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satoruness · 17 hours ago

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golden — s . gojo x reader

synopsis — satoru gojo is your bestfriend and you are his. but sometimes, lines between friendship and something more seem to blur.

pairing — bestfriend! satoru x reader

word count — 10.6 k

warnings — making out, somewhat heavy petting, they take off each other's shirts but that's about it LOL, angst (not a sad ending though), reader feels unwanted at times.

Satoru Gojo.

How long have you known him? Your whole life, probably.

Scratch that. Not your whole life, but definitely the majority of it.

It started in preschool.

You were the quiet kid—the one who clung to the edges of the classroom, never quite fitting into the messy, chaotic whirlwind of children who seemed to make friends like it was the easiest thing in the world. You didn’t know how they did it—how they found each other in the noise, how they paired up so effortlessly, how they just knew where they belonged.

You, on the other hand, spent most of your time alone, stacking blocks in the corner, drawing quietly, or waiting for the teacher to tell you what to do next.

And then there was him.

Satoru Gojo, the loudest, brightest, most obnoxiously happy kid you’d ever met. He was the kind of child who ran instead of walked, who laughed at things no one else found funny, who always had a scrape on his knee but never seemed to care. He was larger than life, in a way that made your stomach twist—not quite jealousy, not quite admiration, just… confusion.

So when he plopped down next to you one day, completely uninvited, you weren’t sure what to do.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked, peering at the tiny house you were building out of wooden blocks.

You shrugged. “Building.”

“Cool,” he said, grinning. “Can I help?”

You hesitated. You didn’t want help. But before you could answer, he was already reaching for the blocks, stacking them in ways that made no sense.

“You’re ruining it,” you mumbled, frowning.

He blinked at you, then back at the house. “Oh.” And then, without missing a beat, he knocked it over entirely.

You gasped, horrified.

He just laughed. “Now we can build it again!”

You decided, in that exact moment, that you hated him.

But Satoru Gojo was persistent.

He started following you around—not in a creepy way, just in an annoying way. Every time you thought you’d shaken him off, he’d pop up again like a bad penny, grinning that ridiculous grin of his.

Eventually, you just… let him.

It was easier than trying to get rid of him.

And somewhere along the way, he became your first real friend.

Your moms met not long after.

It happened at pickup time, when Satoru ran straight past his usual waiting spot to grab your hand instead. “Can I go to their house?” he asked his mom, all wide eyes and uncontainable energy. “Please, please, please?”

Your mom looked vaguely alarmed, having not expected to suddenly be responsible for another child, but Satoru’s mom just laughed.

And that was that.

Your friendship expanded beyond the preschool walls, spilling into weekends and playdates. Satoru’s house became as familiar as your own, with its too-big windows and fancy furniture that he absolutely wasn’t supposed to jump on (but did anyway). In return, he practically lived at your place, showing up unannounced, eating snacks straight from your pantry, making himself at home in a way that should have been irritating but never really was.

By the time middle school rolled around, he was less of a friend and more of a permanent fixture in your life.

“Okay, but listen,” Satoru said one afternoon, sprawled across your bedroom floor, Switch in hand. “If you had to pick one Digimon partner, like one to be stuck with for the rest of your life, who would it be?”

You barely looked up from your homework. “I don’t know. Agumon?”

“Agumon?” he repeated, scandalized. “That’s so basic. It’s like saying your favorite Pokémon is Pikachu.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s literally the main character’s Digimon.”

“Exactly!” He threw his hands up. “No originality. None. Zero. I expected better from you.”

“You asked me,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d at least think about it.” He sighed, dramatically flopping onto his back. “I should’ve known. I’m best friends with a casual fan.”

“You should be grateful you have a best friend at all,” you shot back.

Satoru grinned, tilting his head toward you. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

At some point, he started wearing glasses. Not for fashion, not because he wanted to, but because years of staring at screens in the dark, playing Digimon and Pokémon and whatever else he was obsessed with at the time, had officially caught up to him.

“I’m blind,” he announced the day he got them, pushing them up the bridge of his nose. “Absolutely, totally blind.”

You snorted. “You’re, like, mildly nearsighted.”

“Same thing,” he said, already taking them off to examine them. “Do I look smarter with them?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “Not really.”

“Rude.” He huffed, sliding them back on. “What about cooler?”

You threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed, catching it easily. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

—

Then came high school.

At first, nothing changed.

Satoru was still Satoru—loud, annoying, always in your space. He still showed up at your house unannounced, still texted you at odd hours about random nonsense, still sat next to you at lunch like it was a law of the universe. He was your best friend. Your person.

And for the first two years, you were inseparable.

There wasn’t a single moment where people saw one of you without the other. Satoru Gojo and you. You and Satoru Gojo. Always a pair. Whether it was cramming for exams together, getting kicked out of the arcade because he got too competitive, or spending Friday nights playing whatever old game he got obsessed with that month, he was your constant.

Until junior year.

It started small.

A casual comment in gym class about how fast he was. A joke from a teacher about how he should try out for the football team. A half-dare from some of the guys he barely knew.

And somehow, against all odds, Satoru Gojo became an athlete.

You didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another one of his phases, right? Like that time he swore he’d master speedrunning or decided he was going to learn five languages at once. But he was good—annoyingly good. Tall, fast, with ridiculous reflexes that made him impossible to catch on the field.

And people noticed.

By mid-season, he wasn’t just some new player—he was the star. The guy everyone knew, the guy who had a crowd around him in the hallways, the guy who got called out over the school speakers for game-winning plays.

The guy who no longer just belonged to you.

The first time you really felt it was when he showed up at your house one evening. That part was normal. He still did that, still made himself at home on your couch, still stole whatever snacks he wanted.

But something was different.

You were sprawled out on your bed, flipping through a book, when you glanced up and noticed.

“Where are your glasses?” you asked.

Satoru blinked, as if he had to think about it. “Oh. Right.” He shrugged, plopping down next to you. “They’re kind of a hazard in football, so I switched to contacts. Figured I’d just stick with them.”

You sat up, frowning. “But you hate contacts.”

He grinned, stretching lazily. “Not anymore.”

And just like that, something in your chest twisted.

It wasn’t just the glasses.

It was the way he stopped rambling about Digimon, the way he never asked if you wanted to rewatch old anime together anymore. It was the way his schedule started filling up with team hangouts and parties you weren’t invited to. It was the way people started looking at you differently when you were with him.

Because Satoru Gojo wasn’t just Satoru Gojo anymore.

He was Gojo.

Senior year was when it really started to hurt.

He still sat with you at lunch, still texted you silly memes at night, still acted like nothing had changed. But everything had.

He would often cancel on your invitations, his responses still typed in that absurd, unmistakable way of his—yet his excuses always seemed to follow a familiar pattern. It was always something urgent, something unavoidable: he had to rush off to practice, or there was a party he couldn’t miss, or someone needed his help and he simply couldn’t bring himself to say no. Each time, it felt like a rehearsed script, as though his priorities were perpetually elsewhere, leaving you to wonder if you’d ever truly make the cut.

Every time he plopped down next to you, people stared. Whispered.

“Why’s he sitting with her?”

“Shouldn't he sit with the rest of the team?”

“Is she, like, his childhood obligation or something?”

You weren’t an idiot. You heard it. You felt it.

And it made you snap.

“You don’t have to sit here, you know,” you muttered one day, keeping your eyes on your tray.

Satoru frowned. “What?”

“I said, you don’t have to sit here,” you repeated, sharper this time. “If you’d rather be with your actual friends—”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

You clenched your jaw, hating how defensive he sounded. “Nothing. Forget it.”

He didn’t forget it.

You fought about it. About how he didn’t get it, about how easy everything was for him, about how he could walk into any room and belong while you felt like you had to justify existing.

“You act like I abandoned you,” he snapped, voice low and frustrated. “But I’m right here. I’ve always been here.”

And you hated that he was somewhat right.

So you patched things up. Not because you fully understood each other, but because you both wanted to. And by the time graduation rolled around, you could almost pretend things had gone back to the way they were.

But then came college.

And somehow, Satoru Gojo managed to be even more himself than ever.

Bigger. Louder. More impossible to ignore.

If high school had turned him into a star, then college made him a supernova.

He was everywhere—at parties, in clubs, on the field. Everyone knew him. Everyone wanted to be around him.

And somehow, despite it all, he still tried to keep you close.

“Come with me tonight,” he’d say, sending you an invite to some massive party. “It’ll be fun.”

You always said no.

At first, he laughed it off. But after a while, he started looking at you differently—like he noticed the way you avoided him now, the way you barely answered his texts, the way you pulled away whenever he tried to meet your eyes.

And one night, when he showed up outside your dorm after another party, half-drunk and grinning, you saw the exact moment that grin faltered.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “Why would I be mad at you?” you replied, your tone lighter than you felt, as if you could brush the question aside with a casual shrug.

Satoru studied you intently, his glasses nowhere to be found, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it one too many times. His gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “Because you’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice steady but laced with something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe, or hurt.

You forced a laugh, the sound brittle and unconvincing. “I’m not—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he interrupted, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Not you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and your throat tightened. You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. “It’s just—” you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to piece together the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for weeks. “You don’t need me anymore, Satoru. You have them. All your cool—I don’t know, jock and cheerleader friends, everyone else who likes you. You don’t have time for me now.”

He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he asked, his voice rising slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His hands gestured vaguely, as though trying to grasp the words you’d just thrown at him. “You think I’d just—replace you? Like it’s that easy? No, like seriously fucking explain to me what the absolute hell you mean?” He mutters out angrily, words slightly slurred.

The air between you felt heavy, charged with emotions neither of you had fully acknowledged until now. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving only silence hanging in the space between you.

You let out a bitter laugh. “It means I’m tired, Satoru. Tired of feeling like a ghost when I’m with you. Tired of pretending I’m okay with being the weird friend you keep around out of habit.”

Satoru opened his mouth, then closed it.

And for the first time in your life, you saw it—hurt. Real, genuine hurt in his stupidly bright eyes.

“You think that’s what this is?” he said, voice quieter now. “Habit?”

You didn’t answer.

Because if you did, you might have to admit that you missed him. That you missed the late-night anime marathons, the dumb inside jokes, the way he used to act like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

But you weren’t sure if that version of him still existed.

And you definitely weren’t sure if you had the courage to find out.

Satoru stared at you for a long time, the weight of your words settling between you like a stone. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, couldn’t decipher the way his lips pressed into a thin line, the way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to reach for something—but wasn’t sure if he should.

Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t get it,” he admitted, voice lower now, quieter, like he was afraid too many words would push you further away. “You’re acting like I left you behind, but I’m right here.”

You bit your lip. “You don’t see it.”

