#or that they were used against what they mean
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the third part to porn star!toji, the other two are on my m.list đ
âwhat a good pussyâ toji held your legs that were pressed together back so that they were by your ears. you bitting your lip and letting out long moans that could never be faked when you were with him. you and toji had quickly became one of the most popular duos on the porn sight. something about your innocent face and act being able to take the big, buff, mean man, and not a lot could say they did. another thing was toji never ever did multiple videos with one person. but you? oh, now he only wanted to film with you. âbe rougher tojiâ you heartbeat sped up at the sound of his wifeâs voice. your nails digging into his skin making little dents as your cream made a mess all over the faux dinner set up.
a cook and the hot waitress. the white hat on toji head moved, but never came off as he spead up his pace. your blue apron dress was pushed up to be over your tits, then bouncing with every pump. the sound of your wetness and skin clapping had everyone paying attention, the sight being one that was beautiful. âf-fuckkkâ you cried, camera man two coming close to get a video of your teary face, then the view of toji going in and out of you. his balls slapped your ass, and with small grunts passing his lips. your head lolled to the side where you were met with the crew. your orgasm was right there. toji sensing it with how you quieted down, but your pussy got louder. âyou there princess?â you bit your lip turning to look at him. slowing himself down, he bent forward, so that his breath fanned against you.
âwanna make that pretty pussy cum for daddy or what?â his words made your tummy tighten. âohgoddd!!â using your hand to try to push him your eyes closed, pussy creaming nice and deliciously around him making a bit of a mess against the table. ânot god baby, just tojiâ bitting his lip he let a growl out, his head turning to look at the camera as he slapped your ass making eye contact with his wife. as he stared at her, he fucked you through another orgasm while stuffing your cunt full of his load. he couldnât help but smirk as she winked at him, groaning when you clenched down. âand sceneâ the room clapped while toji rolled his eyes, putting his attention back upon you.
he slowly pulled out of you, his cock limp and resting on his thigh. a smirk was on his face watching your body still quiver, and the harsh breaths you took. âalways so good for me angleâ he cooed quietly taking the robe form you assistant and shooing her off. still, he was immersed with how the mix of you two dripped from your cunt. âso good for usâ a voice said making you jump and toji laugh. you watched his wife walk up to you both with a small smile on her face. âunt un wouldnât wanna waste that now would we?â you were confused at first - looking around at the now empty set wondering what she was talking about. it wasnât until you felt her finger scoop up the cum and push it back inside of you. her fingers rubbing against your gummy soft walls making your legs shake, a soft cry coming from you. and toji watched with a smirk the whole time.
you were shocked. what was happening? but you were loving every second of it. in the next moments still pumping her fingers in and out of you, she leaned down kissing you. your tounges swirled together as something slipped into your mouth, to which you moaned swallowing it; then she pulled back with a smirk. âplan b. donât want you pregnant just yetâ with a peck to your lips she walked away. leaving toji to pick up your shocked frame and whisper how you were theirs.
what was happening?
#â writings!#toji x black reader#toji x chubby reader#toji x reader#toji smut#toji fushiguro x black reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fushiguro smut#jjk x chubby reader#jjk x black reader#jjk x plus size reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x black reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#anime x chubby reader#anime smut#anime x black!reader
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roommate! choso is being awfully mean! maybe heâs just jealous that youâre seeing other people after youâve let him cum inside you how many times? </3
warnings dom! choso, fem! reader, mean/bully choso, breeding, possessive, unprotected sex, mentions of cheating, mentions of impregnating the reader and keeping her forever, implied free use, spitting in mouth, choso has a filthy mouth
âwhere are you going now?â
briefly, you glance up from the makeup palette in your hand. chosoâs hard, darkened gaze catches yours in the mirror of your vanity. he leans against the wooden frame of your bedroom door with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing you silently as you doll yourself up. you smile cheekily, patting your cheeks with blush.
âon a date.â you hum.
âwith that loser?â
you scoff, rolling your eyes at his predictable bitterness. what a jealous fuck, you think as you turn away to fish for a tube of lipgloss. his feet patter softly as he creeps further into your girlishly ornamented room. an enervated sigh parts your lips when he plops a seat at the edge of your bed, sitting adjacent to you.
âis that what youâre wearing?â he muses. something unreadable mars his face as he reaches over, tugging at the thin fabric of your tiny silk dress. âbit much for a second date, huh?â
god, he is just so painfully in love jealous that itâs ripping him in two. he hates the way you smell, the way you do your hair, the way you giggle at everything. he almost canât stand to watch as you play dress up for a man who doesnât even fuck you properlyânot to chosoâs standards anyway.
after the first date you brought the man home, and much to both of your dismay, you were greeted with chosoâs unwelcoming presenceâa slender and shirtless frame sprawled across the couch like the damn man of the house. he held a can of soda and a glowering snarl that he hoped would ward the loser off.
but later that night, he could make out the sounds of your pleasureful cries as they bled through your bedroom walls. he felt sick to his stomach, but then he could hear the way you mistakenly moaned his name instead, and it ruined him. he stroked his poor, aching cock so angrily that night, nothing evident but you.
that loser wouldnât push you up the bathroom sink and yank your panties down. he wouldnât whisper horrible things into your ear while fingering that pretty, aching pussy. definitely wouldnât rub your clit so sloppy that youâre begging to feel his cock instead. choso knows heâs the only man that will fuck you the way that slutty cunt deserves.
âdoes he know that you let me fuck you like a slut?â choso asks offhandedly. heâs mindlessly twirling one of your makeup brushes between his fingers, chin resting within the palm of his opposing hand. âand that you begged me to cum inside of you like what⌠an hour before your first date?â
you smooth your hands down your dress, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. choso is brash and bitter and impolite and you made the honest mistake of falling for him; now you canât seem to get rid him. youâre addicted and he knows itâknows heâs the only one thatâs ever made you cum, the only one thatâs seen the way you really like to fuck.
âyou should tell him,â heâs closer now, button nose pressed to your cheek, inhaling. âthink heâd stay with you if he knew that his new little girlfriend was letting her roommate cum inside of her pussy, huh?â
âcâ choso, heâs on his way, please.â
âheâll just have to fucking wait then, wonât he?â
a big, cunning hand is spreading your thighs and cupping your bare pussy. choso gasps, utterly staggered by the sudden warmth of your sticky arousal and how itâs drooooling down the palm of his hand. you canât help but to bite your lip, swallowing the pathetic little whimper that sits in your chest.
âwere you gonna let him fuck you in this?â as one of his big hands trail beneath the fabric of your dress, you nod. âyeah? were you gonna let him pull your dress up like this and fuck that pretty little pussy?â
âyes,â itâs only a breath as you roll your hips into his hand, chasing that warm, delicious friction. âbut i want it to be you⌠wanâ you to f-fuck me. he doesnât touch me right.â
âi know, baby,â he coos, holding out his hands for you. âheâs a fucking loser, isnât he?â
a loud, assenting whimper leaves you as you clamber over to him. choso grins widely, something wicked flickering in his darkened gaze as he pulls you onto his lap. he audibly inhales your scent before groaning into your skin. warm, calloused hands creep further up your dress, silky fabric bunching around your waist. youâre dizzy off of his touch, head spinning like a record as you arch into his embrace. god, youâre perfect like this.
this always feels so right and you hate it. you hate the way he smells, the way you let him touch you, the way he makes you feel. you hate how the palpable thud of your heart beats somewhere much deeper, much more aching. and you hate that he knows how to get you so fucking wet that youâre crying to feel his big, pretty cock inside of you.
âplease just fuck me,â youâre just whining so perfectly for him while you impatiently fist the waistband of his sweats. âchoso, please?â you sound hungry, much like your gaze and eager hands as you successfully bare his long, pretty shaft. âi want it⌠wanna feel your cock before he gets here.â
âyeah? you want me to ruin that pussy before you go? youâre so wet for it,â the entirety of his palm is sliding between your swollen, glossy lips and you shudder. âyou missed my cock, huh?â the smile that cracks along his face is unmistakably possessive.
your arousal drips from his fingers like honey as he grips the base of his hooked shaft, indulgently slathering your essence down to his balls. another big hand claims your hip, forcing you up to hover over the glistening head of his cock, slick dripping. choso slaps his sticky tip against your sloppy entrance thrice before sinking deeeep inside of your cunt in one, mean thrust.
he holds you still, toned arms wrapped near possessively around your body so that he can fuck you in place. youâre swallowing all of his long, intentional thrusts, that pretty pussy sucking him in so fucking deep that youâve forgotten why you even wanted to move on in the first place.
choso lets off a deep, gutteral moan while grazing his teeth over the column of your throat. he licks your skin hungrily, his tongue so hot and wet that it makes you tighten around him in a horrendous need. arousal drips from your perfectly stuffed cunt down to the fat of his balls as they slap against your ass in loud, audible plaps!
âyouâre mine,â choso breathes, fingers latching to the nape of your neck. âforever, you hear me? youâll never escape me,â heâs forcing your head back to mark up your throat. a hand pulls you closer, deepening your pretty little arch. âdonât care how many fucking men you bring over here⌠youâll just have to explain to them why youâve already got someone elseâs cum inside of you, wonât you?â
you gasp, brows furrowing in arousal. âcho, youâre s-so mean,���
âand heâs too fucking nice⌠you donât like nice guys, they donât fuck like this,â chosoâs thumb drags over your aching clit and you whine into his ear. âhe will never fuck you the way i do. god, does he even know that you like to get fucked like a w-whore, huh?â his lips settle against the warm spot that pulses below your jaw. âdo you beg him to fuck you harder? deeper?â
ân-no, fuck⌠câ chosooo,â
âprobably fucks you like youâre made of porcelainâtoo scared to break you but little does he fucking know.â
chosoâs hand closes around your throat and you moan, pretty eyes threatening to cross like such a slut. he squeezes the sides of your neck, slender fingers creeping up your jaw. the pad of his thumb is prying your mouth open and rivulets of drool cascade down his hand. he kisses you sloppily, groaning into your honeyed mouth while tasting your saliva. for a moment he pulls away, a shiny wisp of spit tethering your bottom lips together.
âopen your mouth,â he mutters, squishing your cheeks.
and you do, that wet, pretty tongue lolling out so obediently while you wait for his next command. chosoâs fingers are threading throughout the hair at your nape, drawing your head back. his darkened gaze catches yours, holding the cruel contact while spitting into your awaiting mouth. a nasty, guttural sound leaves him as he begins to suck on your tongue, kissing you hungrily.
youâre a wreck, crying and whimpering around his cock like such a nasty girl while he fucks you from beneath, muttering nothing but filth into your ear. heâs stretching you out completely, his long, curved shaft fucking to the very back of your sloppy cunt like itâs the last thing heâll ever do. and his hand are everywhereâwrapping around your throat, pulling at the fat of your ass, spreading you apart, and grazing over your hard, sensitive nipples.
âi wanna cummm,â you whimper. a cloud of dizzying arousal swirls in your tummy, your wet, aching pussy tightening around his cock so desperately. âwanna cum with you, please? choso, wanna feel your cum while i cumâŚâ
âyeaaah, you want me to breed that pussy?â his cock throbs when you nod to him, balls tightening unbearably. âshould just knock you up and keep you here forever⌠bear all my fucking kids, huhhh?â
the thought of bearing his children alone is what has you gushing down the length of his cock without warning. youâre gone, rutting your hips and arching your back like the greedy little thing he knows you are. youâre making such a mess, arousal trickling down to his balls, and itâs the feeling of your sloppy orgasm that has choso spilling a hot, syrupy load inside of your pulsing cunt.
âtake it, take it⌠take all of my f-fucking cum, baby,â his hips stutter, breath hitching as he stuffs his face into the crook of your neck, hungrily biting your skin and growling. âyouâre allll fucking mineâmine to fuck, mine to breed, mine to use whenever i want, yeah?â
choso nods your head for you, fingers digging into your cheeks while forcing your head up and down. pleased, he slips himself out of you to set you onto your bed, kindly pulling your dress back into place. a cruel smile plays his lips as you press your thighs together, knowing that his cum is leaking from your pretty little hole and surely staining the silk of your dress.
a loud knock at the front door makes you gasp, choso smiles.
âtell that loser i said hey.â
#nyâs subconscious â
#choso my beloved#choso x you#choso smut#choso x y/n#jjk choso#jujutsu kaisen choso#choso kamo#choso x reader#jjk kamo#jjk#jjk fanfic#jjk smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#jujustsu kaisen smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader
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simon can't believe how far hes fallen.
Lurking outside high street underwear shops, stealing your phone, worst of all? Heâs sipping tea in an overpriced coffee shop, you used to always want to meet him in the place opposite but he didnât fancy a public indecency charge so heâd let you sit there for while, order drinks for the two of you and wait, when his tea turned told and yours had been drank you usually got a text saying to come over, he didnât feel like going into town.
Your not even with him explaining that matcha is actually really good and he should try it, no your fawning over johnny and heâs watching his bird. He hopes this is rock bottom but he feels like itâs not.
"lass if I dinnae know better, I'd think ya' was avoiding me" his playful tone doesnt hide the hurt, he wants you to feel bad for ghosting him, and you do. Johnnys never been mean. Never mistreated you, why are you punishing him for Simonâs mistakes?
"im sorry, I know you and simon are close but he really did number on me and I just, I just don't wanna risk bumping into him." he can praticularly smell the the anxiety coming off you.
"Aye heâs been going mad, wants his wee bird back." Johnny says feigning sadness for his mate. in honestly Johnny was enjoying it, you were talking to him, looking at him, while simon gawked at you two from across the road.
you laugh, "no he wants a warm hole." you blurt out, causing Johnny to laugh, he expecting you to cry or something but not be that blunt.
âLass hes just nae used to-â johnny tries to defend him but you cut him off, frustrated, you were what? a decade younger and knew how to treat people well.
âUsed to what? Heâs 40.â You snap back, Simon was old enough to know better.
âHeâs nae 40 yet hen, and heâs not used to tiptoeing, ya know?â He laughs at you adding years to him, heâs sure Simon is seething but he canât quite make out his expression
âTiptoeing?â You question. You can accuse Simon of a lot of stuff but tiptoeing? Not fucking one of them, if stomping on people was an Olympic sport heâd be bringing home a gold medal.
âYeah like your so sensitive lass and heâs nae really used to it.â Johnny says simply and when your face drops he knows his choice of words could maybe use some work especially when you excuse yourself to the bathroom.
Johnny cant help himself. he can see simon through the window, sipping on his tea as he watches this little pre date. So he calls him up, simon was saying earlier he misses that pretty voice well he actually complained about how much you used to talk at him and how the peace and quiet was actually nice.
However Johnnys an expert in simonisms and that means he miss you and wants you to come back to him, he gets the same treatment, they all do. telling him to be quiet.
when you rejoin the table his phone is face or screen down, speaker pointing towards you, next to a another drink for you.
How sweet of him:)
"had to keep ya here somehow," he explained as he asked how you were doing, you had left the flat so defeated. He hated to see a pretty girl so sad.
his eyes seemingly look pass you though, getting lost out the window. Usually he was attentive maybe he didnât want to slag off Simon, but he keeps pushing, asking how youâre feeling, what youâve been doing and though his eyes drift back to the window but you can ignore it, for now.
"I don't know,â you stare into the drink you stir it, the ice clinking against the glass. âIt just hurt and I feel so stupid.â Itâs practically a whisper, you look like a kicked puppy and Johnny, Johnnyâs staring out the window with a smirk on his face. Does he find it funny? Is he gonna tell Simon? Why would you slag off Simon to his best mate?
Anxiety starts to bubble, and you just wanna leave before you embarrass yourself anymore.
Your gaze follows his out the window, now you donât have binoculars but that looks a little like Simon, weird. It would look too weird if you were to pull out your phone and zoom in with the camera. You start to feel for your phone but itâs not in your pocket, you mustâve slipped it into one of the bags.
âJohnny do you have the time?â You ask softly and before he can react, youâre flipping over his phone and greeted by Simonâs caller ID. What the fuck?
âJohnny what the fuck? â
âLass-â johnny doesnât have time to concoct a lie, your up and glaring down at him, heâd never seen you angry but it was hot, he just wished it was in different, more come backable circumstances.
âNo johnny what the fuck, has Simon been on the phone this entire time?â Your voice cracks and your lips tremble, embarrassed you opened up to him, Simonâs best fucking mate, embarrassed Simon knew how much he hurt
âNo I donât give a shit Simon can go fuck himself and so can youâ you cut him off again, he can choke on whatever he was gonna say.
Before johnny can ask for his coffee in a to go cup youâre out the door, rushing home, tears stinging at your eyes once again. You just want to sprint home once you hear johnny belt out your name and you speed up, darting down an alleyway.
You wipe your tears before colliding into a wall you swore wasnât there on the walk into town, a fleshy, human wall.
Its Simon.
Once again! How perfect .
part one- part two
taglist: @skeletonsucker @supernova2205 @wh0re4-alexademi @grr457 @gh0st-spid3r @sweetlittleblackrose @aceywaycy @mooievis @theadultoedge @cheese-pull @imtherain
#yandere cod mw#call of duty#yandere cod#call of duty x reader#yandere#yandere ghost#simon ghost x you#simon riley#yandere simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#cod x reader#yandere johnny mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish#yandere soap#cod soap#cod ghost#soap x reader#soapghost#simon ghost x reader#x reader#fem reader#yandere x reader
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Werewolf bf lays out so prettily on your bed, his hands held up against the wall by his unforgiving chains. Not because heâs about to shift but because heâd gone a little overboard with the marking the other night and this was the poor pups punishment.
It was the best thing he could think of, to be tied up and unable to move. Completely at your whim to do whatever you wish to him.
Youâve been going at him for so many hours now heâs lost count. Hands splayed across his chest, nails digging in till his cock twitches. You take his dick better than anyone, like you were made for it as you make yourself cum again and again and every time he asks if he can cum too you give him a firm âNo,â and keep on going.
Itâs pure agonizing torture and he swears heâs never been more aroused in his entire life. Addicted to just how mean youâre being to him. He grunts and whimpers as your pussy throbs around his length, your slick soaking a wet spot into the sheets and making a mess of his thighs and quivering torso.
Oh, how he wants to mix your release with his, to make it all even more sloppy and depraved. A long groan vibrates through his throat but you donât even look at him. Your eyes rolled back and drowning in pleasure.
A part him might even regret giving you the idea if it wasnât for the look of pure bliss on your face as you bounce on his giant cock, taking your pleasure for all itâs worth without a single care for his. He canât deny how fucking turned on that makes him and his cock gets impossibly bigger inside you.
Whiny howls leave him each time your hips smack against his. He needs more, needs it harder and faster, feeling your slick walls suffocating his cock like a warm embrace.
The urge to break through the chains and grab at your plush hips so he can pound into you like he wants claws at him. But again, his eyes catch onto your blissful expression and his beautiful marks that litter your soft curves and he stays still like a good boy.
His hips do their best to buck and plunge into your scorching depths, but youâve kept him on edge for so very long and his thighs shake so hard he canât even hold himself up. Still he knows heâs hitting it good, swiveling his dick as deep as he can go till he hits that spot that has you crying out.
Your pussy starts tightening around him again, clenching him so good his tongue lulls out and drool paints his pillow. He knows youâre close and he wants nothing more than to feel your essence paint his cock. Wanting to cum himself a very close second.
âGod look at you about one orgasm away from completely f-fallinâ apart fâme. So⌠pathetic,â you spit out inbetween broken moans.
He mewls as you ride him even faster. Soft Oh! Oh! Ohâs! falling past your lips each time his cock kisses at your cervix. Reminding you both of exactly where he belongs.
âY-yes, nnghâbaby, yes! Give it to me mean. So fuckinâ, haaa, sexy when ya mean to me. Takinâ what you want like t-thisâ fuck!â
His words send you flying and crashing into a violent release. A loud scream leaving you as your body trembles and struggles to hold itself up with the force. Your cum gushes out of you in waves, painting you both and making your biggest mess yet.
Werewolf bf throws his head back and howls in pleasure, his body giving out and unable to hold back any longer. He uses all the strength he has left and hilts inside of you roughly before hot thick ropes of semen empty all the way inside your womb. Spurt after spurt of warmth filling you to the brim.
When the two of you finally drop from exhaustion, you can only barely release his wrists from their chains. The second you do he growls, his arms curling snuggly around your body, molding your softness to his hard planes. He rolls the two of you over, silently letting you know he wonât be letting you get up from his cuddles for the foreseeable future.
Having taken his punishment in stride he now basks in the reward as he holds you close. Showing no guilt or regret as he happily presses kisses to each and every mark he left. Knowing heâll only do it again the second they start to fade.
#monster fucker#monster smut#teratophillia#exophelia#monster lover#monster lust#monster fluff#monster romance#monster fic#monster imagine#monster bf#monster boyfriend#hybrid smut#hybrid fic#werewolf smut#werewolf fucker#werewolf lover#werewolf romance#werewolf fluff#werewolf bf#werewolf fic#x chubby reader#werewolf x reader#werewolf x human#werewolf x you#monster x reader#monster x human#monster x you#hybrid x reader#hybrid x human
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I'm sorry I'm too shy to ask without being anonymous 𫣠but could I get a story with Lando where reader is a childhood sweetheart and was always there for him and still is. Like a scene where she arrives at paddock solo because she had to do something first and she is all nice to fans and collects bracelets and stuff then she goes to garage where she and Lando have a pre race ritual of her kissing the helmet or something.
Lucky Charms
lando norris x reader
or... the one where wherever he goes, thats where you follow
word count : 674
warning : none, english is not my first language!!!
on the radio : die with a smile by bruno mars & lady gaga



đď¸đ§Ą
the paddock buzzes with excitement, fans crowding around as you make your way through. itâs a familiar scene by now, but today, you had to come alone. lando was already deep in pre-race preparations, and youâd gotten held up with something earlier in the day. still, you smile warmly at the fans who call your name.
âcan I have a photo?â a girl asks, holding up her phone, eyes wide with hope.
âof course!â you say, pausing for a quick selfie. another fan hands you a bracelet, colorful beads strung together with care. âthank you, I love it!â you slip it onto your wrist, adding it to the growing collection from fans youâd received over the years. these little moments always meant a lot to you - connecting with the people who support lando, who support you both.
after a few more quick interactions, you wave goodbye to the small group gathered near the entrance and head toward the mclaren garage. the familiar hum of mechanics working, the scent of fuel, and the sight of the car bring a sense of calm. this place, chaotic as it is, feels like home because of lando.
âhey, you made it,â one of the crew members grins as you enter, giving a little wave.
âbarely,â you laugh, walking past to find lando. you know exactly where heâll be, a ritual of sorts for both of you before every race. and when you finally see him, helmet in hand, his eyes light up in that way that makes your heart race just as fast as it did when you were kids.
âthought you were gonna leave me hanging,â lando teases, leaning against the wall of the garage. the smile he gives you is soft, familiar, the same one heâs been giving you since you were just two kids with dreams bigger than either of you could grasp.
ânever,â you say, stepping up to him. heâs already in his race suit, looking every bit the professional heâs grown into, but to you, heâs still the boy you grew up with, the one who used to drag you out to the karting track to watch him lap until the sun went down. you had always been there, and now, years later, nothing had changed. youâd always be there.
he hands you the helmet, the same way he always does before every race. itâs become a part of your routine - your good luck charm. lando says he wonât race without it, and you know he means it.
âstill lucky?â you ask, running your fingers over the sleek surface of the helmet. itâs the same one you kissed before every race, a small but meaningful gesture that had started when you were both teenagers and just stuck.
âhasnât failed me yet,â he says, eyes softening as he watches you. âbesides, I donât know what Iâd do without it.â he shifts closer, his voice lower as he adds, âwithout you.â
you smile at him, warmth filling your chest. thereâs a comfort in the familiarity of it all - of knowing that no matter how chaotic life gets, this part of your day is always just yours. you press a gentle kiss to the top of the helmet, lingering for a second longer than usual, as if sealing all the good luck you could give.
âthere,â you whisper, handing it back to him. âyouâre all set.â
he takes the helmet with a grin, his eyes never leaving yours. âI think I am now.â
for a moment, the world outside the garage fades, and itâs just the two of you, like it always has been. childhood sweethearts who never grew apart, who stuck together through every high and low. he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âthank you, for always being here.â
âalways,â you promise, as the sounds of the paddock come rushing back in. but even then, nothing can break the quiet bond between you two - not the race, not the noise, nothing. this moment, this little ritual, was yours.
ââââââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Š all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.
a/n : wrote this while eating a can of pringles haha
#folkwhoreberry#f1#f1 x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#lando norris x reader#lando norris#x reader
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whisper of the heart â a nerdjo fic
synopsis â after reading about a book series that mirrored everything youâd loved about a past favourite, you were thrilled to find it in your college library. the copies were oldâworn enough to still have checkout cardsâbut what caught your attention was the same set of initials, G.S., scrawled across nearly every one. the same G.S. who had filled the margins with sharp, thoughtful annotations. you couldnât stop yourself from thoroughly enjoying the silly little comments written in the margins, leaving your own notes alongside theirs. it wasnât until much later that you realised G.S. wasnât some long-gone bookworm. it was none other than the man you had sworn to hate. gojo satoru.
pairing â nerd! satoru x reader
genre â academic rivals to lovers
word countâ 32k (oops)
warnings â sexual content (unprotected sex), swearing, mentions of not eating, slight angst.
small playlist i listened to while writing
"You all can come and grab the papers nowâdo not ask me for any re-evaluations, the mark presented on the paper is your final markâ"
You barely listen. The professor could be reading a grocery list for all you care. Your focus is already on the stack of midterms in his hands, your heart pounding like a drum against your ribs.
The exam had been brutalâ200 marks, covering classical mechanics and electromagnetism, some of the toughest material in your Physics II course. Past students had called it a horror show, a midterm designed to crush dreams and expose weaknesses. It was weighted heavily in your final grade, which meant every single mark mattered. The room is filled with a tense hum, a mixture of eager whispers and anxious murmurs. Some students hesitate in their seats, mentally preparing themselves before facing their doom. But you? You don't wait. You weave through the aisles, manoeuvring past people, determined to be one of the first to grab your paper.
And, of course, Gojo is right behind you.
"Jeez, you could at least pretend to be patient," he muses, his tone dripping with amusement as he strolls lazily down the steps, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie. You roll your eyes. "Not all of us have the luxury of cruising through exams without trying."
"I do try," he says, flashing you a grin. "I try just enough." Before you can shoot back a response, you reach the professorâs desk. Professor Takeda raises an unimpressed brow as he sorts through the papers.
"You two again," he sighs. "Half my life as a professor has been spent watching you bicker."
"Don't be dramatic, sir," Gojo says smoothly, resting an elbow on the desk. "It's only been three years." Takeda shakes his head, muttering something under his breath about headaches before handing you your paper. You grab it without waiting, fingers slightly shaking as you flip it over.
98.
The relief rushes through you instantly, so strong you canât help the triumphant burst of excitement. "Ninety-eight!" you blurt out, beaming as you hug the paper to your chest. Itâs a damn near perfect score, and after all those sleepless nights, all those hours of grinding through problem setsâyou earned this. Gojo, still waiting for his turn, glances at you with an expression you canât quite place. His usual smirk is still there, but thereâs something elseâsomething quieter, almost thoughtful, before he smooths it over with his usual easy confidence.
Takeda hands him his paper. Gojo flips it over, barely reacting as he reads the number at the top.
"Ninety-five." Your grin widens.
"You mean I beat you?" You practically bounce on your heels. "Me? The one you said was âtoo uptightâ and needed to ârelax and accept second placeâ? Me?"
Gojo exhales through his nose, shaking his head, as he folds his paper out of your sight. "Don't get too cocky," he drawls, shoving the paper under his arm. "Itâs just three points."
"Three points above you."
"For now," he corrects smoothly, nudging your shoulder as he moves past you.
Itâs been this way since freshman year. You and Gojo had ended up in the same introductory physics course, and from the very first midterm, it was clear: you were the only two truly competing at the top of the class. But while you poured everything into studyingâlate nights, flashcards, equations scribbled on napkinsâGojo seemed to barely put in the effort. Heâd show up late to lectures, half-asleep in sweatpants, glasses slightly skewed, yet somehow still aced every exam. He never took notes, never stressed, never seemed to break a sweat. It drove you insane. Because no matter how hard you tried, how much effort you put inâhe was always right there with you. Sometimes ahead, sometimes just behind, but never far enough to ignore.
