentions of SA, p in v, oral sex, missionary, doggy style, riding, little sprinkle of dirty talk

a/n: this is based off the spiderman gojo art by @ aliyartss on instagram!

First weeks of any semester are always brutal.

The sound of traffic clogging and polluting the streets, brutal. The beginning of ringing headaches from the lack of sleep, brutal. The start of all-nighters to complete homework and study, brutal.

That’s just a small piece of the brutality that follows college students.

At least that’s what most students can relate to.

You glance over at Shoko, next to you as you settle into class. Being miles ahead of schedule was always way better than being even a second behind. So walking into the small lecture room ten minutes before class plays in your favor even if it was Professor Yaga’s class, the same professor you’ve had for two past semesters already.

“You look a little annoyed,” Shoko comments while flipping through her notebook.

“Sorry—I had a bit of a fight last night with my Dad,” you sigh out, shaking your head. Your finger slides along the edge of your own notes. “And I guess I’m just a little stressed about everything. The JJ Tech guys are having me spend extra hours and I can hardly get an hour to myself in the day.”

“Well chin up, we’ve got a long lab ahead of us today,” Shoko tapped playfully against your chin, her eyes down on her papers.

“Hm, right,” you mumble, eyes drooping at the chalkboard. “Wonder how you’re getting through this lab by yourself.”

“Hey, Satoru is my lab partner. You shouldn’t worry too much about that,” she chides. Shoko has a habit of not looking at you when she’s in the middle of doing something while conversating. “You seem like you have something else on your mind. You wanna talk about your dad?”

You eyeball the warmup problem he has on the board, jotting it down in your notebook. Your mind races with that conversation you had with your father just last night. How he wanted to have an assigned detail with you on campus, safely getting you to and from class. You have enough to worry about with finally shifting to yours and Utahime’s new apartment in a few short weeks without having to think about your dad.

Your impending argument was scheduled to continue once you saw him again since you didn’t even have a fighting chance when he got a call about a high-profile criminal striking again. You wonder just what could have transpired last night, apparently there were witnesses that sighted him.

“Not really.”

His fingers trail down the side of his torso, eyes screwing shut when he grazes that sensitive expanse of skin. Throbbing mercilessly, he hisses through clenched teeth, opening his eyes and glancing at the banged-up mirror on his wall.

That skintight suit was still clinging to his body like glue. He tears his mask off his head, tousling his white locks in the process. His head tips back when his gloved fingers brush over that tender place on his side.

A series of slow, deliberate breaths travel past his lips. Mindlessly, he reaches for a vial of painkillers. He doesn’t even count how many he tips into his waiting palm before popping them into his mouth and chasing them down bitterly with a bottle of water.

The boy grunts out as he falls back onto his bed, hoping he could sleep the soreness off before class tomorrow.

RING! RING!

Those eyes of his that had just shut after eons of forcing himself to stay alert and prepared for any attack were cruelly wrenched open once more.

RING! RING!

Another blasted alarm sounded from across his room, an alarm clock he simply can’t punch to snooze as he’d already bought a new one after abusing his previous two.

Satoru sat up, wincing at the sting on his side.

He groaned, gruffly peeling that suit off his body. Thoughts of the day ahead warped his mind. He had spent all night traipsing rooftops, swinging through the streets in pursuit of a gang of sloppy bank robbers.

He usually had fun trailing and taking down thuggish rogues, picking them off and bringing them to justice ever so casually. He got to feel the rush of the midnight air as he swung from building to building, between the streets. Arms and legs easily stretching and freely moving without a care in the world.

He loves it.

Last night, he had run that stolen van off the road without much effort. Everything went swimmingly until he had foolishly been launched into a brick wall mid-chase.

That had caused him to lose a bit of coordination during the fight that ensued shortly after. After stringing them up with his webs, he had swung back home only to stop yet another mugger on the way.

Once he had finally returned the woman’s stolen purse and made sure she got home safely, he gave himself the same protocol.

He tries to rush out of the apartment as soon as possible. He had enough on his plate to worry about with school, he could hardly keep up with his nighttime activities.

No, not that. His work as a vigilante made it difficult to have even a moment to himself. Let alone the fact his internship at JJ Technologies started earlier this month as well. So yes, he has enough on his plate with no room to spare for the breakfast his conscience had suggested.

“Yo! Suguru!” Satoru calls. He is jolted out of his thoughts when he approaches his best friend right by the theology building.

“Oh, what’s up?” Suguru turned around. “You watch the game last night?”

“Wha—no,” Satoru shakes his head, pushing his glasses up. He sheepishly sighs, “You know I’ve been busy with the internship and with homework.”

“Oh right,” Suguru mumbles teasingly. “The internship? Speaking of, did you see the news? They’re saying the man who banged those guys up pretty good last night was the mysterious Spiderman.”

“Will you shut up?” Satoru gasps, almost slapping him.

Of course, Suguru knew. He found out in a freak accident only a week after Satoru had been bitten. The freak accident being Satoru forgot to lock his bedroom door while changing out of his costume and his best friend walking in.

“Relax. No one knows,” Suguru reassures, he takes a sip of his coffee. “Only a small population of the public are still choosing to be delusional.”

“Yeah, delusional enough to believe Spiderman doesn’t exist,” Satoru scoffs.

“No, delusional enough to believe he does,” Suguru corrects harshly. “If I didn’t walk in on you half naked with that suit on and saw how you shot out a web before you realized I was in the room, I would never have believed those photos I saw in the news either.”

“Spiderman is a household name now whether you like it or not,” Satoru self-righteously points at himself with his thumb. “You wouldn’t believe how big of a fan the ladies are.”

Suguru shakes his head as he eyes his student portal on his phone. “Fuck, I have a history quiz today.”

“Shit, me too,” Satoru grunts, shaking his head as he walks past yet another sorority bake sale on his way down the main streets of campus. “Wait—we’re in the same class.”

“Oh—yeah,” Suguru fumbles with his phone as he points at Satoru. “I think I might ask Nanami to let me cheat off him—Haiba won’t mind but let’s face it, he’s not the brightest—Wait, you never mentioned what exactly happened last night.”

“Toji Fushiguro’s on the run. There was a sighting of him last night and I went to track him down but no luck. Then there was a bank heist on West 7th, I wish I got to fucking sleep after. Being flung against a brick wall is not as fun as it sounds. Fuck—wait I have class!” Satoru interjects, darting off in the middle of the conversation, leaving Suguru with a look of disappointment on his face.

“I have the same class,” Suguru frowns.

Yaga has always been quite the authoritarian, he knows what to expect from one of his star pupils as he strolls into class with a lazy smile on his face, ten minutes late.

“How nice of you to join us, Satoru,” Yaga’s tone isn’t as sweet as his words. “I should count myself lucky you showed up at all today, no less right before we worked on our lab assignment.”

That hand you have your cheek resting on slides up to palm at your forehead, hoping to soothe the forthcoming headache once that boy settles into his seat.

“We’re switching lab partners today,” Yaga declares, pen in hand as he scribbles and crosses out names on his seating chart. “I know you must’ve been comfortable with your partners from last semester, but I’d like you to find your name on the board and sit accordingly. This partner is who you’ll be working with for the final project.”

Satoru was perfectly fine working with Shoko. Their scientific caliber was on par with one another and despite the fact they butted heads quite often, they somehow managed to do quite well on their labs.

His mind traps him in praying he doesn’t end up with Yuki that he almost doesn’t realize the fact you were his new partner. He whips his head to the right, seeing your brows raise as you glance back at him.

Seriously? Him?   

No one can relate to how brutal it is having Satoru Gojo of all people as your classmate in your organic chemistry class.

Yeah sure, give you an assignment of reporting the development and properties of organic photovoltaic cells for renewable energy applications or even deciphering the molar mass of your father’s whiskey collection, you could make sense of it.

You could never make sense of this kid, however.

Satoru Gojo.

The irritating kid you’ve been battling to beat out for the highest exam score since middle school. The kid that ran into class late and hardly seemed all that present but still landed a score almost as high as yours every time. The kid that sat at the back of class, dozing off during lab. The kid that spent a decent chunk of senior year playing Digimon on his phone and still antagonized you before every science test you had.

That kid you thought you wouldn’t have to worry about after high school but were proved severely wrong when you saw him on your campus your first semester. That kid you hoped you wouldn’t have to run into anywhere else but still did somehow where you had been interning.

If there was a chemical formula to understand why you couldn’t stand him, your list of grievances would have to be simplified to fit on one page.

You’re seriously contemplating on marching up to Yaga and demanding a switch in partners. Someone else. Anyone else.

Trying to change Yaga’s mind on anything though, was a feat greater than what any scientist could accomplish.

Heaving a sigh, you plop your books down on the table. There was this severity in your movements that wove seamlessly into propriety. He peeks over at your color-coordinated notes all lined out in neat handwriting.

Yeah, he’s been competing with you in school for years. It’s not like he meant to, he was just great at just about everything he did. It’s not his fault!

He knew you couldn’t stand him, and he enjoyed that for some reason. Getting under your skin with quick quips were designed to be much more fun because of that. Since he is on the clock every hour of the day, he needs to let out his stress somehow. Punching bad guys is not enough anymore.

“Look at your notes,” Satoru cheeses, flipping through your book. “All shiny and pretty. You know, if you put more effort in, you could look the same.”

You shove his arm, snatching your book back from him, “Shut up. Don’t make me mad. Words can’t explain how pissed I am already.”

“Aw, you know I’m kidding,” he grins mischievously. “You’re not that bad to look at.”

You press your lips together as you inhale heavily. Your eyes raise to look dead straight at the front of the class before you turn your head to face him.

He catches that fire in your gaze that he’s not even seen in the most vicious of criminals and mutants he’s gone up against.  

“I don’t get why Yaga didn’t call Suguru out for being late either,” Satoru frowns, facing forward.

“Because Suguru isn’t late every day,” you point. “You are. And half the time, you leave early. It baffles me how you still pass all your classes.”

“Is someone jealous?” Satoru smiles.

As you shake your head, you look down at your notes. You’ve known Satoru for many years, but he was always just a classmate. He was also always the classmate you would barely beat out to get the highest marks in science or any other class. The classmate that would get under your skin way too often.

There was something about him that made you pay close attention to him.

“Oh shit!” one of the students in class shouts out, eyes glued to his phone. Needless to say, he’s garnered the attention of the entire class. “There’s a robbery going on right now at the bank downtown! Six-gun men have all the customers and staff held hostage!”

This earns a series of nervous gasps and prayers from the students. The hair on the back of Satoru’s neck stands up and he’s still in his seat as his peers flock toward the lab table of the student watching the news live stream.

“Wonder when Spiderman’s going to show up,” one of his classmates ponder aloud.

“Nah, he can’t do shit. You think a clown in tights is going to take down a fucking group of men with guns?” another kid snarks, causing Satoru to all but roll his eyes as he stands up.

Ah, the everlasting and everchanging debate as to whether the wall crawling vigilante was a menace or a savior of society.

If he wasted his time worrying so much about what people thought about him, he’d never get a single thing done. He drowns out their discussion as he strides to the door with his mission clear in his mind: Save those hostages.

“Alright boys! Glad we wrapped this up!” Satoru, or should one say, Spiderman dusts off his hands ever so casually.

He crouches down, leveling with the leader of the gang who happened to be tied up thanks to Satoru’s expertise webbing. He breathes freely with the knowledge that the hostages have rushed out of the bank, straight into the arms of their worried loved ones outside and the police.

When a vial of green in the pocket of one of the tattooed thug’s glints in the light, Satoru reaches to pull it out. He squints through his mask at the bottle of green, “What do we have here?”

As expected, the thug spits out, “None of your fucking business, you bug.”

“Quiet, will you?” Satoru harshly smacks the man’s forehead.

“Robbing a bank on a busy day like this for me?” Satoru tuts, a menacing lilt in his joke. “You should feel lucky I haven’t strung you upside down in your underwear out on the street lamps. But I’ve got somewhere to be unfortunately, so have fun in jail!”

With that, Satoru extends his arms out and a thick web sprouts out in the direction of the tall buildings lining the streets. If it was any other day, any other time of day, he would’ve stuck around. Spewed out some more quippy remarks, had a bit more fun with the goons.

But alas, he must get back in time before class ends. He knew the twenty minutes he had vanished for were going to raise questions.

He was absolutely correct.

“Satoru, where the hell were you?” Yaga all but yells at the boy stumbling back in. “Class is over.”

The entire class has their attention steering over to the late boy. He knew what he had to say, the lie didn’t need to be ridiculous but he knew regardless, he would still sound utterly stupid. He did not particularly give a fuck though.

“Little boy’s room,” Satoru casually responds, not a speck of shame in his rather comical answer.

This has the entire class locked in a deadly silence. That is before they split into a fit of boisterous laughter. Satoru revels in the fact he’s defused the tension he suspected he may experience.

You narrow your eyes, eyeing Satoru as he trudges over to his seat, tugging his collar into place. You let your eyes fall to the tabletop, looking over your work.

Typical. He leaves for God knows what and you’re stuck doing his work. If this isn’t precedent enough to request a new partner, you don’t know what is.

He’s not said a single word to you yet . . . How odd. You expect him to do no less than tease the living hell out of you or ask if you missed him.

All that swarms his mind however is what the hell is in this vial?

“What the hell is in this vial?” Suguru murmurs quietly as he inspects the glass tube.

“Beats me,” Satoru replies, swiping the bottle off him. “I need to figure that out.”

“Don’t you think that maybe you should’ve handed it over to the police?” Suguru asks, the sound of fellow classmates typing away on their laptops and chattering away in the campus library buzzes in the background.

“Police won’t do shit,” Satoru bites back, rolling his eyes. “If law enforcement was capable of anything, don’t you think that there wouldn’t be a need for Spiderman?”

“What about Spiderman?” Haiba butts in unannounced.

Satoru nearly jumps five feet in the air at the sudden intrusion. His six eyes that worked in his favor as a sixth sense to alert him of danger have helped him tremendously in combat time and time again, but not so much with nosy classmates.

Quickly pocketing the substance, he looks at Haiba, “None of your business.”

“Are you kidding? I spent all afternoon looking for footage from today’s robbery—I got nothing,” Haiba whines, flailing his arms in the air.

“I heard it was pretty cool,” Satoru boasts pridefully, earning a well-deserved elbow to the gut from Suguru.

Haiba trots off to go bother Nanami before Suguru faces his best friend again. “Oh fuck. Y/n is coming this way. Good luck.”

The vigilante’s eyes widen when he recognizes your stern, no-nonsense face and stride. Everyone is well aware of what that means, your kind and lighthearted behavior is put on hold in favor of your stern approach to your academics.

He half expects you to create a scene in the library but he knows you better than that. You never openly got angry, the worst he’s seen you do is roll your eyes. It’s one of the reasons he pokes fun at you as much as possible, hoping to see how he can make you crack.

Yet, you never do. You hold notebooks and files close to your chest as you march to a halt three feet away from him. Indifferently, you pull out a packet and hold it out for him.

“Since your bladder has never-ending issues, I did your part of the lab today,” you chide like you have a myriad of other things on your mind.

“Shit—you did not have to do any of this,” Satoru knows he should be frowning, but he’s not. A little leer spreads on his face, eyes wide and glimmering through the lens of those glasses he absolutely had no more use for since the day he was bit by that spider.

“Don’t bail on me again. Then I won’t have to do it,” you purse your lips at him before you turn around.

He is left there with nothing else to do but embarrassingly watch you walk away, clutching his lab report in his hand.

“Hold on,” Satoru mumbles to Suguru as he watches you sift between the aisles of shelves.

 Before either of them know it, he’s making his way to the aisle you are in. He’s eyeing you up and down almost skeptically, eyes lingering far longer than they should.

“Can I help you?” you quiz quite impertinently, your right hand pulling out a heavy book from the biochemistry section.

“Why did you do my part?” Satoru tips his chin down, a crease forming between his silver brows.

“Because you . . . didn’t do it,” you slowly iterate, grasping the book with both your hands as you flip through the pages. 

“Well, duh, but why?” Satoru repeats. “You didn’t have to do it. I ran out of class and left it all on you—you shouldn’t have done it.”

You take a deep breath, slamming the book shut, “If you really think I did it for you, you really don’t deserve to be in the same class as me at all. I did it so I don’t have to rely on you to get the work done. I’d rather have the work done right than have it half-assed. And here I thought you were much more clever than that.”

“I’m not stupid,” he smirks. “Just confused about a lot of the things you do sometimes.”

“Yeah, because you don’t know me,” you say, sliding that book back into the open slot on the shelf. You look up, reaching for another book that is placed well above your head.

“I know you. I know you’re your father’s daughter,” Satoru’s statement is playfully delivered yet it strikes you like a bus. His fingers stroke the spine of the book you were reaching for, relishing the fact you couldn’t reach it. He looks down at you, tugging the book out and holding it in his big hands. “You might just be stricter than the captain himself.”

“Why are you talking like you know my father?” you glare, folding your arms.

“Seen his interviews on the news. He’s one tough cookie—but it only makes sense when you’re a cop, huh?” he has a lilt in his head.

“Why are you saying stupid things?” you question, narrowing your eyes at him. “I already have enough on my mind, I don’t need you badgering me with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, it’s my professional opinion as your partner,” Satoru holds the book out with a ridiculously charming smile.

“Lab partner,” you fix his statement, reaching for the book but he pulls it back out of your reach, stupid grin still on his face. “Don’t play games with me, I have to get to work now, and you have to get there too.”

You pry the book from his hands and stride off before he can annoy you further. Satoru’s head turns, following you march off. He’s not sure why he’s trapped in staring at you for so long.

“I’m guessing you plan on finding out on your own as to what’s in that bottle,” Suguru interjects in the middle of Satoru’s wandering mind, popping up in the aisle.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Satoru fishes in his pocket, hoping that the touch of his cool fingers on the glass will telepathically reveal its identity to him. “If I had the equipment to do it on my own . . . it would be so much fucking easier.”

Suguru gapes at him like he’s stupid, “Hello? You intern at the biggest scientific research facility in the city.”

Satoru’s brows raise and the corners of his mouth turn down, weighing the possible next route to his answer.

“Okay, you have to log the results in the system like this,” you instruct your team. “Then you move on to the next step. Trust me you don’t want to forget logging that data, it could entirely throw off the process.”

You’ve been interning at JJ Technologies since last summer which has done nothing short of drain you of any free time whatsoever. It’s only been several weeks since you were moved up to lead a fresh batch of young interns. Luckily, you haven’t had to deal with teaching them in the laboratory with the equipment, just basic information and note-taking thus far.

That unfortunately was only the first of four hours at the facility. The next three hours, you would be holed up in the lab, inspecting and experimenting with nanotechnology. As tiring as it is, it is just as rewarding.

Knowing the amount of good that can be done with this research and work was a brilliant means of motivation. Society has advanced already as it is—the world of medicine has benefited greatly—billions of lives have the chance to improve. How could anyone give up on that?

Thoughts of what homework assignments you have yet to submit reign your brain. Hours and hours of straining your mind to intake as much information and apply it all in the lab was making you want nothing more than to crawl under your covers and call it a week.

With a hefty breath, you take a well-deserved recess to the vending machine. Hoping that this little trip for a snack can hold a candle to the sleep you oh so desire.

Satoru knows his assigned place of work is four levels down. He also is aware that his group had been dismissed ten minutes ago and he should be swinging his merry way through the streets to scout for trouble.

He is also entirely aware that he should not be on the twenty-something floor that had a chance of having an empty lab right about now.

Swiping his boss’s ID card is far too easy, shooting an inconspicuous web at any cameras of interest is just as simple.

The hard part is deciphering what is in this damn vial. The lights are dim inside the particular lab he steps into. A breath of relief pushes out of his lungs as he pulls the small bottle from his pocket, circling the stations to get to the specific equipment he needs.

There’s a limited amount of liquid in the vial, so he knows he must handle this process with care and precision. The story would be different if he had another vial or two.

You watch almost lifelessly as a bar of candy and a canned coffee drop down, landing with a dull thud. Mindlessly, you reach through the bottom flap, hearing the faint hinge as you pull out your restitution for break-free work.

Closing and harshly forcing your eyes back open, you try to keep your mind alert as you march on back to the lab to clean up. When you open the door, you’re not expecting this boy to whip his head up at you like a deer in headlights.

“Gojo?” you furrow your brows, one hand still on the door and the other clutching your food.

Gojo is stunned into silence, a laughable silence. When he says nothing, you tip your head down, “What are you doing here?”

“I just had some work,” Satoru quickly lies. “My manager needed me to look at something. I know you’re pretty happy to see me—your face says it all.”

“Oh, does it? Aren’t you supposed to be on the 20th floor?” you quiz, left eye twitching.

In most situations, when Satoru’s backed into a corner, he can somehow flip his way out of there or even sweettalk whoever he needed to. But he can’t explain why he actually feels bad lying to you, it makes his head whirl. “Uh—yeah, but I had to use some of the equipment up here.”

Squinting skeptically, you near him slowly. As you do, Satoru can’t help but gulp. He’s not sure what it is he should focus on. The fact he needs to come up with a way to convince you to not report him? Or the fact you are only a couple inches to his left, looking over his shoulder? The fact you look so adorable in a lab coat?

“What is that?” you peer down at the vial, noticing he has already placed a drop of that substance down on a microscope slide.

“Not sure,” Satoru shrugs. “I haven’t got the faintest clue.”

You continue staring at the chemical concoction, you flick your gaze at him, “Mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it,” Satoru shuffles a couple inches over, giving you enough room to peer into the eyepiece of the microscope.

He can’t help but tautly swallow, hardly able to pay attention because of how sweet you smell. He has to stop himself from telling you just that but he can’t let it get to your head. As effortlessly as he spins webs, he only hopes he’s half as graceful when feeding you some half-assed answer as to just what this chemical was and that his manager most definitely would give him such a compound.

“Hmm,” you hum, slowly turning the dial on the side of the instrument to lift and then focus what was in the slide. “Figuring out what is it shouldn’t be too tricky. I just need to measure the resonance frequency by breaking the substance down a bit more. Then determining the chemical properties shouldn’t be too tricky.”

Satoru’s brows lift and the edge of his lips turn down, amused clearly. “Wow.”

“What?” you blink.

“I always forget how smart you are,” he says airily. When you shoot him a look that seems to be a hybrid of threatening and offense, his nose crinkles and his glasses shift accordingly on his face, “That came out very wrong. I just meant—”

“So this is why you broke into my lab?” you cut him off, still squinting down at the substance.

“I didn’t break in,” Satoru defends himself. “I just figured no one would notice.”

“Why don’t you check over the logic in that again,” you suggest, eyes glancing up at him. “It’s hard to believe you’re the guy who almost beat me out for valedictorian.”

“And why’s that?” Gojo tilts his head, leaning his elbows on the table. It leaves you eyeing him from head to toe as inconspicuously as possible. Sometimes you forget how tall he is. The fact he towers over you serves as a friendly reminder he’s not just any old geeky kid from school.

Before you can give him an answer, his phone buzzes. He shoots a glance down at it, his pretty features sinking. The program he had compiled with Suguru to tune into the police’s radio communications to pick up on any crime alerts had pinged with notifications on his phone. There was a robbery currently taking place at a jewelry store three streets away.

“Shit—my aunt needs me to pick her up from her cooking class,” Satoru quickly lies, blinking unsteadily as he faces you. “It’s kind of far and not safe for her to ride the train by herself. I have to go. Sorry for bothering you—”

“Wait—” you hold a hand up, earning a wide-eyed look from him. It’s kind of endearing how earnest he sounds. “How about you go, and I’ll keep looking at this for you? Once I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

“You don’t have to,” Satoru frowns, sliding his backpack on, his Spiderman suit nestled neatly inside.

“It’s no problem. You go—don’t keep your aunt waiting,” you beckon him to get a move on. “I’ll see you at school.”

There you go again, being so incontestably kind yet being so severe while doing so. It’s when you crack a hint of a smile to ease him that he actually does as you say. That must be the first he’s seen you sincerely look at him.

Satoru rushes out the door and you glance down at the vial again, trying to understand what exactly the contents of it were.

Satoru has no time to think about how badly he feels leaving you with such a task. He’s too busy webbing his backpack up high on an alleyway wall after he’s changed into his suit.

Before he knows it, he’s already in the air, swinging loosely through the streets of New York. He feels the wind rush at him like it wishes to capture him, keep him in the sky with the moon. But with how quick he’s moving, he feels invincible—like nothing can touch him.

Satoru’s fallen into the same routine every night. Despite the fact he never gets the recognition in his personal life, he would not give up being Spiderman for the world.

Citizens walking the streets all gasp and point when they see the great Spiderman shoot past them like a comet. His white and blue suit makes him look like he was meant to be a part of a winter night sky, the sapphire blue spider emblem in the center of his chest casting a beautiful contrast in the ensemble.

He pays no mind as the silver meshy strings of his webs cling to buildings, aiding him in passing through the streets with ease. He also doesn’t stop himself from enjoying the occasional flips to impress the children out with their families and friends. Satoru insists it’s entirely necessary.

Once he spots the store mentioned on the police comms, he zips around the corner. Landing right above the entrance to the small jewelry shop, he pushes it open rather discreetly. It’s almost comical the way the goons inside haven’t the slightest clue that the Spiderman was crawling into the shop right above their very heads.

Thanks to Satoru’s wall crawling abilities, he’s able to cling to walls and ceilings with ease and without so much as breaking a sweat. So when he casually gawks down at the masked thieves, he tilts his head in amusement at how panicked the men look shouting orders to one another.

“Quick! Before Spiderman gets here!” one spits, stripping a diamond chain straight from the display case. When his friend breaks the glass case all together, he screams, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“The Spider’s not gonna come. He’s too chicken,” the other responds. “I’d like to see him try.”

“Cute,” Satoru chuckles above them.

This causes all four to whip their heads up at the masked vigilante. Satoru is only able to see their eyes through the cutouts but he can tell by the way their pupils dilate that they are downright terrified.

In the papers and in the news, Satoru is privy to the fact the general public is split on whether they see a need in all the flips and tricks that come along with Spiderman.

Satoru couldn’t care less though, he is wholeheartedly prepared to stand trial to attest to the fact that the flair is entirely necessary. He displays the testimony by the very way he does a backflip and lands with both feet and a palm planted to the ground.

“Y’know I left a really pretty girl all alone just so I could stop you?” Satoru teases lightly, straightening up and flexing his arms by crossing one over the other. “But hey, if that’s what you think, we can make this a lot more fun.”

One of the men reached for his gun, pulling it out and pointing it at Satoru. All he huffs out is a displeased and underwhelmed breath as he shoots out a web, yanking the gun back.

“Come on. Show a bit more effort. You’re killing me,” Satoru drawls like a six-year-old. His six-eyes alert him of an impending punch hurtling his way from his left, making him duck and grab the very goon’s fist in the process. “Missed me!”

The goon let out a threatening growl as he swung again, only to miss Satoru. . . over and over again. Satoru laughs childishly as he doges and parries off swings one after the other. Two of the others manage to finally point their guns at the arachnid hero, clicking the safeties with a string of snaps that causes the shop owner to gasp and cower further into the corner he was in.

Satoru rolls his eyes, delivering an unruly kick to one of the men that dominos into him clashing into his friend, knocking them both to the ground.

The hero giggles at the pathetic exhibition before him. He hardly bats an eye when one of the men throws something that resembles a marble to the ground. A cloud of smoke emits from the impact of the small pellet on the shiny limestone floor.

Satoru’s eyes widen behind his white and black mask. He moves to leap back but inadvertently breathes in far more than he intends to.

His head spins, or maybe it’s the room that is spinning, he can’t tell. All he knows is that his head is suddenly throbbing in pain, every nerve ending feels like it’s thrumming to burst within his very skull. Like they are conspiring against him and hoping to flee the purgatory of his mind.

His ears tune in and out like his head has been dunked underwater. Vision beginning to blur, he tries his best to plant his feet firm on the ground but to no avail. He’s hit with a great wave of despondency when he envisions his uncle’s dead body before him.

That and flashes of him in a beautiful house overlooking a balmy little coastal town, the sound of his laughter blends in with a girl’s and he cannot distinguish whose.

He hardly gets the chance to decipher the strange blend of images when he is suddenly hit in the back of the head with a crowbar.

Once again, the poor boy’s head rings and his head snaps down from the impact of the weapon to his skull. He lets out a pained groan, doing his best to gather himself and seize control of his sense again.

His vision begins to clear and all of a sudden, his six eyes begin to tingle and flash in his mind. INCOMING.

He listens to his instincts and ducks straight away, successfully dodging another deadly swing of that damned crowbar.

“Alright, party’s over,” Satoru scowls under his mask and flips back, snaking a well-aimed and well-timed web sticking to the man and tugging him back.

He punches him quite harshly in the face that it all but knocks him out. Satoru quickly lunges for the two goons in the midst of aiming their guns at him. The thieves don’t even process how quickly they are disarmed because Spiderman has already smashed their heads together.

They drop to the ground, leaving one more thug, quivering in terror. He points his gun at Satoru with a shaky hand, only to find that weapon of his leaving his very hands when Satoru tugs it at towards himself with the help of his webs.

“Last one, huh?” Satoru smugly says. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

The thug fumes as he charges at the vigilante, “I’ll fucking kill you. If not me, then the others!”

He throws a fist at Satoru, but he whips his head to the side, “Others?”

He then lands a punch of his own at the criminal before successfully dodging yet another hit. As Satoru’s third punch causes the thief to lose balance, he’s already in the middle of stringing the man upside down from the ceiling.

“Who are your friends—” Satoru stares at the tangled man, readying his fist to intimidate the thug. “And I advise you talk.”

“I’m not saying shit!” The thug spits, trying to wriggle free.

“You’ll be here for god knows how long. All that blood rushing to your brain, oof, must hurt a little.” Satoru threatens playfully. “And it’ll hurt like hell when I actually beat you to a pulp!”

“Shit! Okay! Okay!” the thief cries, panic-stricken sweat dripping down his forehead into his hairline. “I—I work for a guy named Jogo! He’s this freaky looking guy that wears this mask on his face—I’ve never seen him but he’s big in the group, works with some other guy—I don’t know his name.”

“Jogo,” Satoru mumbles wracking his brain to see if he has had a run in with him. “What is he up to?”

“I’ve got no clue! I swear!” the man attests frightenedly. “All I know is that they needed us to look for a specific relic—You see my partner you knocked out right there? He’s got a picture in his back pocket. Jogo sent a bunch of us on heists in banks and jewelry stores to see if we can find it but there’s no sign of it anywhere.”

Satoru steps back and grabs the photo from the pocket of the man the other thief had indicated. He pulls back the photo, glossing over it briefly.

It was a photograph of a box. Made of some sort of coppery-silver metal with engraved eyes on the sides of it. The irises though, were made of jewels—rubies.

“Going through a whole lot for this freaky looking thing,” Satoru waves the photo with a dexterous flip of his fingers. “Why are they going through all that trouble for this? And what’s in it for you?”

“Wish I knew why those guys want that thing,” the man shakes his head, eyes still wide. “They told us they’d give each of us a cut in all that we returned from the heists—Jogo is not someone to be messed with—he’d track us down and kill us if we went back on our deal.”

“Tch. You’re scared of the wrong people,” Satoru tuts, stowing away the photo for safekeeping. “Tell me what that thing was that your friend threw on the ground. That little ball.”

“That? I have no idea. The boss just gave my partner a few—I think that was the last one. He didn’t tell us what it was or what it did,” the felon explains.

Satoru feels his own fingers twitching in irritation, “Think again. Remember what it was and I’ll go easy on you.”

The criminal’s eyes widen, “I don’t know anything! I swear! Please don’t hurt me!”

“Goodnight,” Satoru grunts out, ramming his elbow into the man’s nose, putting him to sleep.

It’s a matter of seconds before Satoru is watching from a few rooftops over as the cops arrive on scene. The flashing blue and red lights flashing into the back of his very skull. He’s running through what the thug he interrogated said, trying to make sense of it.

Speaking of making sense, you’re lugging yourself out of the lab after finally making sense of just what that vial Satoru had given you contains.

The worry on your face embeds itself into your features as you stash the chemical in your bag. Why would his manager hand this to him?

You glance over your phone, seeing your father calling you as you’re walking towards the train platform. Taking a beat to answer, you speak into the receiver, “Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, sweetheart, are you on your way back? It’s getting late,” your dad says, chatter in the back cause your ears to perk. Radios and police codes being tossed around in dialogue.

“Yeah, I’m waiting for the train,” you reply, looking up and down the tracks. “Are you still working?”

“Yeah, captain duties, dear,” your father responds calmly, yet you can hear the annoyed strain in his voice. “That spider’s strung up a few men in a jewelry store downtown. Taking care of what’s left of this place.”

“Oh—you saw Spiderman?” you ask, watching the train stop in front of you, bracing yourself as the lashes of wind whipped at you full speed.

“No, he’s left his webs all over the place,” your dad grunts dishearteningly. “Damage control is going to have lots of fun with that . . . Mom’s going to be pretty mad at us tonight for missing dinner, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” you nod like it’s obvious, sitting down and making eye contact with a gruff pair of men before quickly averting your gaze. “Maybe you should bring her flowers. She always likes that.”

“Yeah, maybe I will,” your father says. “Alright, honey, get home safe. I’ll see you in a bit.”

You think over what he says. Your father always mentions the elusive Spiderman. How none of his men have gotten even close to cracking the case on who the wallcrawler is. How Spiderman is somehow everywhere and takes care of crimes of all scales.

How could a man find the time to even do all that?

The desire to study a man like him plagues your mind far much more than you would like to admit. Who would pass up such an opportunity?

But more of what’s spinning in your mind like a deadly train is why Gojo has a vial like this?

Speaking of trains, when yours comes to a stop, you stand up to get off. It’s unfortunate that the subway stop couldn’t be closer to the next one you are supposed to take.

As you drag on down the street, you mull over what you plan to say to your dad when you try convincing him to simply leave you be once you move out because your safety is put more at risk from the distant and late commutes after classes and your internship.

There’s something in your gut telling you to rush, like you’re being chased or watched at the very least.

You toss a look over your shoulder, seeing those two rugged men about fifteen feet behind you. It’s well past dark and your heart hammers louder against your ribcage, a prisoner demanding release.