“Then make me see it,” he shot back, suddenly frustrated. “Because all I know is that one day we were fine, and the next, you started treating me like a stranger.”

That stung.

Because wasn’t that what he did first?

He wasn’t the one being looked at differently in high school when he sat next to you at lunch. He wasn’t the one feeling like a burden when you tagged along with him to something you thought was just going to be the two of you. He wasn’t the one realizing, little by little, that your best friend was outgrowing you.

But how could you even say that? How could you explain it in a way he’d understand?

“It’s not just one thing, Satoru,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s… everything.”

Satoru exhaled sharply, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “That’s real specific.”

You rolled your eyes, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

You hesitated. He looked serious, standing there under the dim glow of the dorm hallway lights, arms crossed, gaze steady. But what would it change? Telling him wouldn’t undo the years of growing distance, wouldn’t erase the fact that you felt like you didn’t fit in his world anymore.

Maybe it was better to let it go.

So you shook your head, stepping back toward your door. “It’s late. You should go.”

Satoru let out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said, jaw tightening. “Run away, then. You’re good at that.”

That hurt more than it should have.

But you didn’t argue. You just stepped inside, closed the door, and pretended the ache in your chest wasn’t real.

It got worse after that.

You thought maybe that argument would clear the air—that he’d finally see why you had been keeping your distance. But if anything, it only made things weirder.

Satoru still texted you, but not as much. He still invited you to things, but there was something almost hesitant in the way he asked, like he was bracing for rejection. And when you turned him down (because of course you did), his replies became shorter, more clipped.

Then, one night, he stopped asking altogether.

You didn’t realize how much you had come to expect it—his name popping up on your phone, his easy confidence that somehow, eventually, you’d say yes. But when Friday night came and went without a text, something inside you twisted.

Maybe this was what you wanted. Maybe it was easier this way.

So why did it feel so awful?

A week later, you ran into him by accident.

Literally.

You were coming out of the campus library, arms full of books, when someone rounded the corner too fast and nearly tackled you.

“Oh, shit—sorry—”

You looked up, heart dropping to your stomach.

Satoru.

Your hands clenched around the books, pulse stuttering. It had only been a week, but he already looked different—like he’d fully settled into his role as that guy. Loose hoodie, messy hair, the faint scent of cologne and something vaguely alcoholic clinging to him.

You swallowed hard. “Hey.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. “Hey.”

It was awkward. Awkward. When had things ever been awkward between you?

You shifted your grip on your books. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, no, my bad,” he cut in quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Silence stretched between you. Too long, too tense.

Then, suddenly, his eyes dropped to the stack in your arms. “Of course you’re carrying, like, ten books at once.”

It was such a Satoru thing to say that, for a second, you almost smiled.

Then his gaze flicked up to yours, something softer in his expression, and your breath hitched.

And then—

A voice called his name from across the quad. Some guy you didn’t know, waving him over. Satoru hesitated. Then, with a small exhale, he gave you a lopsided grin. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning away.

And you stood there, watching him go, feeling like something important had just slipped through your fingers.

Days passed. Then a week. Then two.

And for the first time in years, Satoru Gojo wasn’t part of your life anymore.

No more texts. No more unannounced visits. No more standing at your dorm door at 2 AM, grinning like he belonged there.

You had wanted this, hadn’t you? You had wanted the space, the distance, the freedom to not be caught in his orbit.

But now, without him, everything just felt… quiet. You hated it.

You missed him.

—

It was months before you and Satoru spoke again.

At first, you kept waiting for him to text you, to pop up at your door with some stupid excuse, to send you a meme like nothing had happened. But days passed. Then weeks. Then months. And Satoru Gojo—your best friend since childhood—became just another person you saw in passing.

Sometimes, you spotted him across the quad, surrounded by his usual crowd. Sometimes, you caught glimpses of him at the library, laughing too loudly with friends who barely even acknowledged your existence.

And it hurt.

More than you wanted to admit, it hurt.

But you told yourself this was how things were meant to be. That he had moved on, and you needed to do the same. That whatever had existed between you belonged to another lifetime, one where you weren’t the quiet girl who spent her nights buried in books, and he wasn’t the golden boy who belonged to the whole damn world.

You thought you were doing fine. You thought you were getting used to it.

Until the professor announced lab partners.

The moment your name was called, a small, high-pitched voice cut through the classroom.

“Uh… who?”

Laughter rippled through the room. You felt your face go hot, every muscle in your body locking up as the girl—some blonde from Satoru’s usual group—looked around in exaggerated confusion.

It was humiliating.

Because she wasn’t just some random classmate. She was someone who had spent actual time with Satoru. Who had probably been to his dorm, who had probably sat next to him at parties, who had probably heard him talk about people in his life.

And she had no idea who you were.

You didn’t even dare look at Satoru. Didn’t want to see his reaction. Didn’t want to see whether he’d step in, whether he’d say anything—

But he didn’t.

He didn’t laugh, but he didn’t correct her either.

Didn’t turn to acknowledge you. Didn’t make some joke to brush past it. Didn’t do anything at all.

Just stared at the table like he was somewhere else entirely.

And that, somehow, was worse than anything.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral as you scribbled down the details of the assignment. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t a big deal. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

Working with Satoru again was… weird.

Not just because of everything that had happened between you, but because neither of you seemed to know how to be around each other anymore.

Gone were the days of effortless conversation, of teasing remarks and stolen fries and arguments about Digimon evolutions. Now, everything felt stilted, careful, like you were two strangers trying to relearn the language of each other.

Sometimes, it almost felt normal.

Like when you sat across from each other in the library, bent over research notes, and he’d randomly hum the Sailor Moon theme song under his breath. Or when he muttered something stupid under his breath about the professor’s handwriting, and you nearly choked on your water holding back a laugh.

But then, inevitably, the moment would pass.

Because girls from his usual group would come over, acting like you weren’t even there, their voices too sweet as they draped themselves over the back of his chair.

“Satoru, are you coming to the party on Friday?”

“Satoru, when are you free? We should all hang out.”

And he’d always answer them. Always give some noncommittal shrug or a lazy smirk. But you could tell—even if no one else seemed to notice—that he wasn’t really there. That when he looked at them, he wasn’t listening.

And yet, he never told them to leave. Never told them that you were working. Never acknowledged you at all when they were around. So, after a while, you just stopped expecting him to.

And then, one day, you got sick.

Not just a little sick. Not just a sore throat or a cough you could push through. No, you were the kind of sick that made your whole body ache, that sent shivers down your spine no matter how many blankets you curled under.

But it was a project day. And despite everything, you still had responsibilities. So, begrudgingly, you shot Satoru a text.

Come to my dorm. I can’t go out today.

He didn’t reply right away. But twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You barely managed to drag yourself over, your vision swimming slightly as you opened it.

And there he was.

Looking the same as always—messy white hair, sharp blue eyes, hoodie slung over his frame like he’d just rolled out of bed.

The only difference? The way his expression immediately dropped the second he saw you.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You look awful.”

You groaned, stepping aside to let him in. “Thanks for the confidence boost.” He kicked off his shoes, setting his bag down before eyeing you carefully. “Have you been drinking water? Eating enough? D’you eat somethin’ you weren’t meant to eat?”

You rolled your eyes. “How am I supposed to know, I just woke up sick as hell.”

Instead of a snarky remark, Satoru just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, before you could protest, he was guiding you toward the bed, nudging you to sit.

“You’re not working like this,” he said firmly. “Lie down.”

“I’m fine—”

“Lie down.”

You hesitated.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the version of Satoru you had gotten used to in the past year. The one who was always a little distant, a little out of reach. This was… him.

The Satoru you had known since childhood. The one who always knew when you were exhausted, even when you swore you weren’t. The one who used to push his fries onto your plate when you were too stressed to eat.

The one who, for the first time in months, was looking at you like you were still his best friend. So, slowly, you lay back down.

Satoru exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll get you some tea or something. You have any?” You nodded weakly. He moved toward your desk, rummaging through your stash of instant tea packets like he had done it a million times before.

And for the first time in a long time, the silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was familiar.

Safe.

And even though you felt like death warmed over, for the first time in months, you didn’t feel so alone.

—

From that day on, something shifted.

It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t dramatic, but it was there—a quiet, almost imperceptible change in the way things were between you and Satoru. The library, once the default meeting spot for your project sessions, was suddenly off the table. He stopped suggesting it altogether, and at first, you didn’t think much of it. But then, one afternoon, he showed up at your dorm unannounced, arms loaded with snacks and a careless shrug when you stared at him, bewildered.

“Library’s too loud,” he said, brushing past you and stepping inside like he owned the place. “Figured we’d get more done here.”

You didn’t question it. Not then, and not a week later when you found yourself in his dorm instead, sitting cross-legged on his bed while he scrolled through research notes on his laptop.

“Library’s too crowded,” he explained that time, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

After that, it just became… routine. Your project meetings moved from the library to your dorms, back and forth, as if by some unspoken agreement. The shift was gradual, almost imperceptible, but it was there. You still weren’t quite friends again—not the way you used to be, back when everything was easy and uncomplicated. There was still a careful distance between you, an unspoken awareness of all the time that had been lost, all the moments that had slipped through your fingers. But things weren’t cold anymore. They weren’t distant.

Satoru filled the quiet moments with mindless chatter, the way he always had. He teased you about your typos, stole your pens when you weren’t looking, and groaned dramatically whenever you made him do too much reading. Slowly, bit by bit, the pieces of your friendship started falling back into place. Not completely. Not yet. But enough that sometimes, when the two of you were laughing over something stupid, it almost felt like the past year had never happened.

Then, one day, everything cracked open.

It was late—much later than usual—and the two of you were sitting in his dorm, textbooks and notebooks sprawled across his desk. You were both exhausted, the kind of tired that made your eyes burn and your thoughts sluggish. Satoru was absentmindedly flipping through one of your old notebooks when he suddenly snorted.

“Oh my God.”

You blinked up at him, too tired to muster more than a mumbled, “What?”

He turned the notebook toward you, pointing at a messy doodle in the margin. It was a Digimon—a rough, scribbled outline that barely resembled anything recognizable. But something about it made him grin, leaning back in his chair like he’d just uncovered a hidden treasure.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “Feels like a whole different lifetime ago.”

And then, in a voice so casual, so familiar, he added—

“Remember when we made a whole ass PowerPoint ranking every Digimon evolution?”

That was it.

That was what broke you.

It was so stupid—just a random memory, an offhand remark. But the second he said it, something in your chest twisted violently. You clenched your jaw, swallowing hard, telling yourself not to be dramatic. But then your vision blurred, and suddenly, you were crying.

“Oh—oh shit.”