And worst of all? He made it look easy. By now, the entire physics department knew about your rivalry. Professors expected you to fight over test scores. Study groups would take bets on who would score higher. Even during practical lab sessions, it was always a silent battleâwho could get through the calculations faster, who could figure out the trick questions first. You hated him. And now, after years of this, you finally had something over him. A small, almost imperceptible shift in the universe.
You beat Gojo Satoru. As soon as class ends, youâre practically floating out of the lecture hall, midterm still clutched in your hands. The second you step into the cafeteria, your eyes scan the room for your friend, and when you finally spot her at your usual table, you donât even bother with a greeting. âI got a ninety-eight,â you announce, sliding into the seat across from her with an undeniably smug grin. âAnd I beat Gojo.â
Her head snaps up from her laptop. âWaitâ Gojo Gojo?â
You roll your eyes. âAs opposed to what? Some other Gojo in our department?â
âOh my God, you actually did it?â she gasps, setting her drink down as she stares at you in something close to awe. âI thought that man was unstoppable.â
âWell, turns out heâs not.â You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms above your head. âGuess he finally met his match.â Your friend is still blinking at you in disbelief when a voice cuts in from behind you, slow and amused.
âOne good score, and you think youâre the shit.â You freeze. Then, before you can even turn around, Gojo is already there, stepping up behind you like a shadow that refuses to be ignored. You feel the presence of himâtall, lazy, entirely too smugâbefore you even lift your head to meet his gaze. Heâs leaning in just slightly, close enough to loom, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. That familiar, insufferable smirk is plastered on his face, condescending and infuriatingly amused.
You huff. âCanât a girl enjoy her victory in peace?âÂ
He tilts his head, that same damned smirk never wavering. âVictory?â he echoes, voice dripping with mockery. âYouâre getting ahead of yourself, arenât you? One midterm doesnât erase three years of domination.â You scoff, crossing your arms. âOh, please. Like youâve actually dominated me.â
âOh, you want me to bring out the stats?â Gojo hums, slipping into the seat beside you like he owns the place. He props his elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his palm as he begins, âPhysics I finalâ97 to your 96. Thermodynamics midterm? 95 to your 91. Electromagnetic Fields examââ
You groan. âJesus Christ, you memorized all of them?â
âYou think I donât keep track?â He arches a brow, eyes glinting with amusement. âItâs not my fault I have a consistent history of kicking your ass.â
Your friend snorts into her drink. âHe kinda has a pointââ
You shoot her a glare. Gojo, meanwhile, is clearly having the time of his life. He leans in, that imposing height of his making his presence impossible to ignore, his voice dropping just slightly, almost teasing. âBut sure,â he drawls, chin resting in his hand. âEnjoy your one win, (name). Iâll let you have it.â
You grip your cup so tightly the plastic crinkles. âLet me have it?â
âMmm.â He tilts his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. âWouldnât want you to cry when I obliterate you on the final.â Your friend nudges you under the table, mouthing heâs so full of shit, but you barely register itâbecause the air between you and Gojo is charged in a way that makes your stomach twist. You wonât admit it out loud, but part of you wondersâ is this how he always talks to you?
So close, so taunting, like he enjoys watching you bristle. You hate how natural it feels, how effortless the rhythm of your bickering has become. But more than anything, you hate the way your heart stutters when he pushes himself out of his chair, hands still stuffed in his pockets, and grins down at you like he already knows how the next round of this fight is going to end.
âYou should really start studying,â he hums, walking backward toward the exit. âYouâll need it.â And with that, heâs gone, leaving you fuming at the table. Your friend watches him go, eyebrows raised. âSo, uh,â she says slowly. âAre we sure you guys arenât flirting?â You glare at her.
âI hate him.â She smirks. âMhm.â You seethe a little, realisingâwith a stab of annoyanceâthat yes, that motherfucker is actually leading right now in terms of grades and rankings. Itâs not even about the marks. Okay, maybe itâs a little about the marks. But youâve always been the smart woman in your course. The one who professors hold up as an example. The one whose name has been printed on merit lists and whose email is always flooded with internship offers and research opportunities. Youâve spent years perfecting your academic standing, earning every achievement through sheer effort and discipline. But for some odd reason, none of it ever seems to matter until youâve compared it with Gojo Satoru. You glare at his name on the leaderboard, one place ahead of yours. A single midterm shouldnât be enough to infuriate you, and yetâ
Your eye twitches. How the hell did you even get here?
Well.
Actually.
You know how. You just try not to think about it because, frankly, itâs one of the most mortifying moments of your entire academic career.
â
It was the very first week of freshman year, and you were, for lack of a better term, an insufferable know-it-all. Not in a bad wayâokay, maybe in a slightly bad way. But it wasnât your fault that you took your education seriously, or that you actually read ahead in your courses, or that you genuinely cared about learning. If anything, you were doing everyone a service by answering questions when no one else raised their hands. So, on that particular day, when your physics professor asked the class a question about vector components, you barely hesitated before speaking up.
âThe perpendicular components of a vector are independent of each other,â youâd answered smoothly, sitting up a little straighter as you prepared to elaborate. âThatâs why we can analyse them separately usingââ
âOhhh, wow,â someone cut in, voice dripping with mock wonder. âLook at that. We got a genius in the house.â The interruption had been so unexpectedâso audaciousâthat it completely derailed your train of thought.
And when you turned around, irritated beyond belief, there he was. White hair, round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, an undeniably punchable smirk tugging at his lips. You had no idea who he was at the time. Just some tall, obnoxious guy slouched lazily in his seat, all limbs and arrogance, tapping a pen idly against his notebook as he stared at you with barely concealed amusement.
Your brows furrowed. âExcuse me?â
âIâm just saying,â he shrugged, âyou must be so fun at parties.â The class chuckled. Your jaw clenched. âWell, someone has to answer when no one else even tries.â
âRight, because weâre all just too stupid to understand vectors,â he drawled, stretching lazily in his seat.
âI didnât say that,â you shot back.
âDidnât have to,â he grinned, tapping his temple. âI could feel the superiority radiating from you.â You exhaled sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to turn back around before you said something that would get you in trouble on the first week of class.
âOkay, okay,â your professor cut in, looking thoroughly unbothered by the exchange. âLetâs keep the debating to actual physics concepts.â That should have been the end of it. But then you heard a low tsk from behind you.
âI bet she memorized the textbook cover to cover before the semester even started,â the white-haired menace mused under his breath to his friend with the long, black haired locks, who seemed disinterested in what his friend had to say.
You whipped around. âI did notââ
âDonât lie, nerd.â
âExcuse me?!â The class chuckled again. And when you shot a glare toward your professor, expecting some kind of reprimand, he just sighed and muttered, âGod, I already know you two are going to be a pain in my ass.â From that moment on, it had been war.
Your first set of midterms was when you realized he wasnât just talk. You walked into class with a 97 on your physics exam, feeling confidentâonly to glance over and see Gojo slouched in his seat, grinning as he casually flipped his test paper over to show a 99. He made eye contact with you as he tapped his fingers against the big red number. You nearly broke your pen in half.
And so it began.
Every exam, every assignment, every single class discussion became a battleground. You would argue over formulas, nitpick each otherâs solutions, and constantly try to one-up the other. You worked your ass off to close the gap, pouring hours into perfecting your work. And Gojo? Gojo barely looked like he was trying. That was what infuriated you the most. He never seemed stressed, never looked exhausted, never talked about pulling all-nighters. He just showed up, half the time looking like he hadnât even studied, and still somehow stayed ahead. Until now. Until your 98 finally beat his 95. A single win isnât enough. But damn, does it feel good.
â
You step into the lecture hall, already bracing yourself for the inevitable. Sure enough, Gojo Satoru is exactly where you expect him to beâsprawled out in his usual seat, legs stretched obnoxiously far like he has no concept of personal space. His sunglasses rest on top of his head, keeping his messy white hair from falling into his annoyingly pretty eyes, and the second he spots you, that familiar smirk tugs at his lips. Youâre already exhausted.Â
âYouâre early,â you mutter, slipping into your seat and pulling out your laptop.
âAnd youâre predictable,â he shoots back. âWhat, do you set an alarm just to make sure you get here before me?â
âYou wish.â
âNah, you wish.â
You pause, narrowing your eyes. âThat doesnât even make sense.â
He shrugs, propping his chin on his hand. âStill got under your skin, though, didnât it?â
You make a sound of irritation in the back of your throat, ready to tell him exactly where he can shove his smug attitude, but your friend plops into the seat next to you, completely unaware of the storm brewing between you and Gojo. You exhale sharply, forcing yourself to shift gearsâthereâs something more important than your ongoing war with him. Something much, much more important.
âOkay, so, I found this book series last night,â you begin, your fingers twitching excitedly as you pull out your phone. âI was going through one of those book recommendation guidesâyou know, the niche ones that arenât full of the same ten bestsellersâand this one just caught my eye.â Your friend hums in interest, booting up their laptop. âWhatâs it about?â
You practically buzz with excitement. âSo itâs kind of likeâugh, how do I explain itâitâs this really well-written like narrative, mystery, suspense, romance, but with, like, existential themes? And this insane world building? And apparently, no one talks about it because the publisher went under before it got the recognition it deserved, so itâs kind of a hidden gem.â As you speak, Gojo, who had been staring blankly at the front of the room, blinks. That sounds familiar.
âYouâre really selling it,â your friend teases.
âRight?! And apparently, itâs super hard to find, but I checked, and our library actually has a few copies.â You tuck your phone away, already feeling a rush of excitement. âIâm gonna borrow the first book after class.â Gojo leans back in his seat, eyes flickering with something unreadable.
Yeah, he thinks. Iâve definitely read that.
He doesnât say anything, though. Just rests his chin in his palm and listens as you keep gushing. Because now that he thinks about it, he really liked that series too. It had been one of those random books he picked up between classes, half expecting to get bored, but then something about it hooked him. The way it wove together philosophy and adventure, the quiet melancholy lingering in the proseâit was the kind of book that stuck with you. But he never finished it. Midterms had hit, and between exams, research papers, and group projects that made him want to rip his hair out, he just⌠forgot. He never went back to check out the last few books. He had meant to, but by the time he had free time again, his brain had moved on. And now here you are, unknowingly digging it back up.
His fingers drum idly against the desk, and for some reason, he canât shake the thought: Sheâs gonna love it. He steals another glance at you. Youâre still talking, eyes bright with excitement, flipping through your phone as you read off little details from the guide you found. The enthusiasm is contagiousâhe canât remember the last time he saw you this animated about something that wasnât academics. Usually, all your energy goes into perfecting equations, arguing with him over points lost on exams, and trying to one-up him in every possible way. This is⌠different.
And weirdly, he finds himself kind of liking it. Not that heâd ever admit it.
â
So after class finally finishesâthankfully, your professor had been going through a hard topic that he kept droning on and on about, emphasising how likely it was to appear in the final examâit was enough to sate even Gojo, who, for once, shut up and took notes diligently. You head out at lightning speed, managing a small âsee you laterâ to your friend before disappearing into the hallway. Honestly, ever since the new year of college had started, youâd barely had time to indulge in activities you actually enjoyed.
Sure, you squeezed in a few books here and there when you had the chance, but it was difficult finding ones that hit just the right wayâones with the same kind of engaging plot, the same writing style that kept you hooked. Youâd tried, but nothing had stuck with you the way your favorite books used to. It had been frustrating, going through these long periods without anything to read. But this time, you had a feeling it would be different.Â
Turning a corner, you step into the vast college library, its sheer size never failing to impress you. The high, arched ceilings, the rows upon rows of bookshelves, and the dozens of students scattered across large wooden tables, heads buried in textbooksâitâs an environment that should feel welcoming, yet all it does is remind you how much work you still have waiting for you. You shake that thought away.
Right now, youâre here for one thing.
You glance at your phone, rereading the authorâs name one last time before slipping it into your pocket and heading straight for the fiction section. Itâs tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the library, past the heavier academic texts, and while itâs not as large as the science or philosophy sections, it still has an impressive selection. The shelves here are a little dustier, the books a little more wornâproof that they donât get checked out as often as the physics or chemistry textbooks. You trace your fingers lightly along the spines, scanning for the title. When you finally spot it, you feel a flicker of excitement. There it is.
The first book in the series. The cover is simple yet striking, the title embossed in slightly faded silver lettering. You pull it off the shelf carefully, glancing around to see if the rest of the series is there. To your delight, every single book is lined up neatly in order. Some of them look well-loved, the edges softened from use, some even slightly bent, as if theyâd been carried around in bags, read and reread countless times.
You flip the book over and read the blurb. Even though you already know the gist of the story from your research, thereâs something about reading the official summary that makes your excitement spike. Itâs exactly what youâve been looking forâan underrated but brilliant story, the kind that feels like a hidden gem. Unable to resist, you take the book with you and settle down at one of the smaller, tucked-away tables. Youâre a slow reader, someone who likes to absorb every word, letting the imagery settle in your mind before moving on. But the moment you turn to the first page and begin reading, youâre immediately pulled in.
The writing is crisp and immersive, the kind that hooks you effortlessly. Within moments, youâre completely lost in the world of the book, eyes darting across the pages, flipping to the next before you even realize it. The characters are compelling, the descriptions vivid, and the dialogue sharp. You can already tell this is going to be one of those stories that sticksâthe kind that lingers in the back of your mind long after youâve finished. Just as you reach a particularly interesting part, your phone buzzes.
You blink, momentarily disoriented before glancing at the screen. Itâs a reminder you set for yourself. Right. You still need to study. A sigh escapes you. As much as you want to keep reading, you know you canât afford to waste too much time. With some reluctance, you close the book and stand up, making your way toward the borrowing counter. You check it out quickly, securing it in your bag, already planning when youâll carve out time to read it between your study sessions. Itâs something to look forward to, at least. And if you had known just who had been the last person to check it out before you, maybe you wouldnât be so eager.
â
The ringer from your Pomodoro timer goes off, its sharp chime cutting through the quiet of your dorm room. With a sigh, you drop your pencil onto your open notebook, rolling your shoulders back as you stretch in your seat, feeling the slight stiffness from hours of hunching over your desk. Lazily glancing at the glowing numbers on your laptop screen, a small grin tugs at the corners of your lips.
Four hours of focused work.
Good. Youâve finally finished studying for the night, trudging through a mountain of tricky concepts and endless equationsâjust enough to ensure youâll keep up with the next few lectures before the actual final exam looms over you. The weight of the work youâve put in settles in a satisfying way, a quiet reassurance that youâre keeping up. Yawning, you grab your phone, thumbing through a few unopened texts, sending half-hearted replies where needed.
Your mind is already half-tuned out, already drifting toward what you actually want to do now that your responsibilities are out of the way for the night. Pushing yourself up from your chair, you shuffle toward your bed, sinking into the softness of your mattress with a pleased sigh. And then, with an eager flicker of excitement, you reach for the borrowed library book resting on your side table, fingers running over the slightly worn edges of the cover.
Finally.
Opening it to the page you had left off, you settle deeper into the blankets, eyes scanning the words slowly, absorbing every detail. The prose is effortless, pulling you into the world woven between the lines. The atmosphere is rich, each description vivid and carefully placed, the characters full of depth. Thereâs a certain feeling you get when a book is just rightâsomething that clicks into place, the rare kind of story that makes the outside world blur at the edges. You donât rush through it.
You savor every word, taking in the dialogue, the intricate details of the setting, the careful unraveling of the plot. Then, just as you shift slightly, readjusting your grip, a small slip of paper flutters from between the pages. You blink, momentarily pulled from the trance of the story, watching as it lands lightly on your blanket.
Frowning, you reach for it, fingers brushing against the slightly yellowed, aged texture of the paper. Itâs rectangular, not quite as thick as a regular bookmark, with neat printed lines running across it in faded ink.
A borrowing card.
You stare at it for a second, a vague memory surfacing. Back during your university orientation in first year, you remember a librarian offhandedly mentioning that some of the older books in the collection still had checkout cards inside them, relics from a time before everything became digitized. But since youâd only ever borrowed course-related booksâones that were constantly replaced with new editionsâyouâd never actually come across one. Huh.Â
Your fingers trace the faded lines as you sit up slightly, eyes scanning the list of names scrawled across itâ
Except⌠there are no names. Just one. Or rather, just a set of initials, written neatly in blue ink
G.S.
The date beside it is from a while ago, though not too long. But the strange thing is, itâs the only entry on the entire card. You blink, flipping it over, checking the back. Nothing. So⌠no one else has borrowed this book? You hesitate, gripping the card a little tighter. Youâre supposed to write your name down now, right? Thatâs how these things work. Itâs a log of borrowers. But then���why had this person only written their initials?
A weird feeling stirs in your chest. Not unease, exactlyâjust something you canât put a name to. Itâs probably nothing. Maybe this book just wasnât that popular. The only reason you found it was because of some obscure online guide, after all. Maybe no one really checked it out over the years, and the one person who did just didnât feel like writing their full name.
Shaking your head, you push the thought aside, grabbing a pen from your nightstand. Without thinking too much about it, you write your own name neatly beneath G.S., along with todayâs date. Then, you tuck the card back into its place and return to your book, letting yourself sink back into the story. A few more pages in, about a quarter of the way through the book, your eyes catch something that makes your brow furrow.
Are those⌠scribbles?
Your annoyance flares up immediately. Who the hell desecrates a library book? Itâs practically sacrilegious. Your fingers tighten slightly around the spine as you bring the book closer to inspect the crime against literature, fully prepared to be enragedâ
Wait.
Theyâre not just random scribbles. Theyâre annotations.
Your irritation dims slightly, curiosity piqued as you squint to make out the neat, slightly slanted cursive handwriting running along the margins. Some words are underlined, a few sentences circled, and in a crisp blue ink, a note is scrawled beside a particularly tense conversation between two characters:
âI can just tell heâs gonna be the one dead first. Heâs overreacting to everything.â
You blink. Then, despite yourself, a small giggle escapes. Becauseâokayâwhoever wrote this isnât wrong. You literally thought the same thing just a few moments ago. As much as you love a good, well-written novel, youâve read enough books in your life to recognise the telltale signs of an early death flag. And this character? Heâs practically begging to be taken out of the story. Your amusement lingers as you scan the page again, eyes flitting to more scribbles running alongside the printed words.
"God, she sounds so insufferable."
You smirk a little at that, suppressing a chuckle.
"I like this lineâthe quote kinda speaks to me."
Your gaze follows the arrow pointing toward a particularly well-crafted piece of dialogue. Huh. You actually like that line too.
"I take the previous statement backâno way did he say that entire motivational monologue just for him to throw his morals aside..."
A small, surprised laugh escapes you. You love when characters do this kind of thingâspend pages waxing poetic about their grand principles, only to completely toss them out the window at the first sign of trouble. Itâs frustrating, but also wildly entertaining, and you find yourself nodding unconsciously in agreement.
You shift slightly, adjusting your grip on the book as your initial annoyance starts to morph into something elseâsomething you donât want to admit is enjoyment. Because as much as you usually hate unnecessary markings in books, these annotations donât feel disruptive.
They feel⌠engaging. Like youâre reading with someone. Itâs a strange feelingâan unexpected, quiet kind of companionship in the margins of the book. You scan ahead, flipping a few pages forward, wondering if this mystery annotatorâG.S., you assumeâhas left their thoughts scattered throughout the entire book.
Oh. They have. Almost every page has at least something scribbled in the margins. Some annotations are sarcastic, others incredulous. A few are simple observations or predictions about the plot, and some are just random, dramatic reactions that make you snort.
"Oh my GOD, just kiss already!"
You huff out an amused breath, shaking your head.
"He is so painfully oblivious itâs almost impressive."
Honestly, you were thinking the same thing. Before you realize it, youâve started reading out loudânot the annotations, but the actual book. Itâs something you do sometimes when youâre alone, when a scene is particularly well-written or emotional. And now, with G.S.âs thoughts scattered alongside the text, it almost feels like youâre having a conversation with them. Like theyâre some ghostly presence in the book, reacting alongside you in real time.
You catch yourself before you say something back to one of the notes.
Which is insane. Because this is just a random personâs handwriting in a library book. And yetâ
You exhale through your nose, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the page. You kind of⌠want to know who they are. Who is G.S.? Because if their annotations are anything to go by, they have the exact same thoughts as you while reading. The same exasperation, the same eye-roll-worthy observations, the same appreciation for the well-crafted lines. And you canât help but wonderâjust who was sitting with this same book in their hands, reading the same words, thinking the same things? Itâs an odd, fleeting curiosity, but you push it aside for now, shaking your head as you turn the page.
You settle deeper into your blankets, the book resting comfortably in your hands as you turn the page. The words on the paper blur slightly in the dim light of your bedside lamp, but you donât mindâyouâre too immersed now, drawn into both the story and the unexpected presence of G.S. in the margins. The next chapter begins, and you take a slow breath before diving in, eyes flicking between the printed text and the handwritten notes.
"Oh, I just know this is going to go terribly."
You glance at the line itâs referencingâa scene where the protagonist makes a bold, arguably reckless decision. Yeah, G.S. is probably right. A few more pages pass. The tension in the book rises, and youâre so absorbed that you nearly miss the next annotation.
"There it is. The classic âstaring at the moon in emotional turmoilâ scene. Authors love this one."
You snort. Okay, but theyâre right. You tilt your head, momentarily pausing your reading to stare at the note. Itâs a little strange, this dynamic youâve somehow fallen into with a complete stranger. You feel like you know them, or at least, their reading habits. Their humor. The way they react to the exact same things that pull at your attention. It's unsettling in a way thatâs not entirely unpleasant. You flip forward, skimming ahead to see if the notes continueâand they do.
"I KNEW IT. I CALLED IT. HEâS A TRAITOR."
You blink, pausing mid-sentence. Your gaze darts back to the text, where a major plot twist has just been revealed. Your mouth parts slightly, rereading the words to make sure youâre seeing them correctly. Damn. You did not see that coming.
You exhale, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Fine. Point to you, G.S. You keep reading, now almost waiting for the next annotation, like itâs a second voice in your head providing commentary as you go. And when the protagonist makes another questionable decisionâ
"Why are men in fiction like this?"
âyou laugh, shaking your head. It continues like that for pages. Every now and then, G.S. 's notes make you chuckle, or nod in agreement, or roll your eyes because come on, that was an obvious metaphor. And as much as you want to be annoyed by the interruptions, you find yourself⌠enjoying it. Maybe even liking it. At some point, you shift your position, getting more comfortable against your pillows, completely absorbed. The words feel alive, and not just the printed ones, but the ones scribbled in blue ink alongside them. Itâs a conversation you never expected to haveâone separated by time, by anonymity, by the unlikelihood of ever knowing who G.S. is. Your fingers brush over the ink of the annotations, slightly faded but still legible. Thinking back to the date listed on the library card from quite a while ago, you wonder if G.S. has even thought about this book since then. Or if theyâve forgotten about it entirely. You stare at the letters for a moment longer before shaking your head, pushing away the odd sensation curling at the back of your mind.
Itâs just a book. Just some random personâs annotations. It doesnât mean anything.
A reminder notification pops up on your phoneâone youâd set earlier to keep your study schedule in check. You sigh. Right. You should get some sleep soon. Reluctantly, you close the book, running your fingers over the cover one last time before placing it on your nightstand. Youâll finish it laterâbetween classes, between assignments, between all the little gaps in your schedule where you can steal a moment to read. And maybe, youâll keep an eye out. Because now, you kind of want to know if G.S. ever came back for this book.
â
By the time your next Physics lecture rolls around, youâve already finished the first book in the series. It had consumed your nights, pulling you in with its immersive world-building and gripping storylineâbut, if you were being honest, the experience had been made infinitely more enjoyable because of the annotations left behind in the margins. The presence of another reader, someone who had walked the same narrative path as you and left breadcrumbs of their thoughts along the way, had made the book feel less like a solitary escape and more like a shared secret. So, naturally, when you stride into class that morning, youâre already prepared to discuss it at length with your friend.
What you arenât prepared for is Gojo Satoru.
Not that you ever are, really. He has a habit of making his presence known, like some self-appointed force of nature existing solely to get under your skin. And today is no differentâhe walks past you with an easy, sauntering gait, the kind thatâs deliberately slow enough to be obnoxious. Thereâs a telltale smirk tugging at his lips, the glint of mischief in his strikingly bright eyes as he leans in, as if heâs about to say something insufferable just to throw off your morning. You pretend not to see him.
Your willful ignorance must be obvious because you hear him scoff under his breath as he passes by, but you donât give him the satisfaction of looking.
Instead, you beeline toward the row where your friend is already seated, setting your bag down with an eager bounce in your step.
âDude,â you start, flipping open your laptop with a flourish, âremember that book I told you about a few weeks back?â Your friend raises a brow. âThe one from that super niche book guide you were raving about?â
âThe very same one,â you confirm, barely able to contain your excitement. âI finally finished it, and oh my god, it was so good. The plot? Phenomenal. The pacing? Perfect. But you know what actually made it even better?âÂ
You donât notice the way Gojo hesitates just as heâs about to settle into the seat behind you. He freezes, fingers hovering above the keyboard of his laptop as his ears zero in on your conversation.
âYou found another book to obsess over?â Your friend teases, but you shake your head fervently.
âNo, no, listen,â you insist, your voice lowering slightly as you lean in, âsomeone left annotations in it.âÂ
Satoruâs fingers twitch.
âYou mean like, study notes?â
âNo! Like, actual thoughtsâcomments, reactions, opinions. And not just boring analytical stuff, either. They were funny. Snarky. They made fun of the characters at the exact moments I wanted to. It was like reading the book with someone, you know?â
A very distinct, yet invisible, sense of dread creeps into Gojoâs chest.
Oh. Oh, shit. The annotations. He had completely forgotten about those. He had scrawled them in the margins ages agoâmostly on a whim, partly out of boredom, and entirely because he physically could not read a book in silence. If there was one thing Gojo Satoru was incapable of, it was shutting the fuck up, even when he was the only audience for his own commentary. So, naturally, when he had found himself enjoying the book way more than expected, he had started treating it like a private conversation with himself, writing down whatever thoughts came to mind.
He never expected anyone to see them. And now, sitting barely a foot away, heâs listening to youâof all peopleâexcitedly gush about his stupid little scribbles, completely oblivious to the fact that the person you were praising, the one whose humor you found entertaining and whose insights you had agreed with, was him. He schools his expression, keeping his head tilted just enough to appear disinterested. But his ears are wide open.
âWhoever wrote those notes,â you continue, flipping your pen between your fingers, âhad some serious opinions. And honestly? I kind of love them. Like, I think we have the same brain.â
Satoru presses his lips together, biting back a grin.
You? Agreeing with him? That was new.Â
Your friend hums. âSo youâre basically having a book club with some anonymous person who read it before you?â You chuckle. âI mean⌠kinda? Itâs weird, but itâs nice in a way. Like, usually when I read, itâs just me and the book. But with the annotations, itâs like thereâs this extra layer of interaction. I get to see how someone else processed the story, how they reacted to the same moments I did.â
Satoru knows he should stop listening. He should. But he doesnât.
Because something about this whole situationâthe fact that you, of all people, had unknowingly connected with him through a bookâhas him equal parts amused and intrigued. You, who always huffed when he teased you. You, who rolled your eyes at his antics, who made a point to ignore him even though he knew you were hyper-aware of his presence.
You had spent nights poring over words he had written in passing. And you had liked them. God, if you knew, youâd probably strangle him on the spot.
âI actually wanna see if this person has read the rest of the series,â you muse, mostly to yourself. âLike, maybe they annotated other books too.âÂ
Satoru exhales through his nose, staring at his laptop screen but not actually registering anything on it. Well. This was going to be interesting.
â
You make your way to the library once again, the first book of the series clutched in your hands, ready to be returned. It feels weird, parting with it. As if youâre saying goodbye to something that had, for the past week, been a quiet companion during your late-night reading sessions. But not to worry, thereâs still like five more books in the series. Your steps slow slightly as you approach the return counter, fingers absently reaching into your bagâs open pocket for a pen. Without much thought, you flip open the book and scrawl the date of return onto the inside of the back cover, where the borrowing card is located. Your thumb absentmindedly drags across the faded blue ink of the initials scrawled in the row above where youâve signed your name.Â
G.S.