Facing forward again, you try to hurry as fast as you can but you feel helpless when you enter a scarcely populated street.

Fuck.

That’s when you break into a full speed run. You hear the footsteps behind you pick up. Your hand slips into your bag’s pocket to grab your mace or taser, but when your fingers only skim the glass of that substance Satoru gave you, you know you’re doomed.

You glance back again, thundering heartbeat blaring just as loud as your footsteps against rough pavement.

“Hey, pretty!” one of the leering men shout. They are far too close to you now. “We just want to have some fun!”

You reach for your phone to send an SOS message to your dad—but that’s exactly the moment the man grabs your arm. You scream in horror, trying to keep going but the other one grabs you too.

Against your will, they drag you into the deserted alleyway nearby. You’re still wriggling in their hold, hoping to free yourself. Thrashing, kicking, screaming, you try it all.

“Let go of me!” you scream. “My dad’s a cop and he’s on his way right now!”

“Shut up,” his friend spits. “You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not,” you grit your teeth. “Captain L/n—badge number 103—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” the first man says. “You look better when you’re not talking. We gotta do something about that.”

Your eyes widen, and you try pushing, screaming as loud as your lungs can take. The elbow you throw against the jaw of one of the men seem to have done some damage. His head whips to the side but surprisingly his body shoots back about five feet, striking against the brick wall.

Your big eyes follow the man, seeing that wasn’t your doing at all. Of course, it wasn’t. How could a girl like you simply cause a man to fly across an alley and slam against a wall?

That’s when he appears like a fallen angel. In black and white, a glowing blue in the core of his chest, a symbol of hope.

Spiderman.

He’s against the wall the man had flown into, but you have to crane your neck a fair amount to look up at where he’s clinging to. You can hardly blink at the fact he’s against the brick wall with no reinforcements whatsoever, just his fingers and soles of his feet keeping him afloat, defying physics, logic, and gravity.

“You gotta be at least a little attractive to hit on a girl like that,” Spiderman tilts his head, voice light yet husky, young.

“Fuck,” the man closest to you now was backing away. ��I didn’t do nothing! I’m—I’m sorry—”

“Ugh, shut up,” the vigilante drawls, dragging out his syllables childishly.

He drops down with the most impressive of flips you haven’t even seen gold medalist gymnasts do. After he effortlessly sticks his landing, he wastes absolutely no time in lunging at your assailant.

He punches him square in the side of the jaw, the pop loud enough that you gasp, stepping back.

The man lets out a frightened cry, and right when you almost feel bad, you’re reminded of how you screamed a few moments prior. Yeah, this terror is well deserved.

Spiderman delivers a seamless kick to the side of his opponent’s abdomen. The entrancement you’re trapped in doesn’t let you avert your eyes at all. His movements are like water, like a choreographed dance even Broadway level performers can never imitate.

A scientific miracle. Something inhuman. Someone untouchable.

The man falls to the ground after taking a quite deadly strike to the face. Your eyes go from the attacker on the ground to his attacker.

The superhero stands there, his back to you, silhouetted by the dingy light from the end of the alley. He turns his head to the right, and you’re guessing he sees you from his peripheral because he’s still not looking directly at you.

You want to watch him for much longer, the superhuman that saved you. The superhuman in a well fitted suit, defining every inch of his body—his muscles, his perfect height.

“You okay, miss?” Spiderman asks, turning to you.

“Y-yeah,” you rasp. “Is—he . . .”

“Dead?” he finishes, snickering. “No. Just sleeping peacefully till the cops get here. Which should be in about five minutes.”

You nod, humming in the little frozen state of yourself. Behind the mask, Satoru wants to do a million things. Ask you a million things. But he knows he needs to keep up the persona of the wall-crawler he his.

“You don’t want to get caught in the lengthy questioning the police are going to do, right?” Spiderman (Satoru) crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

“Not really, no,” you hardly move at all as you speak.

“See? That’s why I like my way of business. Less paperwork,” the web slinger jokes. “I can get you where you need to be in a matter of minutes. Tell me where you were headed.”

You gulp, “Home. But what do you mean? I don’t think you have a car—wait a second.” That’s when the reality of the situation hits you. “You’re real?”

Satoru chuckles, “We’ve been talking for almost a minute now, lady.”

“I know, but,” you’re looking him up and down. “I thought those news reports were based on just pranks. Seriously—no one has seen much of you—I thought these criminals were just leaving webs everywhere as a sign of loyalty to their gangs.”

This gets the man to laugh again, his head is facing down, and he shakes his head. You’re staring again, it’s hard not to.

“Alright, miss,” Satoru looks at you, making sure he doesn’t accidently slip up and call you by your name. “Where were you headed? Home?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching him push himself off the wall and hold a hand out to you. You glance down at his hand, then up at his face. His mask is covered in synthetic fibers stitched to imitate webs.

“I know you’re shaken up by those guys and what just happened but please trust me,” he sounds inexplicably genuine, unaccountably sincere. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Your eyes soften, so does the rest of you as you place your hand in his. There’s a level of trust you don’t understand the strength of when you do so. It’s borderline undermined when he tugs you toward him quickly, eliciting a gasp from you.

“You might want to hold on tight,” Spiderman suggests, snugly sliding his arm around your waist, pressing you against him.

“What are you—,” you don’t have the opportunity to finish your question when you find that your feet have left the ground.

You grasp on tighter to him, heeding his suggestion without so much as a second thought. You look down, feeling the wind whipping in your hair. The sight below you is enough to draw a yelp. Well, anyone that is being swung through the streets of New York would. It’s only natural.

“Oh my god!” you scream when you feel yourself hurtling towards the ground.

He shoots another web in the nick of time before you hit the concrete, and you’re in the air again. You bury your face in his neck, clamping your eyes shut. Satoru holds you close, tightening his grip on you. This feels nice.

A part of him doesn’t want this little swinging spree to end. Maybe it doesn’t have to.

“Sorry. No seatbelts,” Satoru laughs. “Should’ve mentioned that!”

“You think?” you quiz, half gasping with the rush of the wind. “Wait! Where are you even taking me? I didn’t tell you where I live!”

“Just trust me!” he yells back.

You open your eyes, looking over his shoulder at the city. The lights don’t blur like you expect them to. You feel like you’re flying, like the moon was waiting for you to join with the stars.

Cars seem smaller suddenly. People look smaller. New York, though, looks just as vast as it always has been.

Once the initial fear shakes out of you, you stare at the city, “Woah.”

You turn to look at him—at Spiderman. He’s still focused on swinging you through the city with one arm. Studying his mask, you can see the fibers of fabric, polyester or something similar. There can’t be many people that can say they’ve seen Spiderman, let alone been this close to him.

You’re amazed, in awe of the impossible. Peace consumes you as you continue to gaze at the wonderous city you love.

Another swoop over rooftops and you feel him lowering towards one. You hold on again, hoping the landing isn’t so rough. Luckily, it isn’t.

You look around, realizing you aren’t on just any rooftop. You’re one of the rooftops of the building you live in.

“How’d you know I live here?” you quiz, brows furrowed and jaw slack.

Satoru has a bit of an oh fuck moment. Words almost fail him but he’s easy to recuperate.

“Well, your dad lives here, doesn’t he?” he points at the ground. “The captain?”

Your mouth that was agape slowly closes and your eyes drift to the edge of the building, “Oh. You know who I am.”

“I know who your dad is,” the man replies. “Seen him a bunch of times. So I’ve seen your face around the main precinct a lot and on the news.”

“You have?” you cock a brow.

“Yeah—hey, don’t worry about those guys. Just try not to be alone at night,” he advises, gesturing with his hands. “Guys see a pretty girl and don’t know how to act a lot of the time.”

You can’t help the slight brow raise when you realize he called you pretty. Satoru pays it no mind however as he scratches the back of his neck.

“Where were you coming from anyway?” he asks, pretending not to know.

“JJ Tech headquarters,” you answer, licking your lips discreetly to tame yourself from gawking at his lean yet muscular figure. Eyes lingering far too long on how the skintight suit fit him, accentuating everything.

Satoru catches this, smirking to himself, “JJ Tech, huh? You must be pretty smart.”

“Pretty smart would be an understatement,” you say. “I wasn’t even supposed to be there this late anyway. I should’ve been home two hours ago.”

Satoru’s ears perk up, he takes this as his opportunity to pry, “How come you stayed longer?”

“Just this guy—he ran in and asked me to help him with an assignment,” you grumble, rolling your eyes.

“Just a guy? He your friend or something?” he asks, leaning his back against the wall to the stairs.

“Or something,” you mumble.

“Oh?” Satoru pipes. This is the perfect moment to see what you think about him. To even flirt with you without any repercussions. “Does that mean he’s your boyfriend?”

“What?” you squeak, voice all high pitched. “God, no. No. He’s just a classmate. He pisses me off most the time—I can hardly stand him at all.”

Satoru scowls beneath his mask, not what I was hoping for.

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact you exist,” disbelief clings to your tone. “You know you’re a scientific marvel, right? Scientists would kill to study you.”

He laughs, it’s a pretty laugh, one that feels hauntingly familiar, “You want to cut me open or something?”

“Oh, I’m not qualified enough to do something like that,” you wave your hands. “Who’s to say I can’t study your body in other ways?”

Satoru can’t help but smile, he sees that glimmer in your eye and you sound so innocent despite how inviting you phrased that. You don’t even realize it, but he smiles wider.

“You’re funny,” he laughs, shaking his head.

There’s a bunch of things on your bucket list, a lot of things you aren’t sure you’ll get to even accomplish. One of them being making thee Spiderman laugh was definitely not one of them.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, pulling him from his little fit of amusement. “I thought I was . . . I thought they were going to get away with what they wanted to do.”

Satoru raises his head again, straightening up. It dawns on him that he’s responsible for you being out on that street this late. That if he had hurried up, he could’ve gotten back in time like he planned. He just feels lucky that he made it in time.

He made it just in time, and he’s thankful for that. But he truly hates the fact you almost got seriously hurt because of him. He’s at fault and he knows this will haunt you for a long time.

“Don’t thank me. It’s nothing any normal human being wouldn’t do,” Spiderman tells you, walking over to the edge of the building. “Just stay safe. And know you can depend on your friendly neighborhood Spiderman anytime.”

And with that, he dives off the side of the building. You suck in a harsh breath, rushing and leaning over the elevated stone along the perimeter. Looking down, you find that you have to follow the black and white blur swing up again.

You smile breathlessly, watching the amazing Spiderman soaring off.

“Suguru, it was all my fault,” Satoru paces his apartment . . . ceiling?

 He’s walking in circles upside down, feet sticking to the ceiling like it isn’t scientifically impossible. His mask off but his suit remains on.

“If I hadn’t left her there for so long working on that freaking solution, she wouldn’t have left so late. If I was even a second off, I don’t even know what could’ve happened,” Satoru’s white locks are swaying as he walks. Although he defies gravity, his hair doesn’t.

“You saved her though, that’s all that matters,” Suguru assured, stuffing the chopsticks with a mouthful of noodles in his mouth. “But how did she not recognize you? There’s no way you talked to her.”

“I did,” Satoru drops to the ground. He makes his way over to where Suguru sits on the couch, picking up a box of takeout. “Maybe she’s not as smart as she thinks she is.”

“Please,” Suguru eyes Satoru, handing him a pair of chopsticks. “Don’t underestimate that girl, she’s smarter than half the tri-state.”

“Sure, she’s cute and happens to be smart,” Satoru shrugs. “She’s just a girl though, not a threat.”

“Why did you bring up her being cute?” Suguru narrows his eyes, lowering his food. “That had nothing to do with the conversation.”

“What?” Satoru mutters, chewing on his noodles. “She’s beautiful—there’s no denying that.”

“Beautiful?” Suguru laughs.

“What?”

“You just took it one step further,” Suguru teases, laughing again. “You have a crush on her!”

“What? No, I don’t!” Satoru snaps.

“Now it all makes sense,” Suguru has a wide grin. “Teasing her nonstop, annoying her to get her to yell at you. Wow, you can just ask her out, y’know.”

“Okay, you’re on drugs,” Satoru squints at his best friend.

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru dismissively says. “So did you get that vial back from her?”

“Obviously not, I’m not supposed to know about that as Spiderman. Only Satoru Gojo knows that,” Satoru states, pointedly gesturing with his utensils. “I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

“Hm, what are you going to do now though?” Suguru asks. “I mean about this Jogo guy that thug told you about.”

“I’m not sure,” Satoru mumbles. “I’ll have to look into that.”

“Shoko, you know I wouldn’t make up something like that.”

“I know! That’s not what I said, it just sounds insane. Like, Spiderman? The Spiderman?”

You stare at her flatly and Utahime rubs your shoulders, “That sounds terrifying. Did you tell your dad?”

“What? Are you kidding? No,” you quickly spit. “If I tell my dad that he’s going to station two cops to follow me twenty-four seven. I can’t have that.”

“Y/n, that could’ve ended very badly,” Shoko frowns dejectedly. “What if Spiderman didn’t show up?”

“But he did,” you say. “If he didn’t, I’d be dead, and all my stupid little worries would be gone. But you don’t understand—that man . . . wow.”

Shoko and Utahime pause to look at one another, the former quizzing, “You—you don’t have a crush on Spiderman, do you?”

“Not a crush, no,” you chuckle, sipping your coffee before you look down at Shoko from where you’re sitting on the picnic table. “Fascination, yes, I have that. But to be honest, he was incredible to look at—his body was . . . ugh, I don’t have anything appropriate to say.”

“Now, this is how I know you need to get laid,” Shoko chuckles. “Having a crush on a spandex wearing spider is insanity.”

“Is it?” you look at where she sits on the bench. “You experience what I did, and I’d love to hear your opinion.”

Shoko frowns at you, then at Utahime. That’s when the latter says to you, “Wait, didn’t you need to talk to Gojo?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, sparing a cautious glance to your bag containing that mix. “Got to go over that stupid project before class. Would it kill him to be on time? He’s always late.”

There’s no need to tell your friends what the fuck Satoru had given you to configure on your own. Not until you at least talk to him and get the full story. You have enough on your mind as it is, having Shoko and Utahime’s thoughts thrown into the mix would only rattle and confuse you further. It doesn’t help that one of them grew up with Satoru and knows his aunt and the other loathes him almost more than you do.

“I’m going to grab a croissant before class,” Shoko rubs her stomach. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

You hop off the bench and head on down towards where your Orgo class is. There’s still about twenty minutes left till class and Shoko falls behind to grab her baked good.  

Those memories of last night carry you where you need to be. You strut along the path with a purpose, your hair is effortlessly styled, makeup barely there, yet it somehow masks just how disheveled you truly feel.

“Gojo!” you call as you spot him by the bottom of the steps in one of the University’s vast courtyards, he just so happens to be in the midst of discussing something Digimon related with Haiba.

Haiba and Suguru’s eyes widen as they realize it’s you storming towards Gojo and not just any other girl.

Satoru flicks his gaze over as you walk over, stopping in front of him. He’s not sure what to say, he knows he should probably address the task he stupidly left for you to do but he hardly strings a solid greeting together without sounding stupid, “Hey.”

“Can I talk to you—in private?” you ask, your face gave away an austere look, like you were about to scold a child.

How can he say no?

He nods, standing up and following you down the side of the building. The two of you are supposed to be heading down to class that happens to be the other way but he doesn’t even question you when he’s whisked onto the school grounds.

His mind fumbles through the events of last night. He had two conversations with you. One as your savior and one as the guy you got stuck with for science class. He’s racking his brain enough to decide how to behave although the answer should be obvious.

The boy follows you behind the bleachers, looking around with an incredulous quirk in his brow when you step into the dark underside of them.

“Is everything okay?” Satoru blinks as you stop.

“Gojo.” You sternly face him, not saying anything else.

“That’s my name, yeah,” he sassily retorts. “Doesn’t answer my question though.”

“Don’t test me,” you hold up your index finger threateningly.

Cute, he thinks.

“Where did you get this?” you hold up the small vial. “And the truth this time.”

Satoru’s eyes lock onto the green liquid, unsure what lie he should curate this time. He could simply insist on the same lie as before, convince you that you were overthinking. Or he could tell you the truth, ultimately putting your life and his secret in danger, but hey, it’ll save him from looking entirely idiotic.

“I told you, my manager,” he states, reaching out to take it.

You pull it back, further from his reach and he wants to laugh at how easy it would be to take it from your hands in the blink of an eye.

“How stupid do you think I am?” you quiz.

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all,” he says, a smile goes with that shake of his head, his hair falling over his bespectacled blue eyes. “Just a little scary.”

“Listen, I know your manager didn’t give you this because he wouldn’t give you this.” You pointedly flash the vial in his face. “Do you realize what’s in here?”

“Wait,” Satoru’s smile fades. “You’re telling me you actually found out what’s in it?”

You nod haphazardly, more confused than skeptical, “You don’t know?”

“No—I don’t, what is it?” he asks, nearing you too closely without meaning to.

You lower your hand, “It’s a highly concentrated blend of hallucinogens and anesthetics. One sip could send a man into cardiac arrest—or worse, kill him.”

Your eyes are on his, but his eyes aren’t on yours. His are on the bottle of chartreuse in between your fingers.

“Satoru,” you murmur quietly, lowering the bottle into his indecisive palm, his fingers edging closer to yours but pulling back ever so gently before they attempt to muster the courage once more. You glance down at his long pale fingers, his skin glows sweeter than the moon itself.

Your gaze dips to your skin grazing his as you place the bottle into his hand. You let your hand linger against his, not sure why you don’t think of retracting.

Why are you just realizing how pretty he is?

The rims of his glasses glint as he looks at your face, studying your features like he’ll never get the chance to ever again. You blink yourself into snapping out of it, pulling your arm back and swallowing dryly.

“Sorry about the trouble,” Satoru quietly says, stowing away the vial.

“It’s okay,” you reply, voice rasping. While his eyes are focused on tucking the bottle safely, you say, “I don’t know what it is you’re hiding—I won’t ask, but please be careful.”

Satoru can’t help the grin he cracks, “I’m tougher than I look.”

And when he walks away, there’s a strange feeling that stirs in your gut. A feeling that tells you he may be right.

You aren’t sure why you’re still thinking about why he had that chemical in the first place. Did he make it himself? Did he buy it off someone? What was it intended for?

The rest of your organic chemistry class, you’re left there wondering what that boy is up to. You’re left wondering why he is missing class again today after you just saw him. And you’re left wondering whether Satoru thanks Yaga for never marking him late or absent at all. Call it favoritism, you suppose.

He thanks any deity that he can think of when he arrives on time to JJ Technologies before his manager questions him.

He finds some time to slip away, sneak up to your floor while you’re instructing your latest interns. He smiles, watching you scribble something down on your clipboard while you walk.

“Okay, this right here is just a sketch of one of our current studies,” you point at a holographic, digitized image that appears above a table. “This is a paradigm for a new discovery of nanoparticles. They’re commonly used to reduce the number of catalytic materials within chemical reactions. There are two fields within certain industries that they are applied to. Can anyone tell me what they are?”

The students all flip restlessly through their notepads, struggling to look for the answer to your question.

Satoru can’t hide the snicker he lets out. Half the student look back at him and you peer through the batch of preppy kids to see him.

“Petroleum refining and automotive catalytic converters,” Satoru replies, still smirking complacently.

You have a bit of a curl to your lips, eyes locked on his as you say, “Yes. That’s correct.”

Seeing him appear within your mix of pupils almost throws you off, but you know you have a certain image before the students so you keep yourself composed. You quickly instruct the students to write the answer down and head to their stations with their teams.

When the interns disperse, you cross your arms, face to face with Gojo.

“What do you want?” you ask, a sickly-sweet smile on your face.

“Oof, would it kill you to talk nice to me?” Satoru acts like a wounded soldier, palm across his abdomen.

“I feel like it might, so I’d rather not take the risk,” you say pointedly.

“Hm, right,” Satoru scoffs, he looks down. “You’re going to be alone now in the lab, right?”

“No, I’ll be in the lab but not alone,” you say. “My colleagues are going to be in there with me. You need something?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something,” his brows tense.

An odd sensation stirs in your stomach, “Ask me what?”

It’s been a while since either of you actually began interacting with one another somewhat civilly. You don’t know what it is that will come out of his mouth but you’re suddenly hopeful.

He grabs your hand, leading you off to the side, causing you to jerk your head around in case anyone’s looking.

Once you are beneath the mosaic mural of DNA helixes on one wall, Satoru stops, letting go of you. You try not to let the idea of his hand staying in yours distract you from what’s to come.

He tries not to focus on how soft your hand is, and once again how the fragrance of your perfume feels like candy on a summer day.

“You didn’t tell anyone about that bottle, did you?” he whispers, eyes darting between yours and the rest of the busy facility.

“No,” you shake your head. “Of course, not. I had a feeling you wanted to keep it private.”

Satoru looks at you, his smile reaching his ears, “Aw, how sweet. You care about me.”

You smack the back of his hand, causing him to hold it close to him possessively and rub it gently from the very slight sting of your slap.

“Shut up,” you snap, catching the way his blue eyes gleam behind his glasses. “Is that all?”

“No,” he states, straightening up and switching his tone from light and playful to serious. “You said it was deadly to take a single sip. That the properties within it were so overly saturated it could do serious damage. But let’s say . . . you needed to use it in combat . . . could you?”

The nature of his question startles you, “Combat? Like if soldiers were fighting?”

“Yeah, sure, like that.”

You’re blinking heavily, looking towards the place where the wall meets the floor, “Well, I suppose it could be used in a vaporous form. Like gas or something. That could do enough damage too.”

“Ugh,” Satoru closes his eyes and pinches his nose. “I was afraid of that.”

“What is it?” you peer up at him through your lashes. “You’re hiding something.”

“No—I’m not,” Satoru groans. He notices the suspicion on your face, “You got time for a snack in the cafeteria?”

Flaring your eyes over his, you glance discreetly at the time, “Fine.”

You begin to walk away.

“That was a yes or no question! Not a secret third response,” he trails behind.

“You got your answer, didn’t you?” you gesture to yourself.

“Yeah, but you seem entirely unenthusiastic about it,” Satoru grumbles. “A little energy may do you good.”

You hit the elevator button, crossing your arms, “I’m not here to appease you.”

“Appease me? Oh, god,” he lets out a baffled scoff.

“What?” you furrow your brows. “Poor choice of words?”

“Not exactly,” Satoru replies, loosely shifting to get into the elevator. “It might be nicer, I guess, to know if you actually wanted to get a snack with me and not as if I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

You roll your eyes, “You brought up a snack and I happen to be hungry. Where does gunpoint come in the mix? You really want me to do cheer like you came to my rescue?”

He almost laughs from the irony but he knows not to. He knows just as well that things could have gone extremely wrong the other night if he had not gone about everything carefully. There’s another sort of irony to him, a different form of saving.

“Mhm, but you like coming to my rescue pretty often,” he responds, a lopsided smile on his lips as he leans against the wall with folded arms.

You squint at him, the word rescue coming out of his mouth reminding you strangely of the danger you were in right in that alleyway.

“What does that mean?” you say with tightening eyes.

“You did my part of the lab report to save my ass, you helped me with that liquid, you kept that secret for me,” Satoru breaks eye contact, looking at the ground. “And that time in freshman year of high school.”

His final reminder steers your heart to a slow pace, your shoulders untense. You remember that event all too well.

“I’m a decent human being,” you explain as if it’s a scientifically proven, immutable fact. “It’s less about enjoying something but more of the fact I would be miserable and angry with myself if I didn’t help someone that needed it.”

Satoru lifts his head to level with you, his eyes are wide in a blank stare. That is right before he suddenly blurts a short chuckle. “Spoken like a true hero.”

Your eyes flit upwards as the doors to the elevator open. He leads you out into the hall, his strides are much longer than yours.

“Wait up! I can’t walk that fast!” you snap breathlessly.

His gaze flicks over to you, his eyes close behind his lens, laughing again. Bustling closely to him, you quiz, “Okay, well you still have a lot of explaining to do. Like where you got that green thing from.”

Satoru stops by the line of sandwiches. His head turns to face you, “Don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not,” you’re quick to counter. He throws his head back as you grab a saran wrapped sandwich from the stall and face it at him strictly, “You’re not normal. That’s what I’m realizing.”

Satoru grabs a sandwich and a sugary soda too and he’s about to follow you as you walk off to a table but is interrupted when the employee behind the register curtly clears his throat. A nonverbal cue to pay for you both.

Satoru lets out a throaty groan, fishing deep in his pockets for a crisp ten dollar note. He rounds the table to the other side, sitting down with you.

“You’re having all these revelations pretty late into our lives, aren’t you?” Satoru picks up the conversation as if there was no gap in between. “I’m a little surprised you just came to the conclusion I’m not normal.”

“Hm, I’ve known for a while,” you hum, turning focus to your sandwich.

Memories are thrust upon you from high school. When you first met him, he hardly spoke. He was short with his interactions and would hardly have the grace to offer more than five words. He clearly didn’t enjoy being around people.

Suguru seemed to help him out of this at some point because in your sophomore year of high school, he came to school as a completely brand-new person. His personality shown more, and he only then began pissing you off.

In a way, it was better than seeing him so down like he was before. Because of that, you have been more inclined to tolerate his shit a lot of the time.

“Listen, Satoru,” you sigh, not even noticing the way his body electrocutes at the fact you called him by his first name and not his last. “I’m very serious about my future. It means everything to me and to my parents. There’s only a certain amount of shit I can tolerate. And I can’t tolerate you slacking off at my expense.”

Towards the end of your warning, you look at him. He lowers his drink from his mouth, eyes straight ahead.

“Fair enough,” Satoru says. His head falls loosely between his shoulders, his hair glistening in the fluorescent lights. “It’s important for your parents too, that’s something I respect.”

Your brows uncinch.

“It’s important I get home on time for my parents too,” you sigh, looking at the time.

“You have an hour,” Satoru asks. “Why are you worried?”

Now he knows why you are worried. He still has to act oblivious, that’s all.

He sees the faltering blinks, eyes dancing here and there, mouth parted without a word ready to fly out.

Satoru takes another bite from his sandwich, talking with a full mouth, “Is your dad strict or something?”

Those anxious eyes morph into a revolted side eye, “You know who my dad is. You know what my dad is.”

“Yeah, he’s just the captain. Not some flesh-eating monster,” Satoru makes himself giggle.

You set your forearm on the surface of the table, rotating your body to turn to him, “My dad is a great man. He’s all law and order and then there’s my mom, also law and order. If I didn’t have enough on my mind, now my dad wants to assign a detail to me.”

“Assign . . .” Satoru shifts in his seat, lowering his meal. “You mean have a pair of cops following you around all the time?”

“Yeah,” you breathe.

Satoru’s eyes travel over your face while you’re not looking at him. If the captain does sign cops to tail you, that means that there’d be cops around him. Background checks, tailing him to get a sense of who he is . . . that could lead them to him being Spiderman . . .

“That—he can’t do that,” Satoru pipes, jolting you out of your little trance of eating. “That isn’t fair to you. You wouldn’t be able to hang around me—hell, they’d be standing right behind us listening to every word you say.”

Your lips turn down and brows raise, “I had no idea you cared so much.”

“Sure, why not?” Satoru dials down his emotion.

He supposes he’d have to stay away from you if your father went through with that after all. And he finds his heart twisting and turning from the very idea of doing that.

“He’s pretty stressed because of those string of bank robberies,” you exhale, Satoru’s eyes refuse to move from your face. “So my safety has gotten to his head too.”

Satoru’s blinks were slow, something that could be confused with lethargy, “Does he have any leads?”

“Not really. He just knows they’re all linked. He thinks Spiderman’s involvement is fucking everything up,” you say, remembering your encounter from last night.

“Hm,” and he can’t help but ask. “What do you think about him?”

“Spiderman?”

“Yes,” Satoru’s heart teetering on the edge.

“I think,” you begin, “he’s what our city needs. As a medical miracle, you decide to help others—that shows what kind of man you are.”

He has nothing to say for once. No quick quip, no fast remark. His mouth falls open, unsure how to respond. You were talking about his alter ego, but it felt like you were telling him.

“He’s pretty cool,” you nod, thinking about the vigilante.

He watches as you get up, saying, “I’ve got to get going, I’ve got to get work done before my dad picks me up.”

He feels like he has much left unsaid, but he still watches as you make your way out on your own.

Satoru is rooftop hopping, rushing back after he hit a dead end on a potential jewelry store he believed a heist may occur. That has been his routine that past week on top of annoying you in class and sitting with Haiba and Suguru in the library.

“Hm, okay. I just need to get a minimum of a C on this next exam to maintain my A,” Suguru mumbles aloud. “Satoru, you should maybe focus on your philosophy paper, you don’t want to get called out by the professor again—"

Suguru continues talking but Satoru is on a completely different planet. His gaze had flicked over to you walking through the maze of tables, and it was like an angel had stepped onto Earth.

The dim library of the university had mysteriously brightened tenfold. The incessant chatter of students around you crashes to a muffled halt as the faces begin to lose definition. All he can focus on is your pretty face. Your graceful smile. Your beautiful existence.

He feels his heart caper at the very sight of you laughing, the honeyed sound of it. His heart twists a bit more at the fact that it’s because of another guy.

“Hello!? Earth to Satoru,” Suguru breaks into Satoru’s eyeline. He looks back at whatever could have grasped his attention so unapologetically. He groans in frustration, “When are you going to tell her you want her?”

“I—what? I don’t want her,” Satoru snaps his head over at Suguru.

“It’s pretty obvious you want her, bud,” Haiba says with wide eyes and all Satoru can do is roll his own.

The sleep deprivation is catching up to him and he’s not sure how to remedy it. Those brief hours he does get to sleep he can hardly do so, he’s too busy trying to figure everything out. Where is Jogo hiding? Where is the next hit going to be? Why does he need that relic?

What could you be wearing tonight?

He has to shake his head like a wet dog, screw his eyes shut and bury his ears with his pillow. What is going on with him?

The next lab you have together, you spend most of it trying to figure out how to get through it working together and not competing against one another.

Afterwards, he wants to trail behind you, talk more to you but you’re tugged away by Shoko without fail.

 Every time.

Every time you sit on some staircase out on campus, step through the winding aisles of bookcases in the library, sit at some table in one of the cafes, Shoko or Utahime are always there.

He figures he’ll get the chance at JJ Tech but he’s barely seen you with how busy both of your schedules have been. His last resort is waiting for a perfect moment to get you alone. 

Satoru manages to catch up to you somehow once again in the library, studying for midterms.

“Here,” he places a cup of coffee in front of you on the table, it sat before your notebooks and thick textbooks like an almighty divinity.

Your eyes pierce through the coffee, then up at him, “How’d you know this is the flavor I like?”

You look tired, usually you can put yourself together enough to not seem so, but tonight it’s apparent. Your pens and highlighters are spread across the desk in a crazed frenzy.

“That’s the one you usually get at work, I don’t know. Thought you might need it,” he shrugs nonchalantly, sitting down.

You straighten up, wanting to smile but holding that feeling back, tying it down, “Oh, thanks.”

“I see you’re studying for . . .” Satoru tries guessing but squints at the papers you have strewn across the table, “what class?”

“Neuroscience,” you sigh, chewing on the end cap of your highlighter.

“Stop doing that,” he lowers you hand, essentially pulling the highlighter away from your mouth. He then opens the bottle of chilled coffee, handing it to you, “Here.”

You take it from him, eyes on his as you pull it towards your mouth, taking a sip. He leans back in his seat, his eyes roaming the papers you have laid out.

“Looks fun,” he drawls, looking through everything. “Have you had something to eat yet?”

“No, not yet. I’ll eat when I’m home,” you answer. “Have you?”

“No, me neither,” he says.

“Oh,” you ponder over what the situation is. “If you aren’t doing anything, we can go get something to eat right now.”

Satoru nearly stops breathing, he has every reason to frantically say yes. One: he happens to be starving. Two: he knows he’s going to be busy all night with studying and with his Spiderman duties. Three: he can sit and relax with you. Four: It’s you.

But he needs to get going, a potential lead came up in relation to Jogo he needs to check out right now.

“I can’t,” he wants to punch himself. “I have to help my aunt with something.”

Disappointment prickles through your body, a feeling you weren’t expecting in the least in a situation like this.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you gather your belongings.

“Wait—where are you going?” his eyes go wide, watching you pack your bag.

“Uh, home,” you say as if it were obvious. “Did you forget what we talked about that one time? Dad—security detail—never letting me breathe?”

“You can’t actually be worried about that,” Satoru says as you sling on your bag. “I highly doubt the captain will go through with that.”

“Just make sure you’re on time tomorrow for class, we have to work on that lab,” you tell him, flipping your hair as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“I have an issue with losing track of time,” Satoru frowns. “It’s not my fault.”

“Maybe use your glasses to keep an eye on the time. Are four eyes not enough? Do you seriously need six of them?” you challenge with a look over your shoulder before turning back to the exit.

He wants to laugh at the sheer irony of your question.

Satoru’s on a rooftop again. Another sleepless night is sure to pass him by. He follows lead after lead, suspect after suspect, but nothing.

That tip he got led him to nothing. Led him to nothing but missing class the next morning.

He’s thinking only about how guilty he feels, how he should apologize for bailing on you again during lab. Especially when you told him not to.

You count your lucky stars that you are sitting at home today worrying about your midterm exams approaching and not worrying in the lab.

Your father shows up at your door with a cup of hot cocoa, settling it down beside you. He has a cup of his own, a rare to see smile on his face as he sits down next to you.

“Thanks, Dad,” you beam, taking the cup.

“How’s studying going?” he asks.

“It’s okay,” you sigh. “How’s that heist case coming along?”

“It’s stressful,” he huffs out as well. “Got a bunch of different stories coming from the witnesses and that Spiderman jackass isn’t helping with my peace right now.”

“He’s not so bad,” you chuckle, taking a sip.

Your dad cocks a disgruntled brow, “That guy’s a menace. Just like that one news guy keeps saying.”

“That guy is crazy, Dad, and you know it,” this time you scoff.

“You calling me crazy, too?” your dad quizzes.

“No,” you set down your cup, “That’s not what I meant. I just meant that Spiderman has saved a lot of people. A lot of his good deeds go unnoticed because there are so many little things he does that don’t get broadcasted. Whatever—anyway, what are the witnesses saying?”