Satoru’s chair scraped against the floor as he shot up, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

You barely managed to shake your head, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady yourself. But the tears kept coming, and then—through the hiccups, through the pathetic, trembling gasps—you broke.

You clenched your jaw, trying to hold it together, but the tears spilled over anyway. Your chest heaved as you choked out the words, “I miss you. I—God, Satoru, I miss you.”

His face went slack, his usual confidence faltering as he stared at you, stunned. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, like he was trying to process what you’d just said. Then his voice came out quiet, almost fragile. “What are you talking about? I’m right here.”

You shook your head, your hands gripping your knees so tightly your knuckles turned white. “No, you’re not. Not really. You’ve been… gone. For so long. And I—” Your voice broke, and you hated how weak you sounded, how raw and exposed you felt. “I don’t want to be without you anymore. I don’t—I don’t want you to hate me.”

Satoru’s breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw his composure crack. His eyes glistened, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to fight it, but a single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, his voice trembling as he muttered, “You’re so fucking stupid. How could I ever hate you?”

You let out a shaky laugh, but it came out more like a sob. “I don’t know. You just—you stopped talking to me. You stopped needing me. And I thought… I thought you didn’t care anymore.”

He shook his head, his hands reaching out like he wanted to touch you but wasn’t sure if he should. “I care. I care so much it’s stupid. I just—” He paused, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to come back after everything. It felt like you were pushing me away.”

“You could’ve just— I don’t even know what to say,” you hiccuped, your voice barely audible. “You could’ve just… stayed. I don’t know— like yell at me, tell me that you care for me or something. I wish I wasn’t so stubborn about not speaking to you either, but god, maybe I just wanted you to like— tell me how much you needed me. Because it never felt like you did anymore.”

Satoru’s face crumpled, and he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping like the weight of everything had finally caught up to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m so sorry for leaving you behind. I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t know how to be around you without feeling like I’d already ruined everything.”

You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears. “You didn’t ruin anything. I just… I needed you. And you weren’t there. And really, it was my fault too, for not communicating—”

He cuts you off, his own tears falling freely now, though he didn’t seem to care. “I know. But I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I didn’t know how to fix it. I— I should’ve been there for you more often because God, life without you is just so horrible, and I’ve been so horrible— ”

“You’re fixing it now,” you said, your voice trembling. “Just… don’t leave me again. Please.”

He let out a choked laugh, his hands finally reaching for you, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. “I won’t,” he murmured into your hair. “I won’t. I promise.”

You buried your face in his shirt, your hands clutching the fabric as you cried. His body shook against yours, and you realized he was crying too—quietly, almost like he was trying to hide it, but you could feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hands trembled as they held you.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Every fucking day. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because the weight of everything—the months of silence, the distance, the ache of missing him—was finally crashing down on you. But for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t a bad kind of crash. It was relief. It was the feeling of something broken finally starting to heal.

Satoru’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm despite the tears. “Not again. Not ever.”

You nodded against his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. “Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.”

It took a long time for the tears to stop, for the sobs to quiet into shaky breaths. But even when they did, neither of you moved. Satoru kept holding you, his arms tight around you, his chin resting on the top of your head. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. You felt like you were home.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy, but he was smiling—a small, tentative smile that made your chest ache in the best way. “You’re stuck with me now, like y’know, the annoying kid who’d follow you around as kids,” he said, his voice soft. “Just so you know.”

You laughed, the sound watery but genuine. “Good. Because I miss that Satoru, and I’m not letting you go again either.”

He grinned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Deal.”

And just like that, something shifted. The distance between you closed, the cracks in your friendship slowly mending. It wasn’t perfect—not yet—but it was a start. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

—

After that night, Satoru made it a point to talk to you during class.

It was weird at first—uncomfortable, even. Because now, whenever he sat beside you, people stared. People whispered. But Satoru didn’t care. And after a while, neither did you.

Then, one day, it happened.

You were in the middle of a conversation when one of the girls from his usual group strolled up, her friends lingering just behind her.

“Dude,” she drawled, arms crossed. “We’re waiting for you.”

Satoru didn’t acknowledge her.

She huffed, looking at you for the first time.

“Who even are you?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

Silence.

Then—calmly, lazily—Satoru turned to her.

“Fuck off.”

Her expression twisted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, resting his chin in his hand. “We’re talking.”

You swore you saw steam coming out of her ears.

She spun on her heel, storming off in a flurry of designer fabric, and Satoru just turned back to you like nothing had happened.

You blinked at him, stunned. “That was… aggressive.”

He shrugged. “Don’t like her.”

You snorted. “You used to hang out with her all the time.”

“Yeah, well.” He gave you a pointed look. “I was an idiot.”

And maybe it was the way he said it. Maybe it was the certainty in his voice, the way he leaned in just a little closer like this—this—was what mattered.

But for the first time in a long time, you felt something settle inside you. Something warm. Something steady. Something that told you, without a doubt—

Satoru Gojo wasn’t leaving you behind again.

—

It happened slowly.

At first, it was just the way things had been before. You and Satoru were best friends again—finally, properly—and you were making up for lost time.

You sat together in lectures. You ate together between classes. You spent hours holed up in each other’s dorms, either working in silence or complaining about whatever god-awful assignment was due next.

And it was good. It was easy.

But then—then—things started to shift.

It was subtle at first.

A hand brushing against yours for just a little too long. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in a too-crowded study session, his breath fanning over your ear as he leaned in, muttering something you could barely focus on.

The way his eyes lingered when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way yours lingered, too.

—

It was a Friday night, and you were at Satoru’s dorm, lying on his bed while he sat at his desk, spinning lazily in his chair.

“I don’t wanna study,” he whined, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s do something fun.”

You turned a page in your book, unimpressed. “And what exactly do you define as ‘fun’?”

“Dunno,” he mused. “Wanna go for a drive?”

You sighed. “Satoru, it’s almost midnight.”

“And?” He grinned, kicking his feet up onto his desk. “C’mon, live a little.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose. “You just don’t want to do your readings.”

“Obviously.” He snorted. “But also, I feel like getting snacks.”

You hesitated, torn.

Then, finally—

“Fine.”

His eyes lit up. “Knew you’d cave.”

You rolled your eyes, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

—

It was raining by the time you got to the convenience store.

Not heavily—just a light drizzle, enough to make the streets shimmer under the streetlights.

Satoru grabbed half the store’s supply of junk food while you rolled your eyes, paying for your single bottle of tea. Outside, the air was cool, the pavement slick beneath your feet.

“I’m driving,” you said as he dug through his bag of snacks.

“Nah.” He grinned, tossing a chip into his mouth. “I got this.”

You gave him a look. “You almost crashed last time.”

He scoffed. “That was a red light, not a crash.”

“You ran the red light.”

“Meow.”

You cringe, snatching the keys from his pocket. “Oh my god. Absolutely not.”

Satoru laughed but let you.

And for some reason, that made your stomach flip.

—

Back at your dorm, Satoru made himself at home—because of course he did.

He sprawled across your bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other mindlessly tossing a snack in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“You should be paying me rent at this point,” you muttered, shutting the door behind you.

“I would,” he said, grinning, “but I’m broke.”

You huffed, settling onto the bed beside him. “What, your trust fund isn’t enough?”

He smirked. “Nah, gotta save that for important things.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right. Like overpriced sunglasses.”

“Exactly.”

You shook your head, reaching for the remote.

And then—a shift.

Satoru turned his head to look at you, and when you met his gaze, something in his expression softened.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched.

His fingers lingered at your temple, just for a moment. His touch was warm, featherlight.

You exhaled, heartbeat stuttering.

And then—just as quickly—he pulled back, flopping onto his back with a dramatic groan.

“What should we watch?” he asked, stretching like nothing had happened.

You exhaled.

Your chest felt tight.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat. “Dunno.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

—

But the tension didn’t. If anything, it only got worse.

It was in the way his hand brushed your waist when he reached past you.

The way he sat just a little too close, his knee knocking against yours under the desk.

The way his fingers trailed across your wrist when he grabbed something from you, his touch slow, deliberate.

And—God—it was in the way he looked at you.

Like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he wanted something.

And maybe—just maybe—so did you.

—

By the time second year rolled around, you weren’t sure what you and Satoru were anymore. Still best friends, technically. Still Satoru and you. But there was something else, too.

Something unspoken.

Something fragile and complicated and new. And neither of you dared to acknowledge it.

—

The weather had started to change, the air cooler as autumn crept in. You could feel it in your bones—when the days shortened, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows. It made everything seem a little softer, like the world had gone quiet just to give you and Satoru a chance to breathe, to figure things out.

You were both sitting in the small, somewhat neglected corner of the university park, surrounded by towering trees with golden leaves fluttering to the ground. You were both on the grass, sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed whenever you shifted. It was the kind of quiet afternoon you could’ve stayed in forever, and maybe that was why you weren’t quite ready to let it end.

Satoru stretched, his arms reaching high above his head. “Ugh, my back’s killing me. Who knew studying could be so physically demanding?” He rolled his shoulders, groaning dramatically.

You shot him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. “I think that’s just you, Satoru. You’re a professional at making everything harder than it is.”

He shot you a grin, a smug little thing, like he knew you couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Oh, please, I make things look easy. It's a gift.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, the great Satoru Gojo.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, catching the teasing tone in your voice. “That’s right. You should be honored to sit next to greatness.” He nudged your shoulder with his, the warmth of his body spilling into yours. The touch was light but undeniable. Familiar.

You chuckled, nudging him back. “I don’t know if I’d call you ‘great’ when you still lose to me in Mario Kart every time.”

Satoru gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like you’d just struck a mortal wound. “You—I’m just going easy on you because I don’t want you to feel bad. I’m a gentleman like that.”

You could hear the playful teasing in his voice, but the way he looked at you—his eyes crinkling at the corners with that boyish grin—felt like something deeper.

“I don’t need you to go easy on me,” you teased, leaning in just a bit too much, your voice soft. “I’m pretty good on my own, thanks.”

That was when you noticed it—the way his eyes flickered for a second, his lips curving down ever so slightly before he caught himself. His gaze held yours for a second longer than normal, and for the first time in a while, you both just stayed there. Not a word. No jokes or banter. Just the space between you thick with unspoken things.

Satoru was the first to look away, clearing his throat. “Anyway, want me to go grab us something from that little café over there? You could use some food if you’re gonna keep up with me.”

You hesitated. He’s back to that again. The Satoru who was always making sure you were fed, always thinking ahead for both of you, even when he had to act like nothing was different.

But you didn’t want to ruin the moment, not now. Not when everything felt right.

“No, I’m good,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But... thanks.”