Whoever they were, they had made your reading experience infinitely better with their wry, sarcastic observations and strangely thoughtful insights. It was like reading alongside a particularly sharp-witted friendâone who, frustratingly, was just out of reach. Youâre lost in thought, mulling over the mystery of G.S., when you abruptly walk straight into something firm and unmoving. And warm.
Something that smells like sandalwood and fresh linen and something inexplicably, irritatingly familiar.
You barely have time to stagger back before a voiceâdeep, lazy, and dripping with its usual brand of smugnessâdrawls, âMy, my, pretending to walk around with your nose in a book so people think youâre more studious than you actually are?â
Your stomach sinks. You do not have the patience for this right now.
âFuck off, Satoru,â you mutter, not even looking at him as you try to sidestep. Predictably, he moves right in front of you again, blocking your path with that insufferable ease of his. Hands in the pockets of his impeccably tailored slacks, sleeves of a stupidly expensive cashmere sweater pushed up to reveal the sharp line of his wrists and veiny forearms, and his ever-present glasses glinting under the dim library lightsâhe looks as if he owns the place.
His head tilts, white hair falling slightly over his frames as he glances down at the book in your hands. That smileâall teeth and smugnessâspreads across his face like heâs caught you in something scandalous.
âOh? Reading a book that isnât course-related? Scandalous. What happened, got bored of being a try-hard? Or are you just begging to score lower than me on the final?â He exhales dramatically, shaking his head. âTsk, tsk. Not that Iâd expect you to actually be on my level, but itâs cute that you tryââ
You stop listening after that. Normally, youâd throw something equally sharp-tongued back at him, tell him to go get hit by a bus or something equally creative, but youâre too drained to bother. The exhaustion from back-to-back lectures, plus the fact that you havenât eaten anything substantial today, has dulled the sharp edges of your patience. A dull ache pounds at the base of your skull, and every word out of his mouth makes it throb even harder. Your expression must give away more than you intend because, for a split second, Gojo falters.
Itâs quickâbarely there. But you see it.
A flicker of something almost resembling concern flashes behind his glasses, like heâs actually noticed how drained you look. The moment is gone before you can process it. His usual smug expression slides right back into place, and you donât have the energy to care.
âI need to return this,â you say flatly. âGet out of my way.â
Instead of stepping aside like a normal person, he falls into step beside you, hands still lazily stuffed in his pockets. âOh? So now you acknowledge my presence,â he muses, voice light. âWhat, you didnât miss me in class today? I even waited for you to roll your eyes at me like you do every morning. Felt almost lonely without it.â
âI genuinely do not care,â you reply without looking at him. He presses a hand to his chest as if wounded. âOuch. Someoneâs moody today. Low blood sugar? On your period? Brain finally given up trying to keep up with mine?âÂ
You donât dignify that with a response, instead sliding the book into the return pile with a little more force than necessary. Gojo watches, his gaze flickering between you and the book.
âWhat book were you returning, anyway?â The question is so casual, so offhanded, that you almost donât clock it as strange. Almost. You narrow your eyes at him. âDidnât take you for someone interested in my life.â
His lips curl into something unbearably smug. âOh, Iâm not.â He rocks back on his heels, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. âI just like knowing what my rival is up to outside of class. You know, studying your weaknesses. Gathering intel. The usual.âÂ
You stare at him. âYou are so full of shit.â
âI really am,â he agrees cheerfully. You exhale through your nose, patience wearing thinner by the second. âShouldnât you be off somewhere being a general public nuisance?â
âThis is me being a general public nuisance.â He grins. âAnd youâre the lucky victim of the day.â
âGod, I hate you.â
âAww, thatâs cute. But you should be honest with yourself,â he says, following you as you make your way toward the exit. âI think youâd miss me if I suddenly disappeared.â
âAbsolutely not.â
âYou so would.â
âI would thrive in your absence.â
Gojo makes an exaggerated show of wiping away an imaginary tear. âHow cruel. And here I was, thinking we had something special.â
You push open the library doors, stepping out into the crisp afternoon air. Finally, freedom. But, of course, Gojo keeps following you.
ââŚWhy are you still here?â you ask, tiredly. He hums. âDunno. Walking this way.â
âYou donât even know where Iâm going.â
âExactly,â he says, grinning. âA mystery. How exciting.â You consider throwing your bag at him. You settle for walking faster. You quicken your pace, hoping Gojo will get bored and wander off. He doesnât. Of course he doesnât. He easily keeps up with you, long legs making it effortless, his stupid grin never fading.
âWalking faster wonât shake me, you know,â he muses, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. âIf I didnât know any better, Iâd think you enjoy my company.â You donât bother responding, gripping the strap of your bag tighter and staring straight ahead. He walks backward in front of you, head tilted, watching you with an almost lazy amusement. âSo, where are you going? CafĂŠ? Student lounge? Maybe a secret nerd meeting where you all discuss the best highlighters for maximum efficiency?â
You give him a deadpan look. âYes, Satoru. Thatâs exactly what Iâm doing. Weâre all going to sit in a circle and ritually sharpen our pencils while whispering incantations about final exams.â He gasps dramatically. âI knew it. I bet you have a shrine dedicated to good grades too. And, like, a little altar where you sacrifice people who get higher scores than youââ
âI donât need to sacrifice anyone,â you cut in, dryly. âBecause I get the highest scores.â His grin widens. âNot all of them.â
You bristle, and he knows it. You both know that you and Gojo have been locked in a constant academic battle since the semester started. Itâs maddening how often you end up in the top two spots. Even more maddening that he acts like he doesnât even try. You exhale slowly, trying to focus on literally anything else. âIâm going to get food. Why donât you go fuck off somewhere, like, I donât know, ruin someone elseâs day?âÂ
âYou wound me with such crass language,â he says, clutching his chest like you physically struck him. âIâm just being a good friend.â
âYouâre not my friend.â
âWow.â He sighs dramatically, as if genuinely offended. âAll this time weâve spent together, and you still call us enemies? Iâd like to think of us more as⌠frenemies.â
âI would like to think of us as strangers.â
âAnd yet,â he says, smirking, âyou still talk to me.â
You roll your eyes. âOnly because you wonât shut up.âÂ
Gojo shrugs. âDetails.âÂ
By now, youâve reached the campus cafĂŠ. The smell of coffee and freshly baked pastries drifts through the air, making your stomach growl embarrassingly loud. You knew skipping lunch was a bad idea. Gojo hears it, of course.
âOh?â His eyebrows lift, delighted. âWas that your stomach? Should I be worried? Are you dying of starvation? Is this how our rivalry ends?â You ignore him and step inside. The cafĂŠ is buzzing with students, some hunched over laptops, others chatting over coffee. You head straight for the counter, scanning the menu, debating if you should just get something quick and easy or actually sit down for a meal. Gojo, uninvited, leans casually against the counter beside you.
âGetting a drink too?â he asks, peering over your shoulder.
âWhy do you care?â
âMaybe I wanna know what fuels my biggest competition,â he says, tone exaggeratedly thoughtful. âWhatâs the secret? Triple shot espresso? Pure willpower? The tears of your academic rivals?â You give him a look. âYouâre projecting. You probably run on the suffering of others.â
âObviously,â he says easily. âBut I like to mix in a little sugar sometimes. Keeps me balanced and shit.â Youâre about to tell him to go bother someone else when the barista glances up. âNext?â You quickly place your order. Just as youâre about to pull out your wallet, Gojoâs voice rings out:
âIâve got it.â
Your head snaps toward him. âWhat.â
âIâm paying.â You stare at him, genuinely baffled. âWhy?â
He grins. âBecause Iâm so generous, obviously.â You narrow your eyes. âNo, really. Whatâs the catch?â
He puts a hand over his heart, feigning offense. âYou think Iâd trick you? Iâm hurt.â
âYes.â
Gojo just laughs and hands his card to the barista before you can argue further. You glare at him. âThis better not be some elaborate scheme to hold this over my head later.â
âOh, it definitely is,â he says cheerfully. âI plan to bring it up all the time.â
âOf course you do.â Your drinkâ tea to be specificâ is ready a moment later. Begrudgingly, you take it, mumbling, âThanks.â Gojo gasps, eyes wide. âDid you just thank me?â You exhale. âNever mind. I take it back.â
âNo, no, itâs too late, you already said it.â He grins. âYou like me.â
âI hate you.â
âYou adore me.â
âI tolerate you at best.â Gojo sips his drink, looking entirely too pleased with himself. âThatâs basically the same thing.â You groan and turn to leave.
Thankfully he doesnât make the move to follow you this time.
â
Your⌠somewhat friendly interaction with SaâNo, Gojoâwas forgotten by the time the next week rolled around. Not deliberately, of course. But between your physics assignments, math problem sets, and an unrelenting pile of lecture notes to review, your brain had simply discarded the memory. College had a way of pushing everything that wasnât directly necessary for survival to the furthest corners of your mind. Currently, you were in the library, hunched over a thick textbook, your fingers curled into your hair as you skimmed the same paragraph for what felt like the tenth time. Nothing was sticking.
You groaned, tilting your head back against the chair and letting your gaze drift to the high ceilings of the study space. It was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of pages and the rhythmic clicking of laptop keys. Your physics notes sat in front of you, covered in a desperate sprawl of formulas and diagrams, but the more you stared, the more meaningless the symbols became. You needed a break. Your eyes flickered toward the fiction section.
It wouldnât hurt to get another book.
A moment later, you were standing in front of the shelves, fingers tracing the spines as you searched for the second book in the series. It didnât take long to findâit was positioned neatly with the rest of the series, the cover slightly fading due to how long it had probably been there. As you turned to leave, your thumb brushed against the inside cover, where the borrowing card was located.
And there, scrawled in the same faded blue ink as before, were the initials:
G.S.
You paused. Your mystery commentator had been here before you. Again. You traced the letters absentmindedly, your mind flickering back to the first book. Their annotations had been witty, sometimes mocking, but always sharp. You had enjoyed themâmore than you expected.
You flipped to the borrowing card. G.S. had checked out this book multiple times. At least three dates next to their initials. A strange feeling settled in your chest. Who were they? You shook your head, pushing the thought aside as you made your way to the borrowing counter. It doesnât matter. Itâs just some random person. Still, as you returned to your study space, setting the book beside your untouched notes, your fingers itched to open it.
You triedâreally triedâto focus on physics. For maybe ten minutes. Then, with a sigh, you slid your textbook aside and cracked open the novel. This one picked up right where the last had left offâthe protagonist, an ambitious scholar, now forced into an uneasy alliance with a rogue historian, both of them hunting for a long-lost manuscript said to contain the secrets of the universe. Their journey took them through ancient libraries, shadowy alleyways, and grand halls of academia filled with intrigue and suspense that you thoroughly enjoyed.Â
It wasnât long before you noticed the annotations.
"What an idiot. Why would you trust someone who literally betrayed you three chapters ago?" You huffed a quiet laugh. It was scrawled in the margins of a tense conversation between the protagonist and the historian, who had indeed been suspiciously untrustworthy.
Another note, a few pages later: "This argument is painfully dumb. If they just communicated, we wouldnât need three more chapters of tension." You found yourself smiling. Whoever this was, they were blunt, maybe a bit cynical, but entertaining.
Then, another annotation caught your attentionâthis one different. It was scribbled beside a passage where the protagonist was deciphering an ancient mathematical equation, trying to understand the patterns behind the manuscriptâs code. The handwriting was just as casual, but the contentâ
"This is basically just Fourier analysis but dressed up in fancy old-world academia. If the author actually wanted to be accurate, theyâd at least mention waveforms. But nooo, we get poetic nonsense instead."
You blinked. That was⌠oddly specific. And not the kind of thing your average literature enthusiast would comment on. For a fleeting second, you wonderedâ
Does G.S. study physics?
The thought was strange, lingering in the back of your mind even as you continued reading. Minutes turned into hours. Slowly, students trickled out of the library. The rustling of papers faded, the soft murmur of whispered conversations disappearing into the silence of the near-empty study space. You didnât notice.
Not until the overhead lights dimmed slightly, signaling that the library was closing soon. With a sigh, you shut the book, stretching your stiff limbs. Physics could wait a little longer.
â
A few days later, you found yourself in yet another grueling lecture. The classroom was buzzing with low chatter as students filtered in, some sleep-deprived, some over-caffeinated, and most looking like theyâd rather be anywhere else. You were somewhere in the middleâtired but functional, flipping through your notes with half-hearted interest as you tried to prepare yourself for another two-hour session of mathematical physics. You adjusted your laptop screen, took a sip of your tea, and just as you settled in, you felt a presence.
A familiar, irritating presence.Â
âMorning, rival,â Gojo Satoru said cheerfully, dropping into the seat next to you with all the grace of an avalanche. You didnât even look up. âGo away.â
He tsked. âIs that any way to greet your favorite classmate?â
âYouâre not my favorite classmate.â He grinned, propping his chin on one hand.
âDonât lie. Youâd miss me if I wasnât here to make class interesting.â
You ignored him, resolutely staring at your notes. The professor arrived a moment later, quickly settling into the dayâs topicâwave equations and their applications. The discussion meandered through standard examples, Fourier transforms, and the different methods used to break down complex waveforms.
You barely registered the name of the theoryâjust a fleeting recognition of something familiarâbefore you were back to jotting down notes. At first, you were focused, diligently taking notes and absorbing the information. For the first thirty minutes, you managed to avoid paying him any attention. You scribbled down notes, underlined important formulas, and even managed to listen without feeling the urge to slam your head into the desk.
But thenâof courseâGojo had to open his mouth.
âSo, hypothetically,â he mused, voice carrying just enough to be heard by the surrounding students, âif we were to apply this to a broader model, say⌠nonlinear oscillations, wouldnât that meanââ
You immediately frowned. He was already trying to sound smarter than he was.
âThatâs not how that works,â you cut in before the professor could even acknowledge him. Gojo turned to you, looking far too entertained. âYeah, it is.â
âNo, it isnât.â You shifted in your seat, twisting to face him fully. âYou canât just apply Fourier analysis wherever you want and expect the results to be useful. Nonlinear oscillations donât break down the same way because of the introduction of chaotic behaviorââ
âOh, come on,â Gojo scoffed, waving a hand. âItâs not that deep. Sure, chaotic elements make things messier, but that doesnât mean the framework is useless.â
You let out a sharp breath. âIt means the entire assumption of the analysis changes. You canât approximate a nonlinear system with linear components and expect the results to hold upââ
âYou can if you use a perturbative approach,â he countered smoothly.
You almost growled. âA perturbative approach only works when the nonlinear term is small relative to the linear system. If the nonlinearities dominate, your entire model collapses.â
âNot always,â Gojo shot back, shifting in his seat with that insufferable smirk. âIt depends on how well you construct the higher-order termsââ
You threw your hands up. âAt that point, you might as well scrap Fourier analysis entirely and just use a different decomposition method!â A few students had stopped taking notes. Some were watching out of curiosity; others, out of sheer amusement.
Gojo, completely unbothered, shrugged. âBut that wasnât the question, was it? The point is that Fourier methods can still be useful, even if the system isnât perfectly linearââ
You gritted your teeth. âUseful doesnât mean accurate, dumbass.â Gojo gasped dramatically. âDid you just call me a dumbass? Right here? In front of our professor?â
âMaybe I wouldnât have to if you stopped saying objectively incorrect thingsââ
âOh, please,â he drawled, leaning back in his seat. âYouâre just mad because Iâm right.â
Your jaw clenched. âYouâre not right.â
âI am right.â
âNo, youâreââ
A loud cough. You both froze. Slowly, you turned toward the front of the room, where the professor was staring at you both, unamused.
"Would you two care to bring your literary debate outside of my physics class?" You swallowed. Gojo scratched the back of his neck, looking entirely unbothered.
"...No, sir."
"Good," the professor said flatly. "Then kindly stop interrupting the lesson." You resisted the urge to sink into your chair. Gojo, of course, had the audacity to look amused. As the lecture resumed, you shot him a glare.
"This is your fault."Â
He winked. You swore you were going to strangle him one day. As soon as class ended, you were out of your seat, shoving your laptop into your bag with slightly more force than necessary. Behind you, Gojo was taking his sweet time, stretching like he hadnât just spent the past two hours actively making your life worse. âMan,â he sighed dramatically. âThat was a great discussion, donât you think? Nothing like a little intellectual sparring to keep the brain sharpââ
You spun around so fast he almost bumped into you. âDiscussion?â you repeated incredulously. âThat wasnât a discussion, that was you talking out of your ass like usual.â
Gojo placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. âWow. You wound me. You know, I feel like I say that phrase a lot. Would you prefer it if I said thee painfully wrench mine own heart with such careless wordsââ
You rolled your eyes and stormed out of the lecture hall, weaving through the crowd of students. Of course he followed, long strides easily keeping pace with yours. âIâm just saying,â he continued, completely ignoring your clear irritation, âitâs kind of funny how you always shoot me down but never actually prove me wrongââ
Your jaw clenched. âI do prove you wrong. Every time.âÂ
He smirked. âDo you, though?â
âYes!â You turned on your heel, walking backward so you could glare at him properly. âJust because you talk like you know everything doesnât mean you actually doââ
Gojoâs smirk widened. âSo you do think I sound smart.â Your eye twitched.
âThatâs not what I said.â
âSounds like thatâs what you said.â
âGo kill yourself.â
âOnly if you join me, sweets.â
âDonât call me that!â
âWhy, you donât like being called sweets?ââ
You groaned, turning back around and quickening your pace. You werenât going to stand here and let him twist your words into whatever self-indulgent nonsense was brewing in his head. Gojo, naturally, kept up with ease. âYou know, itâs weird how you always get so mad at me. Maybe you should work on that anger problem of yours.â
âOh, I have an anger problem?â You spun around again, narrowing your eyes. âYouâre literally the most aggravating person Iâve ever met.â
âReally?â He tilted his head in mock thought. âI dunno, you seem to get pretty riled up over nothingââ
âYou are nothing.â
Gojo laughed, the sound bright and infuriatingly genuine. âDamn, that was actually kinda good. You been practicing comebacks in the mirror?â
âLeave me alone, for the love of god, before I strangle you, bastardââ
âOooh, kinkyâ.â
Before you could actually commit violence, someone stepped between you. âAlright, enough,â a smooth, tired voice interrupted. You looked up to see Suguru Geto, Gojoâs ever-patient best friend, standing between you with the exasperation of a man who had dealt with this before.
âSatoru,â he said, dragging a hand down his face, âleave her alone.âÂ
Gojo pouted. âBut we were bonding.â
âWe were not bonding,â you snapped. Suguru gave you a knowing look. âAnd you,â he sighed, âstop encouraging him.â
You scoffed. âEncouraging him? Iââ
A hand suddenly clamped down on your shoulder. You glanced up to see your own friend standing beside you, looking just as exasperated as Suguru. âCome on,â she muttered, tugging you away. âWeâre going to lunch before you actually try to kill him.â You didnât resist, only because the temptation was strong. But as you turned to leave, you caught a glimpse of Gojo flashing that stupid, insufferable grin at you.
You stuck your tongue out at him. Gojo only winked again in response. Why did he keep winking at you? It made you wanna puke. You definitely needed lunch. Maybe something very, very spicy.
â
You're sitting in your dorm again, cross-legged on your bed, laptop open in front of you, but your mind is elsewhere. The textbooks and notes are pushed to the side of your desk, proof that at some point you had every intention of being productive tonight. A third empty cup of tea is perched precariously on your nightstand, and the finished second and third books of the series stacked besides your laptop.Â
It had been a slow burn, working your way through them between lectures and study sessions, but now, the empty feeling of finishing a book you enjoyed is settling in. Worse yet, it's late at night, which means you can't borrow the fourth book until tomorrow. The thought alone makes you sigh as you shut your laptop and flop back against the pillows.
You flipped open the third book, fingers brushing over the slightly worn borrowing card tucked inside. The neat, slanted initials âG.S.â were there again, written in blue ink. And just like before, the pages had been marked with the same sharp, and sometimes frustratingly perceptive annotations that had made you laugh, scoff, and evenâon some particularly well-argued pointsâbegrudgingly nod along. Your mind drifts, replaying some of your favorite annotations from the books.
There was the one where G.S. had written, "Oh, he's totally gonna betray them," followed by a later note that read, "I CALLED IT. WHEREâS MY PRIZE?" That one had made you laugh out loud in the middle of the library, earning a few disapproving stares. Another one of your other favorites from the third book had been an annotation scrawled in the margins of a pivotal scene:
âThe irony of this moment is almost painful. She sees herself as the heroine, but the real tragedy is that sheâs just another character in someone elseâs story.â
You had reread that line about five times before closing the book and staring at the ceiling, feeling somewhat existential. Another annotation had been pure sarcasm:
âYes, because when faced with adversity, the best solution is always to run directly into danger. Genius.â That one had also made you laugh out loud in one of the study halls located in some part of your university, earning a weird look from the girl across the hall. But the annotation that had really stuck with youâreally made you pauseâwas in the third book, written in response to a section that delved into the intricacies of time and choice:
âIf you think about it, this entire dilemma can be broken down into a fundamental question of physics. If time is just another dimension, then isnât every choice we make just another coordinate on an already-existing map? So is it really âfree willâ if weâre just tracing a path thatâs already there?â
That one had thrown you for a loop. It was the kind of thought that lingered, weaving its way into quiet moments when you least expected it. And, you hated to admit, it made you thinkâwhoever this person was, they were kind of brilliant.You sighed, snapping the book shut. You needed to get the fourth one. Now. But a quick glance at your phone reminded you that it was almost midnight, and the library had closed hours ago. You groaned, letting your head submerge deeper into the pillows. You grabbed your phone, scrolling mindlessly, until your eyes flicked to the messages her friend had sent earlierârecommendations for movies sheâd been meaning to watch. You scrolled absentmindedly, not really expecting to find anything interesting, until your thumb hovered over one title:
Whisper of the Heart.
Something about the name tugged at your memory. Wasnât this the one with the girl who loved books and a mysterious boy who shared them? On a whim, you pressed play. The soft hum of the opening scene filled the quiet of her dorm, and soon, you were drawn in. The gentle storytelling, the warmth of the animation, the way the main character, Shizuku, slowly became obsessed with the name written in all the books she borrowedâ
Oh. Oh, shit.
Your face grew hot as you sat up straighter, eyes darting to the books stacked beside you. You weren't doing that. Right?
âŚWere you? Because if you really thought about itâif you really thought about itâwerenât you kind of doing the same thing? You buried your face in your hands. This is so embarrassing. And yet, as you peeked between her fingers at the screen, you couldnât help but draw the comparison between Seiji Amasawa and your mysterious, faceless G.S. Seiji had been intriguing, a presence felt long before he actually appeared. Just a name scribbled in books, a person she hadnât met yet but somehow felt connected to. And wasnât that exactly what G.S. was?
You groaned, flopping back onto your bed, kicking your feet against the mattress. âI need to stop,â you mumbled into your pillow, but your shoulders shook with barely contained laughter. It was stupid. This whole thing was stupid. You didnât even know this person. For all you knew, G.S. could be some forty-year-old professor or a girl who just happened to find the same series as you on the niche book guide you were on. And yet, there was this tiny, ridiculous, completely unserious part of you that wanted to believeâ
What if it was some guy? A guy with sharp wit, someone who thought deeply about things most people glossed over, someone who liked this series enough to leave behind thoughts for others to find. A guy whoâ No. Nope. Nope. You were not about to mentally script herself into some shoujo romance anime over marginalia.
But the damage was done. Because now, your brain had latched onto the idea, spinning daydreams faster than you could stop them. Some dramatic, cinematic first meeting. Some passing moment where youâd reach for a book, and a handâslender fingers, ink-stained maybeâwould brush against yours, and youâd look up andâ
You shot up again, shaking your head violently. God, this is pathetic. But even as you scolded herself, you couldnât wipe the stupid little smile off your face. You were allowed to have a little fun, right? Just a tiny bit of harmless romanticising? You collapsed back into the pillows, eyes drifting back to the ceiling as the movie played on. And as Shizukuâs voice echoed through the room, musing about stories, destiny, and the people we stumble upon by chance, you thoughtâjust for a secondâMaybe, maybe, you kind of liked this. The idea of it all. The way life sometimes felt like a story waiting to unfold. Maybe itâs silly, maybe itâs unrealisticâbut right now, in the quiet of your dorm, with the soft glow of your laptop screen and the remnants of Whisper of the Heart playing in the background, you donât really care.
â
Satoru Gojo had always been considered a prodigy. A genius. Someone born with an innate brilliance that set him apart from others. It had been that way since he was a childâwhere other kids had to struggle and study, he breezed through school without breaking a sweat. It wasnât just academics, either. He was quick-witted, sharp, and effortlessly charming in a way that made people gravitate toward him. But when you grow up with everyone expecting greatness from you, it becomes suffocating.Â
So he learned to play the fool.
It started as a maskâbeing overly cheery, always teasing, never taking things too seriously. It was easier that way. No one could see the weight of expectations if he always had a grin on his face. And at some point, the mask became second nature. Satoru Gojo, the carefree, insufferable genius. The only person he could ever drop it around was Suguru. His best friend, the one person who could keep up with him, who understood what it meant to carry something too heavy to put into words. Then, freshman year of university, he saw you.
He had noticed you beforeâhow could he not? You were diligent, meticulous in a way that fascinated him. You always sat at the front of the class, always had color-coded notes, always took everything so seriously. And maybe that was what caught his attention first. You were everything he wasnât. Where he coasted through life, you worked hard for it. And for the first time in a long time, he didnât quite know how to communicate with someone. So he did what he always did. He teased.
âThe perpendicular components of a vector are independent of each other,â youâd answered smoothly, sitting up a little straighter as you prepared to elaborate. âThatâs why we can analyse them separately usingââ
âOhhh, wow,â he cut in, voice dripping with mock wonder. âLook at that. We got a genius in the house.â He had meant it playfully. A joke. But the way your expression hardened, the way your eyes flickered with irritation, made something click in his brain. You didnât like him. And yet, he couldnât stop teasing you. Even when he knew it annoyed you, even when he knew you hated him. Maybe it was because you challenged him. Maybe it was because, for once, someone didnât look at him like he was untouchable. Or maybe it was because he liked you.
Not just because you were prettyâthough you were, infuriatingly soâbut because you were determined. Because you cared about things deeply. Because you fascinated him in a way nothing else did. He found himself watching you more often than he cared to admit. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating, the way your eyes lit up when you finally understood something, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear when you were nervous when results came out. It was all so... endearing.
And maybe thatâs why he finds himself watching you sometimesâwhen youâre scribbling furiously in your notebook, when youâre biting the end of your pen in deep thought, when youâre rolling your eyes at something he says but still, still responding. He watches, because for the first time, someone makes him want to understand more than just equations and theories. And if the only way to keep your attention was by being your rival, then so be it.
â
The next morning, you had a practical class, a hands-on session designed to reinforce the theory youâd been learning. Since it was held in a laboratory, students were sorted into small groups to share lab tables. Unfortunatelyâor fortunately, depending on how you looked at itâyou werenât grouped with Satoru, but by some cruel twist of fate, his group was at the same table as yours. The setup was simple: four students per group, two groups per table.
A long, clean expanse of black lab benches stretched across the room, each one covered with neatly arranged equipment: a set of metal ramps, photogates, a timer, and a set of small carts. Todayâs experiment was a classic: measuring acceleration using a motion sensor. Each group was supposed to release a cart down a ramp and use the photogates to measure velocity changes over time. Simple, right? Satoru, of course, had already started causing trouble before the experiment even began.
âYou know, itâs kinda unfair that I wasnât put in your group,â he mused, leaning against the lab bench with a smirk. âWouldâve been fun watching you pretend to know more than me.â You didnât even look up as you adjusted the height of the ramp, focusing on making sure it was aligned properly. âOh please, Gojo, you wouldâve just copied all my calculations and then taken credit for my hard work.â
âI wouldnât do that,â he said, feigning offense. âIâd let you take, like, fifty percent of the credit.â Your lab partner snorted beside you, shaking their head as they double-checked the photogate placement. Satoru, undeterred, watched as you bent over to place the cart at the starting position. His group was still setting up, which meant he had time to bother you before he actually had to do any work.
âI bet my groupâs results will be more accurate than yours,â he declared. You rolled your eyes, finally sparing him a glance. âYou do know accuracy depends on precision and minimising errors, right? Which meansââ you motioned to his group, where one of them was currently struggling with the timer, ââyour chances of that happening are slim to none.âÂ
Before he could retort, your professor called for everyoneâs attention, signalling the start of the experiment. Both of you fell into your respective tasks, measuring, calculating, and recording values with practiced ease. You got so caught up in fine-tuning your results that Satoru didnât get the chance to throw more taunts your way. That was until, while waiting for your next trial to begin, you turned to your friend beside you, excitement bubbling over.