Your dad slowly lowers his offended brow and explains, “Witnesses from each location are saying they were knocked unconscious. Then there are witnesses who are also saying that the suspects dropped some sort of spray on them, then there are others saying it may have been a gas they inhaled.”

“Gas?” your nose scrunches.

“Hm,” your dad nods. “After they either inhaled or felt it on them, they started hallucinating. Some saw flashes of things they feared in their life, or of traumatic moments, or they were close to being driven to sleep by pictures of nice dreams. It all is difficult to figure out what it is. Our forensics team is having a shit time with narrowing it down since it may flush out of their system quick.”

You gawk at him, lost for words. It’s a highly concentrated blend of hallucinogens and anesthetics. One sip could send a man into cardiac arrest—or worse, kill him.

Your own voice rings in your head but his face is what appears before you. Those sparkling blue eyes and that silvery white hair. A flash of that green vial struck in an instant too.

“It’s all pretty confusing,” your dad exhales, taking a sip from his foamy drink. There’s a ring at the bell, steering his attention to it. He looks over at you, ruffling your hair, “You get back to it kiddo, I’ll see who it is.”

He walks out, closing your door and you look over that video about the fundamentals of chemistry, your notes splayed open with highlighters and sticky notes littering your desk.

But you can hardly focus—now that you’re thinking about Gojo all over again. This all has to be a coincidence, right? There’s no way Satoru Gojo of all people is affiliated with a high crime gang and drugging people to rob banks. There’s just no way.

But his voice rings in your mind once more—a memory of your conversation when he asked about that liquid being able to be used as a gas in combat. . . ‘I was afraid of that.’

The little three tapped choreographed knock on your door tells you that your father is on the other side.

“Sweetheart, there’s a . . . boy from your class here to see you,” your dad awkwardly says.

You blink the tiredness away, getting up and heading to the foyer of your penthouse apartment. Your hand rests on the railing as you descend down the stairs, only to stop halfway when your eyes land on snowy hair and silver framed glasses.

His sky-blue eyes lock onto yours, his blinks are restless, and his pretty lips are parted. You see him visibly gulp, like he was nervous to face you.

“What’re you doing here?” you finally say, remembering the fact he abandoned you once more today.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Satoru waits a beat till his heart tries to settle down. “Is that okay?”

You should yell at him, and you truly want to but for some reason you can’t. You huff out a sigh, beckoning him to follow you. As you turn around to lead him up the stairs, he’s once again scattering his field of vision everywhere.

He’s paying attention to the extravagance of your home. The chandelier in the foyer, the numerous potted bonsais and lilies, the expensive stonework polished floors, the ornamental china vases and molded ceiling. He shouldn’t expect any less from the daughter of the veteran police captain of the city and the successful assistant district attorney. Your parents were clear overachievers, mother and father both, it is no less than obvious you would be on a similar path of greatness yourself.

He eyes you rather shamelessly, it’s not like you have eyes on the back of your head. You glance over your shoulder at him.

Or maybe you do.

Satoru already felt scrutinized at the door when your father opened it. He should care a little more but finds that he doesn’t care one bit about the police captain’s protective gaze on him following his daughter up to her room.

You open your door, unveiling your bedroom to the boy. Suguru and Haiba would go nuts if he were to tell them he was standing in your room with you right now. Nanami would hardly believe him at all.

Your room is neat, that’s the first thing he notices. And it’s exactly how he pictured it. Furniture white, minimalistic and clean. The bed had four posts, sheer curtains draping down the top. You had white boards, bulletin boards, filled with excessive diagrams and notes. You had bookshelves in a corner of the room, lined with chemistry and medical textbooks where your desk was.

There was a wall of windows that overlooked the city, a balcony that had a set of Parisian doors to it. He wonders how much time you spent out there with your thoughts and what they could possibly be.

While he’s observing every element of your room, you face him. He has this wondrous look in those frosted eyes of his, a look that makes them look even wider. His lips part and when you look at him in the dim lighting from your study lamp, you notice the way his top lip prods out slightly over his bottom. That they have a pouted yet subtle curve to them that came to life when he smiled. That there was a soft pinkish sheen to them.

You wonder why you’re suddenly paying such close attention to him these days.  

“Here,” you speak, ringing yourself out of wherever your mind was going.

He cocks a brow, gawking at you rifling through your school bag. His puzzled expression deepens when you press a packet of paper against his chest. “What’s this?”

“Your part of the lab report,” you grumble, eyes cold yet thwarted. “Just memorize the material by next Friday before our presentation. I’ll make sure the rest of what’s left throughout the week gets done.”

Satoru’s entirely taken aback. You have every right to be mad but he wasn’t expecting you to still want to help him. His arm shoots out to grab yours before you can walk away. Your halted against your will, shocked as you gape at him trapped in the lamplight as it clings to his skin.

“Wait—that’s not why I came here,” he sighs begrudgingly. “I came to apologize. I’m sorry I missed class and bailed on you.”

“Twice,” you correct with furrowed brows.

“Twice,” he revises. “It was a shitty thing to do. And it won’t happen again.”

He swallows dryly as he stares at that cynical look on your face. He looks like a lost pet, waiting to be scolded by its owner.

“Promise?” you tip your head to the side.

“Promise,” he answers, he feels his heart tearing through his chest at how you’ve suddenly acquired a childlike disposition, one he’s never had the chance to witness before. And all because of him.

“Okay,” you smally smile, flashing your pearly teeth at him. “But if you bail on me again, I’m telling Yaga to give you a zero.”

“Got it—but how come you’re so sure he’ll give your word priority over mine?” Satoru challenges.

“Because you were the second smartest kid in high school, and I was the first,” you pointedly say. “I have a higher GPA than you, I have won three more academic awards than you have—and let’s face it, my attendance record outranks yours in an embarrassing way.”

Satoru presses his lips firmly and raises his brows in hilarity, trying to contain that laughter wanting to blurt out of him. He fails though, laughing anyway.

Your lips part as you stare at him, suddenly you’re so aware of how tall he is again, how he’s not as lanky as he used to be in high school.

“At least I’m not stupid,” Satoru tells you knowingly. “You could’ve ended up with a lot worse than me.”

“Really? Like who?” you cross our arms.

“Yuki—Haiba—Need I go on?” he speaks with a teasing tone.

“God, no. I got your point,” you hold your hands up in defense. Your nose twitches as you let your hands slowly fall to your sides. “You didn’t have to come all this way to apologize, you know. You could’ve just apologized tomorrow or over text, you have my number.”

“You wouldn’t have thought twice about forgiving me,” he puts his hands in his pockets. “Or murdering me.”

This evokes a laugh from you, cheeky and bright, this cold light of the moon suddenly feels like beams of sunlight embracing him, warm and comforting.

Then you point a finger at him, “But you have to tell me why you have that green liquid.”

Satoru can’t flip his way out of this corner. Another lie must suffice, “One of my friends from my neighborhood gave it to me—said he swiped it off some kid in his school. He wanted me to find out what was in it.”

“Oh,” you frown, all doe-eyed and innocent. “You should get rid of that thing. It’s dangerous.”

“Will do,” Satoru salutes with his middle and index fingers. He catches that little sideways twitch of your mouth, as you stare at him from the bottom up but stop halfway. “What is it?”

“I’m just a little shocked you’re not really how I thought you’d be,” you say. “Is that bad?”

“Depends,” Satoru eyes the room shamelessly, glancing at you before he sits down uninvited on your bed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. We’ve known each other for like over half a decade—and we hardly ever really talked. I always thought you were some nerdy guy that had a bad attitude. I guess I thought you never really liked me.” You circle around the bed post to get closer to him.

Satoru’s brows are raised so far up high that they are practically skimming his hairline. He was talkative, just not with you at first. He feels like he might’ve been a bit blunt overall—but that changed for him when he became Spiderman years ago.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” Satoru says the unexpected. “I guess I just found you intimidating.”

“Me?” you point at yourself, sitting down. “Why? You’re, like, one of the most talented kids I know.”

“Because you’re crazy smart,” he blurts out, smiling as he can’t even maintain eye contact with you. He feels your body heat, just a few measly inches to his left. You’re in reach and he’s scared he’ll do something to cause you to slip away.

Your eyes widen at his words, and he seems to not be done yet with the way he sucks in a breath, hands resting either side of him on the comforter.

“You’re insanely clever and nice and it doesn’t help much that you’re pretty,” Satoru is shaking his head, meeting your gaze once again. Once again, gorgeous eyes stare back at him.

You furrow your brows, not remembering an instance in your life where you had seen him look so vulnerable for even a moment. Your eyes flick down to his pouted lips then back up to his eyes.

“You think I’m pretty?” you whisper.

“Is that even a question?” Satoru breathes.

You lean close, his icy blue eyes contrast his half lidded warm look behind his glasses. He inches closer, your noses brushing against each other.

Your lips are half a centimeter away from his. He can smell the scent of your lotion, the sweet scent of your lip balm. He’s so close to tasting it that he feels like he’s the closest he’ll ever be.

That tingling sensation shot up his spine and straight to his ears, not because of this tension.

It’s his six eyes telling him there’s an incoming threat. Footsteps. They’re faint, but he feels them coming this way.

He suddenly jumps up, grabbing the lab report and rifling through it, “Your dad.”

“What?” you’re taken aback, your face crinkling.

“He’s coming,” he says.

You blink at him, wondering if he’s just scared or if he didn’t want to kiss you in the first place.

“Listen, Satoru, if you don’t want to—”

Your door swings open, revealing your father. One hand rests on the knob and one on the door frame. The way he opened it indicated a sense of urgency, or a sense of wanting to catch Satoru in the act. The act being the boy making a move on you.

“Hey, sweetie, everything alright in here?” he eyes you quickly at the term of endearment but then keeps his razor-sharp cop stare on Satoru. He’s not doing anything to ring alarm bells, simply just thumbing through report papers like he gave the impression of initially.

“Yes, Dad!” You glare at your father. “I thought we talked about knocking.”

“Oh, sorry—I was just—” he attempts defending himself but your eyes widen as you tilt your head at him and he ushers himself out of your room.

“Jeez. You’d hardly believe I’m nineteen years old with a dad like that. What is he going to do after I move out,” you grumble. Your eyes slowly dance over to the boy who was standing up, “How’d you know he was coming?”

“I could hear his footsteps,” he says.

“Yeah, you told me like a whole minute before he actually was at the door,” you stand up, nearing him. “I know your eyes suck, but no one has that good a sense of hearing.”

“I told you that’s what I heard,” he defends himself.

You tighten your lips, watching him set the papers down with his eyes fixed on the door. His eyes are still but his mind runs a mile a minute. He’s ruminating on the fact he almost kissed you and that your father could have walked in. What’s worse right now though is the fact he is still standing in the wake of your missed moment.

“Satoru, something is up with you,” you stand up, taking a daring step forward. Your shoulders square in assertion, “I’m not sure what it is. But I promise you can trust me.”

He slowly turns his head to you, thinking about what to say but his breath stops short when you place your palms over his chest, gazing up at him.

He gulps, and he hopes you don’t see how his nerves are clearly rattling, shaking his very bones. His phone buzzes with the soft four chimed ring he’s all too familiar with and he curses himself and every other wrong doer in the whole city of New York.

“I . . . I’m sorry,” he grabs yours wrists. “I have to go.”

He goes around you, passing you without so much as another glance. You watch him leave your room and in the simplest of terms, you felt like shit.

You begin walking to your door to slam it shut when your father runs past you, frantically pushing his limbs through his police jacket, his other hand on his phone.

“Dad—what is it?” you question breathlessly.

“Sorry, honey, have to go in. There’s another theft in progress in the upper east,” your father explains in two quick breaths.

Your eyes follow him as you hear the front door shutting after he leaves, only a minute or so after Satoru did.

You can’t help that scowl you toss at your microscope on your desk, or how you sprint towards it to inspect the elements once again.

Satoru is thinking only about you. Only you, only you.

His cognizance on the fact he should focus on this heist is hardly doing him favors from how much he regrets not kissing you. If being caught by your father was a repercussion anyway, how bad could that have possibly been? Yeah, so what. Mild embarrassment, maybe a few threats here and there.

His hand wraps around the web he shoots at the side of the building, swinging straight through the shattered window. He has no time for histrionics, he just wants to get to the bottom of this case.

When the thugs turn to face the man that flew in through the window, they all drop what they are doing, scowling menacingly at the boy.

“Okay,” Satoru cracks his knuckles, tweaking his neck to the side. “Let’s wrap this up.”

That’s what prompts four burly men to lurch at the boy. Gojo makes quick effort to shoot at one’s face, gluing a sticky web to his eyes and hindering his senses completely.

He knocks over another one with a horse powered kick, pushing him into a glass display. He’s nearly amazed with himself by how rushed this fight is.

Another man comes at him with a closed fist, brass knuckles adorning them as they hurtle straight for Satoru’s face. With lightening reflexes, he swats the man’s arm, aiming the base of his palm straight up the man’s jaw. Except it isn’t his jaw he’s aiming for.

An anguished scream of agony leaves the man as he cradles his bleeding, broken nose. Spiderman towers over him again, kicking him in the gut while he’s down.

The fourth man fires several shots at Satoru, unfortunately for the goon, he hasn’t experienced just how the Six Eyes senses really benefit the Spiderman.

His gun is in Satoru’s hand before he knows it, a stringy web stuck to the end of it. The thief’s jaw drops, eyes reddened and wide when he witnesses the way the gun crushes in the vigilante’s hand, the pieces of it crumbling to the ground.

“This is getting boring,” Satoru whines immaturely. “I can’t believe I had to give up being with a pretty girl for this.”  

Forcibly tugging the man towards him with a web, Satoru delivers a lethal blow to the back of the man’s head, instantly knocking him out.

The sound of a glass rustling behind him draws his attention, the man he had knocked into the display was on his feet again. He has something in his hand that catches the vigilante’s attention, three small balls.

“Fuck no,” Satoru grabs the pellets by shooting webs again. “Not falling for this again.”

He lunges to the wall behind the man, psyching him out when he kicks off the wall and practically tackles the man to the ground.

“Not in the mood to get to know you,” Satoru frowns, his boot on the side of the man’s neck. “Where’s Jogo? And who gave you this?”

He hold up the pellets of gas, the stare of whitened eyes through his mask are enough to terrify the man.

“Please! I don’t know where Jogo is! I was just instructed to make this hit!” the man chokes out. “I got these through the—the lady we got that makes these—her name is Hanami—she works in a lab somewhere—we don’t know where. She has someone drop them off and she tells us where after the drop’s been made but—”

“You’re not telling me what I need,” Satoru steps down on the man’s throat harder.

“I—I can tell you where she gets her stuff from! In fact, I heard from somewhere that she’s got a guy on the inside getting her the goods. It’s at Myrtec Chemicals—one of her guys told me there’s a drop happening later tonight!”

“Thanks,” Satoru lifelessly smiles, kicking the man unconscious.

Shivering behind a wall of crates is not how you expect to be spending your Friday night. What you envisioned after a long night of studying was curling up with some popcorn and other snacks to watch a nice movie.

Most certainly not a group of men talking about people they are planning to kill.

“Man, I fucking hate the captain,” one spews. “I’d love to rip his heart out of his chest if I ever got the chance.”

You cover your mouth, trying to contain your gasp. The suspicion that Satoru may be involved with these men is tearing you apart. You haven’t seen or heard him in the last twenty minutes you’ve been here.

Standing outside the wired fence of Myrtec Chemicals is not how you want to go out. So slipping out now makes sense. You needed to make sure Satoru wasn’t linked to these guys and there’s been no sign of his loudmouth anywhere.

As you shift to run off as fast as you can so you can get to the bus stop at the edge of the next street, you accidentally bump your elbow into one of the big crates. A dull yet prominent thud reverberates through the air.

Fuck.

“What the fuck!”

“Someone’s here?”

“Who’s there?”

You know once again you’re cornered. Why must you test your luck so often? How on earth will you get out of this one?

“Hey! You!” a man is looking around the pile of crates, eyes landing on you.

You make a run for it but he grabs you—as expected. You cinch your eyes shut and a loud whoosh over your heads shoots through the air.

No way.

“Hey! Hands off her!”

The voice is hauntingly familiar. So is that black and white suit and that emblem of blue across his chest. That glowing spider—hope.

Spiderman leaps at the man that had grabbed you, striking him across the face. The other men shout out, rushing to grab their weapons, all the while the great Spiderman is making haste to scoop you into his arms.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Sorry about this.”

“That’s okay, been wondering about you for a while,” he says with ease, then he leaps and you scream out, not realizing you’re on top of a small security tower. “Stay put here, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod seeing the thumbs up he gives you as he falls backwards to the ground, flipping straight back into action.

You watch as he takes down the remaining men, but the fascination to him isn’t all that you think about. You’re trying to pinpoint that voice—that cadence and rhythm in it. It sounds an awful lot like—

“How’d you end up here?” the vigilante is hanging upside down by a web in front of you, attached to the top of the watch tower’s antenna structure.

You blink, retracting in place, “I thought my friend might be here, but I might’ve been wrong. I was just worried.”

“You get into trouble pretty often, don’t you?” he chuckles, still upside down.

That thought invades your mind again—his voice sounds too much like his. There’s no way. There’s just no way.

“Sorry about that,” you shake your head.

“Why’d you think he’d be here?” the man tilts his head.

“They’re using a chemical, aren’t they? Those thugs?” you quiz. “They’re using it on people when they ransack places like banks and jewelry stores. I analyzed the particles and managed to isolate where certain specialized compounds can be mixed and it traced back here. Thought I’d check it out.”

Satoru’s suspended in the air, his state of mind matches his physical state. Speechless, he does nothing but stare.

“Ugh, God, why are you so stupid for someone so smart?” he groans.

“Excuse me?” you quickly pipe, taking a step back as he lowers onto the tower’s rail with you.

His arm slips around you, and he murmurs, “You could’ve gotten really hurt. This was a very dumb thing to do.”

“I know that but . . .”

“Why’d you have to come, huh? You care about that guy or something?” he asks, shooting out a web to another building.

“Yeah, or something,” you quietly say, eyes on him. Your suspicion as to who is behind the mask is starting to piece together and you aren’t sure whether you should comment on it or not. “Wanted to make sure he was okay.”

He can’t even face you. Do you even know what you’re saying? He wants to chalk it up to delusion but a mind as sharp as yours can’t be subject to something so petty as delusion.

When your arms slip around his neck, you stare at him and you can practically see through him.

“Hold on as—” Satoru begins.

“As tight as I can, I know,” you finish, not even being as terrified as you were the first time he web slung you through the streets of New York.

He stops at the top of a building, one far too high above the ground. That is when you realize you aren’t on top of any old building at all. You gawk from this point, the highest point of New York’s famous Vessel.

You look down, overlooking the Hudson Yard and seeing that the structure is closed to the public due to how late in the evening it is.

“I’ve never actually been here before,” you marvel at the sight. “It’s beautiful.”

“Hm, it is,” Satoru mumbles, staring at your wonder-stricken eyes.

At the sound of his voice you turn slowly, facing him, “Thank you for saving me. Again.”

“Nothing to it,” he replies, his tone hinting at a smile you can’t see. “Think I might’ve chipped a nail back there.”

Your eyes flit over him, head to toe. While your eyes stay by his feet, you say, “I want to take off your mask.”

“That defeats the whole purpose of it,” Satoru states. “Then you’d see my face. It defeats the sense of mystery too when you find out who I am.”

“I think I already know,” your eyes settle back on the white blank eyes of the mask, wanting to see the blue you’d been thinking far too much about.

Satoru’s stunned silence screams over how you move toward him. Your searing palms set on his chest, he feels like he’s being scorched to ash with how close you are.

He makes no effort to move away or tell you to stop. He swallows his inhibitions when your hands hesitantly slide up his chest to the base of his neck. The tips of your fingers caress his collarbone and neck till they tug at the edge of his mask.

Satoru knows he should tell you that he can’t let you see but he wants it so bad at the same time.

That’s why he watches with withheld breaths when you inch your way as your pull up the mask, slowly.

The pale of his moonlit skin exposes itself to you while you gently tear the mask further up. His chin peeks out, the sharp cut of his jaw, then you see his soft lips, the ones you want to just lean in and kiss so damn bad.

So you do and he knows he’d be stupid to stop you this time around. Your mouth feathers over his before you finally press onto him. Your lips meet his, buttery soft, warming your cold ones by a single touch.

He kisses you back softly but you back away, his head following your back before you part lips. He gazes at you as you cradle the lower half of his face, easing him into letting you take the mask off further.

You pull it back more, seeing that pointed nose of his you were accustomed to watching crinkle as he smiled. Then you finally pull them away from his eyes and his hair. You aren’t so surprised anymore, not as much as you should be at least.

That snowy white hair, like a fresh fleet of ice had poured onto his head ever so lovingly. Then those eyes, God those eyes. The shimmering blue that twinkled so brilliantly in the amber light, the eyes you feel like you’re seeing for the first time without any pair of glasses or masks in the way.

For once, you are the one smiling and he’s left with a somnolescent look on his face, like he could fall over at any moment. His eyes are half-lidded, fixed on your eyes and fleeting down to your lips without any sign of subtly.

He bends his neck down, capturing your lips in his again before slipping his arm around you and his free hand to your face. Now even if you wanted to move away, you couldn’t. Key word ‘if’.

You feel the way he softly inhales from his nose, breathing in like he’s breathing you in. He’s gentle and yearning, like he’s wanted this for a long time.

He presses his lips a little harder, and you can’t help the little sigh you let out. If you were in this situation two weeks ago, you’d be running around flipping your lid at the revelation that Satoru Gojo was the Spiderman. Except now, that mattered slightly less to you.

You both pull away by a hair, noses grazing one another’s as you gaze into each other’s eyes. You pull back a little more to see his face in its entirety. A fallen angel.

The little fidget of your smile as you decide whether to smile or not is enough to have him take the lead and smile anyway.

“So you did want to kiss me,” you say cheekily, eyes glistening from the city lights, the winter air pinching your nose and cheeks.

“Yes, dummy,” Satoru responds with a quiet nuance of hilarity. His gloved hand remains on your face, his thumb pressing down on your chin.

Tipping your chin down, your mouth opens. The cool air of the night blends in with Satoru’s warm breath, swirling in a strangely comforting breath, one that bore escape.

He pushes his tongue into your mouth, doing his best to taste every bit of you because he missed the chance for far too many years. Here, there is no police captain father to rush in, no thug or criminal to interrupt, no man that could touch you. Other than him of course.

You taste like peppermint, like what he would envision a warm and loving Christmas with family to be like. He wants more—he needs more.

Your tongues twirl in tandem, pace still slow but you each feel a growing desire crushing on your souls. It’s heavy and bone rattling, enough that he pulls back to shake himself out of it.

“I should take you back home—your parents—”

“Dad’s going to be out all night with that heist and Mom drank too much wine at dinner and my brothers and sister aren’t going to say anything about me not being home,” you’re quick to arbitrate. “I’m a little cold though.”

“I can see that,” he laughs as you shiver, the frosty air intermingling with his warm breath to create a translucent fog. “I—I don’t wanna sound like I’m rushing but you can come home with me to my place. I can explain everything there.”

You press your tongue in between your teeth in thought before you grin, “Let’s go.”

You help put on his mask when he cranes his neck down to you. He grabs you and you know the drill, hold on tight and do not, under any circumstances, let go.

He’s swung you through the entire city again and you take the time to enjoy, this time trusting him without a shadow of a doubt. The city looks pretty from his view, you count yourself grateful to get a glimpse of that, and that he has shared this special thing with you.

He stops outside a half open window on the side of an apartment building, he helps you through the ledge, safely getting you inside. You take a few steps back and watch him crawl inside, dropping to the floor with the agility of a cat.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” you say softly. “I can’t believe I kissed Spiderman. I can’t believe I kissed you actually. That’s crazier to me.”

Satoru tears the mask from his head, his hair all disheveled fell into his eyes, “That’s crazier to you? That you made out with me not that I saved your ass again?”

“Shut up,” you narrow your eyes, looking around. “This is where you live, huh?”

“Mhm,” Satoru answers, watching you. “So you looked into that liquid again. Why did you come all the way to that place? That was very dangerous. And very very stupid. You really came all that way because of me?”

You face him, the air still coolly frosting at the shell of your ears, “I thought you might’ve been involved with those guys at first but based on our conversations, I assumed that maybe you were trying to play hero.”

“And you showed up and realized I was,” Satoru peers down at you. “Idiot.”

“Hey, if I was an idiot, I never would’ve been there in the first place,” you jab your pointer finger straight into his chest. He lets out an exaggerated and overdramatic cough, clutching his heart as if you did serious damage. “Seriously, Satoru, I get why you couldn’t tell me but . . . were you planning on not being near me to protect that secret?”

He stills, the smile vanishing from his face. His icy hair falls over his equally icy irises, bottom lip pushing ever so lightly into his top one in a small frown.

“I didn’t mean to push you away. I tried to stop myself from being close to you—that day you were late was my fault,” he shakes his head, eyes wide.

“But you still saved me,” you justify.

“But you wouldn’t be there in the first place if it weren’t for me,” he counters quickly.

You lower your eyes, “I have a mind, you know? I can say ‘no’, and I can make my own choices. Staying to help you was my choice. And I don’t regret it.”

Your eyes lift to meet his, lights darkened in his apartment. The only thing illuminating the space is the moon, its incandescent glow spilling into the room as if it were sneaking in secrets.

Shining down on your clandestine meeting, you each are inching closer, lips feathering over one another’s before he can’t take it anymore and kisses you.

His hands thread through your hair, his fingers interlinking at the nape of your neck, pushing you against him. He’s kissing you like he wants to breathe you in, like you’re the air that needs to be in his lungs.

You let your tongue slide across his bottom lip, easing it into his mouth. You lap inside his mouth, exploring every bit that your muscle can physically reach, intertwining with his.

Feverishly, you keep kissing each other, and it simply isn’t enough. Panting like starved dogs, you want to whisper to him to take you to his room but it feels too far—and your mind is running in circles right now.

Between kisses, you reach back, shedding your coat and kicking your boots off. Fuck, why is it always so cold in New York? Couldn’t it be summer, so you had less layers to shed?

He’s reeling you back in every time your lips leave his for even a moment. Taking yourself away from him for even a split second is cruel to him, worse than battling a group of mutants as Spiderman.

Satoru appreciates your enthusiasm and your forwardness, considering he’s not as experienced as he’d like to be for you. Hey, it’s hard to date as a superhero. He just prays it’s not too obvious

Your hands are busy unbuttoning your pants as he backs you into the backrest of the couch, not as coordinated as he hopes. He is not all that concerned clearly because you find yourself on your back on his couch, him hovering over you, lips not leaving yours for even a slight moment.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, his hips in between your parted legs. “I can’t believe my luck right now.”

“You’re such a dork—” you begin to joke before he rolls his hips against you, that tent in his pants prods at the heat between your thighs and you gasp out in pure shock and thirst.

Your eyes widen when they shoot down between your bodies, seeing that prominent bulge at the front of his pants, so obviously emphasized in that tight suit of his. How had you missed that before?

“What was that?” Satoru teases, eyelids bonneting over his irises seductively, a coy smirk pulling at the edge of his mouth.

He tries to hide just how painfully hard he is but now he understands there’s no use. After all, he can still play with your head a bit—just a bit.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist.

And his lips are on yours again, swallowing in your gasps and vice versa. All the while, he ruts his hips against you, grinding and dry humping like two pathetic teenagers.

Each time he rolls his hips into you, you moan, humming into his mouth shakily. He’s taking each sound in with pride, he can hardly believe he’s drawing out noises like that from you, miss put together. His lips trek down your jaw, peppering kisses as he makes his way down your neck, a smile curling at his lips.

With hazy eyes, you let your hands skirt at his abdomen, trying to tug at the fabric at his waist, “How the fuck do you get this thing off?”

“You’re supposed to buy me dinner before you see me undressed, you know?” he chuckles against your jaw.

“Ha ha, very funny. Now take your suit off—I don’t want to play any more games,” you plead, your tone dwindles towards something most would call pathetic, but he knows better than to make that mistake. “Please, I just want you.”

Okay, maybe he’s wrong.

He doesn’t have the heart to wait any longer either. The command is clear in his mind, tear the suit off, but his fumbling hands make the effort stretch beyond eternity.

While he is busy with the strenuous task of undressing, you decide to get yours over with. With the desire to stop, go slow, take it all in, each of you are still keeping your eyes on each other—listening to the other’s breaths, taking in the sight of the other’s skin unveiling itself bit by bit. 

As ceremoniously as one could in a moment like this, you discard your top and kick off your pants. You regret the split second you look away because when you look back at him, his shirt is gone.

The spider suit has a variant of features, all that aid in the never-ending trade of fighting crime. That suit also serves justice to whoever it may be underneath it, but fuck it underscored just how beautiful Satoru’s body is.

In the dim light, you make out his chiseled abs, how his shoulder blades are sculpted like an artist spent every drop of sweat, blood, and tears into defining them. How those broad shoulders seamlessly crown the defined muscles of his biceps. Your eyes trail down his arms to his forearms, veiny and working to take off his pants.

That’s when your focus shifts to his chest once more. The plains of his torso display his corded abs.

And you’re counting. Five—six—seven—eight—For someone so rambunctious, he sure fails to flaunt his perfect eight-packed figure.

Your eyes lock in on his lower abdomen, how his waist his much narrower in comparison to the width of his shoulders. His hips hollow out as they carve out a defined line, trailing down between his legs.

Temptation is close to getting the best of you when you realize he’s been frozen in place for half a minute now. Shooting your attention back up to his lustful gaze, you’re suddenly hyperaware of the circumstance of you only in your bra and underwear.

“You’re staring,” you warn with a sharp look.

“Mm—and you weren’t?” he returns the same expression, smugly lowering to kiss you once more.

Any argument you wish to spew are revoked the second his lips are on yours again. Satoru’s hands roam your body. Despite the freezing cold of the winter, his fingertips are piping hot, searing your skin wherever they touch. Your hips, your waists, your face, your breasts, your thighs.

Those lithe fingers slide down your side, around your back and where the clasp of your bra is. And you want to giggle at how he’s struggling to get it unhooked.

“Need help?” you grin, leaning on your elbows.

“Shut up—I got it,” he grunts out. He doesn’t have it in him to admit that he’s suddenly registering the fact that it’s you. You’re the one underneath him right now. It’s your body he can’t believe looks this perfect.

His breaths stops when he manages to tear off that stupid bra from you, your fingers toying with the waistband of his underwear.

“Holy shit,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Hm?” you hum interrogatively, being cut off when he dives down. “Satoru—ah—”

He buries his face in the valley of your chest, kissing you harshly while making his way to your exposed nipples. He latches his mouth over one and your chest nearly caves in. A moan slips from your mouth, hands at the back of his head, curling in his hair while he sucks your tits so lasciviously.

“Fuck—Satoru—ah,” you try to keep your eyes on him but find yourself cinching them shut anyway.

“You sound so cute saying my name like that,” he gasps out, tongue flicking over your pert nipple, and hand massaging at the mound he’s left alone.

Chills dissipate over your arms and legs, causing you to let out shivers. Shivers that could be a mixed response of the cold air and at the sensation of his mouth sucking you.

Satoru begins to lower himself, trailing kisses down your stomach as he goes. He doesn’t stop when he reaches the waistline of your panties. His lips press on top of the cloth, over your pussy, his fingers curl into the waistband at your hips.

His eyes flick up to yours, a smile on his pretty lips as he takes in your expression, pure desire stitched in every crevice of your face.

He pulls down your panties, eyes fixed between your legs like he was seeing the holy grail itself. His mouth is watering at the sight before him. He can’t believe that after years and years of knowing you, this is the outcome. All the competition, the annoyed glances, quick remarks, all boiled down to this very moment. With you spread out underneath him like a slut.

“Fuck me,” he groans out, tossing your underwear to the side. He lifts your left leg, kissing your ankle and trekking his way up your leg. When he reaches your thigh, his tongue begins to playfully drag across your skin. “Mmm.”

With shaky breaths, you watch him get close and closer but then he stops. He mulls over every form of research he’s ever done. He knows if he puts his mind to it he can please you, he just needs a second to reel himself in. Quite unlike him.

You watch him carefully, seeing how his smile faded and how he’s swallowing down dry lumps. There’s a flush in his face that isn’t something you’ve seen before. Is he . . . nervous?

Your hands shift down, cupping his face. At the endearing action, his heart quivers, as do his eyes. That’s when his jaw slacks, tongue lolling out and licking up your pussy.

You suck in a fragmented breath, fingers trembling when he smiles again and does it again. The saliva on his tongue drips down from the tip of his muscle, dribbling straight down to your slit.

“Do you always get this wet around me?” he has a smile painted on his face that is reaching his ears.

“Can you for once put your mouth to good use?” you whisper back sharply, earning a deep chuckle from his as he lowers his face between your legs again.

Eagerly, he swipes a long languid lick from the bottom of your pussy to the top, milking out his spit as well as your arousal. His arms easily slip around your thighs as he now buries his face, lapping at your cunt like a starved animal.

A loud moan rips straight from your throat, you toss your head back from the sheer intensity. And you can’t help but cry out like that again, feeling his tongue circling over your clit over and over.

When he hears a rather high-pitched cry leave you, his chest swells with pride. He isn’t sure what he was so nervous about. He just can’t believe he’s the one making you feel this good—or you’re the one he’s ever had a moment of weakness like that for.

Tilting his head to the side, he angles his tongue. Licking, sucking slurping your cunt, he’s producing the lewdest of noises, getting absolutely high off your taste.

“Oh my god!” you whine, now rolling your hips on his face, fingers tugging his hair and digging at his scalp. “Do that again.”

“What? This?” Satoru feigns innocence, flicking his tongue repeatedly and quickly over your clit, teasing you.

You almost let a scream burst from you, slapping your palm over your mouth as he teases you. It dawns on you then that those blue eyes looking up at you, are the same very ones you took so long to truly see. He’s not in his glasses but that sight between your legs would’ve been just as gorgeous too.