Satoru studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly, before he dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “I swear, you’re impossible.” But even as he said it, his hand reached out—just a quick pat of his large hand atop yours. The briefest of contact, and for a moment, the world paused around you.

The warmth of his hand lingered even after it was gone, and you could feel your chest tightening, your pulse picking up. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

And for the rest of the afternoon, you stayed like that. Silent. Comfortable in the space between you, letting the quiet be enough. But you both knew it wasn’t just the park that made the air heavy—it was everything unsaid that clung to it.

Eventually, the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the grass. You sighed, looking up at Satoru. “We should probably get back soon. It’s getting late.”

He glanced at his phone, then at you, and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” He paused. “Hey, you want to walk with me to my dorm? I’m not ready to head back alone yet.”

It wasn’t even a question, not really. But you could feel his eyes on you, like he was waiting for your answer to matter just as much as the offer itself.

You nodded, and the tension between you both lifted just a little as you both stood, stretching out the stiffness in your legs. “Sure, let’s go.”

As you and Satoru walked side by side, the night air crisp and cool against your skin, the silence between you felt heavier than before. It wasn’t uncomfortable—quite the opposite. It was charged, like something waiting to tip over the edge. Every step you took together seemed to draw you closer, and you could feel the warmth of his body beside you, even in the chill of the evening.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his hand brushed against yours again. This time, neither of you pulled away. The tips of his fingers grazed your knuckles—light, tentative. Like he was testing the waters. Like he was waiting for you to stop him.

But you didn’t.

You swallowed, trying to focus on the rhythmic crunch of leaves beneath your feet rather than the way your skin tingled where he touched you. It was such a small thing, barely even a touch, but it sent your heart skittering against your ribs. And when you finally dared to glance up at him, Satoru was already looking at you, his lips curled into something between amusement and something softer, something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Satoru tilted his head, his silver-white hair catching in the glow of the streetlights. “Nothing.”

A lie.

Because there was something—so much something—wrapped up in the way his eyes flickered over you, lingering for just a second too long on your lips before he looked ahead again.

The air between you felt tight, humming with something unsaid.

You were nearing his dorm now, the pathway growing quieter, fewer students passing by. It was just the two of you, footsteps slowing, the night pressing in close.

Satoru exhaled a slow breath, and then—without thinking, or maybe because he had been thinking about it too much—he reached out again. This time, his fingers laced through yours, not just a brush, not just an accident. A deliberate touch, a quiet declaration.

Your breath caught, and you felt him squeeze—just slightly, just enough.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice low, like he wasn’t sure he should be asking.

You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. “Yeah. You?”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Dunno,” he said, squeezing your fingers again. “You’re kind of distracting.”

Your stomach flipped, heat crawling up your neck. “Oh, I’m distracting? That’s rich, coming from you.”

He huffed a laugh, the sound warm, teasing. “No, I mean it.” He stopped walking, tugging you gently by the hand so you turned to face him. “You ever notice how quiet things get when it’s just us?”

You blinked, your throat tightening. “Satoru—”

His free hand lifted, his fingertips barely skimming your jaw. He wasn’t quite touching, just there, like he was still giving you room to pull away. Like he wasn’t sure if he should close the space between you.

And God, you wanted him to.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. It would be so easy. Just one step closer. Just one little push, and—

Satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand falling away, his fingers untangling from yours. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind,” he muttered, laughing under his breath like he was scolding himself. “Forget I said anything.”

Your fingers twitched at your sides, the absence of his touch making your skin feel cold.

“No,” you said, firmer than you expected. “I don’t want to.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled. “You don’t?”

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “No.”

Satoru stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a low chuckle, he shook his head. “You really are impossible.”

And then, before you could overthink it, before you could talk yourself out of it—you stepped forward, pressing your palm against his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his hoodie. His breath hitched, his body going still under your touch.

The silence stretched again, thick and unyielding.

“Say it,” you whispered.

His hands hovered at your sides, not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Say what?”

You looked up at him, unflinching. “Whatever it is you’re holding back.”

Satoru exhaled, a sharp, unsteady thing. His hands finally settled on your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer, more certain. His fingers pressed into your hips, grounding himself in the feel of you.

And then, his voice—low, raw, real.

“I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore.”

Your breath caught.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The words hung between you, heavy and dangerous and everything.

Then, Satoru leaned in, his nose just barely brushing yours, his lips hovering so close. His breath was warm, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper.

“I want more.”

And then, finally—finally—you closed the space between you.

The kiss wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t shy. It was hungry, desperate, like the both of you had been waiting too long to do this, like neither of you wanted to waste another second. His lips crashed against yours, and you gasped against his mouth as he backed you up against the door of his dorm, hands gripping your waist tighter like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

Your fingers curled into his hoodie, tugging him closer, feeling the heat of him seep into you. His body pressed against yours, and the air between you turned thick with something intoxicating, something impossible to stop now that it had started. The small, breathless noises you made against his mouth only seemed to push him further, his fingers sliding under the hem of your shirt, thumbs brushing over your bare skin, warm and firm and so much.

The door behind you dug into your back, and for a fleeting moment, a thought broke through the haze—what if someone sees us?

As if he could read your mind, Satoru groaned against your lips, impatient, and without breaking the kiss, he reached behind you, fumbling for the handle. The second the door swung open, he practically pulled you inside with him, kicking it shut before his lips were on yours again, urgent, demanding.

You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was guiding you backwards, hands never leaving your body, mouth never straying too far from yours. You stumbled together, his grip firm, his kisses growing deeper, hotter, more insistent as you moved through the dark room.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your pulse was a wild, unsteady thing, your skin burning under his touch.

His mouth was warm and soft against yours, kissing your lips like he was afraid you were gonna disappear. Using his strength to his advantage, he manhandled you into his lap on the bed, while he sat up against the headboard. His tongue prodded into your mouth experimentally, and when you obliged him entry, he swirled it around with yours before licking into the cavern of your mouth, tasting you as if you were one of those sickeningly sweet delicacies he enjoyed.

His hands roamed from your waist to your hips, to your thighs before stopping hesitantly over your ass, to which you dragged them down until he was squeezing and kneading the supple flesh with his hands, mouth slotted against yours.

You pulled back slightly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. But Satoru didn’t let you go far. His hands were firm on your ass, keeping you anchored to him as his lips trailed wet, open-mouthed kisses down your jaw. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His mouth moved lower, pressing hot, lingering kisses along the column of your neck. Each touch of his lips against your skin felt like fire, and you couldn’t suppress the soft moan that escaped your throat. His hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. One hand came to rest on the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cupped the curve of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Satoru,” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, but he didn’t respond—not with words, anyway. Instead, he captured your lips again in a desperate, hungry kiss that left you dizzy. His tongue slid against yours, and you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as the world around you seemed to fade away.

His hands roamed your body with a kind of urgency, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. One moment they were in your hair, the next sliding down your back, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, and you tugged at it impatiently, wanting—needing—to feel his skin against yours.

He broke the kiss long enough to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside before his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time. His hands found the hem of your top, and you lifted your arms without hesitation, letting him pull it off and discard it somewhere on the floor. The cool air of the room hit your skin, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside you.

Satoru’s hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, skimming over your ribs, brushing the underside of your breast under your bra. You arched into him, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His mouth found yours again, urgent and unrelenting, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, deliberate stroke that left you breathless. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, like he didn’t care about anything else but this—you.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breaths mingling, heavy and uneven. Every kiss, every touch, every press of his hands left you dizzy, lost in the haze of heat and want.

And when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide and his lips swollen from kissing, you swore you’d never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at you now.

Like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

Both of your chests were heaving, your own shirt flung on the bed somewhere and Satoru’s completely off and forgotten somewhere on the floor. His hands were still settled on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles over your heated skin. His head lolled back against the couch, a lazy, satisfied grin stretching across his lips.

“Damn,” he exhaled, voice slightly hoarse. “I think I saw the pearly gates for a second there.”

You scoffed, giving his shoulder a weak shove, while reaching for your shirt. “Dramatic.”

He only laughed, the sound bright and breathless. “I mean it, nerd. Who knew you had it in you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, fingers curling against his shoulders. “Satoru.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

His grin widened, but he obeyed—for all of two seconds. Then, with a teasing glint in his eyes, he waggled his brows. “You know, we should really make this a regular thing. Like, for health purposes. I feel like I just did an entire cardio session.”

You smacked his arm. “Oh my god.”

He gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his bare chest. “See? That was uncalled for. Here I am, trying to improve my well-being, and you’re—”

“Satoru.” You fixed him with a look, but the corners of your lips twitched. He was impossible.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your fingertips. “Okay, okay, I’ll be good.” His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if to ground himself—or maybe to keep you exactly where you were. “But… just so we’re clear, this isn’t, like, a one-time thing, right?”

You blinked, his sudden shift in tone catching you off guard. His usual playfulness was still there, but there was something else beneath it—something genuine, something careful.

You swallowed. “What do you mean?”

His gaze flickered over your face, searching. “I mean…” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck before looking at you again. “I was serious, you know. About liking you. More than a friend.”

Your breath hitched. “You were?”

Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously. You think I just let anyone straddle me and—”

You smacked his chest. “Can you not ruin the moment?”

He caught your wrist before you could pull away, lacing his fingers through yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “I was serious,” he repeated. “I am serious.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I like you, and I want to do this properly.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs. “Properly?”

He nodded, suddenly looking almost shy. “Like… an actual date. Multiple dates. Boyfriend privileges. All that cute shit.” His lips curled into a lopsided grin. “So, what do you say?”

Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re actually asking me out?”

Satoru huffed a laugh. “Well, yeah. What, you thought I’d just kiss you senseless and leave you hanging?”

You bit your lip, pretending to think. “I dunno. You are kind of a menace.”

His brows shot up. “A menace?”

You giggled, and he groaned, tightening his grip on your waist. “Okay, that’s it, you’re legally required to say yes now.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the smile stretching across your lips. “Yes, Satoru. I’ll go out with you.”

His face lit up, and before you could say anything else, he was kissing you again, arms wrapping fully around your waist. He shifted, rolling you onto the bed so he was hovering over you, his weight pressed deliciously against yours.

“Guess that makes you my girlfriend now,” he murmured against your lips. “Which means—” His fingers trailed down your side, teasing. “—I get unlimited make-out privileges.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Would you like it if I said sex privileges too?”

“I’m gonna seriously hurt you—“

Satoru only smirked before cutting you off with another kiss.

—

A few months into dating Satoru, you realised three things.

One, he had absolutely no concept of personal space. If he was near you, he was touching you—whether it was throwing an arm over your shoulder, draping himself across your lap, or trapping you against a wall just to say hi like a complete menace.