âOh my god, I finally watched Whisper of the Heart last night,â you gushed, voice dropping into that high-pitched, dreamy tone reserved for things you were completely obsessed with. Your friend gasped, clutching your arm. âStop. You did not.â
âI did.â
âDID YOU CRY?â
âOBVIOUSLY.âÂ
Satoru, who had been focused on adjusting his groupâs ramp, stilled slightly. He knew that movie. More than that, he could predict exactly why you were talking about it. Casually, he glanced over, pretending to check his photogate readings while shamelessly eavesdropping. Your friend squeezed your arm excitedly. âI told you it was perfect. The vibes, the music, the slow-burn romance. Tell me you loved Seiji.â
âOh, I loved Seiji,â you sighed, eyes sparkling. âLike, the way he was so ambitious but still so soft? And the way he believed in her? And the fact that he left little signs for her without even realizing how much theyâd mean?â You could feel yourself getting lost in the emotions of it, and your friend was right there with you, nodding along enthusiastically. âIt was so romantic,â she said dreamily. âThe idea of someone quietly believing in you and pushing you forward. Itâs justââ
âSO good,â you finished for her, and the two of you squealed quietly before catching yourselves and trying to focus again. Then, almost absentmindedly, you added, âHonestly, I feel like Iâm in Whisper of the Heart right now.â Your friend perked up. âHow so?â
You nudged her lightly. âBecause of G.S.â
Satoru, who had been handling the cart for his next trial, fumbled slightly. Your friendâs eyes widened knowingly. âNo way. You mean your G.S.?âÂ
You groaned. âDonât call him that. But yeah. The whole leaving-annotations-in-the-books thing? And how I keep borrowing them? Itâs totally giving Seiji and Shizuku. Like yeah I kinda sound corny right nowââ
âNot really honestly, I get itââ
âExactly! See? I knew I wasnât crazy. Imagine G.S is like Seijiâ scratch that, imagine heâs better, like some sweet, studious, hot book nerdââ
Satoru swallowed, suddenly feeling warm despite the sterile chill of the lab. You thought he was like Seiji? More than that, you thought G.S could perhaps even be better than Seiji? That wasâthat was something.
âAnd next week,â you continued, stretching your arms over your head, âafter I finish studying, Iâm going to borrow the next book.â
Satoru barely heard the rest of the conversation after that. His brain had latched onto one horrifying realisationâ
The last four books werenât annotated. Oh, shit. He hadnât really expected you to grow this attached to his stupid thoughts scribbled on the edges of the frayed pages, hadnât expected you to burn through the series so fast. He completely forgot that he didnât bother annotating the last few books because he had gotten so busy with work. But you had just sat there, eyes sparkling, gushing about his notes like they were some grand romantic mystery. You liked them. You liked his words. Not just the books themselves but the tiny, scribbled thoughts he had left behind. Satoruâs stomach did a weird little flip. It seemed to be doing that a lot every time his nosy ass overheard you talking about his writing.
You really liked his writing. The writing youâd been gushing for about two weeks now. You really found it special. You liked it so much that the thought of continuing the series without it made his chest ache. Because what if you borrowed the next one and found nothing? What if you flipped through the pages, searching for his voice, only to be disappointed? No. No way. That wasnât happening. Initially he had done it as a way to, yâknow, simply yap, maybe desecrate the pages of a book from a library with his oh so superior commentary. But now? He was going to do this for you. Because the way you had talked about Whisper of the Heartâthe way your face had gone soft and dreamy, the way your voice had gotten all excitedâhe wanted that. He wanted to hear you talk about how much you enjoyed the little quips that made their way into his head every time he read something. He wanted to be the reason you spoke like that again. Maybe it was pathetic, but he wantedâ really wanted to once again be the reason why your cheeks slightly went pink when your friend called him yours. Even if they were his initials, they were his, and it insinuated he belonged to you, right?
The second class ended, Satoru bolted. There was no time to waste. He had four books to annotate, and he didnât care if it took him all night. If you wanted G.S., then G.S. was going to be there.
â
Satoru burst into his dorm, heart pounding as he dumped his bag onto the floor. His fingers fumbled with the zipper as he yanked it open, pulling out the four books you were inevitably going to borrow next. He stacked them on his desk, staring at them like they were some kind of urgent missionâbecause they were. You liked his notes. You liked his notes. That thought alone sent a weird, warm feeling blooming in his chest. He flopped into his chair, running a hand through his hair as he exhaled sharply. This wasnât just about keeping up the act anymore. It wasnât about maintaining the mystery of G.S. or feeding into some casual curiosity you had. No, this was about you. About the way your eyes lit up when you talked about the books. The way you had called himâunknowingly, of courseâyour own Seiji. The way you were so excited to continue the series, fully expecting to find more of his little thoughts nestled between the pages. He wasnât going to let you down.
Satoru grabbed the first book off the stack and flipped it open, his pen poised over the margins. He scribbled his initials in the borrowing card in the same blue ink that he always usedâ he always thought the blueness of the ink was much better than any other pen colour out there. Before he started reading, he did this in all the library cards, and made sure that the date corresponded to the previous datesâ so you wouldnât think it was suspicious that the last remaining books were all borrowed on the same day. He then started readingânot just skimming, but really reading, more carefully than he ever had before. Thankfully he did remember the plot of the first three books, so catching up with what was going on wasnât too hard. Every sentence was weighed, every line considered. What would make you pause? What would make you smile?
When he hit a particularly poetic passage, he underlined it and wrote in the margin: Bet whoever is reading thisâ I just know this made your heart do that stupid fluttery thing.
He smirked to himself. If only you knew.Â
A few pages later, he found a scene with the protagonist staring out a train window, deep in thought. The description was vivid, full of melancholic longing. He tapped the pen against his lips before jotting down: Ever feel like this? Just existing, watching life happen? He could already imagine you reading it, tilting your head slightly, considering his words. Would you reply in your head? Would you wonder what kind of person wrote something like that? The thought of it sent a thrill through him, and he leaned in closer, more invested than ever. Hours passed, but he barely noticed. The desk lamp cast a warm glow over the pages as he worked, annotating with a mix of teasing, sincerity, and the occasional cryptic remark just to mess with you. In the fifth book of the series, there was a passage about finding comfort in routineâabout how little, familiar things could feel like home. He thought back to all the times during your early morning classes, how youâd bring a steaming thermos filled with a tea of some kind, something to sip on while you reviewed the lecture slides before the professor started the lecture. The half cold tea in that same thermos, heâd seen you nursing it outside the exam hall before a midterm while your eyes furiously scanned your meticulous, colour coded notes. Satoru probably guessed that it was a habit of yoursâ to have a warm comforting drink while you readâ lecture notes, physics textbooks, or fiction.
He hesitated for a second before writing: Hope anyone who ever reads this is reading this with a warm drink. Tea, in my opinion, is the best kind of beverage to drink while reading a book series like this.Â
Would you pause when you read that? Would you glance around, suddenly hyper-aware that maybe G.S knew you? That someone had been paying attention? Or maybe youâd think heâs just like you? The thought sent a rush of satisfaction through him. By the time he reached the second last book, his hand was cramping, but he didnât care. He stretched briefly before diving back in. This one had more banter between the characters, something he knew you loved. He played into it, adding sarcastic commentary in the margins. When the heroine had a particularly dramatic internal monologue, he scribbled: Relax, youâre not in a soap opera.
And a few pages later: Actually, never mind, maybe you are.
He could already hear your reaction. The annoyed little huff, the way youâd roll your eyes but secretly love it. You always did have a tendency to refute things first, only to realise you enjoyed them later. Heâd sometimes see it in the way when youâd roll your eyes or let out a disapproving noise at Satoru plainly criticising one of the professors under his breath during a lectureâ but Satoruâs eyes were sharp, he never missed the smallest twitch of your lips as soon as youâd finished your melodramatics. The last book was the longest, and by then, the city outside his window had gone quiet. His dorm was dim except for the glow of his lamp, and his body was buzzing with a mix of exhaustion and excitement. He was too far in now, too absorbed in the thought of you reading all of this soon. This book had a recurring theme about missed chancesâabout words left unsaid and moments that could have changed everything if only someone had spoken up. It hit a little too close to home, but he didnât let himself dwell on that. Instead, he carefully underlined a sentence: Sometimes, we donât realise what we mean to someone until itâs too late.
Beneath it, he wrote: I hope this never applies to yĚśoĚśuĚś whoever is reading this.
And thenâ and then he wrote another little thing, but it felt a bit too intimate, a bit too revealing so he neatly crossed it out. His pen hovered over the page for a moment. That was the most honest thing he had written all night. Satoru exhaled, rubbing his eyes before sitting back, staring at the stack of books now filled with his thoughts. He had done it. You wouldnât get a single blank page. Youâd find him in every single one.
â
Satoru strolled across campus with a tote bag slung over his shoulder, weighed down by four thick novels. The booksânow thoroughly marked up, pages lined with his messy scrawlâfelt heavier than they should have, but maybe that was just him. Heâd spent the entire night annotating them, barely stopping to eat, sleep, or think about anything that wasnât you reading his words. Now, all he had to do was return them before you got to the library. He wasnât about to let you see him checking them in like some lovesick idiot. He carefully managed to place them back on the shelf after scanning them as âunborrowedâ. He was a few steps from the library doors when someone rounded the corner, and before he could reactâ
Bam. The collision wasnât hard, just enough to jostle him off balance, and he barely had time to reach out and steady you before you could stumble back. âDamn, could at least pretend to watch where youâre going,â he drawled, glancing down at you with a smirk. âOr do you just like running into me?â
You scoffed, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. âYeah, I totally planned that. Just desperate to bump into you of all people.â
âOh, come on,â he teased, stepping aside so you could walk past him. âIf you wanted an excuse to see me, you couldâve just said so.â You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. âPlease. Iâm actually on my way to the library, unlike some people who just loiter around.â
His grip on his tote bag tightened for half a second, but he kept his expression easy, unreadable. âLibrary, huh?â
âYeah,â you said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. âI finished this book from a series Iâm actually enjoying, so I figured Iâd borrow the next one today.â You didnât even know why you told him that, but you figured it was an improvement from the usual bickering you two always had going on. He hummed, nodding slowly. âOh, okay. WellâŚâ He took a step back, flashing a lazy grin. âHave fun with that.â You narrowed your eyes at him. âWhy do you sound weird?â
âI always sound weird.â
âYeah, but more than usual.âÂ
Satoru shrugged. âDunno what youâre talking about.â You stared at him suspiciously for another second before shaking your head. âWhatever.â And with that, you pushed past him, making your way toward the library doors. Satoru watched you go, fighting the smug grin threatening to take over his face. He could already picture itâthe way youâd flip through the pages, expecting plain text, only to find the familiar, scrawled handwriting in the margins. He wondered if youâd smile. If youâd talk about it again the way you had in class. He shook his head to himself, finally turning away. Yeah. He was so in trouble.
â
You settled into your usual spot at the campus cafĂŠ, tucking yourself into the corner by the window with the newly borrowed books. Yes, books. Not a book. You figured that if there were just four more books left in the series, youâd just borrow them now, instead of continuing the annoying walk from your dorm or lecture rooms to the library. The familiar scent of aged paper and coffee beans wrapped around you, grounding you in your routine.
With your drink beside you and your phone silenced, you flipped the fourth book open, eager to dive in. You didnât even bother to check the borrowing card this time, neither had you written your own name in it yet, heart beating a little faster as you childishly hoped that the familiar cursive scrawls were still present in the weathered pages. You had barely made it past the first few pages when your eyes caught something in the margins next to one of the more romantic lines.
Bet whoever is reading thisâ I just know this made your heart do that stupid fluttery thing. You blinked. Your stomach did an odd little flip, completely unprovoked. Honestly speaking, your heart did that little flip more in regards to the familiar blue handwriting rather than the line on the page. You knew exactly whose handwriting that was.Â
G.S. had struck again. A slow smile pulled at your lips as you traced the ink with your fingertip. You had gotten so used to these notes, the little jokes, the occasional deep thoughts, that it almost felt like a conversation now. Like you werenât reading alone, but with someone who understood exactly what youâd linger on, what youâd pause to appreciate. And yet⌠something about this one felt slightly different. You glanced at the ink again. It looked a little⌠darker? Not as faded as some of the earlier notes in the series.
You frowned slightly but shook the thought away. Maybe it was just your imagination. You kept reading. A few pages later, the protagonist stared out of a train window, lost in thought. The description was melancholic, vivid, and all too relatable.
Ever feel like this? Just existing, watching life happen? You exhaled sharply through your nose. Yeah, you thought. All the damn time. You tapped your fingers against the table, feeling that same strange connection as before. Whoever G.S. was, they had a way of making their presence knownânot just through the words they chose to underline, but in the little thoughts they left behind, the questions they posed, the moments they chose to comment on. It was like they could hear your thoughts before you even formed them, like they knew exactly where your mind would linger on the page.
The sun dipped lower outside the arched windows of the campus cafĂŠ, casting long shadows across the floor as golden light pooled over the tables. The afternoon crowd had begun to thin, students trickling out one by one, their conversations fading into the hum of the espresso machine and the occasional clatter of cups behind the counter. The once-busy space was quieter now, more intimate, like the world had momentarily shrunk down to just you and the book in your hands. You traced the ink of the latest annotation with your thumb, barely skimming the words but feeling them all the same. It was a strange thingâto be so affected by someone you had never even met. Had you met them? The question pressed at the edges of your mind, unspoken yet persistent. The specificity of some of these notes, the way they seemed to know youâit made your stomach flip in a way you werenât quite sure how to name.
You glanced at the cafĂŠ entrance, as if expecting to see someone standing there, watching you, waiting to see your reaction. But no one lingered. Just the usual stragglersâpeople buried in their own work, in their own stories. Still, the feeling remained. With a quiet exhale, you pulled your focus back to the page and turned it, sinking further into the book. The story continued, but now, each annotation felt like something more. Like a conversation waiting to happen. And by the time you could hear the cicadas chirping outside, you had successfully finished the fourth book.
â
Your luck today had been astoundingly awful. The first sign was your hairâa complete disaster from the moment you woke up. Brushing it down did nothing. Water made it worse. Mousse? A grave mistake. You finally resorted to tying it up, accepting defeat. Then came the sharp pain on your forehead, a telltale sign of a forming pimple, because of course your skin had decided to betray you too. But the true betrayal came from your kettle, which, after years of faithful service, had chosen this morning to stop working. No tea. No caffeine. No hope. And now? Now, as if the universe hadnât already tested you enough, you were seated next to Gojo Satoru, his chair pushed obnoxiously close, his long legs stretching out under the desk like he owned the place. His expression was insufferably smug, like he had personally orchestrated all of this just to get under your skin.
Have you ever mentioned that you shared more than one class with Gojo? Sure, you were both in the same physics course, but once again, your luck with picking extra subjects was nothing short of terrible. Thatâs how you ended up in psychologyâa field that couldnât be further from the world of physics you were so deeply immersed in. You had figured it would be a nice change, to explore a different kind of science.Â
Unfortunately, a certain white haired freak seemed to share the same thought process.Â
You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms. âWeâre not choosing your dumb topic.â Gojo gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. âExcuse you, my brilliant topic.â
âYou want to write about the psychology of humor.â
âExactly! Itâs fascinating.â He grinned. âWhat makes something funny? Why do people laugh? Why am I so naturally hilarious?â You pinched the bridge of your nose. âWeâre in a psychology class, Gojo, not a stand-up workshop.â
âAnd yet, humor is deeply psychological.â He leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. âMaybe if you had a better sense of humor, youâd agree with me.â You scowled. âI have a perfectly fine sense of humor.â
âSure you do,â he teased, âin the same way a brick has mobility.â Your jaw clenched. âIâm not doing a research paper on why people laugh.â
âAnd Iâm not doing one on cognitive dissonance,â he shot back, drumming his fingers against the desk. âItâs been done to death.â
âItâs interesting,â you argued. âIt actually ties into real-world behavior.â
âSo does humor.â You stared him down. He stared right back, his lips curving just slightly, like he was having the time of his life getting you riled up.
A muscle in your jaw twitched. âRock, paper, scissors?â
Gojo snorted. âWhat are we, five?â You held out a fist. He sighed, then did the same.
Rock, paper, scissors, shoot. Your scissors to his rock. Your eye twitched. His grin was downright gleeful. âLooks like weâre writing about humor.â
âYou are insufferable.â
âIâm a visionary,â he corrected, stretching his arms behind his head. âYouâll thank me when we get a great grade.â You grumbled something under your breath, flipping open your notebook to at least try and plan the assignment. You werenât about to let him ruin your GPA over jokes. But Gojo wasnât looking at the notebook. He wasnât even thinking about the project anymore. His gaze lingered on the way a few wisps of hair had escaped your ponytail, framing your face. He wasnât used to seeing your hair tied backâit made your features more striking, somehow. It made him notice the little things, like the way your brow creased when you were annoyed, or the way your lips pursed slightly when you were trying really hard not to snap at him. And it was funny. All morning, youâd been looking at him like he was a headache, while he⌠well. Heâd be lying if he said he wasnât kind of enjoying himself. He propped his chin in his palm, watching you jot something down in your notebook.
âYou know,â he mused, âfor someone whoâs so against my topic, you sure do make me laugh a lot.â You shot him a suspicious look. âWhat is that supposed to mean?â
Gojo smirked. âJust an observation.â You scoffed. âAn annoyance is not the same thing as amusement.â
âTell that to your cognitive dissonance.â You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, something distracted you. A shift in the air, a fleeting scentâsomething clean and warm, like cedar and the lingering spice of cologne. You blinked. You didnât know why you noticed it now, of all times, but the way he smelled was⌠oddly pleasant. You shook it off, focusing on your notes again. Only, now you were very aware of other things, tooâlike the fact that his hand, resting casually on the desk, was a lot bigger than yours. His fingers were long, his knuckles prominent, and his nails were annoyingly well-groomed for someone who clearly put zero effort into most things. You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to refocus. Itâs just Gojo, you told yourself. Heâs just being annoying. As usual. Iâm probably ovulating or something. Gojo, meanwhile, had caught the way your eyes flickered over to him, how you quickly looked away after.
He tilted his head. âSomething on your mind?â
âYeah,â you muttered, deadpan. âHow fast I can finish this project so I donât have to deal with you.â Gojo chuckled, and despite yourself, you felt the sound of itâlow and amused, like he found you far too entertaining. âOh, sweets,â Gojo drawled, his voice lilting with amusement, âno way in hell am I gonna let you finish this project fast enough to escape me. Câmon, in our three beautiful years of rivalry, youâve never once tried to get to know meââ
âLetâs just start the project,â you cut him off, already pulling out your stationery and notebook, flipping to a fresh page with more force than necessary. You barely resisted the urge to groan at the topic glaring back at you. Humour. Ugh.
Gojo, of course, noticed immediately. He didnât even have to tryâhe just always noticed things. The way your lips pressed into a thin line, how your fingers fidgeted with the cap of your pen, how your shoulders tensed slightly, like you were already resigning yourself to suffering through an assignment you hated. His smirk fadedâjust a little. And then, before he could think about it too hard, he sighed.
âYou know what?â he said, nudging his notebook aside. âScrew it. Letâs do your topic.â
You blinked, pen hovering mid-air. âWhat?â
âYou heard me,â he said, waving a hand. âCognitive dissonance, weird little psychology experiments, all that jazz. Itâs fine.â
Your eyes narrowed. âThis feels like a trick.â
âWow, you think that low of me?,â he said, clutching his chest in mock betrayal. âI am capable of compromise, you know.â
You gave him a flat look. âSince when?â
Gojo rolled his eyes but didnât argue. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk, watching you with a lazy kind of curiosity.
âSeriously, though. If you hate my topic that much, letâs just do yours. No big deal.â
You stared at him, suspicious. Gojo Satoru? Giving up? It felt wrong.
âWait,â you said suddenly, narrowing your eyes further. âWhatâs the catch?â
âThereâs no catch,â he insisted, but the way he said it, all breezy and casual, made you even more suspicious.
â⌠You want me to owe you a favor, donât you?â
He gasped, scandalised. âSweets, I would never manipulate you like that.â
You scoffed. âYou absolutely would.â
âOkay, yeah, I would,â he admitted easily, grinning. âBut this isnât that.â
You hesitated, drumming your fingers against the notebook. Then, you exhaled, shaking your head. âNo. Weâll do humor.â
Now he was the one taken aback. âHuh?â
âI donât want to hear you complain about how boring cognitive dissonance is for the next two weeks,â you said, scribbling down a rough outline. âAnd youâre actually interested in humor, so weâll get it done faster.â
Gojo just stared at you, like he couldnât quite believe what he was hearing.
âHold on. Youâre giving in?â
âDonât make it weird.â
âOh, Iâm definitely making it weird.â His grin was slow, teasing, like he had just won something. âThis is, like, a historic moment. I should get it framed.â
âGojo.â
âI mean, imagine if people knewââ
âGojo.â
ââthat you actually care about my interests? That youâgaspâwant to make me happy?â You kicked him under the desk.
âOw!â He laughed, rubbing his shin. âThat was uncalled for.â
âYou deserved it.â
âBut really,â he said, still grinning, âthis is kinda nice.â
You quirked a brow. âWhat is?â
He shrugged, tilting his head. âUsually, weâre arguing for ourselves. This is the first time weâve argued over, like, whatâs better for the other person.â Your lips parted slightly. You hadnât thought about it like that. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, absurdly, a little laugh slipped out of you. Just a small one, but it was enough to make Gojoâs eyes flicker with amusement. And before you knew it, he was laughing, too. It wasnât even that funny, but somehow, the realisation of how ridiculous this entire thing had beenâbickering for fifteen minutes over who should get their way only to insist on the oppositeâhad you both quietly shaking with laughter in the middle of the library.
âOkay, okay,â you finally said, breathless. âLetâs get this outline done before we completely fail this class.â
âIâd never fail,â Gojo said, flipping open his notebook. âIâm naturally brilliant.â
âYou would if I werenât here keeping you on track.â
He grinned. âSee? You like being my partner.â You rolled your eyes, but as you both started drafting the project together, something about thisâabout working with him, actually workingâfelt⌠nice. And even though he was still Gojo, still distracting, still annoying, still insufferably smug, for once, he didnât feel like an opponent. He just felt like Satoru. Not Gojo, but Satoru. Of course, the moment things got too productive, he ruined it.
âYâknow,â he mused, leaning back in his chair, âI am gonna make sure our humor project includes at least one joke at your expense.â
You deadpanned. âThen Iâm making sure our references include an article on the psychological effects of annoying classmates.â
Gojo gasped. âI would love to read that.â
You smacked his arm with your notebook. And, as usual, he just laughed. You two managed to get a lot of the work doneâ not just a solid outline of your project, but the finer details too. Gojo suddenly shoved his chair back, standing up so abruptly that you startled. âI need to do something,â he announced, brushing imaginary dust off his clothes. You frowned, confused. âWhat? Where are you going?â
âJust wait here,â he said, already turning on his heel. Your brows furrowed. âWaitâwhat? Gojoââ
âJust wait!â he called over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway. You stared at the empty space where he had been, utterly bewildered. What the hell was that about? For a moment, you debated packing up your stuff and leaving just to be petty, but curiosity got the better of you. Huffing, you tapped your pen against your notebook, drumming your fingers impatiently. Three minutes passed. Then five. Thenâ
Gojo reappeared, striding back toward your table with an obnoxiously triumphant grin. In one hand, he held two drinks, in the other, a small paper bag. He set them down in front of you like he was presenting some kind of grand prize.
You stared. â... What is this?â
âSnacks,â he said, like it was obvious. âI see that,â you said, eyeing the drinks. One was clearly milk teaâyours, probablyâbut the other was some sugary monstrosity topped with whipped cream, which was obviously his. âBut why?â
âWell, weâve been working,â he said easily, plopping back into his seat. âFigured we deserved a break.â You blinked, then looked down at the tea again. It smelled⌠exactly how you usually ordered it.
Suspicion prickled at you. âDid youâdid you get this on purpose?âÂ
Gojo took a sip of his own drink, unbothered. âYeah?âÂ
Your eyes narrowed. âHow do you even know what I drink?â
Gojo shrugged. âDunno. Guess I just noticed that one time when I ended up paying for it.â
You paused. The thought of Gojo Satoru noticing anything about youâremembering how you liked your tea, going out of his way to get it without even askingâmade your brain short-circuit for a second. You werenât sure what to do with that information, so you just focused on unrolling the top of the pastry bag, peering inside. There were two croissantsâone chocolate, one plain.
â⌠Okay, but the pastries?â
âI didnât know what you liked, so I got both.â You squinted at him. âThat doesnât make any sense.â He smirked. âSure it does. If you like chocolate, I got it right. If you donât, more for me.â You stared at him, then at the pastries, then back at him.
âUnbelievable,â you muttered, shaking your head.
âUnbelievably thoughtful?â he supplied.
âUnbelievably annoying.â
Gojo grinned. âThat too.â Rolling your eyes, you took the chocolate croissant anyway, breaking off a piece. The tea was still warm when you took a sip, and you hated that it was perfectâhated that Gojo Satoru of all people had somehow memorized exactly how you liked it. He propped his elbow on the table, chin resting in his hand as he watched you. âYâknow, for someone whoâs been roasting me for the last five minutes, you seem to be enjoying that a lot.â
You shot him a look. âDonât push it.â He only laughed, reaching for his own pastry. âNo promises.â
â
Over the next week, you and Gojo fell into an oddly stable rhythm. It wasnât immediateânothing with Gojo ever wasâbut slowly, the sharp edges of your interactions dulled. The bickering still happened, but it felt different, less like clashing swords and more like an inside joke neither of you wanted to drop. Your study sessions were always in the same corner of the library, where Gojo insisted on pushing the limits of how far back he could tilt his chair before it inevitably crashed to the floor.
(âGojo, if you fall and crack your head open, Iâm not calling an ambulance.â
âNah, you totally would.â
âI wouldnât.â
âYes, you would, sweets. You like me too much to let me die like that.â)
Youâd grumble and go back to your notes, but a traitorous part of you was starting to find his antics almost⌠endearing. Your actual progress on the project was steady. It surprised youâGojo mightâve been infuriating, but when he actually focused, he was sharp. He had a way of cutting through useless information, pinpointing the most interesting angle on a subject, making connections you hadnât considered. Begrudgingly, you kind of understood why he was always neck to neck with you in grades.
(âSo, humor as a psychological coping mechanism?â
âMhm.â
âAnd you want to include self-deprecating humor as a subsection?â
âWell, yeah,â he said, twirling a pen between his fingers. âItâs like, prime material.â
âYou literally never make fun of yourself.â
âI make fun of myself all the time.â
You scoffed. âOh, really?â
He smirked. âYeah. I mean, look at meâsix-foot-three, gorgeous, built like a godâmy life is so hard, yâknow?â
You stared at him. âThat was not self-deprecating.â
âNo?â He shrugged, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach do something weird. âMaybe I just want you to compliment me.â
You threw a balled-up piece of paper at his head.)Â
There were⌠moments. Small, fleeting things you didnât know what to do with. Like the time your pen rolled off the table and he picked it up, spinning it between his fingers before handing it back to you, and you noticedâreally noticedâhow big his hands were. Or how, sometimes, when he was reading something on your laptop, heâd lean in too close, and youâd catch the faint scent of his cologneâfresh, clean, but with something warm underneath. You ignored these things. Obviously.Â
But then came the gym. You were only there because you needed to de-stress. The project had been long, your classes demanding, and you just wanted to move your body and clear your head. You werenât expecting to see him there. At first, you didnât even realize it was Gojo. You were just filling your water bottle, minding your business, when your gaze flickered to the squat rack and landed on a very tall, very shirtless figure. And then your brain short-circuited. Because it was Gojo.
And Gojo wasâ
Built.
Like, really built. You had known he was tall. You had known he was in shape. But knowing and seeing were two different things. His usual oversized hoodies and button-ups had hidden the fact that his entire torso was carved like a damn statue. Broad shoulders, lean muscle, a defined chest, abs for days andâ
Your gaze dropped lower.