His hands grip your thighs, pushing them closer to your chest. His jaw unhinges like he’s eating a meal, nose rubbing against your puffy clit as he feels himself become impossibly and painfully harder that he could cum right then and there.

Goosebumps ripple over your body, every cell in your body short circuiting. His fingers dig into your flesh in a bruising grip. With another wanton tug at his hair, he slips out a nasty moan, eyes deliriously rolling to the back of his head.

There’s a sense of greed in the way he’s eating you out. Hunger and lust intertwine together in his movements, he can’t get enough.

His hand comes down between your thighs, fingers swiping over your clit.

Your back is arching off the couch, loud and shameless cries escape you one after the other with no end in sight. With your vision beginning to blur like a flock of clouds rolling in before a storm, you feel a white-hot heat between your legs.

Your eyes flicker towards his face below you. His eyes were shut and his brows your furrowed adorably in concentration. His hair fell in soft tufts and his jaw and tongue are moving in ways you would never have fathomed to see before. Needless to say, he is so fucking sexy.

Feverishly rocking your hips as best you can to meet his insatiable mouth, you know your orgasm is closing in. Every piece of your being is only focused on this immense pleasure and straining to get to the peak point it so desperately needs.

He sees you becoming more and more restless, your legs shake more and your fingers tug harsher at his scalp. The way you’re practically screaming tells him all he needs to know, you are right there.

You scream when it hits you like a freight train. You’re cumming right on his tongue and gushing down his mouth. By no means does that indicate he is stopping though. He continues his motions through your orgasm, not daring to stop till you were done.

Free falling from a great height, you’re whining, clawing at his hair, his shoulders, anything. Pushing him away because of how criminally intense the feeling is. He stays right there, undeterred by your efforts to get him away from you.

Your eyes stay shut but your mouth hangs open, long and drained breaths filling the air. Satoru raises his head, “So fucking messy—I find it hard to believe you haven’t always had the hots for me.”

Meanwhile, you still are reeling in your post-orgasm state, chest rising and falling. Your eyes shift to Satoru straightening up, expanding his posture.

“You okay?” he says, devious tones underlying in his voice. Sincerity had flown out the window.

You respond halfheartedly anyway, “Mhm.”

You slowly move to sit up, biting your lip to ground yourself. Despite your head feeling as weighty as a boulder, you hold yourself up. Your hands reach for his briefs, fingers hooking into the waistband and tugging at them.

“Woah—someone’s impatient,” he chuckles.

“We both know you’d prefer this over anything else,” you say with a daunting lilt of your head.

“That might be true but—” he sucks in a sharp breath when your hand grazes over the precum soaked bulge in his briefs. “Holy fuck.”

Hearing his exasperated breaths draw a smile from you, urging your hands to tug his underwear down and freeing—no way.

No Fucking Way.

Judging by your reaction, Gojo understands through and through that you were expecting much less from him.

It isn’t like you expecting so much less, but you weren’t expecting so fucking much. A dire mistake on your end.

It’s monstrous, big enough that if you wrapped both palms around it, there’d still be uncovered length left. You tilt your head in awe, eyeing the slight curve in it. How his pale skin underneath doesn’t overmine the flush in his tip, the white precum seeding at the opening of it.

“Something the matter?” Gojo flatly whispers, fully aware of how long you’re staring. But by no means is he feeling the heat of it.

“No,” you quickly glance up at him, unblinking.

“Uh huh,” he accepts disbelievingly, a cocky smirk on his face.

You lean forward, wrapping your palm around it. You give it a few precautionary pumps, almost as if you’re petting a wild beast, hoping to tame it. When you hear the reaction it elicits from Satoru, you can’t help but fixate on his face.

His brows knit together and his mouth drops, heavy breaths escaping him. Not only that, but you feel it. You feel the way his dick practically jumps in your hand, sensitive to your touch yet wanting more.

Your chest swells with pleasure, letting your hand feel just what he has to offer. You can feel the ridges in it, the way his veins ran thick, pulsating in your hand.

“If I knew this was the most effective way to get you to shut up, I would’ve done it a long time ago,” you murmur, half-lidded eyes on his twitching face.

“Ngghh—Ahh—Shut up,” he shudders, one hand gripping the backrest of the couch, and the other reaching across his stomach, a feeble hope to ground himself.

“Why should I?” you tease, tugging at his dick as you begin sinking further down on your knees, eye leveled with his waist. “I like hearing you like this a lot more, Satoru.”

And just as you’re about to drag your tongue along the tip of his dick, something within him snaps. He shivers, grabbing you by the back of the head and pulling you to his lips. A soft moan slips from his mouth into yours.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer,” he breathes between kisses. “—I gotta be inside ya.”

Just then, you practically feel a second heartbeat between your thighs. There is no argument in the world that you could use to refute him. All you do is nod dumbly, giving yourself up to him.

He pushes you down, your back falling against the couch cushions beneath you. Satoru hovers over you, staring down at your face, truly studying it. His gaze flicks down when yours does too, to where your fist covers his shaft.

He shudders pathetically when your hand moves along his dick, pumping it impatiently. He notes the clear enthusiasm it elicits from you, how your body curves into him from how horny you were.

Satoru’s own hand reaches for his cock, jerking it slowly before he drags the tip up and down between your folds, gliding over your quivering hole enough to tease it but not give it what it craves so desperately.

You whine, feverishly bucking your hips up into his dick, hoping he takes pity and gives you what you want.

He chuckles darkly, “So needy.”

He slaps his tip against your clit and you gasp, legs jolting at the feeling. It is more than clear he enjoyed pulling a response like that from you, so he does it again. And when you jerk in place like that once more, he sadistically laughs in a way that you wouldn’t believe he’s a hero at all.

“Look at it when I put it in,” he quickly pecks your jaw.

You hesitantly look down, seeing how he coats his cock with all your arousal mixed with your cum. A little huff drips from your lips, watching how his thumb swipes over his tip, a little wet sound stringing as he fists his heavy dick.

While he aligns his cock with the opening of your pussy, your right hand flies to his left forearm and your left hand curls around one of the couch cushions.

He begins pushing it in, grunting as the softness of your walls cling to his tip, threatening to suck him in. Your jaw drops, choppy breaths falling one after the other at how it feels like he’s splitting you open.

“Shit,” he chokes, his hair tickling your face with how close he is. “You feel so fucking good.”

Your fingers tremble the further he pushes in. Your pussy wraps around him so deliciously that he has to remind himself to practice restraint—for your sake. Ever the hero, Satoru Gojo.

Your breath stops, realizing he has way more left to go when you spare a painful glance down. He isn’t even halfway in yet.

“Fuck—Satoru, you’re too big—it won’t fit,” you push at his abdomen, teary eyed.

“Then we’ll make it fit, baby,” he coos, swatting your hand away. “Nothing to worry about.”

When someone tells you not to worry, you learn, it is entirely appropriate to in fact, worry.

He angles himself to sink into you, glancing down between each of your bodies and up at your face, seeing your face contort into a pained yet pleasured expression. The more you become acquainted with his shape, the more it begins to feel good.

When he ruts himself against you, you let out a sharp squeal, clinging onto him. Your eyes feel like they are about to burst from their very sockets, in an almost cartoonish sense.

He watches you, a smirk on his restless face. He draws his hips back and jams them back into you.

“Oh fuck!” you cry, a crease forming between your brows.

“Aw, you look so cute,” he smiles, taking a breath to wince at just how snugly set he is inside you. “All the other guys at school would want to fucking kill me to get to have a sight like this.”

“You talk too much,” you shake your head, reaching up to grab his jaw.

“And you love it,” he pulls himself out till only his tip rests inside you, then he drives his cock back in you, stringing a shriek from you. He begins doing it repeatedly, thrusting in and out of you.

At first his pace is slow yet precise, the tip of his cock prodding so far inside you, you feel it kissing your cervix. Then he decides it’s better to make you work for it before he gives you his all.

His quickens his pace, his thrusts rough and catching you off guard with each one. Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles hooking behind him and toes pointing tautly.

“I’m beginning to think you go looking for trouble just to get the Spiderman to ruin you like this,” he accentuates his point with a well-meaning thrust.

The sounds filling the air are beyond your wildest dirtiest dreams. The sound of his heavy breathing is like music to your ears, just the way your moans are to his. The lewd noises of pap pap pap ofhis balls hitting your ass mix with the squelch of his cock drilling into your wet cunt.

The feeling of him on top of you—inside you, is something you can’t even comprehend the perfection in. Every inch of your body just feels so fucking good that you feel yourself teetering on the edge of delusion.

Your hands make their way up to the base of his neck, your fingers loosely intertwine behind his head. You moan again, letting your fingertips scratch at the back of his head.

Satoru pumps himself in and out of you. He can’t even help it—it’s like his body has a mind of its own. And now, he’s trying to have at least some form of restraint, trying his utmost best to not cum. It isn’t like you’re making anything easier on him.

He nearly falls apart when you pull his mouth to yours, gasping adorably as you let your tongue meet his. You’re sharing the same air at this point, and he fucking loves it.

You feel like you could cum at any given moment. You fixate on that feeling, realizing that you haven’t had time to yourself at all in the last few months. Certainly not enough time for a man to make you cum, let alone give yourself the time to do so.

Now though, you come to the understanding you were deprived. Satoru is giving you just what you needed after so long.

He knows that if his mouth stays on yours, he doesn’t have a fighting chance. So he parts from you, holding himself up by his arms and fucking you even harder.

Your hands jump to his biceps, whining as you do so. All the while, he soaks in your appearance. Your fucked out face, the way your tits are bouncing with every one of his strokes, and the way his cock is slipping so easily in and out of you.

When he suddenly pulls out of you completely, you hardly have beyond a second to realize he’s flipping you over. Your arms rest on the arm rest of the couch, while he adjusts your hips, getting you on your knees.

You turn your head over your shoulder, seeing his big strong hands spreading your ass, spitting down between your legs. You shudder, nose crinkling at the feeling of his spit dripping down to your pussy.

He then slides his dick between your folds again, coating it before he, without warning slips back into you.

He doesn’t ease into it like he did before at all. He has a quick, relentless pace from the get-go. His dick moves inside you like it wants to blend into your body, or perhaps go so far inside you that you feel him in your throat.

With this new position, you feel him prodding deeper than before. Your walls suck him in, helping the tip of his length brushing your cervix, this time at a higher intensity.

He angles his strokes better when his hands grip into your hips. With every lust driven thrust, you feel his fingers dig into your flesh even more. You’re more than certain it will leave a mark that you’ll be seeing for days.

“Fuck me,” Satoru breathlessly laughs. “You’re being such a good girl for me. You feel good?”

“So—so fucking good,” your eyes are closed, nails digging into the plush of his couch. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he darkly mutters.

He ruts himself into your pussy again, feeling the warmth that he never wants to ever part from. He clenches his jaw, trying to ground himself in the smallest way possible at the very least.

His pelvis slams against your ass with great fervor, over and over again. Your heads drops pathetically, forehead against the armrest as you jolt forward . . . forward . . . forward. Your shoulders blades contract, back arching and creating a beautiful crease down your spine.

While he’s fucking you, a part of him wants to bend down and lick up that expanse of skin. Right where the spokes of your spine take shape. Then his eyes fix on the way your ass meets his skin and he does not dare tear his gaze away.

“Mmm shit, baby,” Satoru throws his head back deliriously. “Sucking my cock in so fucking nice.”

Then he rocks his hips against you so zealously that the angle he’s at elicits a loud scream from you. Your body falls forward, knees shaking.

“Oh?” Satoru comes to a grinding halt. “Did I find something?”

He draws himself back and drives himself straight into your pussy again, realigning himself to hit that same spot again.

When you choke out a sob, he grins, “Looks like I have.”

You spare another glance behind you, meeting eyes with that complacent expression on his face. His strokes are quick, deep, and precise, skimming at your g spot just right.

“Oh my god,” you cry, arms and legs shaking. A familiar heat stirs in your core, an iron searing heat. One that feels much more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

You look back again, seeing how Satoru’s washboard abs are glistening with a beautiful moonlit sheen. He throws his head back and you spy the way his jaw hangs when he moans.

Your trembling legs are on the verge of giving out and he feels your pussy clenching. He knows you’re on the edge. He hovers over you, his chest pressing against your back as his hand swirls your sensitive clit in circles.

His senses are clouding, vision blurring just as yours is. Every muscle in your body tightens without any direction, moving at their own accord. A million little tingles flurry over your body like blizzards.

Your throat is drying out from the sheer amount of stamina stringing out of you. And you weren’t even doing any of the work.

Your cunt tightens around him, clamping down on him. His ministrations on your clit get you right where he wants you, cumming like a whore on his dick.

You cry out, body spasming like you no longer have any control over it. You’re writhing beneath him, spilling the sweetest of moans that are going straight to his head.

“Yeah, baby, come on. You got this,” he’s whispering encouragingly in your ear, lips brushing against your helix. “Ah—ah—yeah, just like that.”

Stars stipple across the night sky of your vision. All flickering on and off as if children are playing with light switches in an empty house. Any rational thought flies out of your mind, all you can focus on is this feeling, ardent as a flame.

Satoru’s pace comes to a stop, hands slowing on your nub as he backs away. He chuckles as you slump into the couch, watching you catch your breath.

Once you do, you get back on your knees, turning to face him. He looks as if he’s about to spew some condescending rhetoric but you push him so he’s now seated.

“Your turn,” you say hoarsely, taking your place on his lap.

He surprisingly has nothing to say. Or perhaps he does but his tongue fails him quite severely in that moment.

You straddle his hips with your thighs, sitting up straight in his lap. Your arms are slung around his neck and he finds it so sexy the way one of your hands reach down to put his dick back in you.

As you sink down on his cock, both your mouths fall open, eyes on each other’s. Your arms are slung across his shoulders as you look him dead in the eye and bottom out. You softly whimper but fuck, the whimper that escapes him is worth more than any currency.

His brows pinch and nose scrunches, his pretty lips fall into a pout. One that you want to kiss off his lips so bad. His hands are on your ass, pathetically trying to guide you to go faster and move at the very least. And you do, but the speed you move at is far from fast.

You lift your hips up, and then slam yourself down, earning a strangled gasp from him. You do it again, eliciting the same reaction. Your arms slide down till your hands are at the nape of his neck, feeling the scruff of his undercut.

He moans again, this time wrapping his strong arms around your back and letting you take the reigns completely. He watches the way your cunt sheathes down on his cock repeatedly, your hair in your dazed eyes and all.

As you ride him, he can’t steer his eyes away from any part of you at all, especially your tits bouncing in front of his face. He can’t even help leaning forward ever so slightly, wrapping his mouth around your nipple, hoping it stifles his moans.

You let out a raspy cry, feeling the way his tongue flicks over your bud. His prior hope of suppressing moans is all but futile for you can hear how his heavy breaths spiral into pitchy whines.

Your hips gyrate, rolling against him and he’s already been edging himself to prolong his orgasm but now he knows he’s done for. His dick twitches, and he lets go of your nipple with a pop.

His hands come to rest on your thighs and he looks up at you darkly, “You on birth control?”

Your nails scratch tenderly over his nape again, you bite down on your lip and nod.

“Good,” he simply mutters.

He lets out a choppy moan again, eyes hooded and breaths heavy. His cock twitches inside you again, and with one final plunge in you he’s fallen completely apart. “Fuck—"

His cum spurts inside your pussy, ropes of white liquid shoot in you. The warmth of it invaded your space, hurtling deep in you before it begins leaking out of where the two of you are connected.

Shakily, you breathe as you look down, feeling his seed dripping down your thigh. You take a moment to breath, watching him come down from his high as well.

You both heave heavily, catching elusive breaths. Each of you slowly trail your eyes up at each other, staring for a moment before you both break into laughter.

He rubs his hands over your thighs, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you smile, tilting your head unconsciously. You flick your gaze over his face, seeing the damp mess his hair is now, sweaty and clinging to his skin. His eyes still have that wintered glimmer. A smile rests on his lips too.

“Can I ask you something?” you quiz.

“Shoot.” Ironic pun.

“Is the reason you’ve been getting under my skin a lot because you had a crush on me?” you ask.

“What? No,” he scoffs, hands on your hips. You cock a suspicious brow, your hands loosely skimming his neck. “You’re crazy.”

“Uh huh,” you nod sarcastically.

“You hungry?” he asks, raising his brows.

“Oh, like crazy,” you breath.

He grins, “Let me order something and I’ll get you cleaned up. Now where’s my phone?”

He stands up, carrying you easily with one arm as he reaches for his phone on the floor. You squeal, tightening your grip on him. “Satoru!”

He pays no mind as he’s already halfway through punching in his pizza order, “Hmm, how do you feel about stuffed cheesy bread?”

“I could go for it, yeah,” you say.

“Great. Done,” he clicks, a satisfied bliss on his face.

“You know have a lot of explaining to do, right?” you remind him.

“You don’t think I know that?” he scoffs airily. “I’d be pretty dumb to forget that with you badgering me around all the time.”

You open your mouth to argue and he laughs, “Kidding! I’ll tell you everything—I swear. Let’s get you cleaned up first. Food should be here by then so I’ll explain while we eat.”

“Okay, but I like hot showers—if you put me under cold water I’m feeding you to that mutant lizard thing on the news,” you warn as he carries you off into the bathroom.

“Oh—I wouldn’t dream of it,” Satoru says. “Besides, can’t take that risk. The city needs me.”

Rolling your eyes at him, you choose to keep your sarcastic remark to yourself. Instead, you lean your head against his shoulder, letting him whisk you away.

hope you guys enjoyed as much as i enjoyed writing this!! likes and reblogs are appreciated!!!

[prettypinksusi]

lovesick ♡

synopsis: how gojo would be when has a crush on you.

paring(s): teen! gojo satoru x gender-neutral reader.

disclaimer(s): none!

teen!gojo who flirts with you 24/7.

— gojo constantly teases you, throwing out over-the-top compliments like, "you’re soooo lucky i’m not blinded by your beauty," or calling you ridiculous nicknames like princess or sweetheart.

— but when you tease him back? its a whole new story. he gets flustered and deflects by laughing too loudly or making a dumb joke.

teen!gojo who tries (&fails) to impress you.

— to impress you, he brags about his workout routine, saying he can bench press twice his weight.

— when you challenge him to prove it, he quickly changes the topic to, "why are you so obsessed with me lifting weights, huh?”

— gojo swears his sunglasses make him look cool, but you once caught him squinting at a menu because they're prescription.

— he’s convinced he's irresistible, so he shows off constantly-basketball trick shots, balancing a broom on one finger, or "accidentally" letting you see how easily he aces a test he didn't study for.

teen!gojo who is always listening to you.

— gojo remembers the random details you casually mention, like your favorite snack or that you're stressed about an upcoming quiz.

— the next day, he'll "magically" have your favorite candy in his pocket— or whisper the quiz answers he definitely stole from the teacher's desk.

teen!gojo who gets jealous easily.

— if anyone flirts with you, gojo will swoop in, throwing an arm around you and loudly proclaiming, "sorry, they’re busy being obsessed with me!"

— he’ll act nonchalant, but if you show any interest in someone else, he'll sulk until you ask what's wrong. typical!!!!

teen!gojo who panics when ur nice to him.

— if you compliment him genuinely-like saying he looks good without his sunglasses-he'll short-circuit for a second before brushing it off with a cocky, "i know, right?"

teen!gojo who has ridiculous pick up lines for you.

— “if beauty were a crime, you'd be serving a life sentence."

— “do you believe in love at first sight, or should i walk by again?"

— when you roll your eyes, (per usual) he adds,
"hey, that was gold! you’re just in denial."

teen!gojo who enjoys texting you whenever, wherever.

— gojo sends you memes at 2 am with captions like, "us, if you'd just admit your feelings."

— and if you don't reply immediately, he texts, "?? hello? did you die? or are you just playing hard to get like always?"

[metranart]

After that damn dick pic, Gojo broke the window and entered… and basically, TAMED you. That’s how you felt. Satoru Gojo on top of you, pounding your pussy like his life depended on it, not even taking a break to rehydrate as fat drops of sweat started to fall on the feverish skin of your back. His hair was damp, strands sticking against his forehead, cheeks burning and heavy balls drumming against your ass, he should be exhausted, had already come five times, three inside and two outside, but his pace didn’t falter- like that smile on his face or his firm hands on either side of your hip or his muffled moans every time he felt close again. 

“Satoru~” you choked, voice weak and lazy, and he licked his lips expectantly. “Satoru….” You repeated, disoriented and you could hear him laugh, amused before his impatience worn out.

“What do you need, baby?” 

He asked in a calm that was almost impossible considering how agitated his thrusts were. How the hell did he make himself sound so in control while being so out of control at the same time!?

Your words caught in your dry throat. 

“Tell me, don’t put yourself in mute, (y/n)—” he insisted, slowing the pace of his hips but making each thrust more intense, more precise, making sure to hit that soft, spongy spot inside you that made your pussy clench around him and your fists clench the sheets, penetrating you slowly, deliciously slow, as if he wanted you to taste every vein and ridge on his cock. “Come on, tell me little one, you need it deeper, faster, you want to change positions, you want to ride me…. Would you like me to rub your clit again, pull your hair, come on tell me, I’ll do whatever you want—”

“—Get on top of me.”

You forced yourself to say it, embarrassment forgotten, an eyebrow rose on Gojo's forehead, surprise written all over his features, pleasant surprise. And before you had to repeat it, you felt his warm, strong, massive body on top of you… it wasn't enough—

“…Closer….” 

“Huh? I didn’t hear, love.”

Gojo leaned down further, holding himself up on his palms so as not to crush you, the height difference between you was alarming, so alarming that when he stuck his cock in you it felt like a forearm entering you. He almost came just remembering it.

“Like this? Or would you rather—…”

“Closer!” You cried against the sheet, “closer, Satoru, crush me—… hold my wrists and—… subdue me,” he could clearly make out the shame smeared in your broken pleas, “as if I were yours… and no one else’s—”

“—YOU’RE MINE AND NO ONE ELSE’S.”

The sorcerer stressed against your ear, his heavy body falling suffocatingly on yours, you could still feel his flexed arms holding most of his weight, still worrying about not crushing you under his immense mass of muscles, and that put a smile on your lips.

“Is this close enough?” He sewed the words against your sweaty hair, breathing in the delicious scent of your sweat and your essence, his large hands wrapped around your wrists. “Now, do you feel mine already?”

He asked, and his cock spasmed inside you, crawling deeper. 

“If anyone saw us right now, they would think the worst of me-”

“-That you sent me a picture of your dick, broke the window of my apartment and came in uninvited…no Satoru, why do you think anyone would think less of you?”

His laughter rumbles against your ear, “oh but honey, you didn’t put up the slightest resistance, I barely walked in, and your eyes went down to my crotch-”

“You had just sent me a dick pic-”

“And of course, you couldn’t wait to see the real thing.”

“Gojo!” 

You scolded him, but it wasn’t far from the truth, that picture had unleashed something in you that made you almost sexually assault him when you had him in your territory. Little was the dialogue before you were both naked, and shorter was the declaration of love, before you buried yourself in him— YOU! pushing him down on your bed to crawl on top of him and slowly begin to bury that massive cock inside you. YOU, pushing your body down as he holds your waist to keep from tearing you apart since you insisted of not letting him prepare you first, YOU, using all your strength to in one sitting swallow entirely that massive cock, making Gojo shriek almost painfully at how good it felt but in reality, you loving it more as it stretched you like never before. YOU, starting to ride him slowly but acquiring a wild, back and forth, that squeezed an almost animalistic squeal out of the sorcerer before he came way too fast, mortifying him.

“I-I’m sorry, (y/n)… it’s j-just that I like you SO damn much.” 

You didn't want excuses, you didn't need them, you just wanted him to keep fucking you and that's what he did, for hours, bending you in every position imaginable, your legs over his shoulders, your face against the wall, against the floor, against the kitchen counter, against the fucking floor. The obvious bed being left as the last bastion of your carnal sin. 

“You’re not going to move?” You ended up asking as Gojo just stood there enjoying the suffocating closeness and the even more suffocating feeling of being inside you.

“I’ve already come five times, even I have a limit—” he chuckled, “this is nice, just the way it is.”

You pouted, frowning a little. “Friction is more pleasant—”

“—I DON’T want it to end.” 

His statement shocked you. 

“I don’t want to wake up from this beautiful dream…” for the first time since you met him, his voice sounded fragile, “this dream where you want me, and you call me yours—” your gasp was smothered against the mattress, “just five more minutes, grant me this, darling.” His sweaty forehead pressed against the back of your head. “I know I sound pathetic but—” 

“You are mine, Satoru Gojo, and no one else.” 

You offered without hesitation and could clearly hear him gasp, unable to utter a word at your declaration, the same words he had said to you not more than five minutes ago. But they were not the result of passion or heat…. and that was what had him stunned. 

“……Marry me?” 

Was the first thing that came out of his mouth, and you couldn’t help but laugh as it came back to you, the image of a young Satoru asking you the same thing incessantly through the years.

You tilted your head to the side to glance at him and smiled. You could feel his heart beating excitedly, euphorically against your back.

“You’re not going to stop until I’m Mrs. Gojo, are you?”

“Even if you never are, I’m not going to stop.”

He kissed the words against your neck, your shoulders, your cheeks, up to your lips, which he devoured insatiably, and already sure of his victory, the friction was imminent, as well as him cumming hard and deep inside you, the muscles in his abs tensing against your back to then feel his warm mouth signing your flushed cheeks in a rain of sweet kisses. 

Both, spent and comfortable, Gojo stroke your hair in affectionate pets until your breathing even out to then in the gentlest of twists wrap you in his strong arms, rolling you over to use you as his blanket, his warm and sweaty and soft and his, blanket. The delicious tickle of his nails tracing your back as you rested on him almost sent you to the world of dreams.

“—See everything that a dick pic caused.” You spelled in a lazy voice.

Gojo grinned from ear to ear, a dorky smirk on his face. “If this caused just one, let me send you the other fifty I have but never sent you.” 

You shook your head, in reprehensible amusement and his eyes obsess over every inch of you, how your brows furrow, how your mouth twitches up, and how he feels so irrevocably blissed out by you.

“Silly boy-”

“Your silly boy?” 

You can feel his expectation, thickening the air around both and you grin, granting him the words he wants to hear so bad since he was but a child.

“MY silly boy.”

Satoru glued to your body, letting you sink deeper into his greedy embrace. Maybe being Mrs. Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be so bad, maybe.

➡️🔞 NSFW art of this drabble in my patr30n

Link to PART ONE of this story

[kissingmensbiceps]

Dirty Sheets ch.1 . . . Forgot your keys?

୨୧ summary: You were raised to be a good girl. With a strict lifestyle, college was a way to escape your small town and enter the real world. Sadly enough that meant bills upon bills, making it hard to fend for your own. That’s where Satoru Gojo came into your life. Your roommate, splitting the bills each month. You didn’t question what he did for work, and he didn’t question you. Sneaking around, doing such lewd things to rack up the bills, and secretly getting off on each other in the process.

୨୧ pairing: pornstar!Gojo x pornstar!reader

୨୧ wc: 1.9k (about a 8 minute read)

୨୧ warnings: 18+, fem!reader, smut, college au, f!ingering, jerking off, friends (?) to lovers, slow burn (upcoming), mentions of religion.

୨୧ a/n: Hi pretty babies this was just a little something that had been in my head for a while. I wanna turn it into a series but I’m not sure yet. Anyways happy reading :)

The door of your room was locked shut with extra care and serenity to block out any noise of the lewd, dirty acts going on behind. It was 9:00 pm, your roommate out of the house at some underground emo rock show—you didn’t really listen where Gojo said he was going, nor did you care. Instead, your mind was occupied and booked with the work you had to get done by the time he got home. Let’s just say it involved props, set up, and one hell of a pornographic moan to accomplish it.

Your laptop was propped up on your plush mattress, which was covered in fuzzy blankets—some of which Gojo had bought you last year for Christmas before things got rough between the two of you. It was sinful, to be making such content just to pay your half of the rent each month, doing it on the covers that he had bought you. No one else to see. Yet they were right under you in almost every video you made.

It was good money, though, and along side with your job as a bartender, money added up quick; pockets were heavy, your belly was full, and you had a little extra on yourself to do whatever.

And that usually consisted of going to the nearest sex shop in town and buying more things for your videos. Where you would store them? That was a problem for when you got home.

Clicking the big red “record” button on the screen, you get into position. You always got countless messages from men, mostly older, and even the occasional woman, and you who’d do whatever they asked. They sent the money and you got to work.

It was your dirty little secret, something no one knew about, something that no one would ever know about. You were a good girl. Coming from a strict Christian household, the youngest in the family, not even mentioning being the only girl in your family. Overprotective brothers and a pastor as your father. Of course no one would know, they wouldn’t suspect their sweet, innocent baby girl to do such disgusting things.

You flutter your eyes in a doe like manor into the camera, your eyes big and round as you slowly stick out your pink, wet tongue. Taking your pointer and middle finger together, pressing the pads of them softly onto the wet surface before closing your mouth around them, keeping eye contact the entire time. You swirl your hot tongue around your digits before taking them out with a pop.

Finally looking away from the camera, your eyes trail down, leading to where your clothed pussy rested gently on the bed. There was a noticeable wet spot through the lace, which you had made by playing and teasing yourself beforehand.

The warm fairy lights that strung along your room created a angel-like glow across your body, which was expected to be covered up head to toe, according to the way you were raised. It angled off your creamy, soft skin that was pleasurable to the eyes who would get their nasty and salacious hands on this film.

A cheeky small smile appears on your lips, feeling your heart speed up just slightly as you look at the camera through your thick lashes. You take your slippery, spit coated fingers and bring them down to your panties, going achingly slow for the viewer.

Finally you pull them to the side, dipping them into your soaking folds, feeling yourself up softly as you tilt your head back. Soft hums and whimpers escape your lips which were drawn back into your teeth. One finger slips into your warm cunt, curling it in just the right way. Slowly moving it in a steady speed, you add the second finger, making your jaw go slack.

You speed up your movements, making sounds that are a bit exaggerated—but they have to be right? You gently begin to ride your fingers like they were a girthy cock, who’s cock? You don’t have an answer, just an imagination and years worth of browsing through twitter and other porn websites under your belt.

It’s not long before you cum all over your fingers with a moan loud enough that Gojo could definitely hear from inside his bedroom, but he’s not here right now, is he? Panting softly, your brain registers that you’re still recording. You look back into the lens, and see yourself on the screen: flushed, disheveled, eyes half lidded to the point of dozing off, and fingers still halfway shoved in your spongy walls.

You pull them out, lick them clean like a cat licks her paws, before smiling softly once more at the camera. Saying a final message, you end the video and collapse onto your welcoming bed, cunt still sticky with your release.

You stare at the ceiling feeling a sense of guilt. Gods watching you. Is all that rang through your head, over and over like a bad headache that just wouldn’t go the fuck away. Shouldn’t swear either, sweetie, you know the rules in this house.

Your thoughts disperse from your clouded mind when your phone dings from beside you.

| | 9:24 P.M Gojo: omw home. open the door 4 me, lost my keys.

You sigh as you read his unwelcome message, this dudes always loosing his fucking keys. It was getting annoying at this point. At least you had a decent excuse to be a bit bitchy tonight.

| | 9:25 P.M You: okay.

You walk to the door with heavy footsteps, swinging it open to find a slightly tipsy Gojo with a bored expression on his dumb hot face. With a small huff you open it wider as he ducks down to walk through.

“Sure took ya long enough to answer the door.” He mutters, doesn’t bother to take his shoes off which you often pester him about, and continues his journey through the apartment.

“And maybe you shouldn’t have forgotten your keys-“

“—Lost actually.”

You glare at him which makes him crack an amused smile. “Right, my apologies for using the wrong terminology for your key predicament.”

He only smirks which makes you want to either punch it right off his gorgeous mouth or kiss it, haven’t made up your mind about that one yet. It was a daily battle between your annoyance of Satoru Gojo, or complete and utter desire.

“You’re in quite the mood this evening,” He comments as he sets down a brown paper bag on the kitchen island. “Almost makes me feel bad for ya.” He breaks open the staple sealed bag with a rip. “That was a joke by the way.”

“Haha, your like, just so funny! The funniest actually.” He rolls his eyes at your sarcastic comment which makes you smirk this time around as you sit on the other side of the island.

“Your ass must be pretty jealous of all the shit that comes out of your mouth.” He quips which makes you scoff. He pulls out the take out from the paper back and onto the counter, the smell of Chinese food making your mouth water.

“Oooh ouch that one hurt.” You respond to his joke as you secretly sniff out the food. All you wanted was a good meal after a tiring orgasam, but your stubborn attitude refuses to ask. “And for future reference, don’t make jokes involving my ass.”

“Why, ya a prude or somethin’?” Gojo turns around to grab a pair of chopsticks from a drawer.

“No. Gonna let me have a taste?” You nod your head to the box of lo mein that he had set on the counter.

He turns around. “Then why can’t I make jokes about your ass?” He stuffs the chopsticks into the box as he leans against the counter, completely ignoring your request.

“Because, Gojo, my ass is too good for you to be talked about.” You roll your eyes. “And it’s disgusting for you to even want to.”

“Your acting like a pruuude.” He says in a sing song voice, which was annoyingly good and pleasing to the ears. Gojo had a love for music, at least that’s your impression. By the multiple rock band t-shirts he owns and the underground band concerts he attends with his friends, it’s pretty easy to tell.

You only scoff and roll your eyes, something you did so often that it was a miracle that they didn’t get stuck that way. Pushing yourself off the counter you grab a bottle of water from the fridge “Goodnight, loser.”

“Night, princess.” You could hear the smug tone in his voice and mouth full of noodles, which makes you want to rip his vocal cords out but then you wouldn’t be able to hear the pretty noises he made late at night, whether that be his annoyingly good singing skills, or the ones he made while using his left hand.

“And find your fucking keys,” You call back. “Next time I ain’t letting you in.”

Gojo watched as you went to your room, fluffy pajamas pants making you look oh so soft and cuddly, making a perfect mental image to get off later. But he had business to take care of.

It’s not like he’d tell anyone (who wasn’t his closet friends because he enjoyed to brag) because then he’d get the label of “man whore”. And sadly as cool as it was in the men’s locker room to ramble on and on about the latest girl you had fucked, it wasn’t something you went and told other women.