Two, he was shamelessly, overwhelmingly, ridiculously obsessed with you. If he wasn’t texting you, he was calling. If he wasn’t calling, he was physically finding you. And if he couldn’t find you, he’d send a stupidly dramatic voice memo about how he was “perishing” without you.

And three, he was always teasing. Always testing his limits, pushing your buttons, flashing that damn smug grin whenever you got flustered.

Like right now.

“I think you should stay over.”

You blinked up at him from where you were curled up on his bed, wearing one of his hoodies that was way too big for you. “I am staying over.”

Satoru huffed, rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his elbow. “No, I mean, like, actually stay over. Move in.”

You snorted. “Satoru.”

“What? I’m serious.” He nudged your knee with his own. “Just think about it. That trust fund has enough money— actually maybe more— for an apartment near college. We basically live together anyway.”

“Not even close.”

He scoffed. “Oh, please. You leave clothes here, you steal my hoodies—”

“They’re practically dresses on me.”

“—and you’re here more than you’re at your own place.”

“That’s a lie.”

Satoru gasped dramatically. “Oh, so I’m imagining you in my bed every night?”

Your face warmed, but you shot him a glare. “You’re exaggerating.”

He only grinned, scooting closer until your noses nearly brushed. “You love sleeping here,” he drawled. “You love my bed, you love my cuddles, you love this d—”

You smacked a hand over his mouth, but it barely muffled his muffled laughter.

“I swear to God, Satoru—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist and flipped you onto your back, caging you beneath him in one smooth motion. His weight was just enough to make your breath hitch, his silver lashes casting shadows over sharp blue eyes.

“You love me,” he finished, his voice dipping lower, teasing, smug.

Your stomach flipped.

“…Debatable,” you muttered.

Satoru barked out a laugh. “Debatable?” He leaned down, nuzzling into your neck as his hands slid under his hoodie, warm palms settling against your waist. “You’re literally in my bed wearing my clothes right now.”

Your breath stuttered as he pressed a slow, deliberate kiss just below your ear.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You’re obsessed with me.”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers gripping his bare shoulders. “Satoru—”

“I mean, I don’t blame you.” He grinned against your skin, pressing another kiss, this one lower. “I am insanely hot.”

You groaned. “You ruin everything.”

Satoru laughed, bright and breathless, before rolling over, pulling you fully on top of him with ease. His hands never left your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin in slow, lazy patterns.

Then he suddenly reached behind him, grabbed something off the nightstand, and slid his glasses onto his face.

You blinked. “I thought you preferred contacts now?”

Satoru hummed, adjusting them slightly as he gazed up at you. “Yeah, but I dunno…” His lips curled into a small, lopsided smile. “You always liked me better in these, didn’t you?”

Your breath hitched slightly. He wasn’t wrong—there was something about the way his glasses framed his face, how they softened him just a little, made him look more like the Satoru you’d known before he became everyone else’s.

“…You’re so full of yourself,” you muttered.

His grin widened. “And yet, you’re still staring.”

You scoffed, reaching up to pluck them off his face, but he caught your wrist, tugging you down until your noses brushed.

“Admit it,” he murmured. “You like me better like this.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

“I like you anyway,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his eyes—something soft, something warm—before his grin turned teasing again. “Good,” he said, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. “Because I was gonna keep you here all night either way.”

You barely managed to mutter, “You’re so weird,” before he cut you off with another kiss.

i don't like this work at ALL lol but tbh i wrote this because i want to be wanted UGH hdhjsdh

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inseobts · 20 hours ago

Note

If it's not too much to ask but could you please do a story of only one of the Monster trio like Luffy or Zoro or Sanji? (Or the whole straw hat crew) with a reader whose birthday it is on the same day as a holiday like valentine's day (even though we've already went past it, or it could be any other holiday that you think?) But only her best friend (one of the crew members) remembers her birthday and now the others feel bad, so they decide to throw an "apology birthday party" to make up for it?

Apology Birthday Party

zoro x strawhat!reader

a/n: I hope this is what you wantedddd, let me know if you want it different tho (づ￣ 3￣)づ

words count: 1.3k

tags: sfw, romance, soft zoro, nico robin bff

masterlist || ko-fi

The Sunny is draped in pink and red decorations, hearts scattered across the deck like confetti. Sanji is running around serving chocolates and heart-shaped treats, Nami is counting stacks of berries won from lovestruck islanders, and Luffy is eating whatever he can get his hands on.

It’s Valentine’s Day. And it’s also your birthday.

But no one seems to remember that last part.

You don’t say anything, of course. It’s not like you expect them to throw a big celebration or anything, but a simple “Happy Birthday” would have been nice. Yet, with everyone wrapped up in the holiday of love, your special day is completely overlooked.

Well, almost everyone.

“Here” Robin says, appearing beside you with a small, neatly wrapped box in her hands. She smiles, that knowing glint in her eyes as she hands it over “Happy Birthday.”

Your heart warms “Robin…”

“I know how it feels to be forgotten” she says gently “But you’re not.”

You unwrap the gift to find a delicate bookmark pressed with dried blue forget-me-not flowers. It’s beautiful. And, fitting.

Before you can properly thank her, a loud, boisterous laugh fills the air “Oi, Robin, what’s that? Love letter for y/n?” Luffy grins, oblivious as ever. That, of course, draws the attention of the rest of the crew. Sanji practically skids over, hearts in his eyes.

“A love letter?! From who?! I’ll destroy them—”

Robin sighs, sipping her wine “It’s her birthday present.”

Silence.

Utter, dead silence.

The entire crew stares at you, then at Robin, then back at you again. The color drains from Sanji’s face. Franky’s jaw quite literally drops. Usopp nearly chokes on his own spit. Nami’s eyes widen, and Chopper gasps in horror. Even Luffy, who usually doesn’t have a care in the world, looks like someone just told him there’s no more meat on the ship.

But the worst reaction? Zoro’s.

His eye snap to yours, and you see something flicker behind them, something that looks suspiciously like guilt.

“Wait,” Usopp wheezes, gripping his head like it physically hurts “Today’s your birthday? Like, right now?”

“…Yeah.”

A chorus of expletives follows.

“We’re horrible!” Chopper wails, flopping dramatically onto the deck.

“How could I forget such an important day?!” Sanji cries, dropping to his knees like he’s been personally betrayed.

Robin chuckles into her drink “At least you all realized it before the day ended.”

That kicks everyone into action. Nami immediately starts planning an emergency “Apology Birthday Party” barking orders while Franky dashes off to set up decorations. Luffy insists on getting you the biggest cake possible, while Sanji declares he will cook a full birthday feast worthy of redemption. Usopp starts crafting a birthday gift at lightning speed, while Chopper is still crying about how bad of a friend he is.

In the middle of all the chaos, you catch Zoro watching you. His arms are crossed, his expression unreadable, but there’s tension in his stance. And then, without a word, he turns and disappears below deck.

You don’t see him for the next hour.

By the time he returns, the impromptu party is already in full swing. The crew has somehow managed to pull together a spectacular celebration, with streamers, food, and a birthday banner that is only slightly lopsided. You’re seated at the center, laughing as Luffy shoves an unreasonable amount of cake into his mouth.

Then Zoro drops something onto the table in front of you.

You blink. It’s a small box, wrapped haphazardly, almost like he struggled with it. When you glance up at him, his face is turned away, slightly pink at the tips of his ears.

“Tch. Don’t make a big deal out of it” he mutters, arms crossed.

Curious, you open it and your breath catches.

It’s a charm. A small, silver sword pendant attached to a simple chain. The craftsmanship is rough, but undeniably his.

“…Did you make this?”

Zoro shrugs, still not looking at you “Had some spare materials lying around.”

Your fingers curl around the charm, warmth blooming in your chest “I love it.”

“…Good.” His voice is gruff, but you catch the corner of his lips twitching, just slightly.

The rest of the crew watches with barely concealed interest “Oi, oi, does this mean Zoro is getting all romantic now?” Usopp teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

Zoro immediately glares, hand twitching toward his swords “Say that again and you won’t live to see tomorrow.”

The laughter that follows is the best sound you’ve heard all day.

Maybe your birthday started off forgotten, but as you sit among your chaotic, wonderful crew, a handmade gift resting in your palm, you can’t help but think this turned out to be the best one yet.

The party goes on for hours. Sanji serves an extravagant feast, each dish crafted with your favorites in mind. Luffy challenges you to an eating contest, one you gracefully decline, knowing it’s a lost cause. Nami surprises you with a beautiful set of earrings, and Usopp proudly presents a handcrafted figurine of you in an exaggerated heroic pose.

Franky insists on a dance party, much to your amusement, and even Robin joins in. Chopper, still sniffling, clings to you, vowing to never forget your birthday again.

Through it all, Zoro remains close, never one for loud festivities, but always within reach. Eventually, when the night winds down, you find him on the ship’s upper deck, gazing at the stars.

“Thanks for the necklace” you say, leaning beside him.

He grunts, but doesn’t move away “Yeah.”

A comfortable silence settles between you. The ocean breeze is cool, but standing next to him, you feel warm.

After a moment, he exhales “…Sorry for forgetting.”

You glance at him, surprised by the quiet sincerity in his tone. Smiling, you shake your head “You made up for it.”

He finally looks at you then, and in the soft moonlight, his expression is softer than usual “Good.”

Zoro stays silent for a while, avoiding your gaze, and then adds, "Actually... I had prepared it for Valentine's Day."

For a moment, you remain impassive, smiling at the sea in front of you, but then your brain connects what he said.

You suddenly turn to him and gasp, "Wait, wh...what do you mean?"

He continues to avoid your gaze, trying to look indifferent, but the redness in his ears betrays him "I admit I forgot your birthday, but I didn’t forget Valentine's Day" he says.

You, even more flustered, reply "So it’s true what Luffy told me earlier, that you worked on the necklace for more than a week??"

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. He looks away, clearly embarrassed but trying to act nonchalant "I... I just wanted it to be perfect" he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

You blink, still processing the confession. It’s hard to believe this is the same person who usually brushes off any sort of emotional display "Zoro," you start, your voice soft, "You really made all of that... for me?"

He finally looks at you, and for the first time, his usual tough exterior seems to crack. His eyes are slightly hesitant, but there's a genuine warmth there, almost like he’s afraid of your reaction "Yeah, I did. It’s... not much, but I thought you’d like it."

You take a deep breath, your heart racing as everything sinks in. You can’t help but smile "I love it," you say, stepping a little closer "And I... I love that you cared enough to do this."

Zoro looks almost startled by your words, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. He clears his throat awkwardly "Well, don’t go getting any ideas... It's not like I’m suddenly a romantic or something."

You laugh, the sound light and genuine "I never said you were. But this is pretty damn romantic, Zoro."

He grumbles but there's a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth "Don’t get used to it."