âHappy trail. Something inside you malfunctioned. Because, okay, fine, sureâobjectively speaking, Gojo Satoru was attractive. You had always known that. But this? This was different. This was some kind of cruel joke. This was the universe personally handing you a vision of a half-naked Gojo and saying, Hey, enjoy struggling with this one! You were staring. Oh, god, you were staring. You needed to leave. You were about to spin on your heel and get the hell out of there, but that was when he noticed you. His gaze locked onto yours in the mirror, and something slow and amused curled across his lips.
âYo,â he called, turning around fully now, like he knew exactly what he was doing. You were so close to pretending you hadnât heard him, but there were only so many places to run. You forced yourself to walk over, as if this was normal, as if your brain hadnât just imploded from seeing Gojo Satoru shirtless. âYou work out?â he asked, wiping sweat off his forehead with a towel, and you hated that even that was distracting.
âYes, Gojo, I work out,â you said flatly, crossing your arms. He grinned. âHuh. Never wouldâve guessed.â You narrowed your eyes. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â He just shrugged, all easy confidence and knowing smirks. âYou donât exactly look like the gym type, sweets.â
âBecause I donât look like I can deadlift a hundred kilos?â you shot back.Â
He tilted his head. âCan you?â
â⌠No.âÂ
He laughed, tossing the towel over his shoulder. âThen I rest my case.â You scowled. âYouâre annoying.â
âAnd youâre staring,â he quipped, and your breath caught in your throat. Your face heated. âIâI am not.â His smirk deepened. âSure you arenât.â
You clenched your jaw, trying to school your expression into something neutral. You refused to let him know he was right. But as you turned on your heel and all but stomped to another part of the gym, you could still feel his gaze on you. And the worst part? You didnât hate it.Â
The next day, you almost considered canceling your study session. Not because you were avoiding Gojo. Obviously. You were just busy. Lots of work. Essays. Big academic responsibilities. But you werenât a coward. (And okay, fine, maybe a tiny part of you was curious to see if things would be normal again. Not that things were weird, butâwell. Whatever.) When you arrived at the library, Gojo was already there, feet kicked up on the chair across from him, lazily flipping through his notes.
âLook who decided to show up,â he said without looking up. You dropped your bag onto the table with a little more force than necessary. âShut up.â He smirked. âFeisty today, huh?â You ignored him, pulling out your laptop. âDid you actually get any work done?â
He held up a single, crumpled page.Â
You groaned. âGojo.â
âHey, hey,â he said, leaning forward, âin my defense, I was busy yesterday.â You knew exactly what he was referencing. You refused to react. Instead, you snatched the page from his hands. âWeâre never finishing this at this rate.âÂ
Gojo leaned on his hand, watching you with a lazy smile. âMaybe I just like dragging this out so I can keep seeing you.â
Your fingers twitched around your pen.
He was messing with you. Obviously. That was what he did. But it was getting harder and harder to pretend you didnât notice the way his gaze lingered sometimes. Or the way your stomach dipped when he said things like that. You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus. âWeâre getting this done today, whether you like it or not.â
âBossy,â he murmured, still watching you. You gave him a look. And then you got to work. And as much as you hated to admit it, your study sessions with Gojo had started to feel⌠comfortable. It was weird. In some ways, nothing had changedâyou still bickered, still teased, still rolled your eyes at each other every five minutes. But there was something different underneath it now, something you couldnât quite name. And you werenât sure you wanted to. Not yet.
â
The lecture hall was packed, the dull hum of students settling in filling the air as you pulled out your notes. Todayâs topic was something about fluid dynamicsânot that you were paying too much attention. Mostly because you were tired. And, maybe, because there was a certain someone sitting behind you. You donât know when or why it had startedâ maybe it was the fact that youâd, well, always been deprived of male attention (since you were hyper focused on academics instead. Those men wonât bring you scholarships, but your GPA will!), or the fact that you had seen him multiple times in the past weeks without feeling the urge to rip his head off, or maybe you actually were ovulating, you hadnât checked your cycle on your period tracking app yet but it was likelyâ
You had been doing your best to ignore it, to ignore him, but Gojo had a way of making his presence known. Even when he wasnât doing anything, you were now even more hyper aware of himâthe occasional shift of his chair, the absentminded tapping of his pen against the desk, the quiet sighs of boredom that you knew were dramatic. And then, just as you were finally starting to concentrate, you felt it. A presence leaning in behind you, the faintest brush of breath against your ear.
âSweets,â Gojo whispered, his voice low, teasing.
Your whole body went rigid. âWhat,â you hissed, barely moving your lips, keeping your eyes trained on the professor at the front of the room.
âThereâs a fatal flaw in this lecture,â he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. You refused to turn around. âGojo, I swearââ
âI mean, really,â he continued, like you hadnât spoken, âhow can they expect us to focus on physics when youâre sitting right in front of me?â Your grip on your pen tightened. Your face was definitely heating up. Slowly, finally, you turned your head just enough to glare at him. âAre you seriously flirting with me in the middle of a lecture on fluid dynamics?â
Gojo grinned, chin resting on his palm, looking utterly unrepentant. âIâm not flirting. Iâm just⌠yâknow⌠testing like behaviourism, or whatever.â
You inhaled sharply, willing yourself not to react. Noticing your silence, his smirk grew.
âOr,â he whispered, tilting his head, âis the idea of me flirting with you not so bad?â Your brain short-circuited for half a second. Then you turned back around, focusing very hard on your notes, pretending you hadnât heard him, pretending your heart wasnât doing something very annoying in your chest. Behind you, Gojo chuckled softly, and you could feel his smirk.
You hated him. You hated him. Nah, you didnât. You just⌠now mildly disliked him.
â
By the time the physics final rolled around, your life had been reduced to a frantic cycle of cramming formulas, flipping through notes, and barely surviving on caffeine. The psychology project with Gojo had taken up way more time than you expectedânot just because of the work itself, but because of him. His constant presence, his insufferable teasing, the way he somehow made long study sessions more bearable with his antics. It was irritatingly easy to fall into a rhythm with him, and by the time youâd turned in your joint paper, you were too mentally exhausted to even think about anything else. Which was probably why you forgot about book five. When you finally let yourself have a break, that you found it tucked away in your bag.
The sight of it sent a flicker of guilt through your chestâyouâd been so eager to read it, and then you just⌠hadnât. You curled up by the window, the campus cafĂŠ bustling quietly in the background, warm drink in hand as you flipped open the book. This one was slightly smaller than the other ones in terms of lengthâ youâd be able to finish it in an hour or so. The familiarity of the prose was comforting, like stepping back into a world you knew well. And then, right beside a passage about finding comfort in the little thingsâthe warmth of a cup of tea, the quiet joy of returning to a familiar bookâwas an annotation.
Hope anyone who ever reads this is reading this with a warm drink. Tea, in my opinion, is the best kind of beverage to drink while reading a book series like this.
Your breath caught in your throat.
Okay. That was⌠oddly specific.
A chillânot unpleasant, but strangeâcrept up your spine. It wasnât just the words themselves, but the fact that G.S. knew this about you. It was as if theyâd noticed your habit of your love of tea. But it was probably a coincidence. I mean, tea is enjoyed by millions of people in the world, right? You exhaled slowly, shaking the feeling off as you flipped a few more pages. The wittiness of the quips grew, and you eagerly read through each one with heightened interest. In about forty five minutes, you had managed to finish the fifth book with ease. Since you had some free time to spare, you started on the second last book.
The first note you came across was pure sarcasm, scrawled beside a particularly dramatic inner monologue from the protagonist.
Relax, youâre not in a soap opera.
And a few pages later: Actually, never mind, maybe you are.
You huffed a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes. The teasing was familiar, familiar enough to imbue a sense of relaxation in you. The annotations drew you in, the ink curling across the margins like whispered thoughts meant just for you. It was easy to imagine G.S. sitting beside you, their presence warm and familiar, flipping through the pages with quiet amusement. Someone who knew exactly which passages would make you pause, who understood the way certain lines lingered in your mind long after youâd read them.
Your fingers traced over the words they had left behind, and for a moment, you let yourself daydream. You imagined meeting themâG.S., whoever they were. The two of you sitting in some hidden corner of a library, books stacked high around you, the world outside fading away. Maybe their voice was soft, thoughtful, the kind that made you want to lean in a little closer. Maybe they smiled when you argued about a particular passage, when you pointed out something theyâd written in the margins.
Maybe they would look at you like you were something worth understanding.
The thought sent a strange warmth curling through your chest. It was silly, this little fantasy, but you let yourself indulge in it anyway. And that was when your brain betrayed you.
For a brief, horrifying moment, the faceless idea of G.S. wasnât faceless anymore. The image of Gojo flashed into your mind, unbidden and unwanted. But it wasnât just him reading beside you, wasnât just him scrawling out these notes with his long, annoyingly pretty fingers.
It was him kissing you.
Gojoâs lips brushing against yours, lazy and confident, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand sliding up your spine, the heat of him pressing against you, that teasing voice of his murmuring something you wouldnât quite catchâ
Your entire body froze.
No.
No, no, no.
You tried to shake it off, tried to focus on the book in front of you, but the words blurred together, unreadable. Your mind was stuck, caught on the vividness of the thought that had just invaded it.
Gojo.
Not just Gojo sitting across from you, running his mouth like he always did. Not just Gojo tossing a wadded-up paper at your head or poking at the end of your pen when you were trying to write. Noâyour brain had conjured up something else entirely. Gojo leaning in too close, his breath warm against your lips. The weight of his hand pressing into the small of your back, fingertips splayed across your lower back, your waist, your sides. The slow, unhurried way he would kiss youâbecause of course heâd be like that, because he was always so damn self-assured. Because he never did anything halfway.
And worseâworseâyou could almost hear him. That stupid teasing voice, low and amused, murmuring something between kisses, something only meant for you. Your fingers twitched, and you slammed the book shut.
No. Nope. Not happening.
Your pulse was erratic, your skin burning like youâd been caught doing something you shouldnât. You blinked rapidly, as if that alone could erase the thought from existence, but the sensation lingered, the imagined heat of him refusing to dissipate. It was just stress. Thatâs all it was. You were exhausted, overworked, and had spent way too much time in Gojoâs orbit lately. Of course your brain was short-circuiting. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to reopen the book. Back to reality. Back to G.S.Â
Back to anything that wasnât Gojo Satoru and the absurd, fleeting idea of what kissing him might feel like.
â
Gojoâs deep voice cut through your thoughts, pulling you back into the present as he tapped the end of his pen against the open physics textbook in front of you both.
âAnd thenâare you even listening to me?â You blinked, realizing youâd been zoning out. âYeahâyeah,â you mumbled, scrambling for something relevant to say. âProfessor Takeda can be an ass sometimes, even if heâs awesome at teaching.â Gojo grinned, apparently satisfied with your response, and continued yapping as he absentmindedly worked through some small equations on the paper in front of you both. His handwriting was quick and fluid, annoyingly neat for someone who acted like he never took anything seriously.
You didnât quite know how it had happened, but after the two of you had finally submitted the psychology project, something between you shifted. It wasnât spoken aloud, wasnât even acknowledged outright, but it was thereâan unspoken understanding. You still bickered, still argued over trivial things, but there was something else now too. A companionship. A quiet, reluctant camaraderie that neither of you had actively sought out but somehow settled into with surprising ease. And now, you were in the library with him, ironically revising for the upcoming physics final, less than a week away. You werenât sure when he had become your unofficial study partner, but here he was, scribbling down formulas as he complained about Takedaâs obsession with fluid dynamics.
âYouâre still struggling with Bernoulliâs principle?â you teased, shifting your chair slightly to get a better look at his notes.Â
âStruggling is a strong word,â he said, twirling his pen between his fingers. âI prefer âstrategically choosing to ignore it until I absolutely have to care.ââ
You scoffed, but before you could argue, your eyes landed on the book beside your bagâthe sixth book in the series youâd been slowly working through, the second-to-last one before the finale. You had completely forgotten about it. You were pretty sure you had hit the maximum borrowing period, and at this rate, you were lucky the library hadnât sent you an overdue notice.
âI need to go return this,â you muttered, grabbing the book and standing up.
Gojo glanced at it, tilting his head slightly. âThat again?â
You blinked at him. âWhat?â
âThat series,â he clarified, nodding towards the book in your hand. âYouâve been reading it forever. Whatâs the deal?â You hesitated for a moment, not really sure why you felt the sudden urge to explain, but then the words slipped out before you could stop them.
âI⌠I donât know. Itâs comforting, I guess,â you admitted. âItâs one of those series that just sticks with you, you know? And itâs not just the storyâitâs the annotations.â
Gojo raised an eyebrow. âAnnotations?â
You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. âYeah. Someone else read these books before me, and they wrote all these little notes in the margins. Some of them are funny, some are insightful, some are just straight-up teasingâbut they make the whole experience feel⌠shared, I guess.â For once, Gojo didnât say anything. He just listened, head tilted, watching you with an expression you couldnât quite decipher.
You coughed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. âAnyway, I should go return this.â You turned before he could say anything else and made your way to the libraryâs return sectionâonly to find the drop-off shelves completely blocked off with construction tape. A small sign informed students that book returns had to be made manually at the front desk. With a sigh, you made your way to the librarianâs desk. She smiled at you as you set the book down.
âReturning this?â she asked, flipping open the cover to check the borrowing card.
âYeah,â you said, nodding. She hummed, scanning the barcode. âYou know, someone else borrowed this whole series a while back.â
No way.
No way, no way, no way.
Is this how you were going to finally find out who the faceless stranger you had grown attached to was? Your heart skipped a beat. You forced yourself to keep your voice casual.Â
âOh? Can you recall who?âÂ
She paused, tapping her chin as if trying to recall. âGive me a moment dear. Heâs a maleâŚabout the same age as you, actually. Well I think he might be the same age as you. Hmm, he was tall, quite tall, had this head of brilliant white hair, and glasses. His eyes were startlingly blue too. I canât remember his name but you twoâd get along, he seemed very interested in these series too!â She chuckled, taking the book from you to store it under one of the accompanying shelves.
Your blood ran cold.
She continued, oblivious to your internal panic. âHad this little keychain on his bag too. It tinkled a lot when he came in to borrow the books.â Your mind flashed back to the small jingling sound of Gojoâs keychainâ a digimon one. The one that always made a tiny noise whenever he slung his bag over his shoulder. Oh my god.
Your grip tightened on the desk. âRight. Thanks.â
Somehow, miraculously, you managed to return the book without your hands shaking. But the moment you turned away, the weight of the realization slammed into you like a tidal wave. Your breath hitched, your vision tunneled slightly, and for a second, you werenât sure if your legs would carry you back to the table.
Gojo.
Gojo was G.S.
The knowledge settled in your bones with a dizzying clarity, making the library around you feel unreal, like you were wading through a dream you couldnât wake up from. The notes, the teasing comments, the underlined passagesâit had all been him. The same Gojo Satoru who drove you insane with his arrogance, who somehow wormed his way into your study sessions, who made physics revision bearable with his endless chatter. And he had never said a word about it. By the time you reached the table, your emotions were tangled beyond recognitionâembarrassment, frustration, something dangerously close to hurt. You dropped into your seat, a little too forcefully, the noise drawing his attention.
Gojo barely glanced up from his notes. âYou okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.â
You swallowed, pulse thrumming against your ribs. Your fingers curled into fists against your lap. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something sharp, something that could cut you open if you werenât careful.
âItâs you,â you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
He finally met your gaze, his pen stilling against the page. For a secondâjust a secondâthere was nothing but blankness in his expression, as if he truly didnât understand what you meant. But then, recognition flickered in those bright, unreadable eyes. And slowly, like he had been waiting for this exact moment, he grinned.
âTook you long enough.â
A sharp breath escaped you, like the wind had been knocked from your lungs. Something twisted in your chest. He knew. He had known. You exhaled shakily, trying to hold onto your composure, but your voice wavered when you spoke again. âYouââ You swallowed hard. âYou knew it was me reading those books, and you justââ
He didnât deny it. Didnât even try. You hated the way he was looking at you, like this was funny, like this was just some game he had been playing all along. Like he had been waiting for you to connect the dots, to put the pieces together while he sat back and watched. Something inside you cracked.
âYou were just messing with me.â The words came out quiet, but there was something raw beneath them, something unsteady. âThatâs what this was, right? Just another one of your games?â
For the first time, his smirk faltered.
âThatâs notââ
But you didnât let him finish.
You stood up too fast, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. A few heads turned, students shooting you mildly annoyed glances, but you couldnât bring yourself to care. You felt like the library was closing in around you, like you needed to get out before you drowned under the weight of it all.
âForget it,â you muttered, voice tight. You grabbed your bag, barely able to look at him. âIâll see you in class.â And before he could stop youâbefore he could say something that might make you stayâyou turned on your heel and walked out of the library. Your pulse roared in your ears, your face burned with humiliation, and your heartâGod, your heart was a tangled, aching mess you werenât ready to unravel yet.
â
You didnât talk to Gojo for three days. Not once. Not in class, not in the library, not even in passing. If he was in a group conversation, you found an excuse to leave. If he tried to sit next to you, you conveniently needed to be somewhere else. And if you caught even a glimpse of him from across campus, you turned in the opposite direction before he could call your name. It wasnât out of pettiness. At least, you didnât think so.
You were hurt.
The weight of it had settled deep in your chest, a slow, heavy ache that didnât fade no matter how much you tried to distract yourself. You felt stupid, looking back at all those late nights spent tracing the loops of G.S.âs handwriting, at the way you had let yourself get caught up in the fantasy of someoneâsomeone you thought understood you. Someone who had felt just as deeply about those books as you had. And the whole time, it had been him.
Had he just been laughing at you? Watching you get wrapped up in his words, in him, while he sat back and waited for you to figure it out? Had it all just been some kind of joke? You didnât know what answer would hurt more. Gojo, however, wasnât making your avoidance easy.
He noticed, of course. The first day, he seemed ashamed. You saw it in the way he frowned when you brushed past him after class, in the way his gaze lingered when you sat on the opposite end of the library instead of your usual table.
The second day, he got annoyed.
âAre you serious right now?â he had muttered when you blatantly ignored him outside the lecture hall, your fingers tightening around your books as you sped up. By the third day, his frustration had given way to something elseâsomething quieter, something bordering on concern.
He caught your wrist as you passed him in the hallway that morning, his grip loose enough for you to pull away if you wanted.
âHey,â he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. âAre weâ?â He hesitated. âDid Iâ?â
You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in years, you saw itâuncertainty.
Gojo Satoru was scared. But you werenât ready to talk. Not yet. So you shook him off and kept walking.
He let you go. For the rest of the day, you tried to pretend like it didnât feel like a mistake. That night, unable to sleep, you reached for the last book in the seriesâthe one you had borrowed before you found out. You had been meaning to return it. The thought of flipping through those pages again felt wrong after everything that had happened. But something about the weight of it in your hands made you pause. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you curled up in bed and opened to the first page.
And read.
At first, it was mechanical. You skimmed. Skipped paragraphs. Let your eyes pass over the words without really taking them in. But thenâsomewhere along the wayâyou found yourself slowing down. The story was familiar, but it felt different now. The annotations were there, just like before. The same small, thoughtful notes in the margins. The same underlined passages, the same occasional sarcastic remark scribbled beside overly dramatic monologues.
And it still felt intimate.
Your chest ached. Gojoâs handwriting had always been a little messy, but now, you could hear his voice in it. The playful quips, the teasing corrections, the occasional rambling thoughts that trailed off mid-sentence. He hadnât just read these books. He had shared them. With you. But it wasnât until you reached the end of the book that you froze.
A note, scrawled beneath a passage about missed chances. About how sometimes, you donât realise what someone means to you until itâs too late.
To whoever is reading this, I⌠really hope that this never applies to you.Â
And then, right underneath it, you spot a small sentence. Your eyes narrow as you lean in, catching the faint blue ink beneath the initials G.S., nearly lost beneath the hurried strike-through. Itâs messy, almost like he had written it in a rush, then panicked and scratched it out before anyone could see. The ink is slightly smudged, the letters not quite as crisp as they should be. But you can still read it.
TĚśoĚś yĚśoĚśuĚś, IĚś hĚśoĚśpĚśeĚś IĚś dĚśoĚśnĚśâĚśtĚś mĚśiĚśsĚśsĚś tĚśhĚśeĚś cĚśhĚśaĚśnĚścĚśeĚś tĚśoĚś tĚśeĚślĚślĚś yĚśoĚśuĚś hĚśoĚśwĚś mĚśuĚścĚśhĚś IĚś rĚśeĚśaĚślĚślĚśyĚś, rĚśeĚśaĚślĚślĚśyĚś lĚśiĚśkĚśeĚś yĚśoĚśuĚś.
Your breath catches. The frustration twisting in your chest falters, cracking under the weight of what youâre seeing. This wasnât just about G.S. This wasnât just about some stupid rivalry, some elaborate, long-running inside joke only he was in on. He had liked you.
All along.
The truth of it presses against your ribs, turning your anger into something elseâsomething hot and unbearable and aching. Because of course Gojo Satoru wouldnât have just let you take that book without noticing. Of course he wouldnât have just been some faceless mystery behind the initials. He had been right there, all this time. Watching. Waiting. Never saying a damn thing. You press your lips together, gripping the book tighter, torn between wanting to shove it in his stupidly smug face and the overwhelming realization that thisâthis whole thingâhad never been a game to him.
Not really. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the page, heart pounding. You should be mad. You are mad.
But now? Now you donât know what to do with the way your chest is clenching, your stomach twisting, the words replaying in your head over and over again. He really, really liked you. And he had been too much of an idiot to say it.
It wasnât just a game. It never had been. Your fingers curled around the edge of the page, heart hammering against your ribs. And in that moment, without a second thoughtâ
You didnât hesitate.
You barely registered slipping on your shoes, grabbing your jacket, heading across campus toward the dormitories. Your pulse roared in your ears as you climbed the stairs, the weight of the book heavy in your bag. You remembered the way heâd joked about it onceâhow it was almost too easy to find his dorm because the boysâ rooms were stacked directly above the girlsâ.
("Itâs like fate, babe," heâd drawled, slinging an arm over your shoulders. "Youâre literally sleeping right below me."
"Donât say it like that," youâd deadpanned, shoving him off.
Heâd only grinned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "What? Itâs true. If you ever get lonely, just know Iâm right thereâ" he pointed up dramatically "âin room sixty-nine."
Youâd groaned at that. "Of course itâs sixty-nine."
"Oh, absolutely." His smirk had been positively insufferable. "The universe practically insisted on it.â)
And now, here you were. Standing in front of his stupid door, his stupid room number glaring at you, mocking you, reminding you of how easily he had wormed his way into your life. You knocked. There was a pause. Thenâfootsteps. The door cracked open, and Gojo blinked down at you, disheveled, his glasses slightly askew. He was in a hoodie and sweatpants, and for once, he looked genuinely caught off guard.
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â he whispered sharply. âWhat if the dean catches you? Itâs past curfew.â
You ignored him. âExplain.â
Gojo stared at you. Then, with a sigh, he opened the door wider and let you in. His dorm was surprisingly neat, save for a few open textbooks on his desk. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling before leaning against the edge of his bed.
âYou want an explanation?â Gojo muttered, rubbing his temple as if trying to collect his thoughts. His voice was uncharacteristically hoarse, lacking its usual teasing lilt. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before meeting your gaze.
âFine.â
And thenâsomething shifted in his expression. That raw, unguarded look returned, cracking through the facade of the cocky, untouchable Gojo Satoru.
âI liked you this entire time.â
Your breath caught. His words were quiet, but they landed like a stone in your chest, sending ripples through every assumption you had made about the past few months. Noâlonger than that. Yes, you had gathered from that scribbled annotation that he had liked you, but hearing it was different from reading it. The weight of what he was saying pressed down on you, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breathe. He swallowed, his Adamâs apple bobbing. His gaze flickered away for a second, like he was considering taking it back, like he was still terrified of saying it out loud. But then, with a short breath, he pressed forward.
âIââ He licked his lips, shaking his head slightly. âWhen I overheard you talking about the books, about G.S., I thought⌠I donât know. At first, it was funny.â He let out a weak laugh, but there was no humor in it. âYou, of all people, getting caught up in my annotations.â
A pang of hurt flared in your chest at that, but Gojoâs face twisted almost immediately, like he regretted saying it that way.
âI donât mean it like that,â he murmured. âI just meanââ He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. âYou always had this way of looking at me, like you had me all figured out. Like you already knew what kind of person I was. And I guess⌠part of me thought it was funny that I got to be something different in your head for once.â
Your fingers curled at your sides. You werenât sure how to respond to that, but Gojo wasnât done. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he wasnât sure what to do with his hands. His eyes darted back to you, searching, waiting for you to interrupt, to tell him he was ridiculous. When you didnât, he exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was bracing himself.
âBut it wasnât just the books,â he admitted, voice quieter now. âIt wasnât just some joke to me.â His lips pressed together for a moment before he continued. âBecause the truth is, Iââ He hesitated, then finally met your eyes again, his own brimming with something raw and unguarded. âIâve liked you since freshman year.â
The air between you shifted. Your fingers curled at your sides as his confession settled in. You wanted to say somethingâanythingâbut all you could do was stare at him, pulse pounding in your ears.
He let out a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. âYeah. Long time, huh?â His voice was softer now, tinged with something almost self-conscious. âIt sounds stupid when I say it out loud. But I did. I do.â
Your mouth felt dry. âSince freshman year?â
His lips twitched, like he wasnât sure if he should smile. âYeah.â
Your mind reeled. Freshman year. That meant before the rivalry, before the teasing had turned sharp, before you had convinced yourself that he was just some cocky, insufferable show-off who loved to push your buttons. Before you had started believing he only saw you as an opponent to one-up. Gojo sighed, dropping his head back slightly, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at you. âYou remember that first day of class?â
You blinked. âWhere we had to introduce each other to the class?â
He nodded. âYou were wearing that stupid oversized sweater that practically swallowed you, and you kept tugging at the sleeves like you wanted to disappear. I justâ at first I thought you were just so cuteâ His lips quirked slightly at the memory. âAnd then you opened your mouth when we argued for the first time in classâ remember? When you answered that question on vector components and I poked fun at you or something, and when you responded back to me, you had this⌠fire in you. You wouldnât let me get a single word in edgewise, like you had something to prove.â
His expression softened, something unbearably fond flickering in his gaze. âAnd I just remember thinkingâshit.â
Your breath hitched.
âI wasnât supposed to like you,â he murmured, like it was a confession he had never meant to say out loud. âBut I did. And when we started arguing all the time, when it turned into this whole thing between us, I thoughtâfine. If I couldnât have you the way I wanted, then Iâd settle for getting under your skin.â He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. âAnd trust me, I tried to stop thinking about it. About you. But I couldnât. And then you started borrowing those books, and it was likeââ He exhaled sharply, like he didnât even know how to put it into words. You swallowed hard, heart hammering.Â
All this time.
Every argument, every smug grin, every lingering glance across the roomâhe had liked you this entire time.
âBut then you kept reading them.â His voice had softened, like he was talking to himself now as much as to you. âYou kept flipping through those pages, talking about how much you liked G.Sâ and god, who am I to deny you when you speak like that? When you speak like that about my thoughts, my feelings, spilled onto the pages of those stupid books? And suddenly, I was waiting for you to borrow the next book. Waiting to see which parts youâd pause on, which annotations youâd react to. Waiting to hear what youâd say about G.S. So Iââ
He exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his hoodie.
ââ I borrowed the remaining four books or so. I annotated every last one of them, annotated them so maybe, maybe Iâd get to hear that gorgeous voice of yours talking about it in class again. Iâd get to see that giddy smile when youâd refer to me as your Seiji Amasawa again. As your G.S. And honestly, it was worth the entirety of the long night I spent, just so Iâd see you fucking smile throughout the day and snap less at me because G.S. wrote something that made you think he was similar to youâ because in reality, with the way you viewed meâ entirely my fault by the wayâ it would never be possible.â He took a deep breath after saying that.
âAnd I realisedââ He paused, just for a second, like he needed to steady himself. âI liked it. I liked you. Not that I didnât already like you, butâ but I was falling. Like really deep.â
Something inside you twisted painfully. Your lips parted, but you couldnât force out a response. You had spent the past three days agonizing over the idea that he had been toying with you, that this had all been some elaborate joke, but thisâthis was different. This was Gojo Satoru, stripped of his usual bravado, laying his feelings bare in a way that felt like it might physically hurt him.