That was one of the only things Gojo was good at besides making a girl have an actual pleasurable orgsam. It was who and when to tell. No girl willingly wants to have sex with a slut. Too many risks, physically and of course mentally. Man sluts never stay.

So instead of going out every night and finding some random hot chick to plant his seed and go along on his merry way, he decided to stay in and make content. Easy money, he just had to touch his cock (which he did multiple times anyway) make a few videos emphasizing his voice to either be more dominant or submissive and boom. Rent money is perfectly handled. Rest of the savings going to drinks at the clubs or parties he went to with Geto or Nanami when they could get him out the house.

He’d spoil himself by indulging on other people’s videos and smutty photos as well. He’d spend his sleepless nights searching the web for a new pretty baby to watch get herself off, picturing himself in bed with her, helping the poor thing out.

And of course Gojo never told you about his job. He wasn’t the fondest of you, and you weren’t the biggest fan of him either, but he didn’t want to destroy the innocence he thought you had.

But you both continued to make your content, racking up enough bills to move out of this shitty off-campus apartment but you never did. For what reason? You both liked the company. You liked the thought of sneaking around each other, secretly getting off on each other’s sacred body parts that were too private to actually explore.

You secretly got off to his desperate huffs of air and whiny breaths through the thin walls, cold fingers tracing your clit as you imagine that they were his.

Unbeknownst to you, he’d watch the faceless bodies on his own laptop, picturing your face on the heavenly body as he jerked off. Slowly moving his hand up and down his shaft, eyes shut tight as if they were glued to stay that way.His brain going into the dark depths that were only brought to the surface when he’d see you. His precious little roommate that just seemed so incredibly sweet, stepping into heaven and seeing her as God’s favorite angel.

[yanderenightmare-reblogs]

this is what inspired that fic btw

Once again, Satoru as Ghostface 🔪

More on X ➡️✨ Spicy here!

[nxrvqna]

reunion sex was unfathomable with gojo. his lips never leaving yours. a clash of teeth. heavy panting. skin sheen with sweat. it’s the yearning, the clumsy touches, the pure desperation.

you tugged at his lily locks to bring him forward to you, and gojo groaned from the dull pain of your pull, abs flush against your back as he hastily plowed himself into you. your slick allowed for an ease in movement, and he brought one hand down away from your tit to tease and flick at the delicious bundle of nerves, hidden beneath your hood.

you squeal out in ecstasy, tears threatening to escape your eyes. he pulls out and turns you on your back, pushing your knees to your chest, before bottoming in you again, knocking whatever wind you had left in your lungs out.

he presses all his body weight against you, opting for shallow thrusts, trying to get even more impossibly closer to you. he captures your lips in a tender kiss, contradictory to the assault he was launching on your pussy. he unsheathed himself from your glove of a cunt, leaving just his tip in, before slamming into again at full force. your tears broke free like a dam, racing down your cheeks and he lapped them right up, savouring the saltiness against the sweetness of your skin.

“best believe i’m never leaving your side again, sweetheart. d-don’t know how i lasted so long without your cunt.” he whined. his broad shoulders kept your knees knocking against your temples, and your fingers snaked behind to his nape to bring his head to the crook of your neck. “don’t ever leave me baby, i can’t han- handle it!” you cried between thrusts. “i love you so much!” his handsome face littered with thin scars scrunched from your confession, his dick throbbing.

he felt himself grow harder and saw the alarm in your face and moaned. “oh yeah?” he jackhammers into you at a lethal pace, ruddy tip prodding your cervix. “gonna have to marry you then, never let me leave, huh?” you felt yourself clench around him, hearing his promise and he lets out a breathy laugh.

every snap of his hips against yours was bruising, having one intention and one intention only; to make sure your warm cavern remembered the shape of his dick, stayed as a mould of his dick. the scar circling his torso flexed with every thrust, the colour of the blemish contrasting against the pale skin. your feather- like hand moved towards the mark, gently caressing it. you whispered his name and called out to him like a prayer, like he was your saviour, your solution to every problem.

truth be told he was. being with you again was nauseating, an attachment so sickening. his lack of control and composure when he stepped through that door was insane, hands itching to be on you.

his relentless pumping and your essence had formed a glossy ring of white around the base of his cock, and he knew one thing for sure, he would never leave your side again.

[fushiguho]

☆ brutally humbling a slutty and arrogantly cocky satoru gojo who’s used to getting his way with women. that is until he falls into bed with you of course.

“p— please.” he’d choke, that oh so poised and sure voice of his reduced to a raucous, pathetic whisper. “pleasepleasepleaseplease.”

“awe are you frustrated?” you’d coo, a feigned frown spreading across your pretty, triumphant face. several of your slick, nimble fingers are creeping down to play with his achingly full sack that hangs low and heavy, mindlessly toying with them. you pout. “is that poor cock frustrated with me?”

satoru grouses a low, frustrated yes. his teeth grit, stomach caving in his insatiable desire to release — to leak rope after sticky rope of his sickly sweet cum allll over your teasing hand… or even in that bratty little mouth of yours to shut you up for good.

a sick smile graces your lips, those pretty eyes of yours entrapping his lingering gaze as you drop your head to the left. satoru watches far too eagerly as you begin to pool saliva in your mouth, eventually lolling out your tongue to drool down the swollen head of his cock. a woozy, lust-laden hiccup leaves him before a sultry cry of frustration ensues.

“fuuuck! just let me cummm, would you?” he would whine, deliriously screwing his eyes closed whilst an unintentional gasp parts his pretty, blushing lips. “would you give me that at least? i’ll do whatever you want, s-swear.”

and really, he would. he would let you spank him raw. let you bend him over whatever surface you see fit, let you fuck him with anything — your fingers, a cute little toy, a cock strapped to your pretty hips. it doesn’t fucking matter.

“god, please!” it comes out unthinkingly as a demanding growl, pitifully unaware of his own overbearing desperation. “hnngh, you’re so m-mean! let me fucking cum, please.” he pants, hips stuttering.

“or what, satoru?” you taunt, jerking your hand away from his weeping erection. “you gonna punish me?”

frantically, he shakes his head, loose tresses of ivory falling before his crossing eyes. a big, desperate hand is reaching for yours, pulling it over his twitching cock which you graciously allow him to do. as you wrap your hand around him for the nth time, thick, heavy tears of desperation cling to his snowy bottom lashes.

god, he would sound utterly desperate too. so fucking needy and slutty and shameless. everything he has ever amounted to — all of his esteem, his power, his dignity — leaves him almost pathetically, manifesting itself in those loud, helpless wails of unwitting pleasure.

his jaw falls wide, wet lips parting in a fruitless attempt to speak, yet words cease to whirl from his raptured tongue. instead he’s pursing his lips together, breathing hard, pathetic breaths through his flaring nostrils.

those slutty hips of his buck toward your hand once, imprudently forcing his stiff, achy cock through your closed fist, but you’re quickly reprimanding him with a harsh squeeze down the warm base of his shaft. a thwarted whimper leaves him, those messy, ivory brows furrowing deeply.

“oh, behave.” you’d spit, dragging your thumb between the pearlescent, drooling opening of his cockhead. “you’re a bratty little thing, aren’t you?” it’s a mere observation as you smile down on him and his mouth gapes. “brats don’t cum, silly.”

and it’s embarssing how hard his would cock jerk against the sticky palm of your hand. your beautifully curt voice is narcotic and he’s fucking spiraling. in all of satoru’s twenty odd years of life, no one has ever spoken to him like this — so demanding and sure and brash.

you lean in close enough to observe the thin sheen of sweat that adorns his twisting face. he feels pathetic beneath you, merely suspended at the helm of your mercy. deliriously, he lifts his head from his pillow, lips desperately inching toward yours, but you pull away, smiling, adding a frustrating amount of distance between the two of you. a loud, guttural groan of dismay leaves him.

you suck your teeth. “i oughta fuck some manners into you, but you’d like that too much,” you’d hum, idly pumping his fat, slobbering cock from the head to the base over and over and over, “wouldn’t you?”

dumbly, he nods, his bottom lip falling between his teeth. you let off a sweet laugh and his cock twitches. woozily, his head falls back and he mumbles. “god, just do whatever you want with me.”

and that you will, trust.

[kyupikku]

gojo does not know what to do when he's overwhelmed with love just for you. you just did something so sweet that just makes his heart beat wildly or said something so kind that makes his face heat up. he's so fucking in love with you he can't even think properly. all he can think of is you, his love for you, and how you make him feel so happy, so alive, so loved, and so cared for.

"i'm so happy you're in my life," you muttered, finishing up washing the dishes, looking down at the sink with the last plate in your hand - he thinks his heart will burst and explode out his chest or maybe even grow a pair of two legs and arms so it could go and marry yours.

© 2024 all content is written, edited and posted by @kyupikku. please do not steal or copy anything!

[chosok-amo]

HEART SPIKES AND HEATENS

(✽) summary. it was supposed to be your date with the boyfriends, but it’s raining and none of you want to spend time being cold and wet. . . so, you three decided to spend the day at the apartment, drawings doodles on sukuna’s tattoos and gojo’s arm, getting all high and stupid.

featuring. gojo satoru, ryomen sukuna (college au)

warning. established relationship, poly! suku-go, fluff, crack, lots and lots of name-calling, petname(s), suggestive words/conversation(s), smoke jōint(s), high/drunk,

it’s 3 pm, and the rain hasn’t let up for hours, falling harshly against the windows of the apartment and turning the sky a dull, heavy gray. the soft patter of the downpour fills the living room, mixing with the faint sound of lo-fi music playing through the speakers. the three of you had planned a date today—something special—but the rain decided otherwise. still, none of you seem to mind too much. instead of heading out, you’ve all settled into a quiet, lazy afternoon together.

you’re still dressed in your intended date outfit: a crisp white cropped shirt that hugs your shoulders and arms perfectly, paired with a pleated black pinstripe skirt that sits snugly on your waist. your hair falls naturally, slightly tousled now, framing your face as you lay on your stomach across the soft carpet in the living room. your bare legs stretch out behind you, toes curling occasionally as you focus on your task.

in front of you lies sukuna, sprawled lazily on his back like he owns the place. his dark green oversized jeans hang low on his hips, the fabric bunched at his ankles where his bare feet peek out. he wears a black sleeveless shirt that clings to his toned torso, showing off the intricate black ink of his tattoos that trail up his arm and over his shoulder. one arm rests in front of you, muscles relaxed, his hand stretched open to give you full access to his skin. his other hand, however, holds a joint lazily between two fingers, the faint wisps of smoke curling toward the ceiling. sukuna looks half-lidded, eyes fluttering closed now and then as he exhales with a content sigh, clearly enjoying the stillness of the day.

gojo is lying nearby, parallel to sukuna, with his arms tucked lazily behind his head. he’s dressed comfortably too—black baggy jeans with a loose black t-shirt layered under a dark brown jacket that lay boneless on the floor not far away. the soft fabric is slightly crumpled, evidence that he’s been lounging for a while. gojo’s white hair flops over his forehead, a contrast to the dark palette of his outfit. he’s watching you, an easy grin tugging at his lips every time you focus just a little too hard on coloring sukuna’s tattoos.

“what are you even doing?” gojo finally asks, the teasing lilt in his voice breaking the calm. he cranes his neck up slightly, his bright blue eyes twinkling as they settle on the small pile of colored markers scattered around you.

you don’t look up, chewing on your bottom lip as you carefully drag a bright pink marker across one of the roses etched into sukuna’s forearm. “i’m fixing him.”

sukuna lazily opens one eye, shifting his arm ever-so-slightly to keep his muscles relaxed for you. “fixin’ me, huh?” he repeats, voice low and rough. he takes a deep inhale of the joint, his chest rising and falling with the exhale, before he turns his gaze to gojo.

gojo grins wider in response, clearly amused by your antics. “you don’t think i’m pretty enough already?” sukuna teases, his eyes narrowing mischievously. sukuna watches idly as you continue to add color to his skin, your concentration unwavering. “i thought you loved my ink, doll,” he adds, his expression turning slightly smug. he takes another draw of the joint before holding it out to you lazily.

gojo chuckles at his remark, his gaze flickering between you and sukuna before his eyes are fixed on you, watching every small movement you make in fascination. “you’re both plenty pretty,” you say with a small huff, not looking up from your task. sukuna chuckles, a deep rumble from his chest, while gojo lets out a soft snort of amusement.

you continue coloring, your fingers wrapping around sukuna’s arm to steady it. you can feel his muscles under the skin, tense but at ease, and you take silent pride in the fact that he’s allowing you to do this. sukuna hums low in his throat, the vibrations running through his chest and into your fingertips. “yeah, baby?” he asks, his voice laced with a hint of mockery. despite the playful tones, his muscles are relaxed under your hands, allowing you to continue your work without any resistance from him.

gojo, ever observant, watches the small interaction with a hint of an amused smile, his blue eyes tracking the way your fingertips move across sukuna’s skin. he keeps his mouth shut, letting you two have your moment. you pause for just a second, sukuna’s words rolling through the air with that deep, teasing hum of his, and the corners of your lips twitch up. your hand stills, fingertips resting lightly against the inked designs on his forearm. then, without missing a beat, you tilt your head, meeting his gaze with narrowed eyes and a perfectly exaggerated mockery of his tone.

“yeah, baby?” you mimic, dragging out the words with as much sarcasm as you can muster, your voice high and mocking as you flutter your lashes dramatically. the look you shoot him is equal parts playful and smug, daring him to say something else.

sukuna’s lip curls into an amused smirk, the vibrations of his chuckle reverberating under your fingertips. “watch it,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite to his words—just that lazy, teasing drawl he always uses when you push back.

without missing a beat, you pull the cap off a bright yellow marker with a quiet pop and switch focus, a devious glint in your eyes. “you know what? you don’t have enough stars.” you lean closer to his arm, the tip of the pen pressing carefully against the space between his intricate tattoos. little bursts of yellow start to appear—stars scattered randomly, as if you’re adding your own personal constellation to his skin.

“seriously?” sukuna mutters, his brow arching as he tilts his head just enough to watch what you’re doing. “this is what we’re doing now?”

“oh, absolutely,” you shoot back, grinning as you carefully dot a smaller star next to a skull. “it’s called enhancing the art, baby. i’m making you look heavenly.”

gojo, who’s been silently watching this exchange like a spectator at a comedy show, finally snorts, the sound breaking through the rain and the low music. “heavenly? yeah, right. sukuna’s more like the villain who got glitter bombed by accident.”

you don’t even pause, your focus still on the yellow stars you’re meticulously adding to sukuna’s tattoos. the marker glides across his skin as you hum softly, a noncommittal sound that borders on mock innocence. without looking up—without even missing a beat—you deliver your response, deadpan and smooth as ever.

“yeah. a hot one.”

sukuna’s smirk widens at your words, his sharp gaze flickering to your face as you remain focused, completely unbothered. there’s a beat of silence, filled only by the steady scratch of the marker and the quiet patter of rain outside. then, without warning, he shifts—just enough to lean closer, his movement lazy and fluid, like a predator that doesn’t need to rush.

before you can react, he presses a kiss against your cheek, the warmth of it brief but deliberate, his lips lingering just long enough to catch you off guard. “cute,” he murmurs, the word low and teasing as it rumbles against your skin. there’s no mockery in his tone now—just something undeniably smug and pleased, as if he’s won a game you didn’t even realize you were playing.

gojo lets out another amused snort from his position nearby, watching the two of you interact. “yeah, cute,” he mutters, his voice filled with an affectionate annoyance that borders on fond. he sits up slightly, leaning back on one elbow as he takes a hit from the joint after he steal from sukuna’s fingers. the smoke curls from his lips as he exhales, his gaze wandering over your form, still laying on the carpet, the colorful markers surrounding you.

you don’t look up, the soft hum escaping your lips acting as both acknowledgment and dismissal—a subtle, wordless response that says you’ve heard them but refuse to give them the satisfaction of a full reaction.

yet despite your calm facade, a small, barely-there smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. it’s the kind of smile that lingers, slow and unintentional, betraying the fact that sukuna’s kiss and gojo’s teasing have amused you more than you’d care to admit.

your focus remains on sukuna’s arm, the yellow stars you’re carefully adding between his tattoos growing brighter under your meticulous work. the soft patter of rain fills the space again, the atmosphere warm and still as if the three of you exist in your own little world.

sukuna’s eyes narrowed slightly as he caught the faint curve of your lips forming a small smile. though he didn’t comment, his sharp gaze lingered on you with quiet intensity. beneath your fingers, his muscles remained loose and unbothered, but the subtle shift in his posture betrayed a certain vigilance—as if he was waiting for something unseen.

gojo, on the other hand, let out a low scoff, clearly amused by your expression. his smirk grew as he tilted his head back lazily, taking a slow drag from the joint between his fingers. even as the smoke curled upward, his sharp blue eyes stayed trained on you, brimming with mischief. meanwhile, sukuna’s focus didn’t waver, though his eyelids grew heavier, the warm glow of the room and the haze of the joint casting a languid spell over him. the faintest hint of a grin tugged at his lips, though it was difficult to tell if it was from amusement or pure contentment.

gojo stretched out with an exaggerated groan, sprawling across the carpet floor with his arms spread wide. “mmm,” he sighed, his voice low and drawling as he stared at the ceiling. the soft scratching of the marker against sukuna’s arm was the only sound filling the cozy quiet, accompanied by the rhythmic patter of rain against the windows.

sukuna let you continue your work on his skin, utterly unbothered, while gojo suddenly broke the tranquility. “hey,” he muttered, lets out a soft sigh, his eyes still glued to the ceiling as he mutters in a mock-whine, “can i be next?”

you hum softly, the sound nonchalant yet sweet, as you give a small nod of your head without glancing up from sukuna’s arm. “don’t worry,” you say, your tone light but teasing as your marker continues its gentle path over his skin, adding the finishing touches to another star before changing color for another tattoo. “you’re next.”

an exaggerated grin spreading across gojo’s lips at your words, head tilted towards you. “yeah? what are you thinking for me? something cool, right?” looking up for a second, you meet gojo’s expectant gaze with a deadpan expression that doesn’t match the devious glint in your eyes before drowning in a task in hand. “how about pink hearts?”

sukuna lets out a snort, his arm trembling with suppressed laughter as your words register. his amusement is subtle but unmistakable, his crimson eyes gleaming with unspoken humor. gojo, on the other hand, roll his eyes. “pink hearts?” he echoes, his tone teetering between mock outrage and barely concealed amusement. “you’d decorate me like a damn valentine’s day card?”

your laughter spills out in response, soft and warm, resonating through the cozy atmosphere of the room. your gaze finally lifts to meet gojo’s fully, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes. “it’s cool,” you quip, dragging the word out with exaggerated teasing as you snap the yellow marker’s cap back into place with a satisfying click. “it’s edgy. you’ll look like everyone’s valentine at the same time.”

gojo props himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing in mock indignation as he glares between the two of you. “edgy? hearts aren’t edgy—they’re soft and cute. i’m cool and edgy.”

you roll your eyes, grinning as you grab a pink marker and hold it up like a trophy. “oh, don’t worry. i’ll make them edgy. spiky hearts with little sparkles. super intimidating.”

gojo lets out another groan, collapsing back onto the carpet dramatically as he throws one arm over his face. “this is emotional sabotage,” he mutters, though the smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrays him. “i trusted you, and you’re turning me into a walking valentine’s day ad.”

“you’ll love it,” you shoot back, uncapping the pink marker with a flourish and holding it up like it’s some kind of divine weapon. your grin is wicked, your tone dripping with smug confidence as you add, “you always do.”

gojo peeks at you from under his arm, his lips twitching like he’s trying to fight back a smile. “i do not.”

“oh, but you do,” you counter smoothly, already leaning toward him with the marker poised. “you’ll look so cool.” you exaggerate the word, drawing it out as if you’re promising him something legendary. “spiky hearts, sparkles, and a little blue? the edgiest valentine alive.”

sukuna hums low in his throat, clearly enjoying the exchange as his head turns just enough to watch. “gojo, just give up already. she’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

“i do not—” gojo starts to protest, but his words are cut off as you swipe the marker across his arm in one smooth motion, the first spiky heart taking shape before he can move. he stares at it, stunned for half a second, before groaning dramatically. “oh, great. this is how my legacy ends.”

“a masterpiece,” you declare proudly, biting back a laugh as you start to add sparkles around the heart. “you’re welcome, by the way.”

sukuna watches, his expression still lazy and content as he lets out an amused huff. he’s enjoying the spectacle, his eyes flickering between gojo's dramatic reactions and your smug expression.

gojo, meanwhile, continues to lament his apparent downfall. “my reputation,” he moans, dramatically flinging his free arm across his face. “ruined. all because of some pink hearts.” he glances up at you, a mixture of mock irritation and genuine affection in his gaze. “i am not wrapped around your finger,” he protests, his tone still half-hearted as he watches you work.

you chuckle softly, shaking your head as you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to gojo’s arm—right above one of the freshly drawn spiky hearts. “i know,” you murmur, the corners of your lips curling into a warm smile as you meet his gaze. despite the teasing, there’s a flicker of affection in your voice, soft enough to ease his dramatic pout.

gojo blinks at you, stunned for just a beat, before the faintest dusting of pink colors his cheeks. he clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure as he mutters, “well, good. as long as you know.”

without missing a beat, you pick up a blue marker, uncapping it with an exaggerated flourish as you lean back to examine your “canvas.” “come on, stop pouting,” you tease, nudging his side lightly with your elbow. “i used another color too. balance, baby. artistic integrity.”

“artistic integrity, my ass,” he grumbles, though his lips twitch into a grin as he peeks down at his arm, now adorned with spiky pink hearts and tiny blue accents. “you’re lucky i’m this handsome—i can pull anything off.”

from his spot, sukuna snorts, the sound deep and full of amusement. “keep telling yourself that, pretty boy.”

gojo shoots him a glare, half-serious but softened by the lingering pink on his cheeks. you just shake your head, smiling as you add another finishing touch to the design—because if nothing else, you’re thorough with your work.

you frown dramatically, a playful pout forming on your lips as you glance at sukuna. “so rudeee,” you draw out the words, the mock hurt in your tone exaggerated as you giggle. “’m over here, pouring my artistic soul into you two, and this is the thanks i get?”

sukuna chuckles, clearly amused by your exaggerated protest. he tilts his head, the movement lazy and slow, his eyes fixed on yours as he smirks. “my apologies,” he says, the words rumbling deep in his chest. “your sacrifice shall not be forgotten, doll.” gojo rolls his eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips as he watches the exchange. he props himself up on one elbow, his gaze flickering between the two of you. “i take it back. your art sucksss.”

you let out a dramatic sigh, exaggerating the weight of it, though you keep working with focus. your playful pout is still in place, but you don’t say anything further. you just continue adding tiny details, not letting their teasing faze you.

the room falls quiet for a moment, but you can feel both of their eyes on you while they busy passing the joint to each other, their gazes softened, watching every movement with something akin to admiration. your hair falls across your face and shoulder, the stray strands brushing against your cheek, and one of the markers put a home in your ear, leaves a faint pink smudge on your ear and cheek, both that you are unaware of. you continue your work with the cap of the marker wedged between your teeth, your focus purely on the task at hand.

sukuna watches silently, his eyes tracking every move you make, his expression softer than before. from his angle, he can see every detail—the way your hair falls across your face, the smudged marker on your cheek, the concentrated expression on your face as you work. his muscles are relaxed, but there’s a hint of tension there too, as if he’s holding back from reaching out.

gojo, meanwhile, just grins, his eyes flickering between your face and the masterpiece taking shape on his arm. “cute,” he murmurs, the word more affectionate than mocking.

sukuna’s eye flick to gojo for a moment, silently watching the affectionate look on his face, before looking back at you. there’s another moment of quiet, the only sound being your steady breathing and the soft sound of the marker on skin. gojo, apparently feeling sukuna’s gaze, turns his head, their eyes meeting for a moment. there’s a brief, unspoken exchange there, a silent understanding.

sukuna’s lips curl into a small smirk, his eyes flickering back to you, his expression still oddly soft. the pink-haired man tears a scoff, rolling his eyes away from you and a halo of smoke swirls out of his lips, “brat,” a mutter could be heard for you.

your eyes flicker briefly to him at the sound of his mutter, your concentration breaking for a moment. “i heard that,” you say, the corner of your lips curling up in a slight smile.

gojo, meanwhile, chuckles softly at the exchange, clearly enjoying the banter. he raises his arm, examining the now complete design you had worked on, his gaze flickering back to you. “i gotta hand it to you, doll—spiky hearts look even better than i imagined.”

you don’t even look up, still absorbed in your task, your hand moving with precision as you add a few final touches. the pink marker glides smoothly over the skin, and you carefully add a few little blue stars, scattering them around the design like tiny accents.

“i know you’ll appreciate it eventually,” you say nonchalantly, the teasing tone in your voice clear, though you don't let your focus waver for a second. with the last stroke of your marker, you pull his arm away, leaning back slightly to examine your work. you give a small nod to yourself, satisfied. “done,” you say, your smile a mixture of smugness and quiet pride.

you glance up at gojo then, finally meeting his gaze. “not bad, right baby? spiky hearts and all.”

gojo grins as he looks down at his arm, admiring the final results. “not bad? doll, these are art masterpieces. i feel like i should frame my arm and put it in a damn museum or something.” he raises his arm, letting out a dramatic gasp, “oh, the sacrifices i make for beauty. i bet even paris of troy would shed a tear at this sight.”

sukuna, despite his lazy exterior, actually lets out a low chuckle at gojo’s exaggerated reaction, his lip curling up in a sly smirk. you let out a squeal of excitement, your voice high-pitched and bubbly as you mirror gojo’s over-the-top enthusiasm. “i know, right?!” your excitement is contagious, practically bouncing with energy as you grab sukuna’s arm and drape it over gojo’s, positioning them side by side like they’re two precious pieces of art.

sitting on your legs, with your calves resting comfortably on the back of your thighs, you expertly slide your hand into gojo’s pocket, pulling out his phone with practiced ease. the mischievous glint in your eyes intensifies as you quickly open the camera app, positioning the two arms just right to capture the perfect shot.

“this is going to be legendary,” you announce, snapping the picture with dramatic flair. you pause for a moment, inspecting the shot with a critical eye, before giving a nod of approval. “yup, this is museum-quality stuff right here.”

you can feel their eyes on you as you settle between them, your body nestled between sukuna and gojo on the carpet. with the phone in hand, you zoom in on the picture, your focus drawn to the vibrant pink hearts and tiny blue stars scattered across their arms. you can’t help but laugh softly at the ridiculousness of it all.

“you two look so silly,” you comment, your playful grin widening as you swipe through the photo to get a better view. “seriously, this is peak art... but also kind of ridiculous.”

gojo, ever the charismatic showman, shoots you an exaggerated pout, his tone dripping with mock betrayal. “silly? ridiculous? you wound me, doll. we look badass!” sukuna’s quiet chuckle rumbles in response to gojo’s theatrics, the corner of his mouth twitching with faint amusement. yet, beneath his sharp smirk lies a flicker of something softer, almost imperceptible—a rare glimpse of tenderness he doesn’t often show.

you, however, are entirely engrossed in the photo, oblivious to the dynamic between the two men. your fingers pinch and spread the screen, zooming in on the pink hearts and smudges adorning their arms. gojo takes the opportunity to lean in, his chin resting on your shoulder as his eyes follow your movements, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

humming softly, you finally lower the phone, a playful grin spreading across your face as you lift your hands to inspect them in the air. your skin is streaked with colorful smudges—bright pink, soft blue, and a few haphazard lines of purple—and the sight makes you smile. “looks like i got in on the action too,” you muse, your voice light with amusement.

your small chuckle fills the room as you continue to admire your handiwork, completely unaware of the way gojo’s gaze softens as he watches you. his eyes follow the movements of your hands, his smile widening at the colorful chaos you’ve created. even sukuna, in his understated way, glances at you with a rare sense of contentment.

gojo’s eyes slide from the photo to your hands, zeroing in on the rainbow of smudges decorating your skin like some kind of art experiment gone wrong. his lips twitch upward into a mischievous grin as he chuckles. “look at you, doll,” he starts, his tone laced with teasing affection. “you look like you’re about to host a daycare finger-painting for toddlers 101.”

sukuna, lounging nearby, rolls his eyes and lets out a derisive scoff. “daycare?” he mutters, his voice dry and just loud enough for you to hear. “more like an after-school program for disasters.”

your gaze shifts from your mess-covered hands to sukuna’s long, relaxed fingers, honing in on the joint he’s casually holding like it’s calling your name. without even a hint of warning, you dart forward like a caffeine-fueled gremlin, snatching it straight from his grasp with a swipe so quick it could’ve been a magic trick.

sukuna’s brows shoot up in surprise before settling into an amused arch, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “bold move,” he remarks, clearly entertained by your antics.

ignoring him entirely, you bring the joint to your lips, taking the slowest, most dramatic drag in the history of bad decisions. exhaling a plume of smoke like you’re starring in a rebellious indie film, you lean back with a smug grin. “i’mma good teacher, y’know,” you declare, your voice tinged with mock self-importance.

gojo, who’s been silently observing this entire circus, finally loses it. he bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach as he leans back. “oh, yeah, top-tier educator right here!” he chokes out between wheezes. “if the subject is how to steal people’s vices and look ridiculously proud of it, you’re a genius!”

sukuna’s lips curl into a crooked smirk, his sharp eyes fixed on you with a mix of intrigue and bemusement. he lets out a low, gravelly chuckle, the sound rich with amusement. “oh yeah?” he drawls, his voice dripping with lazy confidence. “think you’ve got what it takes to teach me something?”

gojo, on the other hand, is already grinning like a kid watching chaos unfold. his gaze flickers between you and sukuna, fully aware of the game you’re playing and absolutely loving every moment of it. leaning back with a casual air, he watches you take another slow drag, the smoke curling lazily in the air as a mischievous smirk spreads across your lips. the sheer audacity of the scene only fuels his entertainment, his eyes twinkling with delight.

you exhale the smoke with a slow, deliberate grin, your gaze locking on sukuna as you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “well, for starters,” you say smoothly, “you can stop being such a greedy ass and learn to share the good stuff with your partners.”

sukuna’s smirk widens, his sharp gaze narrowing in mock offense as he tilts his head, clearly unbothered. “greedy? me? nah, doll,” he drawls, voice dripping with sarcastic charm. “i’m just a connoisseur of life’s finer pleasures. no crime in appreciating quality.”

gojo snorts so hard he nearly chokes, his laughter spilling out like he’s just heard the joke of the century. “finer pleasures? you mean hogging everything good like a dragon on a pile of gold?” he quips, his grin so wide it looks borderline painful.

sukuna rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of his head. he is glaring at gojo with an expression that screams try me, clown. “oh, shut up,” he fires back, feigning annoyance as he snatches the joint from you, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays his amusement. “i’ll share when i feel like it—maybe.”

gojo leans back, sprawling like he owns the entire room, his smirk practically radiating smugness. “sure, sukuna. we all know your idea of sharing is letting us watch you enjoy it. greedy bastard.”

you can’t help but laugh at the ridiculous exchange, shaking your head as you hand the joint back to sukuna. “seriously, you’re both like kids fighting over the last slice of pizza,” you deadpan, a grin tugging at your lips. “greedy asses, the both of you.”

sukuna snatches the joint back with that signature smirk, his tone dripping with fake irritation. “hey, don’t lump me in with him,” he grumbles, flicking his wrist toward gojo like he’s flicking off a fly. gojo’s jaw drops, and he presses a hand to his chest as though sukuna just insulted his entire bloodline. “hey, what’s that supposed to mean? i’m a saint compared to you, jackass.”

sukuna rolls his eyes so hard they might fall out of his head, his voice dry as sandpaper. “yeah, sure, you’re a saint. and i’m mother theresa, motherfucker.”

gojo practically cackles, leaning back like he’s heard the greatest joke of the century. “oh, please. i have far more angelic behavior than you do. i’m practically a saint compared to mr. grouchy over here.”

you glance between the two of them, raising an eyebrow as you hold back a snicker. “wow,” you interject, voice dripping with sarcasm. “what a holy duo we’ve got here. should i start calling you ‘saint gojo’ and ‘pope sukuna’ or just skip straight to planning your canonization?”

gojo lights up like it’s christmas morning. “saint gojo does have a nice ring to it!” sukuna groans, dragging a hand down his face. “great. now he’s never gonna shut up about it.” you roll your eyes at their bickering, a playful sigh escaping your lips. “idiot,” you mutter, shifting your position with ease. you rest your head on sukuna’s stomach, your hair spilling over him, while your legs casually drape over gojo’s waist, trapping him in place.