You both stand there for a moment, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore filling the space between you. It’s not the most conventional confession, but somehow, in that moment, it feels just right.

And just like that, your birthday, and even Valentine's day, is perfect.

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cheralith · 3 days ago

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more poly ryusae please 🥺??

characters ; shidou ryusei, itoshi sae || wc ; 715 contains/cw ; fem!reader, she/her pronouns, pre-relationship with shidou, polyamory, a little suggestive at the end haha

ever since the day that shidou had discovered sae's secret little girlfriend, shidou thinks the prodigy has been torturing him since.

because for the first time since shidou joined the team, sae's been letting you tag along with him during practice. it doesn't help that shidou seems to be the only person on the team who didn't know of your existence until only a few weeks ago, considering you're so friendly with the rest of them. hayate goes to give you a friendly shoulder pat, teppei hugs you excitedly, telling you it's been awhile. even aiku goes to ask if you're going to break up with "tensai-chan" anytime soon, to which you only respond with a shallow smile and tell him to have fun at practice.

shidou looks back to sae to see if he's okay with his girlfriend interacting with the team in such a friendly matter, especially since you're such a pretty thing and if you were shidou's girl, he'd hide you away to keep you for himself. but clearly sae's proud of you, despite his countenance not showing it. he knows his girlfriend is beautiful and kind, so charming and delicate—what's not to love?

you're so sweet, so cheery. when you introduce yourself to shidou, he nearly gets flustered by how breathtaking you were in real life; instagram doesn't do you justice. you have these large doe eyes that just ponder up at him and a smile so succulent, it makes him sick. he screws on a crooked smile, one that doesn't seem to be as wide as his normal cheshire-cat one.

"ah, so you're the dolly that sae's been taking care of," shidou says the first time he meets you with a smirk, sticking a hand out.

you smile with your eyes, fixating on the man that you've been eyeing with your boyfriend for quite while in full, amazed at how such a person is standing right there in front of you. a firm handshake exchanges itself between you and him, though shidou has to really hold back on pulling you close to him and kissing those shiny, plump lips of yours in front of the team, in front of sae.

"a pleasure to meet you, shidou-san," you greet pleasantly, feeling your boyfriend's stare on you from behind your head. “sae’s told me a lot about you.”

even your voice is pretty. shidou shivers at the sound of his name falling on your lips, getting jealous that sae's name gets to be echoed from such a voice on a daily basis.

sae lets you sit in the empty bleachers, just letting you do your work quietly as the men practice. shidou wishes that you could take your head out of the book so you can watch the behind the scenes play of his iconic dragon drive in real time; even a sliver of your attention would up his energy tenfold. sometimes, you would poke your head out and watch sae as he dribbles on the field, eyes sparkling with admiration. he wishes you could pay attention to him like that.

he shouldn't feel like this. your sae's girl. it feels so wrong for trying to win the attention of a girl who's in a relationship with japan's top midfielders... but shidou can't help but indulge in the guilt, feeling like he's getting a thrill over it. multiply that by his own lingering obsession towards sae that sae just indulges in, relishing in the attention that the untamed shidou ryusei seems to spotlight on him. the more sae tries to act indifferent towards him, the more shidou enjoys the chase, running off its high.

a pretty girl he wants to ruin and a pretty boy he wants to own in his field of vision. and they're dating? shidou thinks he's won at life.

his cells are getting excited. shidou has to bite his lip from making a rather... carnal sound when he sees you and sae kissing lovingly near the exit of the locker room, your fingers threading through his hair and sae's hands on your hips, thumbs caressing you fondly. shidou draws a shaking, hot breath, his eye twitching... he really doesn't know which person he wants to be more.

unbeknownst to shidou, sae has been plotting the entire thing in his head. shidou turns back to go to the locker room, telling everyone he has some "business" to attend to, and sae, amidst still kissing you, subtly opens one of his eyes, trailing after his figure.

“did it work?” you ask him, slightly breathless through the kiss.

sae merely hums, not breaking from you, with the smallest hint of a smirk visible on his lips.

#bi4bi ryusae iktr #cw ; polyamory #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #sae x reader #sae x you #shidou ryusei #shidou #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou x reader #shidou x you #blue lock ; sae itoshi #blue lock ; shidou ryusei

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seungkw1 · 3 days ago

Text

sugar sweet in a million ways — lsm

💿 birthday - ten 🎶

♡ pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader ♡ theme: smut, pwp [18+ mdni] ♡ wc: 2.9k ♡ warnings: sub!seokmin, (very)softdom!reader, but lowkey also switch!seokmin and switch!reader oops, unprotected piv sex (fr do not do this), mutual masturbation, fingers in mouth, cowgirl, breast/nipple play, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), creampie, size kink!!!, dk nose appreciation!!!, LOTS of whining sorry i wrote it what do u expect, seokmin is down BAD dude, excellent aftercare, fluff at the end | petnames (m. receiving - good boy, pretty) ♡ a/n: happy birthday @miniseokminnies!!!! figured my first dk fic should be dedicated to the world’s biggest cuties g hehe. hope u like and hope i did your mans justice, i did my very best <3

Seokmin is - and always has been - a sweetheart. The man who steals kisses then runs away giggling, who gets excited every time he gets to tell you about a dog he met that day, who buys you flowers for no reason other than to see you smile. He simply would walk to the ends of the earth and back for you.

Seokmin is the epitome of the ideal lover - always treating you tenderly, checking in every step of the way to make sure he’s loving you exactly the way you want him to, prioritizing your pleasure above all else. And goddamn does he know to touch you in all the right places. His hand resting on the back of your neck as he draws you into a deep kiss, his soft lips kissing your breasts as he navigates your body with ease, his tongue dancing across your pussy as he savors your taste, his cock filling you to the brim - not just fucking you, but thoroughly loving every inch of you. He is everything you could ever want in a partner - and so much more.

Seokmin loves you dearly - but three months into your relationship, you find out he’s been harboring a secret. Without a doubt, he absolutely adores showering you with affection, treating the bedroom as the altar upon which he worships you. But, beyond the confidence and gentle masculinity lies a man who wishes, sometimes, that the roles were reversed - a man who yearns for you to take control.

“Ready, love?”

Seokmin nods, the expression on his face already pathetic, and you haven’t even started yet.

You flash him a sweet smile from across the room. Seokmin sits on the bed, back resting against the headboard, legs outstretched over the sheets, wearing nothing but a pair of soft gray sweatpants. The outline of his cock stands out against the light fabric - with no underwear on either, his bulge is practically on full display. You can already see him getting hard.

“What’s the rule again, baby? Tell me,” you instruct.

You see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows, anxious but excited.

“No touching myself until you say so,” he answers. It comes out barely more than a whisper.

“Good boy.”

His cock twitches. You smirk, pleased with how easily you’re able to get a rise out of him.

You recline comfortably in your chair, still fully clothed. Your hands reach to your breasts, lightly squeezing them through your sweater. Seokmin takes a deep inhale, exhaling steadily in a futile attempt to mellow his accelerating heart rate. Reaching for the hem, you begin to lift your top, taking your sweet time as you peel the sweater from your torso. As you reach your chest, you tug the knit fabric up and over your bra, taking a moment to caress yourself once more through the cute lacy undergarment. He shifts slightly upon the mattress. Pulling the sweater over your head and off your body, you toss it aside, letting one hand slip downwards. You spread your thighs, letting your dainty skirt drape across your lap enough to showcase a great deal of skin, but still covering your core.

“Should I keep going?” you ask, fiddling lightly with the skirt’s hem.

“Please,” he begs immediately.

You lift the skirt up, revealing your bare pussy.

“Oh,” he utters, his voice deepening.

You grin, shifting so you can lift your legs, swinging your calves over the chair’s arms to give him the clearest view. You drag your fingertips up your cunt, collecting the arousal that has pooled there and bringing it up to your lips, leisurely licking it off. Seokmin’s cock has quickly grown in his pants, forming a sizable tent in his own lap.

Your hand drifts back to your clit, stroking it gently, evoking a low hum resonating from your lips. You close your eyes as your fingertips work the bud, caressing it delicately with a practiced hand. When you open your eyes again, Seokmin is squirming. Despite his attempts to remain still, his chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, his jaw clenched, the bedsheets crumpled in his palms as he grips onto them tightly.

“You like watching me, baby?” you coo at him.

“Mhmm,” he mumbles pitifully with a fervent nod.

“I bet you want to touch yourself right now, don’t you?”

��Y-yeah,” his voice wavers. “Can I…”

“Not yet,” you decline. “But take those pants off for me, would you?”

He obeys, gripping the waist of the sweats and lifting it over his thick, fully-erect cock. He shimmies out of the pants and lets them plop onto the floor. You gaze at him longingly, mouth watering at the sight of him before you, fully nude and painfully hard, utterly losing his mind over you. This is agonizing for you both - you’d love nothing more than to leap out the chair and throw yourself at him, but you know the delayed gratification will be well worth the wait.

You let out a soft whine as you slip two fingers inside of your drenched, aching cunt, eager to be filled. Slowly you begin to fuck yourself, letting low hums of pleasure drift from your lips; it feels good, but you know this is nothing compared to how good Seokmin is going to feel inside you. Growing restless, you quicken your pace, squirming against the seat as excitement swells in your gut. Seokmin’s head falls back against the headboard, eyes glassy as he watches you. His white-knuckled grasp upon the sheets has only tightened, the fabric furrowed around his fists. His cock stands tall, its head bumping against his stomach as it pulses wantingly, desperate for relief.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna die,” he groans, his chest rising high and falling deep with each labored breath. “Please let me touch myself.”

You nod, gazing at him through heavy eyelids.

“Go ahead, baby.”

His hand flies to his cock, gripping it tightly in his fist. He lets out a sharp, loud moan.

“Oh fuckkkk.”

He begins to steadily stroke his length, fighting against the urge to jerk his cock at breakneck speed lest he cum all over himself in three seconds. As badly as he craves release, it needs to be in your mouth, in your pussy - anywhere, he doesn’t care, as long as it’s for you.

Slowly you retrieve your fingers from your cunt - any more, and you risk cumming far too soon. Swinging your legs to the floor you rise, sauntering over to Seokmin. He gazes up at you, hopelessly pathetic, hand rhythmically rising and falling as you approach. Leaning over him, you bring your fingers to his lips; eagerly he accepts, sweetness gracing his tongue as he savors your juices - a taste he can never get enough of. With an abrupt release he lets go of his cock, leaving it throbbing against the air, desperate for relief. You draw your fingers from his mouth and wrap them around his girth. He whimpers as you drag the mix of spit and juices up and down his length.

“Does it feel good, love?” you coo at him.