âThen why didnât you tell me?â you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Gojo let out a sharp, humorless laugh. He looked away, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. âBecause Iâm an idiot?â he said dryly. Then, quieter, âBecause Iâm Gojo Satoru, and I figured youâd never take me seriously?â
Your chest tightened at that.
Before you could process that, he spoke again.
âI know I was arrogant. I know I still am arrogant,â he muttered, his lips curling bitterly. âI push too hard. Iâm too much. I act like I know everything, and maybe I do most of the time, butââ He swallowed thickly. âThose annotations⌠they were the only time you ever saw me.â His voice had dropped lower now, almost vulnerable, and something about it made your pulse stutter.
âNot the dumbass you argue with in class. Not the rich kid with the perfect grades. Not the guy who has to prove heâs the smartest person in the room.â He let out a slow breath. âJust⌠me.âÂ
The silence between you stretched, thick and charged.
Gojoâs hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles going white. He looked like he was bracing for impact, like he had just thrown every last piece of himself at your feet and was waiting to see if youâd step on them. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for him.
Thenâ
You stepped forward. Gojo stilled the moment your fingers brushed against his hoodie, his breath catching in his throat. He stood up, towering over you, an unfamiliar glint in his cerulean eyes. You hesitated, your fingertips barely grazing the fabric before curling into it, fisting it lightly like you needed something solid to hold onto. His whole body went tense under your touch, his usual easy confidence absent now, replaced with something far more uncertainâfar more vulnerable.
âYou really are an idiot,â you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath against the space between you. His lips twitched, like he wanted to smirk, wanted to tease, wanted to be Gojoâbut he didnât. Instead, he just let out a shaky breath. âYeah?â
You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against his hoodie. âYeah.âÂ
The word hung in the air between you, weighty and full of something neither of you had the strength to name. And thenâbefore you could second-guess yourself, before doubt could creep inâyou surged up onto your toes and kissed him. Gojo made a startled sound against your lips, his whole body going rigid for half a second, like he couldnât quite believe what was happening. But thenâslowly, desperatelyâhe melted into it. His hands found your face, cupping it with a tenderness that made your heart twist. His palms were warm, his grip firm, like he was terrified youâd slip away, like he needed you to know this wasnât a joke to him. That it had never been. He kissed you like a man making up for lost timeâdeep, searching, like he had been waiting for this moment far longer than even you had realized. When he tilted his head, his lips pressing more firmly against yours, you felt itâall of it.
Every unspoken word. Every missed chance. Every moment that had teetered on the edge of this but never quite fallen. His fingers slid into your hair, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek, like he was memorising the way you felt beneath him. Your heart was a wild, unsteady thing in your chest, thundering against your ribs as you pressed yourself closer, your hands sliding up from his hoodie to clutch at his shoulders. Gojo let out a quiet, almost desperate sigh against your lips, like he had been holding back for so long that finally getting to kiss you was unraveling him.
And maybe it was.
Because as much as you had spent the past few days convincing yourself that this had all been a game to him, thisâthe way he was holding you, the way his fingers trembled just slightly against your skinâtold a different story. Gojo Satoru didnât play games with things that mattered. And youâsomehow, impossiblyâmattered. When you pulled back, slightly breathless, Gojo just stared at you, like he couldnât quite believe you were real.
Then, slowly, he grinned. âSo,â he murmured, his thumb tracing your cheek. âDoes this mean Iâm forgiven?â
You rolled your eyes, but you didnât step away. âDonât push it.â Gojo laughed, bright and real, before pulling you back into his arms.
âGod, do you know how beautiful you fuckinâ are? It drives me insane,â he mutters, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His breath is warm against your lips before he swoops down, capturing your mouth with his own again, his large hands grounding themselves against your waist as if heâs afraid you might slip away.
You giggle against his lips, trying to push him off, but he refuses to budge. âS-Satoruâwait!â Your protest is muffled, barely audible between the kisses he keeps stealing, his lips soft but insistent against yours.Â
He lets out a quiet, needy sound, almost a whimper, his grip tightening on your hips. âShut up,â he murmurs breathlessly, squeezing lightly at your waist as if that alone will silence you. âBeen waiting to kiss this pretty mouth for sooo fuckinâ long⌠Let me get my fill, yeah?â You barely have time to respond before his tongue swipes across the seam of your lips, coaxing them open. The second you allow him in, he kisses you deeplyâdesperatelyâhis tongue sliding against yours, tasting, claiming. The soft little noises you make against him seem to spur him on, his fingers pressing firmly into your sides as he tugs you even closer. His legs bump against the edge of the bed, steadying you between his parted thighs, and the world around you fades, leaving only the two of you tangled up in each other.
A surprised squeak leaves your lips when his thumbs slip just beneath your shirt, brushing against your bare skin. His hands are cold, the contrast against your warmth sending a jolt of electricity through you. He laughsâa quiet, smug chuckleâand then the bastard has the audacity to bite your bottom lip in amusement. âShh,â he teases, lips brushing against yours. âDonât wanna get caught sneakinâ into my dorm after hours, do you?â
Before you can even process a response, his hands move to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifts you off the ground with ease. A gasp leaves your lips, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he manoeuvres you to the bed. He turns smoothly, lowering you down onto the mattress before climbing over you, his movements slow, deliberate, eager. And this time, you donât hesitate. Your hands fist the front of his hoodie, yanking him down in a clumsy rush to kiss him again, your breath mingling with his as your noses bump. His glasses shift slightly from the movement, and with an annoyed huff, he pulls them off, setting them aside carefully before his gaze returns to youâhungry. His mouth is back on yours in an instant, moving with a mixture of urgency and something softer, something deeper. His lips trail from yours to your jaw, to the delicate skin of your neck, to the dip of your collarboneâhis hands following the path his lips leave behind, fingers toying with the fabric of your open jacket. He pushes it off your shoulders tentatively, almost testing, waiting for you to stop him.
You donât.
A pleased hum vibrates against your throat as his confidence grows, his hands sliding over your arms, your waist, memorizing the shape of you beneath him. Your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him impossibly closer, like you could mold yourself against him if you just tried hard enough. The kiss is more than just the heat of the moment. Itâs more than just the weeksâmonthsâof built-up tension. Itâs the culmination of years of frustration, of stolen glances, of biting words laced with something deeper neither of you had wanted to acknowledge until now.
And maybe, maybe, itâs also the weight of finally realisingâfully understandingâthat the only person who had ever been able to keep up with you, to challenge you, to drive you absolutely insane, yet make you feel like this⌠was him. Satoru groans against your skin, nipping at your neck as his hands slip beneath your shirt, his fingers splaying across your waist. But even in the heat of the moment, heâs calculated. His lips map out a path of possessive little marks just below your collarboneâplaces that can be covered easily. Even now, heâs thinking things through. Your breath hitches when his fingertips skim the skin of your hips again, this time firmer, testing. Your cheeks burn, and the words slip out before you can stop them.
âYou canâyou can take it off.âÂ
Satoru goes very, very still. You swear you can feel the exact moment he processes what youâve just said, the exact moment he realizes that you mean it. His hands tighten slightly against you, his breath coming out a little shakier than before. And for once, for onceâhe doesnât have some cocky remark ready to go. Because this? This is real. And for the first time, Gojo Satoru doesnât want to ruin it with a joke. He gently tugs your shirt up and over your head, eyes eyeing the new expanse of skin that has just been made available to him.
âMy gorgeous girlâŚâ
He whispers out, before heâs back to lavishing your skin with attention, paying close attention to your breasts, lips lovingly, reverently moving across your skin with gentleness you hadnât thought possible by him. You donât know what possesses you, but something suddenly clicks and shyly, you unclasp your bra, leaving your entire upper half bare, making Satoruâs breath hitch. And then, in a moment that takes you completely by surprise, he does something that makes your heart both melt and swellâif that was even possible.
Because instead of his usual teasing, instead of his cocky grin or some flirtatious remark that would make you roll your eyes, Satoru simply looks at you. Really looks at you. His intense blue eyes donât dart downward like you half-expected, donât darken with some unchecked hunger. Instead, they stay locked onto yours, unwavering, all traces of playfulness and impulsive need fading away. What replaces them is something quieterâsomething gentler. A tenderness that makes your breath catch, your chest tighten.Â
Satoru, who always had a joke ready. Satoru, who always teased and never took anything too seriously. Satoru, who could have had anyone but had spent years bothering you insteadâstaring at you now like you were something fragile, something precious, something he wasnât sure he deserved to touch. His throat bobs as he swallows, and then, carefully, softly, he speaks.
âAre you sure you wanna⌠do this?â His voice is quieter now, laced with something that sounds an awful lot like uncertainty. Like heâs terrified of ruining whatever this is. âIâm notâpressuring you or anything, am I?â His fingers twitch slightly at his sides before he hesitantly lifts a hand, reaching out toward youânot to pull you in, not to take what youâve offered, but to tuck a few strands of your hair away from your face. His touch is featherlight, barely there, but it sends warmth spreading across your skin.
âI justââ He exhales, gaze flickering between your eyes, searching, as if trying to read your thoughts. âI donât want you to feel like you have to. If me kissing you made you think you needed to⌠yâknow, do anything moreâthen Iâm sorry.â The words leave his lips like a confession, like the idea of you feeling obligated to be with him hurts him. And thatâthat simple factâmakes something inside you ache. Because Gojo Satoru, for all his arrogance, for all his relentless teasing and larger-than-life presence, was standing before you now with uncertainty in his eyes. Not because he didnât want thisâGod, did he want thisâbut because he needed to be sure that you did too. For a moment, you just stare at him, your heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your fingertips.
Because this isnât how you thought this moment would go. Not with himânot with Gojo Satoru. You had braced yourself for teasing, for him to say something infuriatingly smug, to grin like he had won some long-fought battle. But instead, he was looking at you with quiet hesitation, with care. With something that felt like love. Your throat tightens.
âSatoru.â His nameâ his first name, not Gojoâ leaves your lips in a breath, barely above a whisper. His handsâso sure and confident only moments agoâremain frozen where they rest against your sides, like heâs afraid that if he moves, youâll change your mind.
âI want this,â you say, and you make sure there is no room for doubt in your voice. Your fingers curl around the fabric of his hoodie, grounding yourself in the feel of him. âIâm not saying it just because you kissed me, or because I think I have to. I want this.â His lips part slightly, but no words come out. His grip on you tightens just a fraction, like heâs trying to make sure youâre real.
You take a breath, steadying yourself, because you need him to understandâreally understand.Â
âIâve wanted this for longer than I want to admit,â you confess, a nervous laugh bubbling up in your throat. Your fingers flex where they rest against his chest, feeling the steady thud-thud-thud of his heart beneath your palm. Heâs warm, impossibly so, like heâs radiating heat just for you. âAnd it scares me, Satoru. You scare me.â His brows furrow, the corners of his mouth dipping slightly downward. âScare you?â
You nod. âBecause you make me feel things I donât know how to deal with. You drive me crazy. You make me want to strangle you half the time, and the other half Iââ Your voice catches, and you swallow thickly before continuing. âI want to be near you. I want you to look at me the way youâre looking at me right now.â His hands slowly slide up your sides, not rushing, not pushingâjust holding. His thumbs brush against your ribs, barely ghosting under the underside of your chest, but even that light touch sends a shiver up your spine.
âYou have to know this isnât just some impulsive decision for me,â you tell him, voice softer now, filled with something you canât quite name. âI donât do things just because theyâre convenient, or easy, or expected. I do them because I choose to.â You reach up, cupping his face between your hands, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. His breath stutters when you stroke your thumb over his cheekbone, and for the first time since youâve known him, he looks completely lost. âIâm choosing you,â you whisper, staring straight into those brilliant blue eyes. âNot because you kissed me. Not because of some annotations in a book. But because I want you, Satoru. I want this.â
A shaky exhale leaves his lips, and for a second, you swear he stops breathing altogether. His grip on you tightens just enough for you to feel it, his fingers pressing into your waist like heâs holding himself back. Then, slowly, so slowly, he leans in, forehead resting against yours. His breath is warm against your lips when he speaks.
âYou canât take that back now, yâknow,â he murmurs, his voice low and almost reverent.
âI wouldnât dream of it.â
In a flurry of kissing and movement, his hands roamed over your breasts, fingers pressing and kneading with a slow, deliberate touch that sent shivers down your spine. Every brush of his palm left a burning trail in its wake, making you arch into him, craving moreâneeding more. His lips never left yours for long, only breaking away to breathe, to murmur your name against your mouth like a prayer, before diving back in, desperate to claim every inch of you. Your own hands found their way under his hoodie, fingertips exploring the firm ridges and planes of muscle beneath. He was all taut sinew and warmth, his body solid beneath your touch, the faintest tremble betraying just how much he wanted this too. Heat pooled in your lower belly, a slow and delicious ache, as you pressed your palms flat against his stomach, feeling the way his muscles flexed under your touch.
And then you felt itâthe thin trail of hair below his navel, soft against your fingers, leading downward. Your breath hitched at the realisation, a flush creeping up your face as your hands lingered there, tracing along his happy trail. The sensation made him shudder, his breath stuttering for just a moment before he let out a low, breathy chuckle. âYouâre teasing,â he murmured against your lips, his voice rougher now, his grip tightening slightly where he held you.
You shook your head, though your fingers betrayed you, still trailing feather-light touches just above the waistband of his sweats. âJust exploring,â you whispered, emboldened by the way he reacted to your touch, the way his muscles tensed as if he was barely holding himself back. His entire body felt heavier now, weighted with desire as he sucked in a slow breath. His fingers twitched against your sides, like he was restraining himself, before he finally gave in.
With one fluid motion, he pulled his hoodie over his head and tossed it aside, leaving his torso bare. The sight of him knocked the air from your lungs. He was beautifulâlean but strong, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, skin warm and golden in the dim light. The definition of his abs trailed down to his happy trail, disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats. There was something intoxicating about seeing him like this, vulnerable yet utterly self-assured, the usual cocky glint in his eyes replaced with something softer, something just for you. You traced your fingers lightly over his stomach, watching the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. His breath came a little heavier, his hands gripping your waist like he was holding onto the last thread of his restraint.
"You're staring," he teased, though his voice was lower now, rough around the edges.
"Maybe," you admitted, dragging your fingertips just a little lower, reveling in the way his breath hitched. His lips curled into a smirk, but there was a heat in his gaze now, something dark and wanting. âCareful,â he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. âI might start thinking you like what you see.â
Your pulse thrummed wildly, heat licking at your skin as you met his eyes.
âI do.â
He gave you a full-blown grin, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners, his canines glinting in the dim light of his dorm room. It was a look you had seen a hundred times beforeâmischievous, teasing, effortlessly confidentâbut now, there was something else underneath it. Something softer. Something real. His hands, warm and slightly rough, hesitated at the waistband of your sweats, fingers grazing the fabric as if waiting for permission. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach. But despite the heat in his gaze, despite the way his breath was uneven and his chest rose and fell just a little too fast, he didnât move forward. Not yet.
âAre you sure?â His voice was lower now, quieter, cutting through the thick silence that had settled between you. His usual bravado was nowhere to be seenâno teasing remark, no cocky smirk. Just Satoru, looking at you like you were something delicate, something he wasnât sure he was allowed to have. Like he was terrified of doing something wrong, of ruining this moment before it could fully begin. You could feel his hesitation in the way his fingers flexed against your waist, could hear it in the way his voice wavered just slightly, as if he was bracing himself for you to change your mind.
It made your heart ache. You reached up, cupping his face gently, your thumb brushing over his cheek. His skin was warm under your touch, and he leaned into it instinctively, like he couldnât help himself. His breath hitched, just slightly, and you saw the way his lips parted, the way his lashes fluttered when your fingers traced along his jaw.
âSatoru,â you murmured, voice steady despite the way your heart was hammering against your ribs. His eyes flickered to yoursâdeep, cerulean, searching.
âIâm sure,â you whispered. âI want this. I want you.â For a moment, he didnât move, like he was letting the words settle, like he needed to make sure he heard you right. And thenâ
He exhaled, something tight and heavy leaving his chest, and his hands finally gripped your waist properly, fingers digging in just a little, grounding himself in the reality of the moment.
âGod,â he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice almost shaky. âYou have no idea how much I fucking love hearing you say that.â
He gently coaxed you out of your sweatpants, hand finding itself atop your underwear, breath hitching at the dampness that was present. Seems like this fueled his ego a little bit too much, because the next thing you knew, the Satoru you knew was back.
âDang youâre wet as fuck.â
You gave him a pointed look and he faltered, the smirk on his lips morphing into a grin as he ushered out apologies. Your hands clutched the sheets when his fingers began to gently touch you, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you eyed his hand with need. You couldnât stay mad with him for long the way his fingers tugged the flimsy material down and began to work his hand between your legs. He grinned, experimentally probing around, ocean eyes half lidded.
âThis is where youâre weak, right?â He murmured sensually, fingers finding your sensitive nub, eyes flickering up to watch your reactions, his pretty pink lips parted open in pleasure as he watched you come apart under him. He was precise with his fingers, circling you, teasing, pinching and rubbing, before thrusting in all the right spots, reaching places your own hand was unable to take you. Before long you had to let out muffled whimpers into his big palm that he had slapped gently across your lips; it covered almost the entirety of the lower half of your faceâ you were a bit loud.Â
Unable to take it anymore, you finally reached your breaking point, squirming underneath him as you came all over his fingers. Your chest was heaving, rising and falling in rapid succession, your breath coming in short, uneven pants as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through you. Every nerve in your body felt like it had been set alight, over sensitised and trembling in the lingering warmth of his touch. Your skin was flushed, heat radiating from every inch of you, and the room felt impossibly small, like it was holding the weight of everything that had just passed between you.Â
Hungry for more, you made quick work of his sweats, sliding them and his boxers down (pokemon boxers but you were too needy to make fun of him for it). Satoru loomed above you, shakily guiding himself to your entrance, pale lashes fluttering as he looked down at you. He was hardâ had been hard the moment you two had started kissing, pressing up against you in a needy manner.
âSuâSure you can take it? Donât need a break?â He breathed out, referring to the fact that you had practically jumped at the opportunity to take things further right after having an earth shattering orgasm thanks to his lanky fingers.
âSo fucking sureâ please, Satoru.â You flutter your eyelashes up at him, and he swears he almost comes from the sight. He nods, leaning down to kiss your lips gently, all the while he ushers himself inside you slowly.Â
Now you knew he had meant you not being able to take it because you might have been tired after your first orgasm, but now it felt more like he was warning you, because he was long, pressing inside of you deliciously. Once he had buried himself to the hilt, he halted in his tracks, giving you time to adjust. His face was screwed in pleasure, likely trying not to give in the urge to move. After a few minutes, when you deemed the feeling of him inside you as highly pleasurable and not the slight uncomfortableness that you initially felt while being split open in two, you murmured out a small âIâm ready,â and that was all it took for Satoru to start moving.
He kept up a slow, steady yet deep pace, his muscular form looming over yours, and for a moment, all you could do was look at him. The dim light of his dorm cast shadows along the sharp lines of his body, emphasizing the taut muscles in his arms, the sculpted contours of his chest, and the way his abdomen flexed with each controlled movement. His skin was flushed, a faint sheen of sweat glistening over his toned physique, catching the light in a way that made your breath hitch. His broad shoulders framed his lean build perfectly, his biceps taut as he braced himself above you, his fingers curling into the sheets as though restraining himself from losing control entirely.
And then there was his face. Messy white hair fell into his eyes, strands sticking to his damp forehead, and his lipsâGod, his lipsâwere parted, slightly swollen from kissing you breathless. His sharp jaw clenched subtly, his throat bobbing with a swallow, and when his gaze flickered down to meet yours, you felt like all the air had been sucked from the room.
His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, his expression was intenseâraw, focused entirely on you, like nothing else in the world mattered. His impossibly blue eyes, darkened with something deep and consuming, dragged over your face, your body, drinking you in like you were something precious, something his. âSatoruââ you breathed, voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make him groan, his grip on your waist tightening as he dipped down, pressing his forehead against yours.
âFuck,â he muttered, voice rough, strained. âYou have no idea how good you look right now. How good you feel right now.â He moved his hands from your waist, his fingers trailing over your skin as he shifted, bracing his forearms on either side of your head. The new position brought him even closer, his body pressing against yours, heat radiating between you as he continued to move within you. His breath was heavy, mingling with yours, and for a moment, it was all-consumingâthe feeling of him, the weight of him, the slow, deep rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. When you had imagined being with Satoru like this, youâd thought it would be⌠different. You had expected teasing, cockiness, maybe even some ridiculous commentary, because that was just who he was. You thought heâd smirk down at you with that usual self-assured gleam in his eyes, crack some joke between kisses, whisper something infuriating just to make you blush. You had even braced yourself for the possibility of him being downright kinky, because he was Gojo Satoru, and he loved pushing limits.
But this? This was something else entirely.
This wasnât just cocky flirtation or the result of years of pent-up rivalry and tensionâthis was intimate. It was raw, real, and so incredibly him, stripped of bravado and playfulness, leaving behind only the man in front of you. The one who had been waiting, wanting. The one who had loved you quietly, even when you didnât know. His movements were deliberate, his touch reverent, his normally mischievous eyes dark with something softerâsomething deeper. When he leaned down, his lips ghosting over your cheek before pressing to the corner of your mouth, it wasnât just a kissâit was a silent confession. A plea. A promise. His fingers threaded through your hair, brushing over your temple, before trailing down to cup your jaw with aching gentleness. âYou okay?â he murmured, voice hushed, almost breathless. You swallowed, overwhelmed by the warmth in his voice, the concern laced into every syllable, and you nodded, reaching up to lace your fingers through the soft strands of his hair. âYeah,â you whispered. âI just⌠I didnât expect this.â
A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He tilted his head slightly, pressing another lingering kiss just beneath your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. âDidnât expect what?â
âFor it to feel like this,â you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. âFor you to be like this.â
Satoru stilled for half a second before exhaling softly, lowering himself further so his chest was flush against yours. His nose brushed against yours, lips hovering just out of reach, and when he spoke, his voice was almost fragile. âI donât think you realise how long Iâve wanted you,â he murmured. âIt was never just some passing thing, yâknow? It was always you.â Your chest tightened, your fingers gripping his hair just a little harder as his words settled deep within you. The air between you felt electric, charged, as if the weight of every unspoken feeling had finally caught up with you both. He kissed you againâslow, deep, purposefulâand you melted into him, your hands roaming over his bare back, nails lightly dragging along his spine. He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing against yours as he moved, his body fitting against yours so perfectly that it made your heart ache. There was no rush, no urgencyâonly the quiet, lingering touches, the shared breaths, the whispered words against flushed skin. It wasnât just about desire or need anymore. It was about something much more.
And before long, you were coming again, whispered cries of his name leaving your mouth as you tightened around himâ and if he had indulged in the feeling a second longer, he would have finished inside. He splattered on your stomach, hissing at the feeling, pale eyes fluttering shut. After a few seconds of basking in the afterglow, he quickly went into his bathroom, grabbing a warm washcloth to wipe your stomach down. Your breath came in quick, unsteady gasps, each inhale failing to steady the trembling in your limbs. A slow burn lingered beneath your skin, every nerve alight with the remnants of his touch. The air felt thick, pressing in around you, charged with everything that had just transpired. Heat clung to you, pooling in the spaces where his hands had been, leaving you adrift in the aftermath.
Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you, gripping them like an anchor, like you needed something to steady yourself against the dizzying sensation still coursing through your veins. A shuddering breath escaped your lips, and you swore you could still feel the phantom imprint of his hands on your skin, the way they had mapped out every inch of you with a reverence that made your chest ache. Satoru was watching you.
You could feel his gazeâheavy, intense, something unreadable flickering behind those endless blue eyes. His hands hadnât left your body entirely, his fingertips still resting against your hips, warm and grounding. There was something in his expression that made your breath catchâa mixture of awe and something softer, something tender. Like he couldnât quite believe what had just happened, like he was committing every second of this moment to memory. He swallowed, his own breathing uneven, before he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your shoulderâslow, lingering, like he just needed to feel you. His lips brushed over your skin again, trailing up toward your jaw, soft and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.
â
ââThe room was bathed in the dim glow of his bedside lamp, casting long shadows across tangled sheets and discarded clothes. Your body still hummed from the aftermath, warmth pooling in your limbs as you lay half-draped over Satoru, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, grounding you in a way you hadnât expected. For a while, neither of you spoke. His fingers idly traced shapes along your spine, the touch featherlight and absentminded, while his other hand rested lazily on your hip, holding you close. You could still feel the heat radiating from his skin, the aftershocks of everything you had just done settling between you in the form of comfortable silence.
It was intimate, more than anything. More than the way he had touched you, more than the way he had moved inside youâthis moment, the stillness, the way he exhaled softly like he was content, was what made your chest tighten.
Then, of course, he ruined it.
âSo,â he drawled, breaking the peaceful quiet. âWould it be weird if I rated that experience a solid twelve out of ten?â You groaned, weakly smacking his chest, but he only laughed, the vibrations rumbling beneath your palm. âOh my God, Satoruââ
âI mean, I am the strongest,â he continued, completely undeterred, stretching one arm lazily above his head. âSo it makes sense that Iâd be great in every department.â
âYou have got to be kidding me.âÂ
He grinned, tilting his head to peer down at you. His hair was a mess, white strands sticking out in different directions, and his lips were still kiss-bitten, smugness radiating off of him in waves. âOh, donât worry, sweets, Iâd never joke about my performance in bedââ
You smacked him again, this time harder, and he let out a dramatic oof, clutching his chest like youâd wounded him.
âYou were being so sweet just a second ago,â you muttered, pouting as you nestled closer against him. âWhy do you have to ruin it?â Satoru chuckled, his arms wrapping securely around you as he pulled the blanket over both of you. âCâmon, you wouldnât want me any other way.â
You sighed, exasperated, but deep down, you knew he was right. He shifted slightly, rolling onto his side so he could face you properly, one long leg tangling with yours. His hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch softer than you expected after all his teasing.
ââŚWas it really okay?â he asked, voice quieter this time. Almost hesitant. Your heart ached at the sincerity laced in his words, the way he was still Satoru, even after everything. Still checking in. Still making sure. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. âIt was perfect.â
A slow, almost shy smile spread across his face, and for a moment, the cockiness was gone, replaced by something softer. Something real.
Then, of courseâ
âPerfect, huh? So you are saying Iâm the best youâve ever hadââ
âGOJO SATORU, I SWEAR TOââ
His laughter rang out through the dorm, loud and unfiltered, and despite yourself, you couldnât help but laugh too, the warmth of it curling around your heart. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the lazy way his fingers traced along your spineâit was all lulling you into the kind of peace you hadnât felt in a long time. The teasing had settled into something softer, something quieter, and as sleep tugged at the edges of your consciousness, you thought that maybe, just maybe, you could stay like this forever. Satoru shifted beneath you, his hand sliding from your hip to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. His lips brushed your temple, his breath warm as he murmured, âHey.â
You hummed in response, not quite opening your eyes. His fingers tapped against your skin, hesitant. âBe my girlfriend.â
That woke you up. Your eyes fluttered open, your head lifting slightly to look at him. âHuh?â
He huffed out a soft laugh, like he couldnât believe he had actually said it. The Satoru everyone else knew was loud, arrogant, untouchable. But right now, he was just a boy with messy white hair and sleep-heavy eyes, holding you close like he was afraid you might slip away.
âI mean,â he continued, clearing his throat, âweâre already doing all this. And I like you. A lot. SoâŚâ He exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing over your waist. âBe my girlfriend.â Your heart clenched at the quiet sincerity in his voice, at the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. It wasnât a joke. It wasnât just another one of his playful remarks. This was real. A slow smile spread across your lips. âWow. That was kind of romantic.â
He groaned, tipping his head back against the pillow. âDonât make this harder than it needs to be, sweets.â You giggled, shifting to prop yourself up on one elbow, fingers threading through his hair. âYou really like me?â
He turned his head back toward you, his eyesâthose striking, endless bluesâsoft in the dim light. âYeah,â he said simply. âI really do.â Your chest felt too full, your heart racing faster than it should have been after everything youâd already done tonight. But it wasnât nerves or fearâit was excitement, warmth, the dizzying rush of knowing Satoru Gojo, of all people, wanted you in a way that wasnât fleeting.
âOkay,â you whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. âIâll be your girlfriend.â He grinned instantly, arms wrapping around you as he rolled you onto your back, settling half on top of you with a triumphant look. âTook you long enough to say yes,â he teased, but the relief in his voice gave him away.