“comfy?” sukuna drawls, his smirk lingering as he glances down at you, though he makes no move to push you off. he passes the joint to gojo with an almost lazy flick of his fingers.

gojo takes it with a dramatic flourish, holding it like it’s a prized treasure. “oh, look at that,” he says, his voice dripping with mock reverence. “sukuna finally shares. truly a miracle for the ages.” you chuckle softly, a little smirk makes its way to your lips, tugging the edge softly. “don’t let it get to your head, baby. one good deed doesn’t make him a saint.”

sukuna lets out a low scoff, his expression feigning offense. “oh, please,” he says, “i’m plenty saintly, doll,” he replies, his tone filled with mock irritation. “and i don’t need a single good deed to prove my sainthood. you’re both just jealous of my undeniable benevolence.”

gojo takes a slow drag, his eyes flickering down to you sprawled across his lap. a smirk dances on his lips as he watches you get comfortable. “oh, please,” he quips, ’you’re the least saintly person i know. you’re the devil incarnate, you know that?”

you roll your eyes, the sarcasm practically dripping from your voice as you retort, “oh, absolutely. sukuna’s a shining beacon of morality and grace. i mean, saints everywhere must be quaking in their halos knowing he’s out here setting the standard.”

sukuna snorts, his lips twitching into a smirk as he lazily tilts his head to look at you. “glad you finally see the truth, doll.” without missing a beat, you glance at gojo, pointing a finger at him as you continue, “and you’re no better, satoru. calling someone the devil while sitting there with that smug, ‘holier-than-thou’ face? talk about irony.”

sukuna let out a low chuckle, clearly amused by your banter. “yeah, doll, glad you finally get it.”

gojo, meanwhile, feigns a look of mock offense, his hand moving in the air in dramatic fashion. “me, smug? holier-than-thou? i’m just stating facts, doll. it’s not my fault that i’m so damn perfect. and clearly, it’s not my fault you’re both a pair of heathens.” he takes a slow drag of the joint, his eyes trained on you as he blows out a stream of smoke. “and you’re one to talk, doll. you’re no saint yourself.”

you scoff, rolling your eyes dramatically as you look at gojo, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “what the fuck do you mean, ‘i’m no saint’?” you throw your hands up in mock frustration. “i’m a perfect picture of a saint compared to you two. i’m sure as hell a better person than the two of you combined.”

you reach for the joint in gojo’s hand, taking a slow drag before blowing the smoke out with a satisfied grin. “the only bad thing about me,” you add, the words laced with playful mockery, “is because of you two bad influence. so, really, you should be thanking me for not being worse.” your fingers that holding the joint swing around as you pointing at your two boyfriends.

sukuna and gojo’s reactions to your sarcastic outburst were priceless. their faces twisted in mock outrage, and it was clear they were both enjoying the show. sukuna’s lip curled into a sly, almost mischievous grin as he chimed in, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “oh, doll, you’re a saint alright. a saintly brat.”

meanwhile, gojo put on his best dramatic scoff like he’d just been hit with the most devastating betrayal. “thank you? thank you?! as if you’re not just as bad as us. in fact, you’re damn worse than us.”

before you could even react, gojo snatched the joint back from your hand with a smug smirk. his eyes locked onto yours with that signature playful intensity, narrowing in that way that always made you feel like he was about to pull some ridiculous stunt. “we influence you? yeah, right. you’re just as bad, if not worse. you don’t need our influence to be a little hellion. you’re naturally devilish, doll.” his voice oozed with mock teasing, every word dripping with exaggerated amusement.

you can’t help but roll your eyes at their simultaneous reactions. gojo, with his exaggerated expressions, and sukuna, with his sly grin. it’s almost comical how they both manage to be so different, yet so irritating at the same time.

“please,” you scoff, a hint of challenge in your eyes as you respond. “i’m only this bad because of you two. i mean, look at yourselves. you’re not exactly paradigms of virtue."

gojo’s eyes widened in mock horror, his posture exaggerated as if you had just delivered the ultimate, unbelievable audacity. “oh, doll, you wound me!” he exclaimed dramatically, his voice rising with faux indignation. “are you saying we’re not the picture of innocence? how could you?” his expression was a mix of feigned hurt and playful sarcasm, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

sukuna, however, didn’t even bother with such theatrics. he just let out a low, amused snort, the corner of his lips curling up into a smirk. “yeah, we’re practically angels compared to you.” his tone was effortless, as though he were used to this kind of banter by now, and nothing could rattle him.

with a languid stretch of his arm, sukuna reached over, his fingers brushing lightly against gojo’s as he nonchalantly snatched the joint from his hand, not even sparing a glance at him. he brought it to his lips with an almost bored expression, taking a long, lazy drag as though the whole situation was beneath him. after a moment, he exhaled the smoke slowly, his eyes gleaming with that characteristic wickedness. “but you’re right. we’re far from virtuous. guess you’re just stuck with a pair of heathens for boyfriends, huh?” he said with a raised brow, his voice dripping with amusement.

you hummed thoughtfully, pretending to consider his words with exaggerated seriousness. then, with a sly grin curling at the edges of your lips, you reached out, your fingers grazing sukuna’s wrist with purpose. you gently guided his hand, bringing the joint to your lips with a delicate movement, taking a slow, deliberate drag. you let the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling it lazily, watching the tendrils of smoke swirl in the air like a fleeting, ephemeral thing.

“sadly.” you let the word hang in the air, your voice soft but tinged with mock sorrow. with a playful tilt of your head, you added, “nobody wants you two heathens... so i guess i had to pick you up, huh?” your tone was laced with teasing, and you gave them both a look that was part challenge, part amusement, knowing full well how much you enjoyed throwing their own words back at them.

gojo’s handsome face contorting with mock devastation, as if your words had pierced him to the core. his fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his semi-wrinkled shirt, pulling it as though he were trying to keep his very soul from escaping. “oh, the pain! the absolute betrayal!” he gasped, his voice carrying a note of exaggerated agony, the air around him charged with over-the-top theatrics.

sukuna, however, simply chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a smug smile that only heightened his arrogance. “oh yeah, doll? you had to pick us up? you think you did us a favor? we’re the best damn thing that’s happened to you.” his voice was rich with self-assurance, the words dripping with his usual brand of ruthless confidence, as though he were the undeniable prize in this game.

you couldn’t help it—your snort of laughter slipped out before you could even contain it. it was a sound that surprised you, but you quickly smothered it with an amused glance at sukuna, your gaze lingering just long enough to catch the glint of satisfaction in his eyes. then, you shifted your attention to gojo, your toes lightly grazing over his stomach, tracing the fabric of his shirt in a soft, teasing motion as you allowed a chuckle to escape your lips. “glad to know delusion is free, huh?”

you leaned back slightly, lifting your leg with deliberate care, letting your smirk speak volumes. “but hey, keep thinking you’re the best thing that’s happened to me. you’re both good for entertainment, at least.” your voice had the right amount of mock affection, as though you were toying with them, enjoying the very idea of their inflated egos.

gojo raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that matched the mischief in his eyes. “delusion is free?” he repeated, his tone dripping with mockery, his expression a mixture of challenge and amusement. “please, doll, don’t be so quick to dismiss our greatness.”

sukuna scoffed lowly, the sound rich with feigned irritation. his expression flickered for a moment with mock annoyance, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “entertainment, huh? is that all we are to you? just a couple of jesters here to amuse your highness?” the words were laced with sarcasm, a subtle challenge hanging in the air as he regarded you with an air of exaggerated exasperation.

you can’t help but smile at their reactions, clearly enjoying the banter. “oh, don’t be so dramatic,” you say with a feigned innocence. “you’re not just jesters. you’re my favorite jesters.”

you take another pull on the joint, your gaze flickering between your two boyfriends as you blow out a stream of smoke. “and i appreciate the entertainment, don’t get me wrong, but really, you’re lucky i’ve decided to put up with your obnoxiousness.” you look down to gojo, poking his side with your toes before added, “especially you.”

gojo’s breath hitched in a dramatized gasp, his hand flying to clutch his chest with such intensity that it seemed as if he had just been struck by an invisible arrow— apparently, that’s his go-to expression, dramatic ass. “lucky? lucky that you’ve decided to put up with us? please, doll, we’re the ones who should be thanking our lucky stars that we found you,” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with exaggerated reverence, as though your very presence was some rare gift bestowed upon them.

sukuna, on the other hand, barely spared him a glance. his eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and mild annoyance as he rolled them at gojo’s theatrics. “oh, calm down, dumbass,” he muttered, his voice low but sharp, laced with a touch of irritation. “you’re giving me a headache with all that whining.”

gojo, not one to back down easily, pouted dramatically, his lower lip jutted out in a perfect display of mock hurt. “i’m not whining. i’m just expressing how lucky we are to have the privilege of your presence.” his tone dripped with sarcasm, and his eyes flickered back to you, his smirk playing at the edges of his lips, daring you to challenge him.

sukuna scoffed once more, his expression now tinged with a faint but unmistakable irritation. “you’re lucky you’re cute, satoru, or else i’d be tempted to smack that look off your face. you’re insufferable.” the words were delivered with an edge of genuine annoyance, though his eyes softened slightly at the sight of gojo’s pout.

you snort, unable to hold back your amusement as you watch the back-and-forth between the two. you take another slow drag from the joint before casually passing it back to sukuna, your eyes never leaving gojo’s exaggerated pout.

“lucky you’re cute, huh?” you repeat with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at gojo’s dramatic expression. “that’s the only thing saving you right now, huh? pretty boy gets away with everything.” you roll your eyes but can’t help the playful grin spreading across your face as you lean back, resting your head against sukuna’s side.

the hours slip by as the three of you remain sprawled out on the floor, the conversation flowing between playful teasing and lazy banter. the sky outside slowly deepens into twilight, casting the room in soft shadows. the air grows thicker with the lingering scent of weed, the haze hanging in the air as sukuna’s joints grow fewer and fewer.

you lay between gojo and sukuna, your head still resting against sukuna’s chest while you lazily pass the joint between the three of you before sukuna take the last hit without either you nor gojo realized. the warmth of the room and the heavy, calming buzz settle over you, your body relaxed and content despite the chaos of the banter. every so often, gojo lets out a loud, exaggerated laugh, while sukuna just shakes his head, taking another drag as he passes the joint back to you.

the room is quiet for a moment, save for the sound of slow exhalations and the occasional chuckle. you lean your head back to look at the two of them, eyes half-lidded, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “y’know,” you say lazily, “this isn’t so bad. could get used to it.”

gojo, sprawled out lazily on the other side of you, lets out a soft, knowing chuckle, his eyes locking with yours in a way that sends a little thrill through the air. “oh, getting used to it, are we? finally admitting that we’re not so bad?” he teased, his voice dripping with a sense of mock triumph, as if he’d just scored a small but satisfying victory over you.

sukuna, on the other hand, let out a slow, almost theatrical sigh, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. his fingers, restless, began to stroke your hair in a tender motion, the simple gesture feeling strangely intimate amidst the teasing. “careful now, doll,” he warned, his tone rich with a playful edge. “too much time with us and you might start liking us a little too much.” his words were a mixture of amusement and dark amusement, as though he were both cautioning and daring you to embrace whatever was growing between the three of you.

you let out a lazy, indifferent “meh” sound, rolling your eyes playfully as you surveyed the two of them, caught in their ridiculous back-and-forth. glancing between them, you couldn’t help but tease, your grin wide and full of mischief. “eh, not really my type,” you muttered, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm, clearly enjoying the banter as it unfolded before you.

gojo lets out an exaggerated gasp, his hand flying to his chest in mock disbelief. “not your type? how dare you?” he exclaims with a blend of feigned hurt and over-the-top offense, his voice rising dramatically, as though your words were an unforgivable insult.

sukuna rolls his eyes at gojo’s antics, a trace of amusement flickering in his gaze. “oh, please, satoru,” he drawls, the corners of his mouth tugging up in a sly grin. “don’t take it too personally. she clearly has no taste.” his voice is laced with mockery, every word dripping with playful derision. you smirk, the tip of your finger tracing slow, deliberate patterns across sukuna’s thigh, the action sending a subtle jolt of electricity through the air. “not my fault if your overinflated egos can’t handle the truth,” you reply, your tone dripping with sass and amusement.

gojo pouts dramatically at your response, his lower lip thrusting out in exaggerated mock hurt. “overinflated egos, she says. please, doll, we have every right to be confident. we’re the best damn thing that's happened to you.” his eyes narrow, daring you to challenge him, the playful arrogance hanging in the air between you like an unspoken dare.

sukuna snorts in response, his expression turning even more smug as a sly smile curls onto his lips. “yeah, doll. and you’re just proving our point. you’ve got a thing for cocky, arrogant jerks like us.” his voice carries an edge of amusement, as though he’s reveling in the truth of the statement, not the least bit bothered by the accusation.

you roll your eyes, the movement exaggerated as you continue to trace circles on sukuna’s thigh with a casual, almost bored air. “please,” you scoff, the sarcasm in your voice unmistakable. “i’ve got standards, you know.” you raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth, but unwilling to give either of them the satisfaction of admitting their point.

gojo scoffs, his eyes narrowing with playful challenge as he leans in slightly, his voice laced with teasing mockery. “oh yeah? standards, huh? and what are those, exactly?” the words are edged with curiosity, like he’s dying to know what could possibly be your “type.”

you grin, the smirk on your face widening as you continue your lazy assault on sukuna’s thigh, your toes nudging at gojo’s side with a teasing prod. “definitely not whitehead and bitch face,” you retort smoothly, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you jab your toes into gojo’s ribs for emphasis, then poke sukuna’s side with a playful flick of your finger. the taunting gesture is accompanied by a light laugh, daring them both to rise to the challenge.

gojo feigns a dramatic gasp, his hand clutching his side as if mortally wounded. “whitehead and bitch face?” he echoes, his voice dripping with exaggerated hurt. “please, doll, you wound me. and here i thought we were friends.” his expression shifts between mock betrayal and playful amusement, eyes wide as if you had committed the gravest of sins.

sukuna, on the other hand, lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound rich with amusement as he watches your mock irritation. your finger’s lazy tracing on his thigh seems to soothe him, even as his smug smile never falters. “yeah, doll,” he drawls, his voice laced with a playful challenge. “friends, huh? that’s one way to put it,” he muses, his eyes locked on your hand as it continues its delicate dance across his skin.

you gasp theatrically, your eyes widening in mock horror as if gojo’s words had struck at the very core of your being. “friends? friends?” you echo back, your tone dripping with exaggerated disbelief and mock outrage. “oh, fuck off, you prick,” you snap playfully, your feet pressing against his side with a soft shove, your lips curling into a sly grin.

gojo stumbles back in exaggerated fashion, clutching his side with a mock wince as though your light shove had caused him untold pain. “ouch, doll, that hurt,” he laments dramatically, his face contorted in mock agony, his tone dripping with faux sorrow.

sukuna, clearly entertained by the spectacle, lets out a quiet chuckle, his hand lazily stroking your hair as he watches you both. “oh, woe is you, satoru,” he drawls, his voice rich with sarcasm. “how will you ever recover from that devastating blow?” his lips quirk into a smirk, clearly amused by the banter.

you sit up, pushing gojo away with your feet, and your eyes narrow, suddenly fixating on sukuna’s hands. you tilt your head in mock accusation, raising an eyebrow as you study him intently. “did you finish it?” you ask, your voice dripping with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

sukuna grins unapologetically, a lazy, unbothered look in his eyes as he holds up the now-empty joint between his fingers. “caught red-handed,” he admits with a cocky tilt of his head, clearly unfazed by your gaze.

gojo’s pout deepens as he eyes the empty joint in sukuna’s hand with feigned disappointment. “ugh, really, man? you couldn’t save some for the rest of us?” he grumbles, his expression thoroughly put out as if this betrayal is a grave offense.

you hum indifferently, your gaze flicking between the two of them as if you couldn’t care less about sukuna’s confession. but your eyes tell a different story; they dart around the room, scanning every corner with sharp suspicion. first the table, then the couch cushions, and finally, a brief glance down to sukuna’s lap, where you eye him intently, your features betraying no sign of the suspicion swirling within.

sukuna, noticing your subtle movements, raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your obvious search. “looking for something, doll?” he asks, his smirk deepening, his voice laced with a teasing challenge.

gojo, blissfully unaware of your internal investigation, tilts his head in mock confusion. “yeah, doll,” he adds with a chuckle. “what’s with the scavenger hunt? lost something?”

you ignore their teasing entirely, focusing instead on sukuna, your eyes narrowing with increasing suspicion. without a word, you slide your hand under him, your fingers brushing against the back pocket of his pants. sukuna stiffens slightly, his smirk faltering just enough to reveal his surprise.

“what are you—” he starts, but you cut him off, your hand triumphantly retrieving his cigarette case. you pop it open with a snap, your eyes lighting up as you spot two perfectly rolled joints nestled inside.

“ahah!” you exclaim with a victorious snort, lifting the case high as if you’ve just uncovered a long-lost treasure. “thought you could hide these from me? think again, prick.”

sukuna groans, an exaggerated sigh escaping his lips as he leans back into the couch, the picture of reluctant surrender. “you’re like a damn bloodhound, doll,” he mutters, though the amusement in his eyes betrays any trace of annoyance. “can’t hide anything from you, can i?”

gojo, on the other hand, bursts into laughter, pointing at you with glee as if you’ve just pulled off some mischievous heist. “look at you,” he laughs, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “beaming like a kid who just found the candy stash!” he shakes his head with a grin that could rival the most devious of smirks. “you’re such an addict, doll. next thing we know, you’ll be rolling your own joints like some wannabe stoner.” his teasing tone fills the room, the light-hearted mockery echoing as the playful banter continues to dance between the three of you.

you shoot gojo a glare, flipping him off without missing a beat. “shut up, satoru. at least i’m not whining over someone else finishing the stash like a little bitch.”

without giving gojo a chance to respond, you shift your attention to sukuna, moving to straddle his waist. he groans in protest, clearly more annoyed by your audacity than your weight, but he doesn’t push you off. instead, he sighs dramatically, his expression a mix of exasperation and reluctant compliance.

“you’re such a pain in the ass, doll,” he mutters under his breath, though his actions betray his words as he lazily flicks the lighter to life for you. the warm glow of the flame reflects in his crimson eyes, and despite his grumbling, there’s a faint trace of amusement lingering in his smirk as he holds it steady for you before you lean forward and a little halo of smoke sneak past your lips.

gojo leans back, a mock expression of offense painted on his features. gojo’s jaw drops, his hand dramatically flying to his chest. “me? whining? i don’t whine, doll. i express valid concerns like the mature adult i am,” he retorts, though his pout says otherwise.

sukuna, meanwhile, lets out a sigh as you settle yourself in his lap, his hands instinctively moving to rest on your waist. he keeps up his feigned annoyance, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the sliver of exposed skin where your shirt has ridden up. as you lean forward and take the first pull, he watches you the smoke filling your lungs as you exhale slowly, the tension easing from your body, his gaze lingering on your lips, watching the tendrils of smoke curl away.

sukuna watches you from his position, his fingers still tracing light patterns on your waist, but his focus seems to shift to the way you handle the joint. his gaze lingers on your lips as you take the drag, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. as you inhale the smoke, he lets out a low hum.

rolling your eyes at gojo’s dramatics, you stretch your arm out, holding the joint toward him with a smirk. “here, take it and stop whining, satoru,” you say, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “maybe a little smoke will help you with all that ‘mature adult’ energy you’re putting out.”

gojo, still pouting, takes the joint from your hand, his eyes flickering up to meet yours as he brings it to his lips. “oh, ha ha, very funny, doll. just you wait, i’ll show you who’s the mature adult around here,” he mutters, taking a deep drag. he holds the smoke in for a moment before exhaling it in a slow, steady stream.

you mutter under your breath, just loud enough for gojo to hear, “what an idiot,” your tone dripping with sarcasm. gojo lets out a scoff at your muttered comment, his eyes narrowing playfully. “oh, you’re one to talk, doll. calling me an idiot when you’re the one straddling sukuna’s lap like a desperate teenager,” he teases, a smirk playing on his features.

sukuna, meanwhile, remains silent for a moment, his gaze still fixated on you. the intensity of his stare makes you smirk, your fingers running lightly over his chest, teasing the fabric of his shirt. his expression remains neutral, but a flash of desire flickers in his eyes as he feels your fingers trailing across his chest.

rolling your eyes, you glance down, only to find sukuna’s gaze still fixed on you. you tilt your head slightly, raising an eyebrow as you ask with a smirk, “what?” he raises an eyebrow at your question, his voice low and mocking as he responds. with an indifferent shrug, his eyes not leaving yours as he replies, “just admiring the view, that’s all.”

you hum softly, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you glance at gojo for a moment, amusement dancing in your eyes. you then turn your attention back to sukuna, the teasing tone in your voice unmistakable. “i’m no teenager, but i’ll admit... i am desperate,” you say, your voice low and playful.

without giving sukuna a chance to respond, you lean down slightly, your already short skirt riding up further as you move closer to him. you let the space between you both shrink, your lips capturing his in a kiss, slow and deliberate, as if to emphasize your words.

when your lips meet his, sukuna lets out a low sound, his fingers gripping your hips a little tighter as he leans into the kiss. he responds with a quiet hunger, his tongue flickering over your bottom lip as he deepens the kiss. gojo, meanwhile, still leaning back on the floor beside, watches the scene unfolding before him. his eyes flicker between you and sukuna, his own smirk widening as he takes another drag from the joint.

you hum softly against sukuna's lips, the sound reverberates between you two, the tension building. you pull back just enough to bite his lower lip gently, tugging it between your teeth before leaning back in, kissing him again with more intensity. the kiss deepens, each movement a reflection of the growing desire between you both, while gojo watches, amused but clearly enjoying the scene unfolding before him.

sukuna reacts to the sharp bite with a low, rumbling growl, his fingers slipping beneath the loose fabric of your shirt as if claiming you. his touch is deliberate, tracing the soft, exposed skin beneath, sending an electrifying shiver down your spine. he presses you even closer, his body a solid heat against yours, as his tongue dances into your mouth, exploring with teasing precision, tasting every inch of you.

meanwhile, gojo remains sprawled on the floor, his eyes dark and hungry, flicking over every curve of your body. he watches sukuna’s hands move beneath your shirt with a slow, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. the joint in his fingers burns slowly, forgotten for the moment as he becomes absorbed in the raw intensity of the scene playing out before him.

sukuna’s hands continue their exploration with an almost possessive hunger, each stroke sending waves of pleasure and heat spiraling through you, leaving you breathless and acutely aware of his overwhelming desire for you. his lips abandon your mouth, trailing down the line of your jaw and moving lower, planting soft, heated kisses along your neck that send a thrill of anticipation rushing through you.

gojo watches this silent, unspoken dance unfold with a predatory gleam in his eyes. the joint, once a small comfort in his hand, is forgotten, dropped to the side as he becomes completely enraptured by the sight of you and sukuna. a low hum escapes him, his voice thick with both intrigue and unrestrained desire. “god, you two are something else,” he murmurs, his words laced with a dark satisfaction.

you pull away from sukuna, your breath shallow and quick, trying to regain some sense of control. your cheeks are flushed a deep red, whether from the kiss, the lack of oxygen, or the effects of the weed, it's hard to tell. you let out a heavy sigh, your eyes half-lidded as you glance between sukuna and gojo, your voice soft and slightly breathless.

“i think i’m high,” you murmur, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. the effects of the weed mix with the lingering tension in the air, and you feel a little light-headed, but there's no denying the buzz.

sukuna chuckles at your declaration, his thumb brushing against your flushed cheek as he grins, amused by your hazy expression. “you think?” he muses, his voice gruff. “more like you’re gone, doll. you’re practically floating right now. and here i thought you had a higher tolerance than that.”

gojo, meanwhile, lets out a loud bark of laughter, his own eyes fluttering slightly to keep you in focus. “she’s blitzed,” he teases, his lips curling into a smirk.

you roll your eyes at their teasing, your tone sharp yet playful. “shut up, both of you,” you mutter, reaching for the joint in gojo's hand with a quick, determined movement. you take another drag, inhaling deeply, your eyes briefly closing as the smoke fills your lungs. as you exhale slowly, you pass the joint to sukuna, your gaze lingering on him for a moment.

“your turn, asshole,” you say with a smirk, leaning back slightly as you let the haze settle around you.

sukuna takes the joint from your hand with a slow, deliberate motion, his thumb grazing against your fingers as his eyes lock onto yours. a smirk curls at the corner of his lips, his gaze never leaving you as he brings the joint to his mouth. he inhales deeply, savoring the smoke, holding it in for a moment as the weight of the moment stretches between you. then, with a controlled exhale, the smoke billows from his mouth in a steady, thick stream, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

gojo, still chuckling at your earlier comment, watches the exchange between you and sukuna with a sharp, calculating interest. his eyes flick between the two of you, a playful spark igniting behind them, his lips curling into a mischievous grin.

“damn, y/n,” he teases, his voice light but carrying an edge of amusement. “you really can’t hold your weed, can you?” he chuckles, leaning back as his gaze flickers with further delight at your reaction.

you shift on sukuna’s lap, leaning back just enough to let the weight of the moment settle in, your head tilting upwards to the ceiling as the haze of the weed wraps around you. a deep, contented sigh slips from your lips, the foggy warmth in your chest making everything feel just right. slowly, you let out a soft laugh, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. “this is better than going out for a date,” you murmur, a lazy grin spreading across your face.

your mind, cloudy and buzzing, wanders back to the date the three of you had planned earlier, the thought floating through your haze. gojo lets out a laugh, eyes flicking between you and sukuna, his amusement glinting brighter. “damn, doll, you’d rather get high than go on a date with us? who are we, chopped liver?” his voice is thick with mock offense, but the mischief dancing in his eyes is impossible to miss.

sukuna, never one to let a moment of teasing slip away, chuckles darkly, his hands drifting lazily over your thighs, tracing invisible patterns. “nah,” he drawls with a smirk, “she’s just too stoned to appreciate anything else right now.” his grin widens, clearly enjoying every bit of your sluggish reaction.

you let out a low, breathy chuckle, your head swaying slightly as the world around you blurs and ripples like a mirage. the ceiling above seems to stretch and shift, and you blink slowly, trying to focus on the warping edges of your vision. everything feels off-kilter, a delicious spin in your mind, before you lower your gaze and lock eyes with both sukuna and gojo.

“yeah,” you murmur, a lazy grin tugging at your lips, your voice heavy and slow, the words slurring just a little. “i’m definitely too stoned.” the realization hits you in a way that only adds to the dreamlike amusement of the moment, and you let out another soft, dreamy laugh, the sound floating lazily into the air.

gojo lets out a sharp snort, his amusement barely contained as he watches you in your clearly altered state. “doll, you’re not just stoned, you’re practically on the moon right now,” he quips, his voice dripping with playful mockery as he chuckles low in his chest.

sukuna’s gaze, however, sharpens as he watches you intently, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. he takes in the dazed, almost ethereal look in your eyes and the soft, blissful smile on your lips. a flash of something darker, something possessive, flickers across his face. “you look completely out of it, doll,” sukuna murmurs, his voice husky and filled with low amusement, as his eyes lock onto yours. “are you even aware of what you’re saying right now?”

gojo leans forward, eyes glinting with intrigue, clearly enjoying the way you’re unraveling before him. “yeah, you’re totally baked,” he teases, a knowing smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “didn’t know you were such a lightweight.”

you chuckle softly, rolling your eyes at their relentless teasing, your fingers absently toying with the hem of your shirt. “of course, i’m aware,” you mumble, your voice a tad slow, but steady enough to keep their attention. “don’t treat me like i’m completely gone.”

your gaze flicks between sukuna and gojo, lingering on sukuna just a beat longer before flicking to gojo. a sly, playful grin curls on your lips as you lean back just slightly. “but since we’re talking about awareness,” you begin, your voice taking on a teasing, almost mischievous tone. “do either of you know what i’m aware of more than anything right now?”

sukuna raises an eyebrow, his expression a curious mixture of intrigue and caution. he knows you too well to not sense the playful mischief behind your words, but the exact nature of it eludes him for now.

gojo, however, leans in even closer, his interest piqued by the hint of something more beneath your words. “what are you aware of, doll?” he asks, his tone laced with curiosity, eyes flickering between you and sukuna. he silently acknowledges the possibility that you might just drop a bombshell.

sukuna can’t help but let out a surprised laugh, caught off guard by your unexpected shift in tone. gojo, on the other hand, rolls his eyes exaggeratedly before breaking into a chuckle of his own. “oh yeah? we’re dicks, huh?” gojo retorts, his voice dripping with mock offense, but the gleam in his eyes betrays the amusement bubbling beneath his words. “please, elaborate. i’d love to hear why you think we’re such terrible boyfriends.”

sukuna joins in with a chuckle, his face a perfect mix of amusement and exaggerated outrage. “yeah, doll,” he adds, his tone filled with feigned indignation. “don’t be shy now. go ahead and tell us all about our apparent dickishness.”

you hum softly, your amusement lacing the sound as you take another languid drag from the joint. your eyes half-lidded, a dreamy smile spreading across your lips as the high wraps around you. you don’t bother responding to their mock outrage, your laughter bubbling up effortlessly as you lazily pass the joint to sukuna.

sukuna accepts it with a shake of his head, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he watches you with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. “she’s in her own world,” he mutters, clearly entertained, before taking a slow drag from the joint himself.

gojo snorts as he observes you sprawled across sukuna’s lap, completely unbothered, as if the world around you had faded into a background blur. “look at you,” he teases, affection dripping from his words as he gazes at you with playful exasperation. “completely out of it. doll, you’re a walking PSA for why not to share weed with your boyfriends.”

he takes the joint back from sukuna, inhaling deeply, and blows a cloud of smoke into the air before his attention returns to you. “so,” he says, voice mockingly casual as he looks at you with raised eyebrows, “while you’re floating up there in space, any fun observations to share with us mere mortals stuck down here?”

you blink slowly, your gaze drifting lazily between sukuna and gojo before you lean back slightly and flash them a lazy grin. “fun observation?” you repeat, tilting your head in exaggerated thoughtfulness. “yeah, i’ve got one.”

sukuna and gojo exchange a quick glance, their curiosity piqued. sukuna’s smirk widens in anticipation, bracing himself for whatever absurdity you’re about to deliver. gojo leans forward, clearly eager for whatever nonsense you might have to offer. both of them regard you with arched eyebrows, their expressions a mixture of amusement and eager curiosity.

“alright, doll,” gojo encourages with a light, teasing tone. “let’s hear this fun observation of yours.” sukuna’s smirk deepens as he watches you, his arm instinctively curling around your waist to steady you, as if he knows you might topple over from the sheer weight of the haze surrounding you.

you shift slightly on sukuna’s lap, adjusting your position as his arm instinctively tightens around your waist to steady you. a lazy grin spreads across your lips as you gesture dramatically with your hands, drawing a large, exaggerated circle in the air.

“up here,” you say, your voice light and airy, “there’s this stupid orbit.” you pause, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and glance between sukuna and gojo. gojo leans forward, intrigued. “oh? and what’s in this ‘orbit,’ doll?” his tone is playful, though there's a spark of curiosity hidden beneath it.

you let out a soft chuckle, your fingers completing another exaggerated circle in the air before you deadpan, “it looks just like your whitehead—” you flick your gaze to gojo with a teasing smirk, “—and his bitch face.” your eyes dart to sukuna, your giggle bubbling up as you savor their reactions.

gojo’s smirk falters, his eyes narrowing at your unexpected retort. sukuna, however, erupts into a fit of roaring laughter, unable to stifle his amusement. he even gives you a playful pat on the ass as he laughs louder.

“oh, damn, doll,” sukuna chuckles, clearly entertained. “you're so out of it that you're talking out of your ass right now, huh? that's the funniest thing you've said all night,” sukuna laughs, his hand tightening its grip around your waist as if to keep you from slipping away.

gojo scoffs, feigning offense as he rolls his eyes. “oh, yeah? well, your orbit in this universe looks like a bunch of fuzzy, incoherent nonsense, doll.” you roll your eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you mutter under your breath, “talking about nonsense… rich coming from someone who’s always obnoxiously nonsense.”

you didn’t think they’d hear you, but both sukuna and gojo freeze for a moment, exchanging knowing looks before their eyes snap back to you. “oh, really?” gojo drawls, leaning in closer, his smirk sharpening into something far more challenging. “care to elaborate on what kind of ‘nonsense’ i’m spouting, doll?”

sukuna, still laughing, shakes his head, his grip on your waist tightening slightly, as if to keep you from slipping away. “nah, let her keep going,” he says, clearly relishing in the unfolding drama. “i wanna hear this too.”

you blink, realizing you’ve been caught. your cheeks flush—not from embarrassment, but from the combination of the weed haze and the realization you’ve just made a verbal slip-up. you let out a soft laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “nothing.”

gojo and sukuna exchange a knowing glance, their amusement growing as they watch you try to backtrack. sukuna lets out another chuckle, his hand still resting possessively on your waist as he grins. “oh, hell no, doll,” he says with a smirk. “you don’t get to back out now.”

gojo tilts his head, the devilish gleam in his eyes growing sharper as he leans closer to you. “yeah, doll, spill it. what did you mean when you called me obnoxious nonsense?”

you let out a soft laugh, the sound hazy and almost dreamlike as you shake your head. “nothing,” you murmur dismissively, waving a hand in the air before leaning forward and pressing your cheek against sukuna’s chest. his warmth is grounding, and you let yourself sink into the feeling as your body relaxes completely against him.

you hum softly, your eyes fluttering closed as you mutter, “damn, my head is spinning.” your words are barely audible, almost lost in the soft fabric of sukuna’s shirt. sukuna’s arms tighten around you, his chest rumbling with a low laugh as he notices how your body practically melts into his. he leans in, his voice soft but steady.

“you’re so out of it right now,” he murmurs, his hand gently running through your hair.

meanwhile, gojo chuckles, clearly entertained by the whole scene. “yeah, doll, you’re orbiting pretty hard up there in space right now,” he teases, reclining on his hands as he watches the situation unfold with glittering amusement.

you let out a heavy sigh, your entire body going limp as you allow yourself to sink further into sukuna’s chest. your weight presses against him completely, your arms falling limply to the floor on either side of his waist, your fingers brushing the carpet as though they’ve forgotten how to move.

your eyes remain closed, your face nuzzled into the fabric of sukuna’s shirt, his warmth wrapping around you like a heavy, comforting blanket. “mmm,” you mumble, your voice muffled, but content. sukuna’s soft chuckle vibrates through his chest, his gaze softening as he looks down at you. he continues gently running his fingers through your hair, grounding you with his steady touch.

gojo watches the scene with a smirk, his eyes flickering with a playful glint. “you’re practically a ragdoll right now, doll,” he teases, a hint of affection threading through his words. “looks like you’re gonna pass out any second.”

you mumble softly, your voice barely audible, “i might be...” your words trail off as your head sinks further into sukuna’s chest, your body lax in his embrace, just as gojo had jokingly predicted.

sukuna hums in acknowledgment, the vibrations from his chest soothing against your cheek. he leans down, pressing a firm kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment as if sealing an unspoken promise. “listen, doll,” he says, his voice low and serious, though the playful undertone still lingers. “you better never smoke without me or gojo around. i don’t want anyone trying to take advantage of you like this— useless and unaware.”

gojo nods in agreement with sukuna’s statement, his expression hardening for a moment as he contemplates the possibility. the idea of someone taking advantage of you, defenseless and lost in your high, clearly doesn't sit well with either of them.