“So good,” he exhales breathily.

“You know what I want?” you mutter softly, leaning in, your noses brushing as your lips hover in front of his.

“What is it, baby?”

His breath is hot on your lips, his eyes gazing up at you from under thick dark lashes, ready to give you anything you desire.

Slowly you climb onto the bed, swinging one leg over his lap, resting your knees against his outer thighs as you straddle him. You grip his cock in your palm, guiding it toward your core, running the head along your slit.

“Ohhh my god,” Seokmin whines as his cock throbs in your hand. “So wet…”

He reaches for your skirt, lifting the fabric up so he can see. Your pussy glistens as you grind against his cock, the stickiness of your arousal spreading over its length. You align his tip at your entrance, lowering yourself slowly, the head pressing against your hole for the briefest of moments - but your cunt is too eager. It slips inside you with ease, causing Seokmin to let out a pitiful moan as your walls swallow his cock. You rest your palms against his chest as you slowly accept more of his length, groaning softly as he bottoms out. You sit there for a few moments, letting yourself adjust to the stretch - because no matter how many times you’ve fucked him, his size never fails to overwhelm you.

Breathing heavily, your chest rises and falls right in front of Seokmin’s face. He gathers your skirt in his left hand, keeping it lifted as he slips his right hand around your waist, reaching up your back and undoing the clasp on your bra. He practically yanks the garment off your body, chucking it across the room before grasping onto your breast. He kneads the soft skin in his hand, giving your boob a few good squeezes before guiding it to his mouth. The tip of his tongue flicks across your nipple, licking it delicately, before suddenly latching on. Your head falls back, soft moans escaping your lips as he starts to suck on the bud. Reflexively your hips grind back and forth, and you begin to ride him.

“Oh my god, Seokmin…”

The sound of you moaning his name sends an electric shock through his body. His mouth glides to your other breast, sucking the nipple as your pussy wraps around his cock so deliciously. You begin to bounce faster, and faster - he releases your nipple, grabbing onto your hips and pushing your skirt up again to watch his cock disappear into your cunt. His thumb reaches for your clit, easily locating the sensitive bud, making you cry out at the gentle pressure - heat rising in your belly as your body begins to tense up.

“Fuck that feels so good,” you whine as you sink onto Seokmin’s cock over and over again. “Make me cum, baby.”

He increases the pressure upon your clit, making you moan his name again. You clutch onto his chest, fingernails digging into his tan skin as you ride him, tears running down your cheeks as his thick cock fills your pussy with each stroke. Finally, the sensations become wholly overwhelming - your orgasm takes over, pleasure pulsing through your body as you cum on his cock. He rubs your clit perfectly, just the way you like it, guiding you through your climax as your body shakes atop him. The high is incredible, and you savor every lasting moment of it.

He slows as your body starts to relax, releasing the bud and wrapping his arms around you as you collapse onto him. You cling to his torso, burying your face in his neck as you catch your breath, deep sighs filling the room as you come back down to earth. Seokmin rubs your back softly, kissing your cheek lovingly as you lay there entangled with him. As you recover the ability to form coherent thoughts, you realize just how hard his cock is, throbbing against your walls as it rests inside of you. You sit up, smiling as you see your partner’s face - he gazes up at you, desperation off the fucking charts. As if drunk off your orgasm, you can’t help but let out a giggle,

“You look so pretty like this,” you coo as you run your hand through his hair. He gulps, using all of his willpower to not just cum in you right this moment. He groans as you shift, slowly letting his length slip out of you. He looks down, the sight of your drenched pussy dripping onto his wet cock making his mouth water.

“You’ve been such a good boy for me,” you praise. “Where do you want to cum?” You stroke his jawline with your fingertips, giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he mutters.

“What? What do you m- whoa!” you yelp as he flips you over onto your back, rolling himself on top of you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, but you start to giggle as he kisses your neck. His kisses trail down your body, across your breasts and over your stomach as he scoots down the bed. Finally, he reaches your core, his lips hovering above your still-pulsating clit. You nearly shriek as he grabs your thighs, shifting your hips as he lifts your legs up, knees just about meeting your chest as he practically folds you in half. He begins kissing your inner thigh, making his way down to your core - he sticks his tongue out, nearly licking your pussy, but instead he starts kissing your other thigh.

“Stop teasing me,” you laugh as he nips at the tender skin with his teeth. He grins, giving you a wink.

“You got it, babe,” he replies, before burying his face in your cunt.

“Oh FUCK,” you cry out as he sticks his tongue into your hole, his nose rubbing against your clit deliciously.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he mumbles into your folds. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“Oh god, keep doing that,” you beg. “Feels so fucking good.”

Your body begins to wriggle beneath him, chest rising and falling as he fucks you with his tongue, hips grinding your clit further against his nose. You stroke his hair, running your fingers through the dark locks as he eats you out hungrily. You grip onto the sheets with your other hand, trying to still yourself, but to no avail. He knows exactly how to touch you to drive you fucking crazy.

“Want your fingers in me, please,” you whine breathily.

Seokmin looks up at you, brown eyes normally so soft and kind now overtaken with pure lust. His fingertips flutter through your folds, touching you gently, tracing circles around your clit before slipping two fingers inside you. You cry out as he pushes them deep into your pussy, curling his long fingers upwards to reach your g-spot with ease. Electricity jolts through your body as he latches his lips onto your clit, suckling on the bud as he fucks you. His tempo is slow at first, easing you toward another orgasm; but as you squirm against the bed he begins to quicken his pace. His fingers pulse in and out of your hole as his tongue dances skillfully across your clit, making you see stars as your eyes roll back into your head. You cum again, even harder this time, a powerful shockwave pulsing through your body as your cries of pleasure ring through the air. Seokmin’s name escapes your lips between the otherwise unintelligible babbling; he holds as still as possible, not letting himself grind his cock into the mattress - because he’s so fucking turned on right now that any amount of friction against his dick would make him cum all over the place. He yearns so badly for release, but he knows exactly what you both want.

Retrieving his fingers from your cunt, he crawls back up to you, his leaking cock pressing against your core. He brings his fingertips up to your lips; you eagerly put them in your mouth, tasting yourself as you suck your juices from his hand. He slips his cock inside you once more, your soaking pussy gratefully accepting his size. He slides his hands to your wrists, pinning your arms above your head as he starts fucking you. He doesn’t go slow this time, he can’t - it doesn’t even matter, because he’s already about to cum.

“Oh my god, baby, feels so good, so perfect…”

You wrap your arms around him, pulling his body into yours with a tight squeeze - and with that, he releases.

He moans loudly as he cums, his cock pulsating into you as hot ropes of cum spill against your walls. The overwhelming sensation of fullness makes you let out a string of whimpers into Seokmin’s ear.

“Fuckkkk, baby,” he groans, his cock still releasing inside you. After every last drop of his cum fills your pussy, his body relaxes, squashing you against the bed.

“Hey!” you squeal with a giggle as you sink into the mattress. “You’re squishing me!”

Seokmin raises his head, looking at you lovingly through heavy eyelids.

“Sorry, love,” he tells you with a big cheesy grin. He lifts himself up, shifting his weight off of you, slowly retrieving his cock from inside you. As his length leaves you, you feel his cum spilling from your pussy. You sigh at the sudden emptiness, reaching up to grab his face, drawing him in for a kiss.

“I love you,” he mutters softly into your lips. “So much.”

“I love you too,” you mutter back, before kissing him a dozen times more.

Quickly but gently he gets you cleaned up, heeding great care to your comfort - but always with Seokmin, you could never be more comfortable. He smiles to himself as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open; you always get so sleepy after sex, and he finds it incredibly endearing. Crawling back into the bed, he pulls the sheets over the both of you, tucking you in as he wraps his arms around you and squeezes you tight. You giggle, snuggling yourself deep into Seokmin’s embrace. Neither of you had bothered with clothes; the warmth of his body radiates against your skin as he holds you - it should be too toasty, given that both of you are covered in a thin sheen of sweat, blood pumping and endorphins rushing. But, as everything always is with Seokmin - it's perfect.

taglist: @kyeomiis, @tinycatharsis, @hannieween, @smiileflower, @exomew, @seventeenhot

#ren’s fics #lee seokmin #dk x reader #dk smut #svt smut #svt x reader #svt fics #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fics #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen hard hours #svt hard hours #dk imagines #dk scenarios #dk fics

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evillama666 · 3 days ago

Text

“Art class”

Logan Howlett x Reader

I’ve read a few fanfics where Logan is the history teacher, and as much as I love that, I feel like some things would trigger his ptsd. I know he mentions he’s the art teacher, like once. I think he’d find art therapeutic, and still holding onto that history teacher idea, I like to believe he teaches art history. I’m sure he’s seen lots of different art over the years (Even if he doesn't remember most of it) so he enjoys teaching it. Also he’s totally one of those chill art teachers.

Summary: Logan draws with you during class

Tags: Platonic, comfort, shy/anxious reader, soft Logan, teasing

Word count: 2551

꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…꩜…

Logan’s art class is the best. He’s not one of those strict art teachers. His class is very chill. There’s always some sort of quiet music playing. Usually he picks the music, but if one of his students makes a request, he’ll play it. He loves being introduced to new music. He’s the kinda teacher that gives out either one-hundreds or zeros. It’s simple. If you try on your project; you pass. You don't; you fail. He’s not about to spend his nights, where he could be drinking, grading papers. Whatever project the class is working on, Logan is also partaking. Either quietly drawing at his desk, or with some kids if they ask him to join. He’s got a soft spot for his students. He’s the kinda teacher that pays attention to his kids, even if he’d never admit it. He knows a lot more about each of them than he leads on. He’ll listen in on their stories, learn who’s friends with whom, and pick up on people's crushes. He even engages in conversations with them. His laughs are heard throughout the room when he does.

None of the projects are ever hard, and he gives the kids free range for all of them. His presentions on either different art styles, techniques, time periods, or whatever are the best. If he's teaching about a time he lived through (and actually remembers) he's explaing what it's like and may even show any peices he made during those times. The class loves asking him about what it was like living through those times. He always tries to include everything he can remember. Those parts of his past, he doesn't mind talking about. He has lots of experience with art, so he's always helping students with their projects and giving them tips. If there's a speicific thing they want to learn out of class, he'll happily teach them. He's the best.

You want him to sit with you. You have for almost a week now. The thing is… you're too shy to actually ask. You know if you did, he gladly would. It’s just the idea of actually asking that you dread. Plus, he seems to have great relationships with everyone else. You don’t want to pull him away from the other students. Your table is near his desk. No one else is sitting with you, so it’s lonely. Sitting near his desk, you like to see what he’s working on. You're not sneaking glances at his art today, though. You’re sneaking glances at him, desperately wanting to ask him to come over. He’s not sitting with anyone else, so you know he’s free. You sigh when you can’t build up the courage. Guess you’ll wait and see if you can ask him tomorrow.