You laughed, shaking your head. âI hate you.â
âLiar,â he murmured, kissing you again, slow and deep, like he was trying to seal the moment in time. And maybe he was. Maybe you both were.
â
Getting into a relationship with Gojo Satoru was like being swept into a whirlwindâone that was loud, chaotic, and entirely consuming. Everyone around you had the same reaction when they found out: About time.Â
Shoko had rolled her eyes, exhaling smoke from her cigarette as she smirked. âHonestly, I thought you guys were already dating. Youâre both just that disgusting.â Nanami had simply given Gojo a long, knowing look before shaking his head, muttering something under his breath about finally. Even Getoâbefore everythingâhad grinned, clapping Satoru on the back and saying, âI was starting to think youâd never get your head out of your ass.â
Satoru, naturally, took it all in stride, tossing an arm around your shoulders and grinning like heâd won the lottery. âWhat can I say? She couldnât resist me forever.âÂ
Your life since then had been⌠a lot. In the best way possible. Because being with Satoru meant being at the center of his world, whether you liked it or not. And he was obsessed with you. Absolutely obsessed. It was the way he always had to be touching youâhis hand warm on the small of your back, his fingers playing with yours, his arm slung around your shoulders. It was how he looked at you, like you were the most fascinating thing in existence, eyes always following you, filled with nothing but admiration. It was the teasingââI get it, babe. Iâm super hot, but please let me study for five seconds without you getting distracted by me.â
It was the sweetnessâbringing you your favorite snacks when you were stressed, pressing kisses to your temple when he thought you werenât looking. Intertwining his large hand with yours and placing it in his coat pocket And, well, it was also the other thingsâ
âSatoru, we have a lecture in twenty minutesââ
âPlenty of time, sweetheart. What, you donât want to study with me?â
âThis isnât studying. Youâve been making out with me for the past ten minutes. And you really do need to stop. What if someone catches you in my dorm?â
âCâmon, I canât resist youââ
âSure you can, âToru.â
âBut you love me.â
You did. God, you did. And he loved you. He never let you forget it. Youâd studied together for your physics final, working hard side by side. Even though Satoru acted like everything came easy to him, he did work for it. And so did you. You spent countless nights pouring over equations, bouncing theories off each other, fighting over who got to use the good highlighters.
And when results day cameâ
âOh my God,â you whispered, staring at your score.
100%. Your hands trembled slightly as you clutched the paper, the weight of all those late-night study sessions, the stress, the endless debates with Satoru over formulas and theoriesâeverything culminating in this moment. Pure, unfiltered pride swelled in your chest. Before you could fully process it, a loud whoop filled the air.
âYES! I knew it!â
Suddenly, you were lifted off your feet, spinning in a dizzying circle as Satoruâs wild laughter bubbled over. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you pressed to him as he twirled you around the hallway like an overexcited kid.Â
âMy babyâs the smartest person in the world!â he crowed, not caring about the amused stares from your classmates. âGeniuses bow to you! The world kneels before you! Einstein weeps in his graveââ
You were laughing breathlessly by the time he finally set you down, his hands still firm on your waist as he grinned down at you. Your heart swelled at his excitement. âYou did well too, right?â
âPfft, of course.â He flipped his own paper up dramatically, flashing his score.
99%.
âI mean,â he sighed, shaking his head with mock sorrow, âyou totally obliterated me, absolutely wrecked my pride, but itâs fine. Matter of fact, I think it was the fact I didnât revise Bernoulliâs principle enough that resulted in me getting only 99%-â
In another world where he wasnât your boyfriend, you would've smirked and gloated about beating him, and he wouldâve snapped back with something equally smug. But instead, all you felt was prideâpure, unrestrained pride for him. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. âIâm so proud of you.â Satoru melted into you, his arms encircling your waist as he hummed into your shoulder. âMmm, say it again. I like hearing that.â You chuckled, pulling back slightlyâjust enough to see the sheepish grin creeping onto his face.
âActuallyâŚâ he started, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes glinting with something suspicious. You frowned. âWhat?â He exhaled dramatically. âYouâre probably gonna kill me when you hear this.â Your eyes narrowed. âSatoru.â
âOkay, okayââ He raised his hands in surrender, before leaning in like he was telling you a juicy secret. âTechnically, I got a 99 on the midterm.â You blinked. ââŚWhat?â He grinned. That smug, trouble-making, up-to-no-good grin. âBuuuut you looked so beautiful when you were all happy about your score, so I lied and said I got 95 last minute.â
Your mouth dropped open. âYouâWHAT?!âÂ
Gojo Satoruâthe cockiest, most competitive man you knew, the one who never let anyone forget how brilliant he wasâhad lied about an exam score for you? He burst out laughing at your expression, reaching out to ruffle your hair. âDonât go feeling all bad about it, sweets. This final weighed more than the midterm, so technicallyââ he booped your nose, ââyouâre better than me.â
You were still reeling, warmth spreading through you as you realised he had lied to see you happy. âYou changed your answer for meââ
âYeah, yeah.â He waved off your shock, smirking. âIâm the best boyfriend in the world. You can say it out loud, babe.â You rolled your eyes, exasperated, before tugging him down into a kiss.
He instantly responded, his grip on your waist tightening, his lips warm and eager against yours. The teasing faded for just a second, replaced by something softerâsomething real. When you finally pulled back, he looked way too smug.
ââŚStill smarter than you, though,â you teased, just to knock him down a peg. Satoru gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. âOh, you absolutely crushed my heart and then ate itââ
Before you could react, he suddenly straightened, towering over you with a wicked glint in his eye. His large hands slid around your waist, ushering you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. His voice dropped, suddenly deep and velvety, amusement laced with something more sensual. âGuess youâll just have to make it up to me in bed, huh?â
You groaned, immediately shoving at his chest. âYouâre the worst.â
âYour worst.â He waggled his eyebrows, entirely unashamed. You shoved his face away, laughing as he grinned, easily catching one of your wrists in his hand. Instead of saying anything else, he simply lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to your wrist, his lips warm against your skin.
â
Later that night, you were curled up in his dorm, forcing him to watch Whisper of the Heart. He had grumbled and groaned, saying heâd already watched it way back in high school and that he "totally got the whole love and dreams thing," but you still made him sit through it. He spent the first twenty minutes sulking, arms wrapped around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder like a spoiled cat.
âIâm way better than Seiji,â he huffed after a particularly sweet scene. âLike, a million times better.â You snorted. âJealous of an anime boy, Satoru?â
âIâm just saying,â he drawled, tightening his arms around you. âIf I was in this movie, she wouldnât even look at him.â
âUh-huh.â You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the warmth. âSure, babe.â His fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your sleeve, and for a while, you both watched in silence, the glow of the laptop screen painting soft shadows over the room. Halfway through the movie, you reached into your bag to grab your laptop, but something tumbled out and hit the floor with a soft thud. You blinked at the familiar cover of the last book.
âOh crap,â you muttered, picking it up. âI forgot to return this.âÂ
Satoru turned his head, eyes narrowing. âWaitâŚâ He plucked the book from your grasp, flipping through the pages with an expression that immediately made you suspicious. âYou didnât return this yet?â You nodded, smiling sheepishly. âGuess I kinda forgot.â His fingers slowed as he reached the back cover, eyes landing on the borrowing log where the name âG.S.â had been scrawled in blue ink.
For a moment, he just stared. His thumb ran over the initials like he was absorbing the weight of them, of what they had meant to you before you knew the truth. His usual teasing expression softened, something almost nostalgic flickering in his eyes. Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he grabbed a pen from his desk, twirled it between his fingers, and, without saying a word, carefully crossed out âG.S.â
You watched as he replaced it with something elseâhis full name, written neatly, in the same familiar shade of blue ink in the column beneath the crossed out G.S. He paused, then handed you the pen. Understanding settled between you like an unspoken promise. Without hesitation, you leaned down, pressing the tip to the page to the column under his name, adding your own in smooth, looping letters.
The same date. The same ink. Together.
Satoru stared at it for a long moment, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his lips, something softer, something fonder. He looked at you with that unreadable, almost reverent gazeâthe one that always made your breath catch. And then, with absolutely no warning, he grinned and yanked you straight into his lap.
âSooo,â he murmured, lips brushing your ear as his arms locked around you. âHow does it feel to know youâve been fantasising about me this whole time?â You groaned, swatting at his arm. âSatoruââ
He just laughed, effortlessly dodging your weak attempts at smacking him. âNah, nah, donât try to deny it! I knew you had a crush on me.â
âI did notââ
âG.S.,â he sing-songed, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled into your shoulder. âYou thought I was some mysterious, tortured genius. Bet you used to daydream about me in class, dâyou think I showed up as some mysterious faceless guy in your wet dreams?ââ You grabbed a pillow and shoved it into his face. His muffled laughter rang through the room, and when he pulled the pillow away, he was still grinning. He kissed your shoulder, lingering there for a beat longer than necessary.
And this time, you let him gloat.
a/n: summary of this entire fic basically (art creds to su2kuna on đ)
sorry if there are error/grammar mistakes or slight plot issues uni is lowkey gnawing at the folds of my brain and a girl gets sick of reading 32k words over and over again.. but i hope you all enjoyed reading this because i really enjoyed writing it :) huhuhuhu much love
#jujutsu kaisen#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo x you#jjk x reader#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu gojo#jujutsu satoru#satoru gojo#satoru gojo x reader#jjk satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo fluff#gojo satoru#jjk gojo#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#satoru x reader#nerdjo#gojou satoru x reader#jjk satoru
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mark grayson | love me like an innocent (and hold me tight)
summary: viltrumites are war-borne. the only love mark grayson has ever known is the crushing weight of his father's fist. you remedy that.
tw. viltrum!mark, mild blood and gore (it's the invincible show, c'mon), *gasp* hand holding, forehead kisses, reader playing with mark's hair. diabetes inducing amounts of fluff, mark being touch starvedTM. reference to this post.

in another universe, mark grayson is kind, softened by the tender touch of his mother. they call him invincible and his name means hope. thereâs something like a boyish lilt to his grin.Â
the mark grayson you know pulled you out of the rubble he buried you in, bloodied hand tight around your neck, and left you choking on his ultimatum. follow him or die.
and you were tired of cecilâs no-nonsense, find-a-way-to-beat-these-fuckers stare. tired of playing hero for a bunch of ungrateful scumbags, of ceaselessly bloodying your hands. crime is the many-headed hydra. it will never die. you will.Â
you took markâs hand and buried yourself in his arms. earth burned.Â
the flames have settled, the only remaining source of heat being markâs body, slotted against yours. markus sebastian grayson, clad in the cold colours of viltrum, white and gray molding him into a perfect picture of stoicism. you think of marble. glacial. haughty.Â
heâs been⌠hovering, lately. lingering just out of the corner of your eyes, when the only thing you can catch a glimpse of is the lithe silhouette of him, all sharp angles and cold, eyes colder than the winter soil when frost bites and crops wither. you wonder if he trusts you. if heâs watching you, waiting for the inevitable slip up.Â
(you hear the viltrumite talk among themselves. they are not kind - their kin never is. general kreggâs words are cutting. you were once earthâs best defender, with the weight of the sun bearing on your shoulders, liquid fire coursing through your veins. supernova, he mocks. do you really think of yourself as one of us?)
so here you are, on a viltrumite ship, arms crossed as you face the vastness of space. itâs cold, the void of it nipping at your skin despite your powers. you let out a heavy sigh.Â
earth orbits before you. you hope itâs worth it, its desolation. the slaughter of the weak. you remember cecilâs gaze as you towered over the pentagon, clad in viltrumite colours. the fear. the betrayal. the knowledge that whatever failsafe he planned against you, to keep you contained, was not enough. the smell of his burnt flesh didnât make your stomach churn.
a noise. a door sliding open, then shut. viltrumites abhor walking. there are no footsteps to recognise people by here. but there is only one person who comes and goes by the stark room they call your quarters.Â
he comes to you with bloodied hands and heavy silence, the weight of it blanketing your shoulders. you do not know if you hate him for what heâs made you do.Â
(you remember the regent emperor thragg standing before you and asking to prove yourself to the empire. you remember mark suggesting you lay waste on the pentagon, voice detached. you remember burning the GDA to the ground. self immolation at its peak.)
you see him, his reflection next to you, blood splattering his uniform, his cheeks, his hair. he does not speak. stands a mere few inches away from you. heâs warm, you think, you know, you feel. warm enough that you wonder why he burns, what is burning him.Â
hesitantly, you brush your fingers against his. he stiffens, shoulders tensing in the prelude to viltrumite ultraviolence. you freeze, make a move to pull away. his fingers curl around yours, wrap tight and pull.Â
your breath hitches, head resting on the angel wing of his collarbone, one youâve traced the contours of one desperate, desperate night three months ago. you, mark, and so much grief you wanted to drown in it. you had never felt that cold in your life. mark had pulled you close, mouth feverish on yours, thumb smearing blood away from the corner of your lip. youâd melted.Â
youâve learned, then, panting and breathless in the wreckage left of the pentagon, hellfire burning, that viltrumites fuck like they fight. it wasnât soft, the way mark took you and made you his own, it never was. you donât think youâd want it any other way. you remember the way he looked at you when you cupped his cheek, the way he flinched when your skin touched his own, impossibly soft. heâs never known anything but his fatherâs fist.
three months later, and youâre a betrayer to your kin, lone human in a viltrumite ship. and one of their strongest warriors has his hands resting on your hips, thumbs brushing hesitantly over the thick material over your uniform, seeking, seeking. you do not understand why heâs drinking you in like heâs been starving for it, like he can only breathe when youâre around. why now? something like a low, broken little noise echoes in your ear. your eyes widen.
âmark? whatâs wrong?â
you turn to face him, hand coming up to cradle his cheek. his breath hitches. you watch as he leans into your touch, the sharp angle of his cheek pressing against your palm. it feels like something is clicking. you meet his gaze. gone is the glacier edge to his eyes. theyâre soft. infinitely soft, gazing at you as though youâre holding the universe in the palm of your hand. your heart skips a beat. then another.
something like a soft blush dusts his cheekbones, and you watch, bewildered, as he nuzzles your hand, a stray lock of hair brushing your knuckles.Â
âmark?â you breathe.Â
he glances away, fingers curling around your wrist. a shuddering breath escapes him, warm on your pulse. he feels it, the way your blood jumps under your skin, fluttering softly under his fingertips. you push away his hair from his face, comb the thick dark locks behind his ear. itâs gotten bloody again.
another soft noise.
âkeep- keep doing that.â
âwhat?â
he nuzzles your hand, grip on your hip growing impossibly tighter.
âtouching my hair,â he whispers, burying his face in the crook of your neck, blood and gore and viscera now clinging to you both.
you tut a little and gently push him away, eyeing the mess heâs made. blood drips down from his trembling fists to the floor, drip drip dripping red. your fingers lace with his.
âletâs get us cleaned up, yeah?â
blood drips down the shower. lately, it feels as though the only colours youâve known are white, grey and red. so much red. too much red-Â
markâs hand cups your cheek. trembling. hesitant. like he doesnât know what heâs doing. he doesnât, you realise. not with the way viltrumites are, war-bent, destruction-borne. heâs trying. for you. your heart swells in your chest and you smile at him.
âhey.â
his lips curl in a rare smile, chasing the touch of your hands as they busy themselves in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. heâs practically purring under your touch, leaning down to give you better access.
âhey.â
you brush his split knuckles, the bruises blooming over his ribs, the deep gash above his adonis belt, already healing, reduced to a faint, pink line. he doesnât flinch. only pulls you closer, chin on top of your head. you have to push him away to avoid getting soapy water in your eyes.
âwho was the unlucky guy?â
âspawn.â
one of earthâs strongest. one of your colleagues. one of your frien-Â
you sigh. inhale, exhale, until the only things that exist are you, mark, and the scalding stream of water trickling down on your skin. until mark pulls you out of the shower and lays you down in bed, barely dry, his head resting on your chest.
youâve betrayed everything and everyone the moment your heart started beating for him. but here, with the way his lips curl into a half-smile, with the way he trails soft patterns over the small scar on your hip bone, your guilt eases.
âcan you⌠can you play with my hair?â he whispers, burrowing himself in your chest.
you think he wants to crawl in it. make himself at home between your ribs, nestle against your heart and rest his weary head on it.
âyeah.â
in another universe, mark grayson is born soft and cradled by his motherâs warmth. in this universe, debbie grayson is dead, and all the love he ever knew was violence. heâs all sharp edges and cold gazes and bloodied fists, more weapon than human.Â
yet, in the quiet of your room, he softens against you, guard lowered enough to let you press your lips to the crown of his hair.Â
âlet me love you,â you murmur.
he looks up at you, chin on your chest, eyes softer than youâve ever seen them.
ârotten, useless work.â
you press your lips to his.
ânot to me.â
(taking the liberty to tag a few ppl, as you guys seemed interested by poor lil mew mew viltrum mark: @gaiasmight @linkwho1 )
#invincible x reader#invincible x y/n#invincible x you#invincible#invincible show#mark grayson x reader#mark grayson x y/n#mark grayson x you#mark grayson fluff#viltrum mark#obticeo writes#mark grayson#invincible season 3
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MAE! I have a request⌠<3 reader finds out Steve keeps Polaroids of her around different spots, like tucked in his wallet or the sun visor of his car or in his bathroom mirror
Thanks for requesting!
Steve Harrington x fem!reader ⥠728 words
âYou look like you just came from the movies,â you say.Â
Steve turns his head to look at you over the top of his sunglasses. You grin. âIâll have you know, these are Ray-Bans.âÂ
âAre you sure? Because theyâre just like the ones they gave out for Jaws 3D.âÂ
Even with the dark lenses, you can sense your boyfriend rolling his eyes as he turns back to the road. âYouâre just jealous because you didnât bring any.âÂ
Caught. âIf you were a gentleman, youâd give me yours.âÂ
âSorry, baby. Driver needs to see the most.âÂ
âFine,â you sigh, putting a bit of theatrics into it. You reach for the sun visor. âDonât think I wonât remember this the next time you want a blanket at my place.âÂ
You flip the visor down, and a little plastic square flutters into your lap. You pick it up.Â
âHey,â says Steve, âthatâs totally different. If you ran your heat, neither of us would need blankets. But if you want me to start bringing my ownââÂ
âStevie.âÂ
âOh, itâs Stevie now,â he mutters.Â
You turn to him, holding up the picture. âWhen did you take this?âÂ
Steve glances away from the road for a second. âOh. Donât you remember? That was at the lake last summer.âÂ
You do remember, now. Steveâs no master photographerâthe light refracts off the water, fuzzing the picture and obscuring parts of your faceâbut itâs clearly you. Youâre standing waist-deep in the lake, clearly trying to splash Steve while cheesing into the camera. You remember the day, but not the moment.Â
Steve brings that polaroid camera everywhere. You know where it is now, stowed in the glove box right against your knees. He takes pictures with it sometimes, but always stows them away immediately so they can develop somewhere dark. You havenât ever thought to ask about them. Haven't seen one until now.Â
âWhy do you have this here?â you ask.Â
âI just like to keep them where I can find them,â Steve says. âHey, put that back when youâre done, will you?âÂ
You blink at him. âYou mean there are more?âÂ
âYeah, of course.â He looks at you again, eyebrows flicking up at the open curiosity in your expression. âYou wanna see some?âÂ
âYes, please.âÂ
âAlright. Put that one back.â He shifts in his seat, reaching into his back pocket. âI donât need any getting lost.âÂ
You feel your lips tilt bemusedly. âYou keep them in random places, but you donât want them to get lost?âÂ
Steve digs out his wallet. âNothing random about it. Thereâs a system, okay?â You reach for the wallet, but he holds it away. âPut it back.âÂ
âOkay, okay.â You grin, stowing the polaroid back where you found it before grabbing for Steveâs wallet. The worn leather parts for you easily. âOh.âÂ
There are a few pictures in here. You holding flowers at the farmerâs market, you decorating cupcakes, you on your bed at home. Some have you looking into the camera, others not. In all of them you look happy. You think thatâs probably how you look most of the time when Steveâs with you.Â
âSteve.â Affection aches in the back of your throat. âThis is so sweet.â
âItâs nothing,â he says. When you look at your boyfriend, you can see the faint tinge of a blush beneath the frames of his sunglasses.Â
You gather the pictures carefully in one hand, using the other to link your fingers through his. âWhy did you keep all of these?âÂ
Steve makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. âWhat, Iâm not allowed to want to look at you? Why would I take them just to get rid of them?âÂ
âI donât know.â Your voice softens. âI just didnât know you had all these. Itâs cute.âÂ
Steve grins. He glances over at you once, then again, leaning over for a quick kiss.Â
âHey!â you laugh. âEyes on the road.âÂ
âYouâre cute,â he says.
âYeah, you must think so.âÂ
âDonât go getting a big head.â Steve uses your joined hands to tug on your arm teasingly. You let it draw you closer to him, smitten.
âToo late for that. Youâre like my own personal paparazzi. You know Iâm gonna have to start taking a bunch of pictures of you too, now, right?âÂ
âI donât think you have to.âÂ
âOh, I definitely have to.â
#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x self insert#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington scenario#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington one shot#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fic#stranger things fandom#stranger things x reader#steve stranger things
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Snack Time

Synopsis: You're in your second trimester of pregnancy and hormones are kicking in. Cravings hit hard but even harder for Sylus.
Sylus x fem reader
A/N: A mix of fluff and smut. The ramp up to the smut takes a sec but I promise it is there. This is my first ever fic so thoughts are appreciated <3
Tags: fluff, smut pregnancy, after care, comfort
There is no predicting how the outcome of these things go. Morning sickness and active nausea to specific scents overwhelmed you for the first month.Â
While you had a knack for snacking, recent food cravings transformed your snack supply into a bizarre territory. Mangoes dipped in peanut butter, guacamole with Cheerios and Hot Cheetos in instant ramen was even a surprise delicacy to you. Sylus found it amusing but admitted itâs not in his ball park to participate in exploring these foods alongside you. To keep up with the increasing abstract demands he had Luke and Kieran doing daily food shopping to your personal pantry.Â
âYour turn today, the Miss is gonna need a restock on cucumbers, queso and lets seeâŚAh! Hot Cheetos flavored mac and cheeseâ Luke read from a handwritten note.
âSweet Lord, I donât know how Boss still kisses her as she is right now, last week she was eating pickles dipped in spinach artichoke dip. You canât tell me the wind from her breath or ass isnât gnarly as hell by nowâ Kieran shivered with his hands rubbing along his sides.Â
âHey man, that's Bossâs baby growing inside of her, just be happy she hasnât had a craving for the blood of his enemies as of yetâ Luke retorted.
âThatâs trueâŚOh! But if she does that means less work and more days off for us!âÂ
Both twins high fiving each other.
The second month your body was slowly taking on a new form with new weight along your thighs, hips and of course your belly. Constantly becoming annoyed at how the expansion of your stomach protested against every item in your wardrobe aside from sweatpants. Your breasts were soon following suit as you began to notice a bit more pinching on your sides when putting on your bra.Â
The third month however leads you down a far more complex path to navigate, not as simple as avoiding aromas or obtaining more maternal sized clothing. Oh no it was a consistent wave of horniness taking every aspect of you hostage. In reading further online you came across some articles discussing how pregnancy often sparked changes in levels of libido for women. Hormone level changes could cause either a sharp increase or decrease but there was no information available on how to regulate it. You werenât the type to accept no as an answer though. Back at the hunter association you inquired by the water cooler with Tara.Â
âI heard from Meredith when she was pregnant it was non-stop, she said the hormones had her on top of her husband like he was a pogostick for weeks.â Whispering the details to your ear as to not reveal your colleagues details to those passing by.Â
âAre you serious?! Oh man this is so damn annoying, is there really nothing to calm this down. I feel like it's just one thing after the other. After patrolling my feet ache; I take 4 snack breaks just to avoid feeling like I'm going to faint from hunger. Now my body wants to go at it like a damn rodeo show, who decides this shit!â you say while blowing hot air and squeezing your water bottle in hopes of releasing some frustration.
âThe whole thing is a journey, I get it, but hey chin up! Itâs not forever and in a few months youâll be back to normalâ. In the meantime maybeâŚya know lean on your husband a bit more if you know what I mean.â Tara trailed off in her words so you could catch her drift.Â
Your eyebrows contorted toward each other. âI-Iâm not incapable of it, obviously as you can seeâ waving your hand over your stomach. âItâs feeling more like a burden that I canât stand the idea of. He is already doing so much to keep up with me and the baby. Body aches/nausea/morning sickness, food cravings, new wardrobe, doctors appointment, all on his already busy schedule. To suddenly jump on him when he has a moment of rest because I canât keep it in my pants, feels greedy.â You sighed lazily leaning against the wall in a sense of defeat.Â
âWell to be honest, him not keeping it in his pants is ssoortttaa of how you both got here in the first place.â
You blew raspberries and giggled at her response âGood point thereâ *
âListen the way you talk about Sy, I can tell you want more alone time to care for your new âurgesâ. It wouldnât be difficult to add to his to-do list. Just communicate with him whatâs going on and quit beating yourself up about itâÂ
You released a deep sigh and dropped your arms to your sides. âTis very sound advice, thanks Tara.â
The convo you had with Tara stuck with you and her outlook made sense when you reflect the past few months.Â
Sylus the man that he is, was always of no complaint to you in your transition through pregnancy thus far. When the morning sickness came he was at your side holding your hair back with one hand and fresh tea prepared in the other. At times when you had sudden craving for the most odd of food combinations he had three more chefs hired to be ready for your request at all times of the day.
Accompanying you to purchase a new wardrobe to compliment your new curves was of a delight to his spirit. He spoiled you with high end attire and quality fabric that in any other circumstance you would protest was far too expensive and unnecessary. This new sex drive on the other hand meant more than what his black card was capable of correcting, it meant him and all of him.
The thoughts sweeping your mind were embarrassing to your consciousness. The sight of the simplest of actions had you driving up a wall.
One evening he had returned with a haul of baby items and decor for the new nursery. He easily could have gotten Luke, Kieran or any of the other employees at the estate to manage organizing the space but he insisted on doing it himself.Â
While on a snack run you noticed him lifting and pushing around heavy furniture across the room. A bit of sweat building above his collarbone down to his chest. Not in his usual classy work attire but a work out tank and joggers. You stopped in your tracks at the door watching him cutting boxes open with a knife and his bicep flexing in the motions. You began to fall into a daze as you imagined the bicep around your throat and his massive form towering over you from behind. The day dreaming got the best of you and you forgot the bag of chips you were holding as a few fell crumbling on the ground. Sylus turns around hearing the crinkle of your potato chips to face you.
âSnacking again I see, it might be worth me investing in surgically giving you hamster cheeks so you can store your late night snacks more efficiently and conveniently.â He joked while separating the crib pieces according to the instructions.Â
His words broke your fantasy and red began to flood your cheeks and ears as you subconsciously hoped he hadnât realized the intentions behind your stare.Â
âWhatâs the matter, babyâs got your tongue?â He smirked, leaning back on his forearms giving him a more interesting view of you from below.Â
âIf you're not going to rest, you can spend some time here with me to look at wallpaper decals. I was thinking either crow or dove feathersâ He gestured for you to come closer to inquire about the sample prints he had for the wall art.Â
You felt your body heating up and ultimately your lower half followed suit. You didnât want to risk where your thoughts began to wander. Not wanting to risk where your thoughts begin to wander, you stay rooted in the spot, not daring to get any closer.Â
âUummm my butt is aching, I feel like laying in bed, text the vendor Iâll take a look at it later.â Racing away you hurried back to your bedroom to avoid him or risk revealing your secret symptom.Â
Watching you rush pass the door and further down the hall, Sylusâ mouth curved into a slight frown as his eyebrow raised in curiosity.Â
Cupping one side of his mouth to channel his voice âDonât fall asleep with the potato chips in your hair again darling!âÂ
(A few days after your conversation with Tara.)