“yeah, baby,” gojo adds, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “we don’t want anyone messing with you when you can’t even process what's going on. you're off limits when you’re like this, got it?”

gojo moves closer, shifting onto his side next to you. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips brushing gently against your skin. his voice is barely above a whisper as he murmurs, “do you hear us, baby?”

you softly nod, your eyes still closed, the haze of the high clouding your senses. the steady warmth of sukuna’s body beneath you and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest provide a sense of security that lulls you into a deep sense of contentment. their words wrap around you like a protective cocoon, keeping you safe in their embrace.

sukuna lets out a low hum, feeling your nod, the knowledge that you understand their words settles over him like a heavy blanket. his fingers continue to stroke through your hair, the motion almost methodical, as he speaks again.

“good,” he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “you’re always off limits to anyone except us, but even more so when you’re in this state.” sukuna and gojo exchange a glance, a silent connection passing between them as they both watch you, boneless and disoriented on top of sukuna. it’s a sight that is both intriguing and worrisome, to witness you so completely undone by a mere drug.

sukuna’s hand continues to gently tangle in your hair, his touch soft yet firm, as if seeking to keep you grounded amidst the haze. gojo, meanwhile, leans forward and brushes his fingertips against your cheek, the touch barely a whisper. “baby,” he murmurs, his voice tender and concerned, “do you even know where you are right now?”

you let out a long, heavy sigh, the weight of everything pressing down on you like an insurmountable burden. the dizziness is overwhelming, a fog settling in your mind, clouding your thoughts and stealing your clarity. your eyelids flutter, but you fight the urge to succumb to the haze. instead of responding, you tighten your eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the spiraling confusion swirling inside your head. you try to cling to something solid, to anchor yourself amidst the storm of disorienting sensations.

yet, even through the thick fog, you can feel sukuna’s fingers gently carding through your hair, his touch steady and grounding. and gojo’s hand, warm and reassuring, rests lightly on your cheek, a subtle presence that brings you some semblance of comfort. still, the haze is suffocating, and focusing feels like an impossible task.

your body, like lead, refuses to obey your commands, sinking deeper into the disorienting daze. but in the midst of the confusion, the warmth of sukuna and gojo’s presence feels like a lighthouse in a storm, their proximity offering you a safe harbor, even if the world around you feels too far away. with your eyes closed, drifting between the fog of your mind and the warmth of their touch, you sense the soft exchange of glances between them. their faces, usually brimming with confidence and amusement, now carry a trace of concern, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

sukuna’s hand, still in your hair, moves with the same rhythmic precision, massaging your scalp with a soothing pressure that, against the weight of your dizzying thoughts, brings a small measure of clarity. the steady movement lulls you, pulling you from the disorienting fog, but it’s still hard to grasp onto anything concrete.

“doll,” sukuna’s voice cuts through the haze, deep and low, a soothing lullaby in the chaos of your mind. “open your eyes for us, will you? we need to see those beautiful eyes of yours.”

you try to comply, but it takes longer than expected. your response is sluggish, a slow nod that feels like an eternity to produce. finally, after what seems like a small eternity, your eyes crack open, just slightly, the world around you blurry, unfocused. you blink up at them, barely registering their expressions, the room around you spinning in a slow circle.

sukuna’s gaze softens when he sees you struggling to stay grounded, though his grip on you remains firm, a protective presence keeping you from slipping away. gojo lets out a breath, a soft sigh of relief escaping his lips as he watches your eyes flutter open, still glazed with the remnants of the fog in your mind.

“there you are,” gojo murmurs, his voice a gentle caress as his fingers trace the contours of your face, his touch light but deliberate, as if committing every feature to memory. his expression softens with a rare tenderness, but there’s still that playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, as if trying to lighten the atmosphere despite the obvious concern in his eyes.

sukuna continues his slow, steady motion through your hair, his touch almost tender now, his large hand providing a comforting pressure against your scalp. it’s as though he’s trying to pull you back to the surface, to anchor you to the present, but even his steady presence can’t erase the fog lingering in your mind.

“doll,” sukuna’s voice takes on a more serious tone now, yet still carries a certain warmth, “we need you to answer a question for us. just a simple question. think you can do that for us?” his words are firm, but there’s an undercurrent of reassurance in his voice, as though he's giving you the space to collect yourself.

you hum softly, the sound barely audible, but enough for them to hear. your response is slow, your thoughts clouded, but you’re still trying. you’re still there.

gojo and sukuna exchange another look, this one laced with an unspoken agreement. sukuna’s hand continues to glide through your hair, but now it’s even more deliberate, grounding you further, a steadying force in the midst of your dazed state.

“good,” gojo says, his tone carrying a touch of approval. “now, doll, listen closely. we’re going to ask you something, alright? it’s really simple, just one word, nothing complicated.” his voice is calm, though a faint hint of something more serious lingers beneath the playfulness. sukuna’s hand doesn’t falter, its rhythm steady as ever, anchoring you as gojo prepares to ask the question.

gojo takes a moment, a slight smirk playing at his lips, but his eyes reveal something deeper—a rare sincerity that surfaces when it’s just the three of you, alone in this moment.

“do you know where you are right now?” he asks, his voice still teasing, yet there’s a thread of concern woven in. his gaze never leaves you, as if watching for the smallest sign that you’re beginning to find your bearings again.

their eyes meet once more, their gazes a mixture of protectiveness and tenderness, but there's no mistaking the underlying urgency—wanting to be sure that you’re truly okay, that you’re not lost in the fog.

you scoff, the sound barely audible as you shift slightly, a lazy smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. if you were fully sober, you’d probably curse them out and smack them for treating you like you couldn't function on your own.

instead, you mutter, “fuck off,” your voice weak and hoarse, as you weakly push gojo’s shoulder with little force, too tired to even put any real effort into it. your body still feels like it’s floating, but the familiarity of their touch and their concern lingers, and for now, it’s enough to make you feel safe.

sukuna and gojo burst into laughter at your attempt to sass them, amused by your weak, half-hearted response. despite being under the influence, your sharp tongue and fiery attitude refuse to fade, a testament to your usual feistiness.

“oh, there’s our spitfire doll,” gojo chuckles, his voice full of affection and amusement, the sparkle in his eyes betraying his enjoyment. “even in the middle of a high, you can't seem to help yourself, can you?” leaning down with that characteristic grin, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his touch a gentle contrast to the tension in the room.

sukuna, still tenderly running his fingers through your hair, lets out a low chuckle. his touch, though playful, holds a subtle trace of affection as he murmurs, “i suppose that answers the question, though.” you let out a soft sigh, the exhaustion from the drug coursing through your body, making everything feel heavier. still cradled against sukuna, you fold your arms tighter around yourself, your body seeking the warmth and comfort that he offers. your eyes, still heavy with the haze of the high, close again as you murmur, “can we move to the bed now?” the soft pleading in your voice is clear, even though the comfort of sukuna’s arms makes it hard to summon the energy to move.

sukuna and gojo share a knowing look—unspoken communication passes between them, the depth of their concern evident in their eyes. the fog of your drugged state is apparent, and they both recognize that it’s time to move you to the bed.

“yeah, baby,” sukuna responds, his voice a soft mix of authority and care, “we’ll move you. just hold on for a second, alright?” with deliberate care, he shifts, lifting you gently as he rises from the floor. gojo trails behind, his gaze never leaving you, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that speaks volumes. he watches your every move, filled with a mix of concern and deep affection as he follows sukuna’s lead.

once at the bed, sukuna lays you down on the soft sheets, adjusting the pillows beneath your head to ensure you’re comfortable. gojo settles at the edge of the bed, his eyes scanning your face, lingering on the softness of your features, still filled with a quiet intensity.

sukuna chuckles again, this time low and with a hint of amusement, as he undresses, slipping off his clothes until only his boxers remain. his gaze lingers on you, watching the way your face has softened, relaxed in the aftermath of the high. a wry smirk plays at his lips as he mutters under his breath, “dumbass,” with affectionate exasperation. “look at her, completely out of it… such a brat.” his words carry both humor and a layer of fondness, his teasing only highlighting his affection.

gojo, on the other hand, takes a moment to watch sukuna, a low whistle escaping his lips as his eyes roam over sukuna’s form before his attention snaps back to you. he leans in, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch light and delicate as though you might shatter if he wasn’t careful.

“she’s quite the dumbass right now, isn’t she?” gojo muses, his voice filled with playful amusement as a smirk tugs at his lips. he proceeds to gently remove the jewelry from your wrists and neck, placing each piece carefully on the nightstand before tenderly taking off your clothes, ensuring he’s gentle with every motion. his hands move with deliberate care, and once you’re only in your underwear, he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment before he pulls the blanket up around you. his movements are tender and deliberate, as though trying to cocoon you in warmth and safety.

glancing toward the window, gojo observes the relentless rain, the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. a quiet sigh escapes him as he watches the storm rage outside, his voice barely a whisper, “hell of a storm.” the low hum of rain becomes a background to the otherwise still room as he slowly undresses, ready to settle beside you.

meanwhile, sukuna reaches over to switch off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, save for the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the window. the room feels peaceful in contrast to the chaos outside, the distant thunder muffled by the closed windows and thick curtains. the silver moonlight casts a calming glow, the only source of light as they prepare to settle in.

with the room now dark, sukuna climbs into bed beside you, his warm body pressing gently against your side, his hand finding yours under the blanket. his fingers brush over your palm, tracing the lines of your hand as though trying to steady you, grounding you in the present.

gojo, having finished undressing, slides into the bed on your other side. the two of them sandwich you between them, their bodies close, limbs intertwined in an intimate, protective embrace. it’s a cocoon of warmth, of security, a stark contrast to the vulnerability you’re feeling from the high. despite your state, they’re hyper-aware of your every breath, your every movement.

sukuna, still holding your hand, presses his head gently against your shoulder, his voice low and soothing as he mutters, “there we go, all nice and comfortable, doll.” his words are a lullaby, grounding you further in the moment.

gojo, propped up on his elbow, studies your face intently, the faintest trace of concern mingling with the amusement still in his eyes. his touch is careful as he brushes another strand of hair from your face, a tenderness that speaks volumes in its simplicity.

“you’re gonna be one hell of a headache tomorrow,” he muses with a soft chuckle, a playful hint to his voice. “such a little idiot, letting yourself get so out of it.” sukuna’s chuckle rumbles against your back, the vibrations reverberating through your skin. “yeah, doll,” he agrees, his voice a deep rumble. “you’ll be feeling it tomorrow. but for now... we’ll just keep you right here, safe and sound.”

both sukuna and gojo tighten their hold on you, their arms encircling you like a protective barrier, refusing to let you slip out of reach even an inch. they’re both hyper-aware that you have no control over your body right now, and they’re fiercely protective over your vulnerability.

[slvttyplum]

"oh, my sweet baby… don't cry." your eyes hooked in with yours, not wanting to look away for a second, let alone blink; you didn't want to miss one expression on satoru's pretty face.

the wrap that was covering his mouth now drenched in saliva as he squirmed, the wand that was on your pussy a minute ago now vibrating on the tip of his dick.

squirming with his arms behind his back and the flushed look he got when he was embarrassed now covered his entire face.

his crying and moaning muffled from the wrap that covered his mouth, his eyes filled with tears. pushing the wand onto his dick more, pushing the button to make it more intense to see the pleasure that went off in his eyes.

satoru's soul was being released through so many levels he didn't know when it was going to stop.

his stomach rising and falling rapidly, trying to catch his breath, but his body knew what he wanted; he wanted to release, the vibrator slowly going up and down his shaft, his thighs tightening.

there was something about that face, the face that screamed at you to keep going with this sexual torture.

"tell me to stop, and i will." teasing him as you slide the wand back up to his dripping, flushed tip, applying pressure, satoru squirming and moaning, more tears dripping down his face.

knowing he couldn't say a word even if he wanted to, the back of his throat tickled. his whole body flushed pink, trying to calm himself down, but it wasn't working, his head spinning and his body losing control.

satorus body tensing more, the veins in his neck popping out more as a stream erupts, pure ecstasy running throughout him. the wrap that was over his mouth now completely soaked, sliding down, a saliva string connecting with it.

his eyes red and his eyelashes pushed together in tiny spikes, his whole face glistening with moisture, whether it be tears, sweat, or spit, it all clung together.

he had a look that made you want to do it all over again just to get him to break; he's never looked more worn out; it was cute.

telling yourself that next time he'll be begging you to keep going with that same worn-out look.

[honoredalone]

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to buy you the victoria’s secret pajama set you’ve been wanting for a while, he saw how cute you looked in it so of course he had to buy himself a matching set so you can twin and look cute together.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to take you out for dinner, wanting you to dress to fucking impress. don’t worry about being hit on, he’ll kiss, grope and straight up humiliate anyone who doesn’t respect your relationship.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to buy you a beautiful bouquet of flowers, forgets to give them to you whenever he sees you next so they wilt and go brown. of course he’ll still give them to you along with 5 huge bouquets to make up for it.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to make himself cry if you’re crying for any reason just so you don’t feel alone or ugly but it just ends in him, laid in your lap sobbing like a baby.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to spend thousands of dollars on you for absolutely no reason but legitimately refuses to pay a delivery fee when he’s craving mochi and doesn’t want to leave.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to make you a build-a-bear but he’ll grow too attached to it so he’ll keep it and introduce him as your “son” with a whiny pout.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to try and make you breakfast in bed but he in no way is a chef so he toasts a good, thick piece of fresh bread and slaps some jelly on it with a matcha he got delivered and calls it “his work”.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to take you on a fancy dinner date, dislike that complicated food so after paying the check and leaving a hefty tip, he drags you to the closest 7-11 to load up on junk food and convenience store food.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to fuck you like an animal in heat because he didn’t like the way a random guy at suguru’s house party looked at you while you grind all over satoru’s lap on the dance floor.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to make the guy who looked at his girl lay against the headboard, tied up and totally helpless while satoru fucked you in the meanest mating press you’ve ever been put in.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to leave the poor guy tied up, naked and harder than rock after making you come all over.

✮ gojo satoru, the strongest, is the type of boyfriend to whisper in the man’s ear, “look at her again and i’ll make sure you know why i’m the strongest.” with the most wicked smirk on his face when he wraps you up in his jacket that’s three times the size of your small figure.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: merry early christmas guys to those who celebrate 🥹 series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Christmas is coming up soon. In about two-ish weeks, give or take. In this case, you’re giving. It’s December 14th, and the days are passing by too fast for your liking. You wish you had more time—to do a lot of things, actually. Luckily, with your rent being paid along with next month’s, that’s given you at least some sort of freedom. 

You can thank your ex for that. 

So, you’ve been saving for Koji, spending less on yourself. Not like you did much of that in the first place, but still. Again, guilt riddles your insides, insecurities plaguing your mind. Koji has never been a spoiled kid, having grown up quite frugally because of his equally frugal mother. Your tree, something you bargained for at the nearby spot in town that sells trees for the holiday season, is bottom of the barrel. Of course it is, you bargained for it. Sparse areas, branches way too thin and tiny, the height of the entire thing is just about as tall as you are. You keep your box of Christmas decorations so you never have to buy new ones each year. The lights you use are a warm yellow, with a few little bulbs dark because they burnt out. It wraps around your tree in a very messy way—Koji’s doing. A floppy white star placed at the very top of your tree, just barely holding on. 

Little pieces of decorations hang from the frail branches: some snowflakes, red and blue balls (Koji said they looked like Spider-Man), and your most favorite one of them all that sits at the top: a picture of you and Koji from a photo booth two years ago. He was only three and you could still carry him then. Chubby cheekbones on display, a wide smile to match. You two are wearing Santa hats, head tilting into his with an equally ecstatic smile. You can’t look too long at it before you start getting emotional. 

So mom of you. 

Anywho, your point is that while the setup may look dull and even unattractive to most, you still find warmth in it. So does your little boy too. Although he doesn’t exactly know better, considering all you’ve ever had was skinny trees and years-old decorations, he doesn’t complain. 

Of course, he does ask you sometimes about why the trees in the movies look different or why his friends have entirely decorated houses and you two don’t. You bottle it up to a simple, “Well, we’re not like other people, baby.”

He understands—most of the time. 

Even so, he doesn’t show disrespect. As long as he spends time with you, getting even just three gifts, it’s all enough for him. So you feel guilty for not giving him the full Christmas experience a child should get, you feel insecure that other people are having the holiday season so much better than you are, and if you could, you’d do anything to ensure Koji has a real Christmas one time. At least once. It’s the least you can do as his mother, and it’s the least he deserves. 

Because the holidays are meant for happiness, cheeriness, and family time. All things that feel very forced for you right now. 

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N.”

Your lips purse, hoping it resembles a smile. But Shoko always reads you easily, dissecting your emotions. “You too, how have you been?”

“As good as I can. Late nights, exhausted, seeing someone’s leg split in half. You know, the usual.”

A small chuckle falls from you, nodding in silence. “I’m glad you were able to do what you want. ER work, right?”

“Yep,” Shoko hums, leaning back against the bench, coffee in hand. “Though I did have a friend who helped me get through it all so quickly.”

“Really? Who?”

“Cheating.” She smirks behind the rim of her cup. 

Your eyes roll, sighing as you mimic her posture. It feels odd seeing her again for the first time after so many years. You gathered the courage to text her number, feeling distraught and overwhelmed last night. Right after you sent the text asking her to meet up the next morning, you slightly regretted it. Does she think I’m weird? What if she says no? God, what is wrong with me?

Your doubts were proved wrong when she replied with a simple “See you”. Simplicity was always Shoko’s thing. Something that you almost envied from the woman. You wish you had composure like her. Of course, her life isn’t exactly simple considering she’s dealing with people with broken anything and blood all the time, but you can tell she thoroughly enjoys it. She finds pleasure in her job. 

Again, this is something you’re also slightly envious of. 

“So….” She finally says after a beat of silence, turning her head over at you. “I want to ask the obvious, but I think I’ll wait. I want to see how you’re doing first.”

You worry your lip between your teeth, peering down at your fiddling fingers. The words are a little hard to get out, and a little embarrassing too. You don’t really want to vent to her after years of no contact, but it’s hard not to. At this point, you’re like a broken dam. Spilling and spilling by the minute until you completely break down. “Things could be better. I just have a lot on my mind and what I’m dealing with.”

She nods in understanding. “Like the articles and stuff?”

You sigh heavily in exhaustion, raising two fingers to rub the space between your brows. “Yeah, that’s one of them. You seen ‘em?”

“Many people have.”

Of course. “I just don’t get it. Why is it such a big deal he has a son no one knew about? Are these kinds of ‘issues’ really that important to rich people like him? Like, c’mon. It’s not like he killed a man. He has a son but everyone’s treating and acting like this is horrendous and astounding news that we should be fearful of.”

Shoko tilts her head, her gaze steady but not intrusive. “Rich people thrive on spectacle, you know that. Every little thing becomes a headline, especially when someone like Gojo, Japan’s sexiest man alive of 2024, is involved. He’s a household name, Y/N.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. You forgot the fact that he’s been given that title. The article popped up on your Google just yesterday, giving in and tapping on it. The first picture that greets you is a very intimate, black-and-white picture of Satoru shirtless, with unbelted pants. He wasn’t looking at the camera in that one, but the way his arms were raised, accentuating his biceps made you feel a tiny throb. The first of many from that photoshoot the article included. “But why does it have to be this? Why is it such a scandal that he has a kid? Like, what are they even expecting from us? An apology? A press conference where we swear to never let it happen again?”

Shoko’s smirk is faint but wry. “You think logic applies here? The higher the pedestal, the harsher the fall. Gojo’s not just rich—he’s Gojo. Untouchable, perfect, untamed. Add a secret kid to the mix, and it’s like handing tabloids their golden ticket.”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “It’s so stupid. They’re acting like we’re some corrupt dynasty with skeletons bursting out of the closet. It’s not even a big deal!”

Shoko takes a sip of her drink, watching you with a calmness that somehow makes you feel seen. “It’s not a big deal to us, no. But to them? It’s betrayal, gossip, leverage—anything but what it really is. Just life.”

Her words settle in your chest, a grounding sort of clarity that you hadn’t realized you needed. You couldn’t—probably ever—understand the thought process of the elites of Japan. You’re a bit glad that you won’t. But in this situation, you just wish they would think like normal fucking people for one second. That’s hard to do when you grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth and everything at your fingertips. You peer over at her, your lips pressing together as you process everything. “I just…I don’t want Koji dragged into this. He doesn’t deserve it. That’s one of the main reasons why I kept everything a secret in the first place. But now look at us, everything has just changed so…so fast. I’m not ready for it, neither is my son.”

She lets the quiet air linger for a moment, your venting finding placement. “No, he doesn’t deserve it,” Shoko agrees. Her tone is firm, an anchor in the storm of your thoughts. “And neither do you. But the way I see it, you’ve got two choices: let them dictate how this plays out, or take control of the narrative yourself.” Her words linger, the weight of them grounding and unsettling all at once. Taking control of the narrative sounds easy in theory, but the reality feels like standing at the edge of a cliff, the wind threatening to knock you over.

“Easier said than done,” you mutter.

Shoko shrugs, but there’s an edge of reassurance in her expression. “True, but you’ve already been through worse. You’ve got more strength in you than you give yourself credit for. And if anyone can handle this mess, it’s you.”

Her confidence in you feels foreign but comforting. You nod slowly, gripping onto her words like a lifeline. “Thanks, Shoko.”

“Anytime.” She raises her cup slightly in a mock toast, her smile small but sincere. A beat flows through, a comfortable silence. The two of you watch the snow cover the ground with its beauty, the sun barely peeking through the cloudy, muted sky. You can’t help but draw the parallel. The sun, peeking, but hidden behind the heavy clouds, yet still present—trying, despite the odds. That’s you, isn’t it? Not gone, not entirely defeated, but dulled. Struggling to shine through the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Shoko breaks the silence with a soft chuckle. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? Quiet, too. Almost makes you forget the world’s still a mess.”

You nod, your gaze following the gentle swirl of snowflakes. “Yeah… It’s like everything’s paused for a moment. Peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” she echoes, leaning back in her seat. “Funny how something so fleeting can feel so permanent in the moment.” Her expression stirs something inside you—a quiet ache you’ve been trying to suppress. You glance at her, lips parting, but the words get stuck in your throat. She doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. Shoko’s always been good at giving space without making it feel like a void. Instead, she takes a long sip of her drink and says, “You know, snow��s a great equalizer. Covers up the mess, and makes everything look the same. Like the world gets a second chance. It’s the start of something new.”

Those words make you immediately remember Satoru’s. Snow’s the start of something new. That should be a good thing, right? You should be glad. However, how many more changes have to happen until something good comes your way? There’s only so much one can go through in such a short amount of time.  But as Shoko said, you have more strength than you think. You’ve been through worse. And while that may be true, at this fleeting moment, that couldn’t be any further from the truth. It’s easy for her to say since she’s not actually living your life. 

You haven’t exactly talked talked to Satoru yet about all this, about what he’ll say, what his parents will do. But they probably have good lawyers, right? Maybe they’ll put out a statement that any further harassment will be met with legal action. Or he’ll take pride in his son and show no regrets. You really don’t know. Your optimistic side wishes that Satoru will deal with this smoothly and how you want him to. But your pessimistic side says this will continue on until who knows how long. People randomly coming up to you, making remarks on social media, finding your job, finding your own social media accounts that you’ve had to take down.

Seriously, why the fuck do they care so much? Even after Shoko’s explanation, it’s still not enough for you. At the end of the day, we’re all human, we all do human things. Jesus Christ, you could never last a day in Satoru’s position. On constant public display and scrutiny, it’s exhausting and infuriating. 

Satoru’s taken Koji off your hands for the while. It’s around four in the evening now. Although you were hesitant at first, he assured you he would do his absolute best to make sure nothing wrong happens and that he stays safe. And besides, it’s nice to have the place to yourself for a few hours. It’s confusing, because while at times you feel so defeatedly lonely, other times you welcome it with open arms. 

But every parent probably feels like that, right? Praising the day they get even two hours to themselves, not worrying about making sure your child isn’t choking. 

Anywho, you’ve taken the liberty to take a nice and warm refreshing bath. The heat does wonders to your skin, sighing wistfully and eyes closing in relaxation. The warmth envelops you like a comforting embrace, melting away the tension you didn’t realize had settled in your shoulders. It’s rare, these moments of solitude—where the only sound is the faint ripple of water as you shift slightly in the tub. You sink deeper, letting the heat seep into your muscles, as if the bath could wash away not just the stress of parenting but the heaviness of everything else weighing on you.

You tilt your head back against the rim of the tub, exhaling a deep sigh. It’s strange how quiet the apartment feels without Koji’s laughter or even Satoru’s voice filling the space. Strange, but not unwelcome. For once, there’s no background noise, no constant buzz of responsibility. Just you and the stillness. You almost wish you can share this stillness with someone else, but throw that thought out your mind fast. 

Your fingers trail through the water absentmindedly, thoughts wandering. You wonder what Satoru and Koji are up to—probably indulging in some sugary snack you’d never approve of at this hour of the day because Koji’s sugar rushes just last so long. The image makes you smile faintly. Despite everything, Satoru’s been trying. And even if you don’t say it aloud, you notice. He’s been so good with him, the two are incredibly close and it’s like the past five years of absence never existed. You always knew Satoru was that type of man. He got along with kids well, children almost seemed to magically gravitate towards him. It’s…very attractive. 

Once the bathwater starts to cool, you decide to reluctantly push yourself upright. Wrapping a towel around yourself. You pad into the bedroom, the cold air nipping at your damp skin. With Koji gone until probably around eight or nine, the silence settles over you once again. You glance at the clock on the nightstand—still hours to go before they return. You grab a soft blanket and curl up on the couch, flipping through channels aimlessly. Nothing really holds your attention, but it feels nice just to sit, undisturbed. As you take a sip of tea, you can’t help but think: Maybe you should let yourself enjoy these moments more.

It’s hard, but you should probably make more of an effort to take care of yourself. If you’re out of it, you’ll be unfit to care for Koji. And that’s your biggest nightmare ever. You blankly watch whatever show is playing after turning the TV on, but your mind seems much more louder than the voices from the characters on screen. You wish you could just shut off the constant worry, stressing, and overthinking about pretty much everything in your life. 

Before you know it, your feet are guiding you back up, leading you down the hallway and to your room. The closet is to your left, a single door with a small lightbulb overhead that weakly shines its light and illuminates the inside. Your clothes hung up, shoes on the floor. Some of Koji’s old toys lay next to your shoes, having meant to donate them but never getting around to it. You go down to your knees, moving further inside the small closet. Having to push a few jackets to the side for better visibility, moving your shoes out the way. Stuffed in the very corner of your closet lies a worn black box. When you pull it out from its hiding spot, the lightbulb makes visible faint letters that are threatening to peel away. 

Cheap markers. 

There’s little dribbles of flowers and smiley faces along the sides, a stick figure image of a boy and girl. The boy’s eyes are drawn with the brightest blue marker you both found out the time. It’s a little shitty representation, but the boy’s line for an arm is connected to the girl’s arm; holding hands.  

OUR WORLD

Something you both agreed was cheesy, though you thought of it. He wrote it. You had the ideas, he made them come to life. 

Your breath catches as you brush your fingers over the worn box. The faded decorations are a time capsule—a reflection of a simpler, yet complicated past. A mix of laughter, innocence, and heartbreak lingers on its surface, as if the box itself holds memories you’ve long since buried. You hesitate for a moment, thumb tracing over the stick figures. The blue-eyed boy. The girl with a faint red-lipped smile. The images were so carelessly drawn back then, yet they now carry an almost painful clarity. A reminder of what once was—and what could never quite be again. Sliding the top off the box, you’re immediately greeted by the faint scent of old paper and something else merely nostalgic. Photographs, letters, and random trinkets fill the space. A keychain, an old movie ticket stub, and at the very top, a small folded note with handwriting you recognize instantly.  

"To my favorite person,  

No matter where life takes us, remember this moment, okay? This one is ours."

His handwriting feels more impactful than you thought it would. Your chest tightens as you unfold the note fully, memories flooding back with each word. Satoru had written this. Back when things were different—when the two of you weren’t carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. When promises felt unbreakable and the future seemed...possible.  

You carefully place the note back into the box, your hands trembling slightly. There’s so much in this little box that you’ve avoided for years. So much of what you were, who you were, with him. And now, it feels like the box is staring back at you, asking the question you’ve avoided for so long.  

What are you going to do with all of this?  

Why have you kept this? After all the time? You remember telling yourself the day of your break up that you’d throw everything out—burn it all. But everytime you even touched it, you came to a brutal realization. You can’t. For some reason, you couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t bring harm to this reminder of the lives you’ve lived and left behind.

You found comfort in the idea that one day in the future, you would be able to. But you also found comfort in the box itself. Oh how wrong you were. And that fact twists at your heart, your blood wringing out in the process. Leaving you with a dull and soulless shell. Staring down at the remnants, going through them—everytime. Maybe you haven’t ever had the strength to get rid of it, you wonder if you ever will. 

Pictures of your younger self, of Satoru’s younger self smile up at you like they’re taunting you. As if the past can sense the future’s despair. They’re simple pictures, cute but simple. Just how you two wanted it. The quality isn’t that great, considering most of them were taken on shitty disposable cameras. 

“Because it’s sustainable!” You argued when Satoru questioned the device when you first pulled it out. He simply scoffed and rolled his eyes, lips upturning into a smile the second you readied the device for a photo.

A picture is worth a thousand words. 

Whoever came up with that phrase is a genius, but you also despise how much truth is held to that single sentence. Pain. Nostalgia. Longing. Happiness. Regret?

Flipping through the small pictures is like going through your very own time capsule. Each snapshot carries a story, a moment frozen in time that feels both distant and heartbreakingly close. The childish doodles lining the box seem to echo your younger self’s voice, innocent and untouched by the weight of reality. A photo catches your eye—a little blurry but unmistakably Satoru, grinning with his arms slung lazily over your shoulders. Your cheeks in the picture are flushed, and you can almost hear the laughter that must’ve been spilling from your lips when it was taken.

Then there’s another, of the two of you sitting under a sprawling tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves. His hand rests on yours, casual but intimate in a way that makes your chest ache now. You remember the warmth of that day, the way he’d joked about how your hair glowed in the light.

There’s a card, too, nestled beneath the pictures. The corners are slightly bent, but the words inside are still intact. His handwriting is unmistakable, bold and messy:

“To the girl who makes my world brighter every day. Don’t ever stop smiling—it’s my favorite thing about you. Love, Satoru.”

“Hah, I didn’t know you were such a poet.” You teased. 

“Ugh, shut up.”

Your fingers trace over the ink, your breath halting. Time may have passed, and life may have twisted and turned, but this box feels like a portal to a version of you that still believed in endless possibilities. And yet, the ache in your chest doesn’t falter. Instead, it lingers, a reminder of how much has changed—and how much you wish hadn’t.

The final picture is one that almost tears at you. A silly one that you would’ve never imagined would push at your heart like a heavy door stuck in the way of your own contentment. You’re kissing him, the side profile of your two faces as you indulge in each other's lips. Satoru’s free arm slightly out of frame since he’s the one holding the camera high. You both are holding your left hands up, showing off your Ring Pops on each of your ring fingers. His red, yours blue.

“Let’s pose like a couple who just got married!”

You sighed. “Satoru….”

Written on the white border frame of the photo are the words:

She said yes!! 

A melancholic laugh escapes you, tears hitting the picture. It’s colors are already slightly altered from previous wetness. Your chest feels tight, eyes closing with a sinking stomach. Why do you always do this to yourself when you’re already feeling upset? Why are you still so affected by it? Will it get better with time? But how much more time?

You gasp and flinch when the front door is rung, eyes widening as you swiftly and messily put the contents back in, sliding the top back on and stuffing the box in its hiding spot once more. After closing the door, you walk down the hall and to the peephole. Your brows furrow. “Satoru?” You ask as you open the door. Confusion hits you, seeing your sleeping son in his father’s arms. Koji’s backpack slid on top of Satoru’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“Um…dropping Koji off?” He replies back like it’s the obvious, his own pale eyebrows knitting as he regards you. “…Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Shit. “I’m not,” your hands raise to your cheeks, wiping any trace of your previous emotional breakdown, swiftly denying his words. “I thought you were coming back later.”

“It is later, Y/N.” He frowns and steps in, allowing you a better view of the dark night sky. 

What the hell? Since when did it get dark? Slowly, you close and lock the door, blinking rapidly as you try to gather your bearings. Just how long were you on the couch for? How long were you reminiscing? Turning around, you see Satoru come out from Koji’s room.

“Put him down, showered and dressed him already. Little man played a lot today.” 

“Oh,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say. You lean against the door for a moment, trying to regain your composure. Satoru’s words feel oddly domestic, almost like you’re living a life you’ve long since moved on from dreaming about—or tried to.

He sets Koji’s backpack down by the couch, brushing invisible dust off his sleeves as he glances your way. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice softens now, genuine. Concerned.

You force a small smile, crossing your arms. “I’m fine. Just…lost track of time, I guess.”

Satoru studies you, his crystalline eyes searching your face like he doesn’t quite believe you. He shrugs lightly, though, not wanting to push. “Alright. Koji was great today. Took him to that park he keeps talking about. Got some ice cream. He wore me out.” His lips quirk into a small grin, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thanks for doing that,” you say softly, glancing toward Koji’s room. “He loves spending time with you. He always talks to me about your guys’ missions.”

“Hah, yeah, well…” Satoru scratches the back of his neck, leaning his tall frame casually against the wall. “I love spending time with him, too. And you know, it’s not just for him.” His words are light, but there’s a weight behind them, one you’re not sure you’re ready to unpack tonight. You don’t know what he really means by that, but it’s probably best that you don’t. You’d look into it too much. And like he said, you’re already complicating things even more by almost kissing him the other day. 

You nod, your throat tightening as you look anywhere but at him. “I should probably check on him. Make sure he’s really asleep.”

“Y/N.” His voice stops you in your tracks.

You turn slowly, meeting his gaze. “What?” you ask, your voice smaller than you intended.

He hesitates for a moment, his brows furrowing as though he’s deciding whether or not to say what’s on his mind. Finally, he sighs and steps closer. “If something’s bothering you…you can talk to me. You know that, right? You look like you’re crying and I—”

Your heart clenches, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear. “I know,” you manage to cut him off, your voice sharper than you had wanted it to be.