It’s not like he’s an intimidating teacher. Not to the good kids anyway but, if someone's goofing off in his class, blatantly disrespecting the rules, he’ll blow up on them. Luckily, there’s not really anyone like that in your class. He made his class a safe place. His class is soothing, a perfect way to wind down, and having his class at the end of the day, it’s even better.

He’s noticed all your “subtle” looks towards him. Of course he has. The man’s got heightened senses. He can practically feel the shy and nervousness radiating off you. He wanted to give you the chance to fight through that and just ask him. It’s been a week, and that hasn't happened. Seeing another one of your glances, he sighs, grabbing his supplies, and setting them down on your table. “You could’ve just asked.”

His gruff voice pulls your attention from your drawing, looking up at him as he sits. Wait, he made the move? You didn’t think he’d do that. Not knowing what to say, you look back down at your project. “Ya the anxious type? I can smell it wafting off ya.” You lift your head again. Damn his heightened senses. You didn't even think of that. How long has he been able to smell that? And... what the hell does that even smell like!? You silently nod.

Rolling his eyes, he tries saying something to coax you out of your anxiety. “Y’know, your art is one of my favourites to grade. It’s different from everyone else's.” His voice is low and soothing. (I love his voice) It definitely helps relax you. You always thought your art was more on the weirder side, so hearing that Logan likes it brings you comfort. Feeling like you kinda have to say something now, you mumble, “Thank you, Mr. Howlett.”

“Logan.” He says, looking down at his paper as he draws. He hates formality. It’s not like anyone here actually calls him that. His relationships with his students are very casual. Your eyes roam over his face. He’s pretty for such a rugged man. “Logan?” You squeak out, as confirmation. He nods once. “That ‘Mr’ shit makes me feel old.” Isn’t he old…? Anyway, feeling somewhat comfortable with him but still a bit shy, you speak quietly. “I like your last name. It’s very… werewolf-ey.”

He lifts his gaze from his drawing, raising his brows as he smirks. “It suits me perfectly, doesn't it?” You meet his eyes. He’s got such kind eyes. He’s very comforting to be around, despite everything you've heard about him as Wolverine. You silently nod. He’s got to pull you out of your anxiety a little more. His students like having conversations with him about anything, like their day, interests, or even just venting. But you're his quietest student, so you two haven't really reached that level yet. “So, you like my art.” He says, as a conversation starter. “How’d you know?” You ask.

“You watch me a lot.” He says, flatly. Wait, how obvious are you about that? “Now, I’d think you were checking me out, but your eyes are never on me. It’s always whatever I'm working on. That’s a true artist right there.” Hearing him call you that, makes you feel weirdly proud. No wonder why everyone here likes him so much. “I didn’t realize I stared so much…” You quietly admit. “There’s nothing wrong with it.” He reassures. “I know it’s out of genuine interest.”

Damn, this man is observant. He knows a lot more about you than you thought. You glance at his drawing. You’re used to looking at his work over his shoulder. Now that it’s closer, you can see it a lot more clearly. Like, all the tiny details he adds. He is a very talented artist. He catches your gaze and flips the drawing over for you to see. It’s of a tree and you can see how he drew each individual leaf and blade of grass. How does he have the patience for that? You glance at your drawing. You two have very different styles. “That’s so good! I wish I could draw like that.” He responds with a half laugh. “I’ve got like a hundred years of experience on ya, kid.” He probably has all the practice in the world.

He watches you draw for a minute. He hasn't heard your voice too many times. “Not a people person, huh?” He says, trying to get a response out of you. “No. I have bad anxiety.” That causes Logan to snort. “Well, that’s fucking obvious.” He’s not like your other teachers. He just doesn't give a damn about how he’s supposed to act. Feeling a bit more comfortable, you tease, “I thought teachers weren't supposed to swear?” Logan huffs in amusement. “Ya not gonna tell Xavier are you?” You know this man causes enough trouble for Xavier so you shake your head. “M’no.”

“Then I’m gonna do whatever the hell I want.” He sighs when you fall back to being quiet, continuing on your project. “Would ya like me to sit with ya more?” Is he really asking that? Doesn't he already know the answer to that? You quietly nod. “I could use more company.” He notices your gaze fall back on his drawing. “You just want to watch me easier, don’t you?” You force your gaze away from his drawing. “Both. I’d actually enjoy the company. I don’t really have friends.” Like that wasn’t fucking obvious? “I could tell.” He says flatly. Damn, couldn't he be a bit more gentle with it? “Thanks for the comfort, old man.” He can’t help but snicker at the name. You must be feeling more comfortable. “Watch the name calling, brat.” He teases right back with a smirk.

You laugh softly. “It’s not a name. It’s the truth.” Wow, you really just went there. “Then shouldn't you be respecting your elders?" He smirks, thinking he got the upper hand. However, you don’t miss a beat. "You don’t respect Xavier now, do you?” Damn, ok, he didn't expect you to be so quick-witted when you got comfortable. He takes a second, forming a response. “I’m older than him.” And there you go again, making a comeback without even thinking. “He remembers more than you. You’re senile.”

His smirk falters, not being able to think of another comeback. He takes another few seconds to think of something. “I see why you don’t have friends.” You feel you should be hurt by that, but you end up laughing. “Not like you have many, either.” His brows furrow a little. This generation is fucking mean. “I choose not to.” You shoot him a look that says ‘Really?’ “Is that what you tell yourself?” He can’t help but smirk. This little bitch can throw down. “I like you.”

Your face falters a moment, not expecting him to say that, but you find your smile again. “You’re aight.” Wait… that's it? That’s all he gets!? Aight!? He couldn’t even get an ‘all right’? After you just attacked his goddamn soul!? His tone is unamused. “You clearly like me more than that if you wanted me to sit with you so bad.” You pause drawing. “I guess that’s true…” He smirks again, feeling cocky. “Of course it’s true. Everyone likes me.”

You shake your head at his cocky demeanour. His eyes soften as he watches you work. You’re one of his most hard-working students. “You’re very passionate about your work.” You shrug as you keep working. “It’s all I ever do.” Logan can’t help but appreciate that. He’s looking at you… fondly? You meet his gaze. “W- um… Would you like to look through my sketchbook?” You’ve seen other students let him go through theirs. He always likes their drawings. He seems to just like all art in general. “Sure.” He shrugs.

You grab your sketchbook from your bag and hand it to him. He looks through it with a blank expression. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. Maybe he doesn't like it- “These are excellent.” Oh, he does like them. You can’t help but smile shyly. “Thank you.” He’s still flipping through, admiring each page. “You could make some real money off of some of these, kid.”

“Thanks, but I’m not interested in turning my hobby into a career.” He finishes looking through, setting the sketchbook on the table. “No? That’s a damn shame. I woulda bought some.” Wait, is he teasing you again? No, he seems genuine. “Wait what? Really?” He’s gotta be joking, right? He’s never said that to anyone else. All he says is, “Yeah.” with a simple shrug. Maybe that’ll bring up your confidence.

You take another minute to process, then smile. You didn’t think your art would ever mean that much to anyone else. He suddenly gets up and leaves. You sigh in disappointment. Well, that didn't last long... Logan sees your slumped shoulders when he comes back. “Damn, I was only gone for a minute. Are ya already that fuckin’ clingy?” You look up when he places some pages next to you. “Thought you’d like these.” He sits back down as you go through the pile of drawings. “Are these yours?”

“Yeah. Thought you could get some inspiration from them.” He’s already back to working on his project. You look at all of his drawings. Some of them are… dark. You love it! They’re different like your drawings. You somehow feel seen. You can see the emotions he put into each one. “I love these. They’re so detailed. I wish to be half as good as you.” There’s a small half smile on his lips as you compliment his art. Not too many people value how much time and work he actually puts into them. “Mmh, you're more than halfway there, kid. Your art is fucking phenomenal.” His compliments are the best. Each one of them is genuine. You slide your project over to him, wanting his input.

“How’s this? I feel like… it’s missing something.” He looks at it, really looks at it before giving his thoughts, that’ll match your style of drawing. “Darken the shadows to make it edgier. But use blue instead of black.” You look back at your drawing, thinking. That would… actually tie everything in nicely. You need to learn colour theory from this man. He’s so smart with the way he uses colours. “Thanks, I would never have thought of that.” You grab a dark blue pencil and get to shading. He doesn’t get why you don’t have any friends. You seem interesting enough. He quietly speaks. “You can eat here during lunch.”

You almost miss what he said. “What about lunch?” His focus has shifted mainly to his drawing. “You can eat here during lunch. It’s quiet. Not too many kids eat in here and you have full access to all the art supplies.” You can feel yourself smiling. You were always jealous of the kids that had a teacher they could eat with. You always envied that. Well, now you have it. The lunchroom is always so loud and overwhelming. A quiet room sounds nice. “I’ll take you up on that. I hate the lunchroom.” Logan assumed you did with your anxiety. He likes to offer the anxious kids his quiet room.

There’s a small smile on his lips and he looks relaxed while he draws. His relaxed mood seems to rub off on you. You sigh as you draw, glancing at him and his work occasionally. Your eyes linger over his features. It’s not fair he’s so pretty and handsome at the same time. He glances up from his drawing, meeting your eyes. A cocky smirk slides onto his lips. “Am I just that handsome?” You blink a couple times, not expecting to be called out. “I was thinking of how to draw you.” His cocky smirk turns into a small, soft, genuine smile. “I do have a nice face, huh?” (I have so much fun drawing him. His features are so nice.) You can’t help but secretly agree. Your eyes scan over his face, breaking it down into simple shapes, sketching a rough outline in your mind. He’s looking at you, letting you stare for as long as you need. His gaze is soft.

When you look away, his attention goes back to his drawing. Neither of you are speaking right now. The silence doesn’t feel like it needs to be filled. As the quiet type, you don’t mind this. He’s deeply focused on his work, so you don’t want to distract him with a conversation. As much as you’ve enjoyed talking to him, you only wanted him to sit with you, so you weren’t lonely. You pack up when class is over, sighing, finally being done with classes for the day. Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye, still working on his drawing, waiting for all the kids to leave. “See ya tomorrow, (y/n).” You glance over your shoulder as you head to the door. “Bye, Logan.” You say with a little wave, making sure to use his first name, not his last. It makes you feel closer to him than your other teachers.

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I know it’s short. I had literally no plot

#Logan howlett x reader #Wolverine x reader #Wolverine fanfic #Logan howlett fanfic #Wolverine #logan howlett #X-men #X-men wolerine #fanfic

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