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. Then, Satoru clears his throat and steps back. “Alright. Guess I’ll head out, then. Call me if you need anything.” You hum, watching as he heads for the door. Just before he leaves, he pauses, glancing back at you one last time. His eyes linger for a second longer than they should, and then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

And you’re left alone again, the weight of the evening settling back over you like a familiar, unwelcome blanket. You want to scold yourself for losing track of time so easily, letting yourself get lost for such a long time. He probably thinks something’s wrong, and while you appreciate him being mature and overall cordial enough to offer his ear, you don’t want to give him that. It’s embarrassing and almost too vulnerable for you right now to vent to your ex. 

You know that saying that the last thing or person you think about before you fall asleep is what you’ll dream of? He stares at the door, trying to will himself into stopping his train of thought, but the vision of you won’t leave. Not tonight. Maybe it’s the nagging scent of your clothes he can still smell, or maybe it’s the way you looked so raw, so unguarded. Maybe it’s the promise he made to himself years ago to never let you go, to never let you fall apart without him. Now look where he is.

Satoru’s mind is a whirlwind as he steps back into the cold, dark air of his penthouse, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality he wasn’t quite ready for. He should’ve left things simple, right? Drop off Koji, make sure everything’s okay, and then go. But of course, he couldn’t help himself. He had to ask, had to reach for that sliver of connection that still seemed to remain between the two of you, even after all this time. Or maybe he’s not reaching, he’s just being a good person. Or maybe there is no sliver of connection at all.

He rubs his face with one hand as he walks down the hall, his thoughts staying on your expression, the tightness in your smile, the way you tried so hard to hide whatever was eating at you. Your red eyes that seemed glossy enough to tell him what you had been doing before he arrived. He should’ve pushed, should’ve stayed longer, but something told him it wasn’t the right time. Also, not to mention the fact that he’s not entitled to know anymore, and he shouldn’t want to. He wishes he could forget—wishes it wasn’t so easy for him to still care about you after everything you’ve put him through.

Still, his mind can’t stop replaying the way you looked tonight, like you were holding back—like you were on the edge of something he couldn’t reach. And now, that’s the last image he sees before closing his eyes: you, standing there, fragile but strong, trying to put on a brave face when he knew you were anything but okay. 

He slides into his bed, sinking into the comforting mattress. Stop thinking about it, he tells himself. Just go to sleep.

But it's useless. The thought of you doesn't leave him. It never does in times like this. But that's the thing, isn't it? He always cared. Always would. Any good man would

As the awaited sleep stretches on, his mind drifts back to those moments—the way you wiped your face quickly when he mentioned the tears. How you didn’t let him in. He can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this.

Before he knows it, he feels the weight of his own exhaustion, the pull of sleep starting to take over. He lets his eyes stay shut. Stretching out on the bed, his thoughts blurring into a fizzle. The room is quiet, too quiet. But just like that, he’s falling and falling into a realm where the weight of everything else disappears.

The first thing he sees startles him. It’s just you, standing in front of him again, your eyes locked with his. 

You’re both staring at one another before it’s like someone slowly raising the light switches. Sun peeking through the blinds of the kitchen you two stand in as you place a hand down to your stomach. When his eyes follow it, he then notices the rounded swell that’s visible from beneath the dress you wear. 

“Hey, you’re awake.”

You giggle, voice smooth and inviting, stepping closer to him until you can reach his hand, intertwining your fingers. 

Yep, definitely a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. 

“I made you breakfast, your favorite.” You guide his hand to your bump, chuckling softly. “But baby here was getting hungry, so we may have gotten a little taste test before.”

Satoru’s heart skips a beat, his fingers instinctively brushing over your rounded stomach as you guide them there. The warmth of your skin under his touch feels real, too real, and his mind stumbles, trying to make sense of the situation. The room around you starts to feel like a glimpse into an alternative universe. Soft, golden light spilling in through the blinds, the smell of something warm and inviting persisting in the air. It’s almost too perfect, too serene to be real. And yet, he’s standing here, his breath caught in his throat as his fingers rest against the gentle curve of your belly. The weight of it, the life growing inside you, sends a quiet thrill through him.

You giggle, the sound of it so familiar it makes his chest ache. It’s like nothing has changed. Like you’re the same as you’ve always been, only…this time, things are different. There’s a quiet tenderness in the air that wasn’t there before. He swallows, trying to fight the growing confusion in his chest. “I—I don’t understand,” he murmurs, his thumb lightly brushing over the small, soft swell of your stomach. He knows it’s not real, but it doesn’t stop his brain from wandering into beliefs of if it were. “How… how are we here?”

Your smile widens, that knowing glimmer in your eyes that makes his chest tighten with something he can’t name. “We’re here because this is where we belong,” you say simply, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. You nudge his hand a little lower, guiding him to feel the tiny movement beneath his palm, the small shift of life inside you.

It’s then that the weight of the moment hits him all at once, his heart thumping in his chest. The quiet reality of what you’ve built together, the life you’ve shared, and everything that could’ve been. He’s overwhelmed, caught between longing and disbelief. His voice cracks when he finally speaks again. “Is this what you wanted? What we wanted?”

You laugh softly, resting your forehead against his chest, your fingers still entwined with his. “It’s what I’ve always wanted. What we have always wanted. Stop acting weird.” Your words are a balm, soothing yet laced with something deeper, something that speaks to both of your hearts, even if this is fake.

In this moment, everything feels right. It feels like you’re back to where you both belong.

Satoru stays still for a moment, the warmth of your forehead pressed against him, your fingers gently intertwining with his. The softness of the moment seems to wrap around him, the image of you—here, with him—so perfect that it almost hurts. The softness of your touch, the way your body feels against his as you stand close, it’s like he’s been starved of this connection for so long. A quiet ache settles deep within him, but it’s not the hurt he’s used to. No, this is something else—something far more complicated.

He shifts slightly, his gaze never leaving yours as you lift your head. “I didn’t think I’d ever get to feel this again,” he admits, his voice low and tentative. The vulnerability in his tone catches him off guard, but it feels natural, like you’ve always been the one person he could let his guard down with. “You and…us. Everything that’s happened.”

You hum softly, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. The smile on your lips is small but full of quiet understanding. “I know, Satoru,” you say, your voice steady, like you’ve been carrying this weight for far longer than he ever realized. “But this…” You glance down at your stomach before meeting his eyes again, “This is what we fought for. This is what we still have.”

He feels the truth of your words settle into him, but it’s a bittersweet sensation, one that pulls at something deep inside of him. It’s almost too good to be true, this version of reality, and he can’t help but wonder why his mind has conjured up this visualization—this perfect picture of you and him, together in a way he never thought possible.

“But what if we don’t get it right?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowing in uncertainty. “What if we’re too broken to fix it? We’ve made so many mistakes…”

You place a gentle finger against his lips, silencing him before he can spiral further. “We’ve always been broken, Satoru,” you say softly, “But we’ve always found our way back to each other. And that’s enough. Right?”

The way you say it, so sure of yourself, sends a warmth through his chest. It’s a peace he didn’t think he would ever have again. His heart beats a little faster, a little steadier, as he finally lets go of the lingering doubts, the fear of what’s beyond this moment. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the weight in his chest. “I don’t know what’s next, but for now… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your eyes soften, and for a moment, he sees it—the connection between you two, unbroken, unshakable. Even in the midst of everything that’s happened, the messy past and the uncertainty of the future, he realizes that some things are worth fighting for. “This is enough for me,” you whisper, closing the distance between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It’s gentle, but it carries everything—everything he’s been wanting to say, everything he’s been longing to hear.

And god, the way your pretty lips feel against his is heavenly. It’s strong and long-lasting. Hand to your cheek as his head tilts to deepen it, feeling your warm breath enter his mouth like a soft pull. He’s tempted to dance his tongue along your own.

As you pull away, he feels a quiet peace settle over him. The dream, though fleeting, has given him something he didn’t know he needed. A glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they can find their way back to each other for good.

But the atmosphere darkens, like putting a blanket over a lamp. Your own eyes dulling into something he saw before he left you tonight, something he’s been seeing everytime he visits you. Your smile dropping into a placid emotion. Satoru’s heart stutters in his chest, the warmth of the moment slipping away like sand between his fingers. The light around you seems to fade, the world losing its softness and vibrancy. A chill washes over him, creeping through his veins like ice water. Your smile, once so gentle and inviting, disappears into something far more distant, as if a part of you has shut down completely. The joy that had filled the air vanishes, replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence that wraps itself around both of you. His eyes widen in confusion, and he takes a step back, searching your face for any hint of explanation. He feels the air shift into a freezing temperature.

"What—?" He stops himself, his words catching in his throat, trying to make sense of the drastic shift in the atmosphere. The way your hand falls to your side feels like a finality, as though the reality he had just witnessed—of you, of the hope in your eyes—was nothing more than a simple illusion.

The weight of the silence presses down on him, smothering. His gaze moves down, and that's when he realizes the baby bump has vanished. There’s nothing there. The roundness, the warmth, the promise of new life—gone. In its place, there's only the smooth curve of your stomach, flat and unchanged.

"Y/N?" His voice cracks on your name, disoriented and desperate for some kind of explanation. "What happened? What…what’s going on?"

But you don’t answer right away. Instead, you look at him like you’ve seen a stranger, a shift in your eyes that only deepens the growing pit in his stomach. Your gaze is cold, distant, almost as if you've already resigned yourself to something. Satoru swallows hard, his hand instinctively reaching for you, but when his fingers brush against your arm, it feels like the connection is completely severed. "What’s wrong? Talk to me," he pleads, his voice raw and filled with confusion. 

You take a slow, deliberate step back, the air between you two growing heavier. "Satoru," you say, but your voice sounds far too calm, far too final. "This is the reality, isn't it? This is what it always was—always will be. A dream. A fantasy."

His mind races, his heart pounding in his chest. "No, this isn’t a fantasy! We—we had a chance. You and me, and Koji…and the other…We were—" His throat tightens, unable to finish his sentence.

But you cut him off, the finality in your words sinking deep. "You left, Satoru. You just wanted us to end, didn’t you? It’s why you didn’t fight for me the day we broke up—fight for us. You made me make that promise. You left, and that’s what this is now. A memory. The past. Something we’ll never, ever get back.”

The words land like a blow to his chest, sharp and cutting. His chest tightens as he searches your face, willing for you to show him that this is just another moment in the dream—that the warmth would come back, that the hope would return. But your eyes are cold. The distance between you feels insurmountable.

He opens his mouth to speak, to argue, to fix whatever it is that's wrong—but nothing comes out. The truth is, he doesn’t know how to fix this. Not anymore. Not when everything between you feels so broken, like fragments of a life he no longer knows how to put together. 

And just like that, the warmth of the dream fades completely, leaving him in the cold, dark reality of what’s been lost.

“I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father.”

Satoru startles awake, jolting upright in his bed. He feels like he’s just been splashed with ice cold water, in a way, he has. Raising his hands to his temples, face scrunching in discomfort. He’s breathing fast and hard, heart feeling like it’ll just pop right out. His hands trembling. 

The sounds of birds tweeting a song is what he hears next. The morning light filters softly through the curtains, but it feels blinding to him, harsh against the remnants of the nightmare. His chest rises and falls rapidly, each breath shallow and frantic, his heart still racing as he fights to steady himself. The words you spoke echo in his mind, sharp and cutting. I wish I kept Koji from you. I wish you weren’t his father. The pain in those words, the hurt, is still so vivid in his memory. 

Satoru places his hands on the sides of his face, trying to ground himself. His fingers dig into his skin, as if the physical pressure could somehow push away the remnants of the dream, make it vanish. But it lingers. It hangs heavy in the air, suffocating him. Why did you say that? Why did you feel that way? Do you actually feel that way in real life? Are you planning to take Koji and run away with him again? Did you seriously regret having a child with him?

He inhales deeply, his breath shaky, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart. The sound of birds chirping in the distance serves as a reminder that the world continues to move outside of his turmoil, but it only makes him feel more disconnected. He pushes the blankets off of him and swings his legs over the side of the bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. His mind races, trying to make sense of what he’s feeling. That dream—it wasn’t just a nightmare. It felt like a warning, a reminder of how fragile everything has been, how much he’s lost. How much he’s failed.

The promise.

The weight of what’s happened between you two settles heavily on his shoulders. And it makes him feel cautious—scared that you’ll do what you said you wouldn’t, all over again. 

Satoru stands, his body still trembling slightly, and walks toward the window. He peers outside, letting the light touch his face, even if it’s almost too bright for him right now. It’s peaceful outside, the world as it always is in the morning: calm, serene, untouched. But his own mind is a storm, and no amount of sunlight seems to clear the clouds. He closes his eyes and exhales deeply, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream, the guilt gnawing at him. The idea of you saying that you wished you’d kept Koji from him—the thought cuts deeper than he’s willing to admit. What does that mean for the future? 

What does it mean for him?

Satoru feels his heart aching with the need to fix things, to understand if you actually feel that way. But he's left in the quiet chaos of his own mind, unsure of where to begin. And that's the worst part: not knowing where to start.

Whatever, it was just a dream. Dreams aren’t real. Don’t think too much into it. 

A text message pings, causing him to look over. The sight of your name forms a twisting feeling to reside in his core, frowning. It’s like when you dream about your significant other cheating on you, so the next morning you’re a little mad at them for no reason. But this time, he’s not sure if it’s for no reason. 

Maybe you actually feel like this, feeling regret for not keeping Koji from him any longer. You’ve obviously shown to be good at keeping secrets, so who’s to say you’re not still doing that. He grabs his phone, clicking on your message and pushing down the resentment that continues to bloom once more. 

Y/N:

Hey, have u had any luck with the leaker? 

Satoru sighs heavily, eyes closing momentarily before opening them back up and typing you back. He can’t help the shortness in his response. 

Satoru:

No 

Y/N:

Pls let me know of any changes

He doesn’t bother replying, tossing his phone on his bed and getting up and ready for the day. Of course the thought of the identity of who leaked the photo has been running rampant in his mind day in and day out. But he just woke up from a particularly scary nightmare—or a message?—and he doesn’t need his mind overwhelmed anymore than it is right now. 

As he goes through his morning routine, Satoru can’t shake the consistent unease. The nightmare, your text, and the weight of everything that’s been happening swirl in his mind like a storm he can’t escape. He brushes his teeth with more force than necessary, gripping the sink as the toothpaste foam spills over his lips. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, his pale blue eyes duller than usual, rimmed with exhaustion.

He can’t stop wondering—what if there’s truth to his nightmare? What if you do regret letting him into Koji’s life? The thought gnaws at him, a relentless ache in his chest.  

The leak complicates things even further. Someone out there—someone close enough to know—exposed him and Koji to the world. The conversation with his mother plays again internally. Someone close or possibly a business partner. But what if she’s wrong? What if it’s someone who’s not close, but still smart enough? And while it’s caused a media frenzy, he knows the real damage is more personal. It’s the wedge it’s driving between him and you. The accusations, the whispers, the uncertainty—it’s all feeding into the growing gap he’s been struggling to bridge.  

He pulls on a shirt, his movements jerky as his frustration builds. He hasn’t been able to sleep properly for days either, his mind consumed by the mystery of the leak and the uneasy tension between you two. It’s not like you’re outright hostile, but there’s something there—something distant, guarded. And now, after the dream, he can’t stop replaying the worst-case scenarios in his head.   

The atmosphere in the room is cold, tense—calculating. Out of the four people situated inside, none speak. Just looking at one another in silent scrutiny. Yamato and Akane are sitting side by side, seated across from them are another married couple. 

Kenji and Emi Nakamura. 

Kenji and Emi Nakamura exude the quiet confidence of people used to wielding power. Kenji’s sharp suit is impeccably tailored, his posture straight and commanding, while Emi, poised in a sleek dress, sits with her legs crossed, her hands folded neatly on her lap. Despite their calm appearances, their sharp gazes and the slight twitch of Kenji’s jaw betray their impatience.

Yamato leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, his eyes cold and unwavering as they meet Kenji’s. Akane, seated next to him, is the picture of composed elegance, but the slight tap of her heel against the floor reveals her tension. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until finally, Kenji speaks, his voice smooth but laced with thinly veiled irritation. 

“So,” he begins, his piercing eyes flickering between Yamato and Akane. “Are we going to dance around the issue all day, or will one of you have the decency to explain how this... mess...got out and why the man who’s dating our daughter suddenly has a secret son?” 

Yamato doesn’t flinch. He lets the accusation hang in the air for a moment before responding, his tone measured. “We don’t deal in leaks, Kenji. And we certainly wouldn’t jeopardize our own family’s reputation for... what? A scandal? That’s more your style.”

Kenji’s expression hardens, and Emi places a delicate hand on his arm, a subtle but firm reminder to keep his temper in check. She smiles politely, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s not turn this into a blame game. We’re all here because this leak affects all of us—your family, ours, Satoru’s and Himari’s.” 

Akane’s lips twitch into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t patronize us, Emi. You and I both know you’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this. You’ve always wanted to see Satoru fall from grace.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her smile unfaltering. “I want what’s best for our families, Akane. A public scandal doesn’t benefit anyone, least of all Gojo or the Nakamura name. Besides, our daughter quite loves your son.” 

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped together on the table. “Let’s cut the theatrics. Who is responsible?” 

Akane’s heel stops tapping, and she fixes Kenji with a sharp look. “We’re working on it. Our investigators are thorough, and they’ll uncover the source soon enough.”

Kenji’s eyes narrow. “They’d better. Because the last thing the Nakamura name needs is a public scandal about a conniving young man and our innocent daughter. She’s already receiving enough scrutiny as it is.”

The tension in the room ratchets up another notch, but Yamato remains unmoved. His voice, low and steady, cuts through the silence. “And if we discover the leak came from your side, Kenji? Are you prepared to deal with the consequences?” The two men lock eyes, a silent battle of wills, while their wives sit in their respective corners, poised like chess queens ready to strike. The room may be quiet, but the unspoken threats linger in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“We’d never do something like this, especially if it affects our daughter.” Emi replies firmly. She tilts her chin up slightly, an air of indignation radiating from her as her perfectly manicured hand rests on her husband’s arm. “You should know better than to accuse us of such underhanded behavior, Yamato.”

Yamato’s wife leans forward slightly, her tone equally sharp. “And you should know better than to express such hostility towards us. Tenka Couture benefits more from Gojo Group than vice versa.”

Emi’s smile tightens, her composure threatening to crack. “Why, of course. We’re just saying, Himari has nothing to gain from this mess. If anything, she’s a victim of it. The constant media scrutiny, the endless whispers. How do you think that’s been affecting her?”

Kenji slams his hand on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. “Enough. This isn’t about Himari. This is about finding the truth. If your investigators are as thorough as you claim, then we’d better find answers—and soon.”

Yamato meets Kenji’s glare with a calm intensity. “Rest assured, we will. But until then, I suggest you keep your own people in check. If we find out this was an attempt to sabotage Satoru—or worse, hurt him—there will be consequences. You know that better than anyone.”

Kenji leans back, his jaw tight, as Emi places another calming hand on his shoulder. “We don’t want this to escalate any further,” she says, her voice softer now but no less firm. “For everyone’s sake, let’s handle this with discretion.”

Akane glances at Yamato, smoothing down the front of her skirt. “We agree. But let’s make one thing clear—if the Nakamuras are involved in any way, there will be no forgiveness. Not from us, and not from Satoru.”

Kenji sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Of course, we understand. But again, we are in no way involved with this leak. With the revelation of this…boy, it messes up everything. Himari and Satoru are a couple. They’re supposed to represent unity between our families and companies, a partnership that benefits both sides. This child complicates that narrative. It puts everything we’ve worked for at risk.”

Yamato’s eyes narrow, his sharp gaze cutting through Kenji’s words. “We understand, yes. But at the end of the day, Satoru is our son, this boy is…well he’s a part of our family now. Your concern seems to be more about appearances than the actual implications for Satoru’s life or the boy’s well-being, but I understand that. My wife and I too are concerned with the way this sudden news could somehow stain our reputation.”

Kenji leans forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table, his expression taut. “Appearances are everything in this world, Yamato. You know that. If this story continues to spread, the consequences won’t just affect Satoru or Himari—they’ll ripple through both of our families. Investors, business partners, the media—they all thrive on scandal, and we can’t afford to give them fuel. They’ll begin to wonder what else we’re keeping a secret.”

“Himari and Satoru’s relationship isn’t as stable as you think it is,” Akane counters, her tone measured but resolute. “This revelation didn’t create the cracks; it only exposed them. Maybe it’s time you and your daughter accept that.”

Emi bristles at Akane’s insinuation, her voice cold but precise. “You underestimate my daughter’s strength. Himari has always handled challenges with grace. She and Satoru will navigate this together—if you and your family stop meddling.”

Yamato cuts in, his expression calm. “Let’s not pretend this is solely about Satoru and Himari. The Nakamuras have as much to lose as we do. But let me remind you, Kenji, that this child—Koji—isn’t just a complication. He’s Satoru’s son, and that makes him family. As the adults in this situation, we also hold a certain level of accountability as for keeping this child away from public eye.”

Kenji’s jaw tightens, his composure threatening to crack. “Family or not, this boy’s existence jeopardizes everything. Himari has been nothing but supportive of Satoru, and she doesn’t deserve to be overshadowed by a damned secret from his past.”

Akane’s voice slices through the tension like a blade. “Supportive, or opportunistic? Don’t confuse loyalty with convenience. If Himari truly cared for Satoru, she’d understand that his son isn’t just a ‘secret’—he’s part of who he is now.”

The room falls silent, the weight of Akane’s words lingering. Kenji finally stands, his movements deliberate. “We’ll see how this plays out. But if you think we’ll let the Nakamura name be tarnished by this… situation, you’re mistaken.”

Yamato rises as well, his eyes locking with Kenji’s in an unspoken challenge. “And if you think we’ll allow anyone—anyone—to undermine Satoru or the Gojo legacy, you’re equally mistaken. The truth will come out, Kenji. Be prepared for it.”

With that, the couple turns and leave, their exit leaving the Gojos in a cloud of tension and unease. Akane finally speaks, her voice low but firm. “Remind me again why we are pushing through with this arrangement. The Gojo Group hardly needs Tenka Couture. We’re more than capable of standing on our own.”

Yamato exhales, running a hand through his silver hair. “It’s not about needing them, Akane. It’s about the influence. The Nakamuras have deep connections in sectors we’ve been trying to expand into—fashion, entertainment, international markets. Aligning with them strengthens our position globally. We settled this years ago, okay?”

Akane crosses her arms, her expression skeptical. “At what cost? Their arrogance alone is enough to make me question this. And let’s not even get started on Himari. She might be poised on the outside, but she lacks the fortitude to handle Satoru’s world. She clings to the spotlight, but she’s not ready for the shadows.”

Yamato’s jaw tightens. “You’re not wrong, but this arrangement was never meant to hinge on her ability to ‘handle’ Satoru. It’s a strategic move, not a personal one. I thought you understood that.”

“Strategic?” Akane’s voice rises slightly, her composed exterior slipping. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t just a business deal anymore. There’s a child involved now—your grandson. And yet, we’re expected to sideline him for the sake of appearances?”

Yamato’s gaze hardens, a rare flicker of emotion breaking through his typically stoic demeanor. “The boy is not being sidelined. But if this situation spirals out of control, it won’t just be Satoru’s name dragged through the mud—it’ll be Koji’s, too. I’m trying to protect all of them. As much as I dislike this situation and as much as I do not care for getting to know this boy, at the end of the day he’s connected to us.”

Akane steps closer, her voice softening but losing none of its edge. “And how do you expect to protect Koji by tying Satoru to someone who doesn’t have the heart to care for him? Because that’s what you’re doing, Yamato. You’re forcing a partnership that benefits no one but the Nakamuras. I’ve told you this from the start that it won’t do us good. There are plenty of other people we can contact that won’t involve forcing our son into an arranged marriage.”

For a moment, Yamato doesn’t respond. His broad shoulders sag just slightly, the weight of the conversation settling over him. “This isn’t about what’s ideal, Akane. It’s about what’s necessary. And until we find another way to stabilize this situation, the arrangement stands.”

Akane shakes her head, turning away. “Necessary, huh? Tell me, Yamato—when did we start sacrificing our family for necessity?”

Her words hover in the air as she walks out of the room, leaving Yamato standing alone, the tension thick and suffocating. He glances out the window, the city lights reflecting in his cold blue eyes. “Sometimes,” he murmurs to himself, “family is the sacrifice.”

Kenji and Emi sit in the back of the blacked out Escalade. One visibly more angry than the other. The assistant up front hands Kenji an IPad. “Here, sir.”

Kenji takes it without a word, scrolling. On the screen, a plethora of all the personal information regarding the woman who caused all this. 

You. 

Kenji’s grip tightens on the iPad as his sharp eyes scan the screen, each line of information making his jaw clench harder. Birthdate, address, financial records, employment history—it’s all there. How pathetic. Every detail meticulously laid out like a blueprint of your life. Beside him, Emi glances over, her expression less angered and more calculating.

“So,” she finally says, her tone icy and deliberate. “This is her.”

Kenji doesn’t reply immediately, his focus locked on the screen. An ID picture accompanied the words. The photo of you, Satoru, and Koji catches his attention, and his lips press into a thin line. The leaked photo. “The audacity,” he mutters. “She hides this little punk tyke for years, and now she’s a problem we’re forced to deal with. They both are.”

Emi tilts her head, her perfectly manicured nails tapping lightly against her armrest. “She doesn’t look like much. Hardly someone who should be causing this much of a stir. But appearances can be deceiving.” Her lips curl into a faint sneer. “Especially for women like her.”

“She’s more than just a stir. She’s a maddening, infuriating liability with baggage from hell,” Kenji snaps, handing the iPad back to his assistant with a flick of his wrist. “The kind that could ruin everything if we’re not careful because they themselves have nothing to lose.”

The assistant clears his throat nervously from the front seat. “Sir, should I proceed with the next steps?”

Kenji leans back in his seat, his eyes dark and unrelenting. “Not yet. I want to understand her first. How she operates. What she values. Everyone has a weakness. Once we find hers, we’ll decide the next course of action. Though, I assume it’s the ragged infant.”

Emi raises an eyebrow, her tone almost teasing. “You sound like you’re preparing for war.”

Kenji’s gaze flickers to his wife, his expression unreadable. “Aren’t we?”

The tension in the car is palpable, the low hum of the engine the only sound as they drive through the city. Emi’s lips curve into a faint smile, though her eyes remain cold. “She won’t win, Kenji. Not against us. Not against our sweet baby girl.”

“She won’t even get the chance,” Kenji replies, his voice hard and certain. “We’ll make sure of it.”

a/n: this is my present to u all!!!! happy holidays! ❤️❤️

taglist is now closed

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[s4kura-tr3]

Prince! Satoru Gojo

A lil intro into Prince Gojo

The grand ballroom was alive with music and laughter, the glittering chandeliers casting a golden glow over the assembled royalty and nobles. You had been to countless events like this before—balls meant to foster alliances, display wealth, and reinforce the boundaries of decorum. It was all so predictable, and yet, tonight felt different.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it until he arrived.

Prince Satoru Gojo of the neighboring kingdom was a name whispered with awe and curiosity. Known as much for his striking appearance as his sharp wit, he carried himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. When he stepped into the ballroom, clad in a midnight-blue suit that complemented his snow-white hair, it was as though the room collectively held its breath.

You tried not to stare, but his presence was magnetic. His crystalline blue eyes swept over the crowd, lingering just long enough on each face to make them feel seen before moving on. When his gaze landed on you, however, it didn’t move.

Before you knew it, he was crossing the room, his strides purposeful yet casual, as though he had all the time in the world. The crowd seemed to part for him, and when he finally stopped before you, he offered a smirk that was equal parts charm and mischief.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice smooth and playful. “I was told tonight’s ball would be filled with the most radiant jewels of the kingdoms, but I wasn’t expecting to find the crown jewel herself.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his obvious flattery, though you couldn’t deny the flutter in your chest. “And I suppose you’re the prince charming we’ve all been waiting for?” you replied, matching his tone.

He chuckled, the sound light and effortless. “Prince, yes. Charming? I’ll let you decide.”

You couldn’t help but smile despite yourself. “You seem awfully sure of yourself, Your Highness.”

“It’s hard not to be when the most captivating woman in the room is actually talking to me,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Careful, Prince Satoru,” you said, tilting your head. “I’m not so easily won over.”

“Good,” he replied, his smirk widening. “I enjoy a challenge.”

He offered his hand, and though every instinct told you to keep your distance from this dangerously charming prince, you found yourself placing your hand in his.

As he led you to the dance floor, the world seemed to blur around you. His touch was firm yet gentle, his movements graceful despite his towering stature. You had danced with countless suitors before, but none of them had made your heart race like this.

“So,” he said as he guided you through a turn, his blue eyes never leaving yours, “are all princesses in your kingdom as sharp-tongued as you, or am I just lucky tonight?”

“Lucky?” you repeated, arching a brow. “I’d say the jury’s still out on that.”

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “Fair enough. But I’ll take my chances.”

The dance ended far too soon, but as the music faded, Satoru didn’t let go of your hand right away. Instead, he leaned in, his voice low and teasing.

“You may think I’m here for alliances and politics,” he said, his gaze piercing, “but I have to admit, meeting you has made tonight far more interesting than I expected.”

Before you could respond, he pressed a light kiss to the back of your hand, his lips brushing your skin just enough to leave you breathless.

“I’ll be seeing you, Princess,” he said, stepping back with a wink before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you with the undeniable feeling that the night—and your life—had just become infinitely more complicated.

[gumims]

mysterious kisses at midnight | white hair guy and friends

so far i’ve wrote 6 chapters and nanamis account hasn’t appeared even once.

idk why i made an account for him

shoko is part of both we love woman/white hair guy and friends but she’s more closer with the girls

taglist: @sahrii @fushiguruuzzzz @miiyas @anotherwriternamedclara @satoryaa @harryzcherry @lizbix @diearama @www-lilpeepismylifesupport-com @q2uq2u @rreveurdoll

ask to be added on the taglist!!

[yakamozz3]

ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　.　　. 　 ˚　. ★⋆ .   　　˚　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

❝Shhhh! You don’t want anyone to hear us don’t you?❞

༄ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔： satoru gojo x fem!reader

༄ 𝒯𝒲／𝒞𝒲： established relationship, light exhibitionism, p in v sex, unprotected sex, getting caught (*^‿^*), pwp

𝒫ℛ𝒪ℳ𝒫𝒯 ☆*:・ﾟ

You just wanted to shop, but gojo had other plans for you <3

„Gojo what are you doing?-„ you mutter, before being cut off by a large hand placed right infront of your pretty mouth the other one holding your waist firmly. „Shhhh.. just trust me“ Gojo muttered under his breath seemingly undoing his belt, the leather rustling as he fumbled the the buckle open with his one free hand.

Honestly, you didn’t even know how you’ve ended up in that situation, it was just the usual: gojo taking you on a shopping spree through various stores. He just loves to see you try on different stuff wether it’s a nice neklace that settles perfectly against your cleavage, a beautiful bag or just a new cute dress that flatters your curves just perfectly. What he loved the absolute most about it tho, was the little show you always love to put on for him when you come out,: for example the little twirls you make coming out of the changing room in a dress that’s so short, that he can see your lace panties peak through. Ofcourse it’s cute and hot but usually it doesn’t faze him that much.

Today was different tho, infact very different. He didn’t know what exactly it was but something about that damn dress you’ve just tried on and proudly presented to him, made him completely loose it. The way it hugged your curves so damn well in all the right places, his gaze lingering on every graceful line as desire started to spark in his chest. It wasn’t just the way the fabric clung to you—it was the way you wore it, you wore it with such confidence as you presented it to him.

After showing him the dress and going back to the changing room, after you’ve just pulled the curtain shut and turned around to strip the dress off, you suddenly heard the curtain move again. Just as you were about to turn around to check on who was invading your privacy. Suddenly before even getting the chance to turn around, you felt a very familiar pair of hands slide around your waist, firmly pressing you down making you bend over and desperately cling onto the wall for support, those same hands now unbuckled Gojo’s belt.

as he successfully unbuckled his belt you suddenly felt his almost desperate touch again, but this time he was pulling down your lacy underwear. „Gojo we can’t do this not in here atleast“ you hiss out trying to be as quiet as possible, but your very loving — and audacious, boyfriend couldn’t care less and just shamelessly aligned his rock hard cock with your wet little cunt. „why are you so wet then, if you don’t like it hmm?“ he asked in a teasing tone and smug grin on his face, he didn’t even give you any time to think about a possible answer to his question —Not that you could answer at all, with his hand over your mouth, as he started to unashamedly bully his dick into your tight pussy, your warm & soft walls welcoming him just perfectly making a satisfied bit quiet groan escape his parted lips as he slight throws his head back.

„Mhh Gojo!“ you manage to whine out into his hand as Gojo presses it even further against your mouth, in high efforts to keep you relatively quiet. „Shhhh! You don’t want anyone to hear us don’t you?“ Gojo whispered with an amused grin spread across his face as he leans down to place firm wet kisses alongside your neck as he picked up his pace chasing his own release making it significantly harder to hold onto the wall for support as he mercilessly fucked you from behind, causing a white ring of your arousal form at the base of his cock. You continue to whine out muffled moans and cries into his large hand as you feel the knot in your stomach growing even more while his thrusts are turning a bit more sloppy and he begins to reach even further into your by now practically dripping cunt. „M‘gonna cumm!“ you cry out into his hand once again making gojo chuckle as he finally picks up his pace once again „m‘gonna cum too baby“ he huffs out, still leaned down right beside your ear clearly out of breath. Just as he finished his sentence he felt the familiar feeling of your pussy clenching around his thick cock and your body trembling infront of him. As he feels you cumming on his cock, he feels his own release approach. With a few last deep sloppy thrusts into your impossibly tight and soft cunt he cums inside painting your gummy walls all white with his cum making groan right into your ear.

Panting and out of breath he waited a moment before lifting his hand away from your mouth, his touch still briefly lingering on your lips. Just as he finished buckling up his belt again while you were picking up your panties that have been thrown trough the fitting room when suddenly a quite loud and rather serious voice interrupted the comfortable silence that lingered between the two of you just seconds ago. “I don’t know what’s going on in there, but it’s time to finish up, or I’ll have to call security.”

(>ᴗ•)