Sylus just arrived back from his Onychinus obligations ready to settle into a warm bath with you. He looked forward to you snuggling above him in his tight embrace surrounded by playful bubbles and candles. When he reached near the bathroom entry way he heard nothing, not the sound of water filling the bath or your soft spoken comments about how much bubble bath is too much bubble bath. Disappointment began to settle into his mind as he began to search for his expected company. It had become a bit of a ritual between the two of you. It was a moment for him to unwind from the demanding lifestyle of his work in N109 zone. Even more so it was a time where he could both figuratively and literally soak you in, inhaling your scent and caressing your soft plush skin. He would listen to your cute quipped stories from your day away from him, transitioning from topic to topic, heâd lose himself in you no matter how ordinary the tale. As of recently your pregnancy disturbed this special time for you both for various reasons. Early doctors appointments, random morning sickness that left you in need of care, an emotional tantrum about your weight followed by water works. Today he knew none of the above could be the case, as Mephisto had been adjusted to be more sensitive when monitoring you in his absence. No such notifications appeared to him prior to his arrival. He soon finds you on the couch in front of the fireplace sorting through paperwork from the association's human resource department. Sylus strolling into the room from behind the couch leaning forward reaches over to grab one of the papers from your hand.Â
You gasp from the swift movements and his sudden appearance behind you.Â
âHey! You just get home and start stealing my things, rude muchâ Turning your head toward him with a glare for claiming your document.Â
âIâd say it was a cheap fee for not finding my adoring partner surrounded by her favorite vanilla scented bubbles upon my arrival.â He teased holding the paper above your head.Â
A bit of guilt began to pour into you, you hadnât forgotten about it, you were avoiding facing your Sylus fever until you built up the courage to talk to him properly about it. You had been running so many scenarios in your mind on how to go about approaching the topic without sounding pathetic. Still you didnât want to make him feel rejected considering you both had been missing out on this intimate time more frequently than anticipated in the past few weeks. Regardless you had to keep your guard up until you discerned a path you were comfortable with.Â
âOh you know I got so distracted with reviewing some reports I lost track of time, silly me. Not to mention my feet are so achy today from messing around with Mephisto yesterday I thought I would take a breather here first and wait for you to get back.â You gave a slight smile attempting to play off your lie the best you could. Sylus was typically not one to fall for your fibs and had a hunch you were keeping away from the truth for another reason. Heâd play along momentarily while he uncovered what he really wanted to know.Â
âSuch a dedicated woman to her craft, I should have you coaching more of my henchmen in your ways. Care if I take a seat here to rub away these pestering aches while I reviewââ He paused to take a moment to glance at the paper and quickly scanned the content. It was a notice from the association alleviating you from engaging in patrols until after delivering your baby and completing your maternal leave for recovery. While scanning the document he took a seat on the couch and grasped your feet into his palms, slowly engaging the knots in your muscles with care.
âSeems like the association is taking proper measures as you enter the second trimester, good. Saves me time from having to negotiate with your superiors.âÂ
Since the start of your pregnancy Sylus had been insisting on you working remotely. You protested suggesting you were still capable of combat for at least two months into your first trimester. While not easy with your various symptoms you felt obligated to your duty as a hunter. *Out of respect for you he agreed but on his own âSylus like termsâ which basically consisted of Luke and Kieran following you each day to ensure your safety. You understood and respected the association's policy, deep down you knew the protection of your womb was of the utmost priority at the moment. However, going in person to the office just to file paperwork at least meant some sort of down time from your mind constantly racing about how to undo Sylusâ clothes with your teeth. Working at home meant not only encountering him at all times of the day but being at your peak of sexual frustration. Smelling his scent, staring at the clock wondering when he would be back home, glancing at your esteemed bed envisioning how many positions you could manage in your new size. You were spiraling.Â
âI know you have been wanting me to start working from home but still it feels odd.â Your words felt stubborn to agree with you as he worked your feet and you pictured having his massage service every morning.Â
âWhatâs the issue here again, kitten?â He applied a bit more pressure to your heel and locked eyes with you.Â
âI just feel like Iâll be bored working from home ya knowâ You were clenching your swollen stomach avoiding eye contact with your husband in hopes his crimson eyes wouldnât capture the true intentions behind your disapproval.Â
âBoredom, really, when here you have access to the horse stable, personal theater, shooting range and a botanical garden? You fear lack of entertainment?â Sylus snarked back sarcastically while circling the pressure between the soles of your feet and your ankles.Â
âWell it's not like everything is here, like my favorite coffee shopâŚand the bakery! They are right next to the office, Iâd miss them during the dayâ you were scrambling for any avenue you could to redirect the conversation in your favor.Â
âHhmmm oh you donât say, as for coffee, it is restricted from your usual consumption currently until after our childâs arrival, last I checked. As for this esteemed bakery, Iâm aware of your sweet tooth and attraction to decorative goods. Hence the recent new hire from overseas that is award winning and nationally recognized for her pastries on call at the estate. Iâm sure her work excels far above, oh what was it called, donnyâs dough(nuts)â Sylus retorts in confidence.Â
Your brow flinched with nervousness by his usual directness and clear points. You recoil your feet from his grasp and tuck them beneath yourself. Â
âHey donât discredit donnyâs â the donut holes 10 for 3 dealâ those got me through a lot of late night reports with Tara at the office Iâll have you knowâ Puffing your cheeks and arms crossed hoping to amplify your defense.
Annoyance begins to creep unto Sylus expression. â something is not adding up here, while I am fully aware of the new physical and emotional changes sweetie, I canât help to notice your reluctance around me as of recentâÂ
-Crap, heâs on to me- You shout to yourself mentally.
He slides over closing the distance between you both on the couch, reaching over he places his calloused hands on your thigh. You recoil a bit hoping he doesnât notice the attention your eyes have on his body and attempting to conceal your thoughts from his intense gaze.Â
âSee that right there, itâs as if my presence discomforts you these days, actually scurrying away from me like a frightened kitten. You have even gone out of your way to prevent me from seeing you for our typical morning baths. I have to say love, if I were not the handsome man that I am, Iâd think youâve become disgusted of meâÂ
âWhat?! Of course not, the complete opposite!â You gasp a sharp breath at the realization of your words.Â
âOh the opposite you sayâ He reaches over, placing his large hands around your shoulder and other wrapping around under your knees pulling you into his lap.Â
âEnlighten me then darling, to what crime did I commit to owe scarcity in your recent lack of affectionâ Snuggling his face into the dips of your neck with a heavy inhale of your scent.Â
âI do all in my power to comfort you during this journey honey and without a need for recognition but here my loving wife leaves her devoted husband, for donut holes, surely Iâm more valuable to you than thatâÂ
His words trace over you like a knife ready to pierce you at your vitals. The dam withholding your hormonal waves has now cracked at his swift vulnerability. You are one sudden move away from cracking under the pressure.Â
He begins to rub your thighs in a circular motion running up and down between them and your round belly. Lowering his face to your stomach he whispers âyou hear that kids, your dear papa may have lost your mother to donny the baker, how cruel your mother can beâ Sylus pouts in a mocking tone, followed by a pepper of kisses on your stomach nearing dangerously close to your chest.Â
âDramatics are un-befitting of youâ you scoff.
âOh sweetie, trust me I can take it to ten if need be. Would you like to test it out or care to share with the rest of the family whatâs really going on hereâ His tone low and rough, he craved an end to your avoidance.
You froze, his crimson eyes piercing into you like he could read your thoughts. You could feel the red rushing to your cheeks and ears. Your eyes dart between his hands and lips in turmoil between your body's wants and ego's pride.Â
âTalkâ His voice stern, the dam has failed.Â
âI..didnât know how to voice it butâŚas of recently Iâve been facing some new pregnancy symptomsâ you whispered delicately beneath your breath, avoiding eye contact and pressing your index fingers against one another like a child confessing in a principal office.Â
âGo on, what are these symptoms, is it emotional or physical discomfort? I'm all ears, Iâm here for you.â Sylus stares intensely in anticipation of your words.Â
âWellâŚI-Iâd say a mix..I have been feeling more determined latelyâÂ
Sylus eyebrows raised, unclear by where your confession is trailing towards.
âDarling I can speak several languages as you know but pussyfooting is not a dialect I have explored, so do us both a favor and be straightforward will youâÂ
âI want to have sex with youâ You responded sharply. There you unraveled before him, nothing to hold back and with that your efforts tossed to the flames.Â
Pure confusion flooded Sylusâ face. âSex, you mean the same art form that I, your husband, engaged with you to -placing both hands on your belly- make them, that sex yes. Surely, Linkon educational system covered basic reproductive health.âÂ
âI know how I got pregnant, dummy! What I mean is, I canât stop thinking about having sex with you. One moment I am folding your clothes and the next Iâm inhaling your scent through your underwear ready to ride myself out on the corners of our bed. Even you massaging my feet here Iâve been on edge holding myself back to not pounce on you like an animal. I feel so embarrassed by how often it keeps happening. Iâve been using work at the association to keep from being at home and facing my frustrationsâŚ.I just feel like such a horny teenagerâ Just like that your previous efforts to script your confession had dissolved like paper in water. You bury your face in your hands muzzling your last few words fighting back an urge to tear up amidst your confession.Â
Sylus pauses and gives a brief exhale before speaking. He wraps his arm tighter around you, he removes your hand from hiding, raising your chin to meet his eyes directly.Â
âSweetie, since you tested positive on your pregnancy test I could not have been more overjoyed. Despite the challenges we both anticipated ahead I took time to take each with care with you in mind. That includes holding myself back as well.âÂ
You let out a small gasp and dwell on his words. âWhat do you mean by, holding backâÂ
Sylus sighs, staring at the ceiling and back down while pinching between the bridge of his nose.Â
âAt some point in your first trimester you began toâŚglow in a way I canât quite put into words. You have and will always be a beauty in my eyes but as your belly began to swell, the way you talk, the way you lay in bed at night, put on dresses with more thought out movements. I found myself capturing each moment and desire building up to take you to bed and ravish you. Your cravings for more hardy foods and bizarre snacks is noticeable filling in various areas in your form, each one taunting me.â He gripped your sides to emphasize himself.
âWhy taunting, why havenât you made a move?â You exclaimed back quickly, eager to decode his words.Â
âSimilar to you I donât want to be perceived as a selfish inconsiderate male. To expect sex from you in this new state and at a higher frequency than usual made me feelâŚgreedy. The last thing I would want is your perception of me as a monster hungry only for your body.â
Your chest rises in a quick breath at the realization at what you both were hiding from each other. The pure irony that you both shared a similar guilt of harboring the sin of greed to one another. Now all of a sudden your coy plans to avoid your lover seem pathetically irrational. Had you voiced yourself more freely, this entire misunderstanding could have been avoided.Â
You cuff Sylus face in your hands and pull him in for a passionate, long yearned for, kiss. A muzzled grunt from him leaks into your throat as you deepen the connection with your tongue and pull him in closer with your arms wrapped around his neck. His large hands straddle your waist driven to join you closer to him while being mindful of the noticeable bump between you both.
Your faces twist and turn, searching to take in as much of each other as possible, grunts and moans filling the atmosphere with each intentional movement. The tension in your lower sexes elevates to dangerous levels making your desires palpable. You both break free for a moment for air, leaning your foreheads against each other for balance and exhaling rhythmically in sync with each other.
âYour playing a dangerous game here kitten, as I am right now with you, I donât know how well I can hold back, itâs been 94 days, 3 hours and 12 minutes counting since Iâve last had you, I might go madâÂ
You lay your hand on his chest and lean your lips near his ear.Â
âIâm ready to clock in Boss, please take good care of meâÂ
Sylusâ crimson eyes dilate and his body swiftly picks you up bridal style with no hesitation taking large strides to your bed covered in black silk sheets. Like holding a delicate jewel he places you in the center and hovers over you with your hands cupping his cheeks.Â
He bends over just a hair thickness away from your lipsÂ
âI hope you saved your strength, we are likely to be working overtime tonightâ He spoke with a growl coated in his throat from his desire and painted with a devilish grin ready to sink his teeth into you.Â
You caress his cheeks and flash him an endearing smile âLucky for you Iâm such a well rounded and dedicated hunter, a master of her craft.â You lick his lips playfully to toy with him and set him a blaze. You were ready to have all of your built up passions flood the space around. It had been a considerable time for your track records since you last laid together. Those numbers meant nothing to you at this moment though. The time wasted circling each other in this tense dance was no longer of your concern. What mattered was just you and him diving into one another after denying each other for such an extended period. The thought did interrupt your impulse suddenly as you realized the new challenge of love making with the extra weight on you. Could you manage the same performance you were quite well versed in prior to now. A fear of not seeming as sexy creeped into the back of your throat as your eyes soon become glossy with incoming tears. Sylus immediately catches wind in the sudden shift of your expression.Â
âSweetie, what has suddenly gotten a hold of you. It's ok donât cry, Iâm here, talk to me baby.â He sweeps his thumb across your eyes to momentarily hold back the tears threatening to escape.Â
âI-*sniff* what if I donât feel as good to you, what if you donât enjoy me as much because of the changeâ Your voice cracking a bit trying to keep from breaking out into a cry beneath him.Â
Sylus lifts you onto his lap with your legs straddled around his hips, he places a soft kiss on your cheek and wipes away any loose tears. Locking eyes with you in a deep tone Sylus whispers over your lips âAddiction isnât nearly close enough to describing how I yearn for you. Each moment I get to hold you in my arms I fall under a trance and I am a captive vulnerable to your will. Never has it ever crossed my mind that your beauty has been tarnished in any way as you are now than from the day my soul found yours. The sinner that I am can only hope to never desanctify the sacred temple of my goddess. Despite my unholy nature you took in my seed willingly and all of the strife that comes to bearing our proof of existence. Iâm unworthy but nonetheless greedy to be your exclusive and devoted worshipper. Darling, believe me when I say my vows remain true, there is no love purer than mine.âÂ
Your heart skips a beat as you clench onto his words wishing you could etch them into your mind forever so as to never doubt him again. All of the insecurity you felt prior melts away and a sense of longing overtakes you once more as you crash your lips into his. Your tongues dance and lips lock both competing for the upper hand over the other. Roughly inhaling and exhaling through his nose, Sylus tries to keep up with your demand as his bodyâs need for air becomes a balancing act on the scales of your passion.
Sylusâ hands run over your back and soon find their way to gripping your ass and pressing your lower half to grind on his hardening member. The sensation of feeling his hardness deepens your arousal and you hunger for more. Moans escape from your mouth as you capture his cheeks in your hands. You bite on his lower lip sucking on it while pulling away to draw in his thirst for you, taking the opportunity to catch your breath. In a series of huffs you speak lustfully âDonât you dare hold back on me.â Before there is even a second to pass at the end of your plea Sylus pushes you down onto the bed with force from a deep throated kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him in desperation and deepen the connection. His hands find the collar of your silk nightgown and in a swift move he tears it right down the middle completely in half to expose all of you to him. You gasp in his throat and pull away for a moment to witness the small display of his strength exclaimingÂ
âSylus! Tha-âÂ
Cutting you off mid sentence speaking gruffly he responds âI promise to buy you a hundred more replacements.âÂ
Wasting no time he pushes your breast up and lowers his tongue to your nipple. He makes playful circles lubricating the peaks before intaking the entire plush mounds into his mouth to suck on. His other hand twists and tugs on the other triggering a loud moan from you. He alternates between your breasts making sure to provide each with equal attention. The wetness in between your legs spreads seeping through the fabrics of your panties.Â
âOhâfuck, Sylus Iââ
In the middle of your cry he sticks his index finger and middle finger into your mouth while still sucking on your nipples with rough slow flicks of his tongue. Your instincts canât help themselves at this point and you begin to suck on his fingers curling your tongue along their length.Â
He pulls them out and traces them from your mouth down your neck all the way to your panties where he tucks his hand beneath the delicate fabric. He presses the two fingers on the folds of your entrance and rubs against it in circles.Â
âI see my beloved is eager for moreâÂ
âSylus please IâI need yoââÂ
âShhh my queen, you need not say moreâÂ
He kisses between your breast, underneath each, down your stomach slowly until he reaches your gates.Â
âAllow me to recite a prayerâÂ
He places a kiss on your wet lips, from the base, he presses his tongue down with a deep long drawn out lick. He finds your clit immediately once he reaches the top, flicking it repeatedly.Â
You moan out loudly, one hand gripping the bed sheets and the other at his hair as you feel yourself nearing the cliff of an orgasm. The motions he takes on the clit is relentless, just when you thought he couldnât be any more intense, he draws an S on your clit with his tongue. Your hips buck up in response but he forces you down in place on the bed with hands on your hips. Languidly he forms a Y, followed by an L, then a U, he spells his name out on your most sensitive area as your thighs tremble in response.Â
âOhâoh my fucking goââ
âSshhh that's my line, sweetheartâ . Ceasing his calligraphy for a brief moment, he wraps both his thumbs at the side of your panties. He tugs them down your legs to provide himself full access to his meal. No longer hindered by any remaining clothing on you, a second wave of vigor ignites in him. Quickly returning to your clit he begins to suck on the tiny bean, chasing this new high he brings his index and middle finger to your entrance and pushes in slowly. Once inside you fully, he glides his fingers around your slick walls before pushing in and out rhythmically. The sounds of your now penetrated cunt fill the room along with a low grumble emitting from Sylus' chest, relaying his delight in your taste. You canât hold on much longer at the onslaught he is conducting. The pleasure flows through you like a river from the stiff tongue protruding from your mouth to the tip of your curved toes digging into the mattress surface. You are so close, your thighs press on the sides of Sylus head in a begging call for climax. Sylus, familiar with your distress signal, slurps violently on your clit and raises the stakes of his penetration, slipping in a third finger. At first maintaining his initial speed now with the third digit he soon increases the pace to chase your orgasm. A ripple of heat envelopes you, your voice releases Sylusâ name in a high pitched outcry. Cum spills down Sylusâ knuckles and halts his penetration as your back arches upward. Your body collapses back down in sweet surrender to the moment you had been burning for, for months. Giving one last kiss to your clit he gradually exits your now exceptionally wet cunt.Â
âKitten, listening to you purr like that after so long and seeing what a mess youâve made. Iâm sure this will take more than just one night to properly satisfy us bothâ Sylus shoots you a smug expression while licking the corner of his mouth where a stray drip of your cum lingered. Still seeing stars from your orgasm you werenât sure at first whether to protest or encourage his next move.Â
âDidnât you say earlier that you wanted to properly honor my temple.â Raising your foot to meet his hard bulge practically piercing through his dress pants, you playfully massage the tip and shaft. Your touch causes Sylus to groan. As his high relaxes from chasing your climax, his attention now directs to his rock solid cock, commanding to take control. You place your hand on his cheek to redirect his crimson gaze back to you.
âI believe an offering shall suffice.âÂ
Sylusâ eyes dilate at your words, oh how you drove him mad. Everything about you was like a perfect symphony designed and destined just for his ears alone to indulge. He lets out a low rumbling chuckle at your decree. Raising himself above you he tears open his dress shirt stained with your essence. Pulling his dress pants off his 8-inch cock flops out in display, slapping itself against his muscular abdomen.Â
âSweetheart, I just canât hold back anymore, oh please wonât you accept my humble offeringâÂ
He grabs your ankles dragging you a few inches toward himself, he spreads your legs wide open. He takes a moment to admire the image before memorizing your dazzling features to keep securely seared into his mind for safe keeping. A drop of his precum from his tip falls on your stomach, teasing at the load he is bearing. His eyes are hungry like a predator just before making its final moves on its prey. Caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers over your drunk like expression, he breathes out heavily in anticipation.Â
âIf for any reason you feel uncomfortable, you need to change positions or if Iâm being too rough donât you hesitate to tell me, ok darling. This moment is for us. I wonât allow you to not savor not even a second of itâÂ
Even at the cusp of his breaking point he upholds your well-being as his highest priority. The man that Sylus is, how could you have ever had reservations of his intent.Â
You nod your head in response to his declaration to confirm your needs. Caressing the side of your thighs with one hand, he uses the other to guide his cock to the front of your entrance. He presses the tip in, immediately it becomes soaked from the wetness you have trailing from your recent orgasm. Sylus breathes out a rugged groan and grits his teeth at the sweet familiar sensation that sends electric waves rushing through his veins.
âDo you want it, kitten?â He asks with his voice heavy with lust. Like a reflex to his question you wrap your legs around his hips with an unspoken assertion of your desire. The anticipation of him about to ravish you triggers waves of wetness drowning his tip.
As if profoundly making a binding vow he grasps your hands, intertwining his large rough fingers with yours. Without any further needs for affirmations he drives himself into your fortress. Hissing a curse under his breath at the long awaited reunion with your walls, it fit him perfectly like the heavens modeled your sexâs with precision for one another. Ecstasy washes over him like a thick midst that surrounds a waterfall. Lost in his raw arousal he grounds himself tightening your small hands in his, he plunges into you pulsating his strokes in your core like a war drum. Every collision he executes is explosive drawing you nearer to a second apex.Â
âSylus fu-fuck oh oh god please please har-harder I want it harder, fuck me harder daddyâÂ
The whine for stronger force intoxicates him and Sylus soaks in the moment of you unraveling before him like a flower in bloom. Your bidding further fueled his ambition to serve both of your insatiable hungers. Sylus releases a hand from yours to take hold of the luxury velvet headboard. Manipulating the headboard allows him to better choreograph his pounding on you. Clinching with flexing muscles, veins all along his arm project intensely. Soon the display of his might is so overt sounds of small cracks in the thick mahogany wood penetrate into the atmosphere. You both are so close.Â
âAh-da-darling fuâyouâre so marvelous, my gorgeous wife, matriarch over my soul, please say my nameâ His strength and momentum of his thrust hit their peak, sweat accumulating all over his chest, a testimony to his labor. Your free hand latches onto his shoulder followed by your nails piercing into the meat of his toned flesh.Â
âMmmmmm yes Sy-Sylus, Sylus! oh god yes fucking yes yes yes yes donât fucking stop right there, right fucking there SYLUS!â Exclaiming his name in a loud winded cry you buck your hips upward and in a moment of synchrony collide with his thrust.Â
Harmoniously, you baptize yourselves in each other's essence, his seed erupting in your womb like a geyser and the silk of your core outpouring down his shaft. Your thighs tremble violently at the blissful release and Sylus groans your name nearly breathless into your ear. His hand slipping from his previous intense grip on the headboard is lost and his forearms catch him so as to not collapse on your small figure. The expression of your face flushed with red painting your cheeks is dazzling, a display of your fulfillment reached. Your chest rising and falling in union with your racing heartbeat, almost all strength from your body escaped when you climaxed.Â
Sylusâ hand finds your cheeks and thumb swipes over your plush lips. Lowering his head he lays his lips on yours softly at first but quickly deepens in it with his tongue to satisfy any last remaining drop of lust.
âUnfortunately Iâll need to pull out of your walls now sweetheart. Iâd love to partake in that bath now though, if youâll indulge me.â He smiles at you sweetly and kisses your forehead. He pulls out of you and the collection of your cum slides out and onto the bed sheets. The departure of his member from your insides leaves you feeling empty but eager to refresh yourself.Â
âI gladly accept this additional offering of yours my love.â you respond, laying a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. Sylus rises up above you and off the bed, he picks you up bridal style carrying you to the large bath. You both rinse off in the standing shower. Sylus fills the bathÂ
with all of the works creating a concoction of your favorite bubble baths and bath bombs. As the piece de resistance he lights a candle and turns off the ceiling lights allowing the candle to magnify its presence. He dips you inside the bath and follows after, placing you in between his legs he wraps around you and rubs your belly in gentle circles.Â
âHow are we feeling now doveâÂ
âMmmmm incredible, itâs like all of a sudden the tension in my body has disappeared.â You hum in delight from your new found relaxation and comfort.Â
âMarvelous, Iâm glad and pleased to be able to serve your needs so well. Perhaps now we can be in more alignment in our honesty for intimacy moving forward, yesâ Lowering his head toward your ear he nibbles just above your earlobe.Â
âHehe that tickles and yes honey, you can count on that. Although granted you donât mind me as a pillow princess for the next coming months.â
âIâd have it no other way, Iâm sure the baby would appreciate it as wellâ He spoke in a tender tone near your ear while gathering a ball of bubbles along your thigh and stomach.Â
Soaking in the bath felt like a long awaited curtain call to finally laying down your guards at one another. During the bath you make playful cat ears on Sylus head with the bubbles while exchanging on topics about the baby and plans to further prepare for them.Â
After changing the sheets Sylus big spoons you from behind, inhaling your fresh scent from the top of your hair.Â
âYou know I would never harm you, either of you, right?â he murmurs.Â
âHhmmm you know good and well how such a thing was not once a fear of mine.â You respond back promptly without hesitation. Turning over on your side to face him you press your forehead against his, tangle your legs in between his and place your hand on his chest.Â
âI think a good take away from this morning's exchange is that holding back because of fear wonât serve either of us. I know there are times you battle with the concept of our child viewing you as frightening. Iâve held you on several occasions when nightmares from the past strike your core. Each time they did I was here to fulfill my role too as your goddess, to purify you, banish that which attempts to corrupt your heart and soul from loving freely.â Grabbing his hand and placing it on your stomach âThis child serves a purpose too, proving that your devotion is true, proving that your love truly is the purest. Iâd choose no other than you to grace my womb with motherhood. You are no monster, you're mine, you are our SylusâÂ
His gaze softens from your words of reassurance, his crimson eyes touched with a hint of mist. Placing a kiss on your lips he slides his body down to rest his head on your belly and hands relaxed on your hips.
âI truly do adore youâ
..............................................................................................................................
EpilogueÂ
Luke and Kieran walk through the halls and pause when through the walls they hear muffled noises.Â
âYes! That makes ten this week, I win again, hell yes!â Luke spits out slapping Kieranâs shoulder out of excitement.Â
âUuuhhhhh how the heck do I keep losing, Iâm starting to think itâs him jumping on her like a rabbit now. You sure the terms of these bets are even in the same playing field at this point!â Â
âHey man, like they say, donât hate the players hate the game, and this player just scored as Boss continues to score with Miss hunter. So pay upâ Luke retorts smuggling.Â
âI hope she ends up with twins now and he pins you with diaper duty.â
-End-
#lads sylus#sylus#lads#love and deepspace#sylus x mc#sylus x reader#qin che#sylus smut#sylus fluff#pregnancy#pregnant#prefnant
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ILL NEVER LET THAT HAPPEN AGAIN
i mean never.



SUMMARY â ni-ki protecting you from a perv.
đ ĺ°źĺş đ x fem!reader ăŤâ â Ö´ â 865 teasing harassment crying emotional distress angst fluff â çąťĺ fluff angst
â´ď¸ LIBRARY â´ď¸
â§Ëâ â đ¤â â É ä˝č
注 : if ur man ainât like this leave em
You were excited for today. Ni-ki had been looking forward to visiting this mall for weeks, hyping it up every chance he got. It had all his favorite stores, an arcade, and a food court with the best ice cream heâd ever had.
But something was ruining it.
You felt it before you saw itâthat unsettling sensation of being watched. Every time you moved, you could sense someone lingering just a little too close, hovering. It wasnât until Ni-ki pulled you into a store that you dared to glance behind you.
A man. Older, with greasy hair and an unsettling grin. And⌠was he holding his phone low?
Your stomach twisted.
You gripped Ni-kiâs sleeve, whispering, âNi-ki⌠I think that guyâs following us.â
Ni-ki immediately tensed. His carefree energy disappeared, replaced with something sharp and dangerous. âWhat guy?â
You subtly motioned toward the man, and Ni-kiâs jaw clenched when he noticed the angle of the creepâs phoneâpointed directly under your skirt.
Something inside Ni-ki snapped.
Without a word, he stormed toward the man and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward so forcefully that his phone clattered to the ground.
âThe fuck do you think youâre doing?â Ni-ki growled, eyes burning with rage.
The man stammered, trying to back away, but Ni-ki wasnât letting go. Instead, he shoved him hard, sending him stumbling against a store display.
âYou think you can take pictures of my girlfriend like some fucking pervert?â Ni-ki seethed. The entire store fell silent, eyes locking onto the scene. But Ni-ki didnât care.
He picked up the manâs phone, unlocking it with ease and scrolling through the gallery. His blood boiled at the sight of the upskirt photos.
His fist connected with the manâs face before he could stop himself.
The pervert yelped, cradling his jaw, but Ni-ki wasnât done. He punched him again, sending him crashing to the floor. âYouâre lucky I donât fucking kill youâ Ni-ki spat.
Security rushed in, pulling Ni-ki back before he could do more damage. âSir you need to leave. Now.â
Ni-ki didnât fight them. Instead, he wiped his knuckles on his jeans, turned to you, and grabbed your hand. âCome on baby weâre leaving.â
You nodded numbly, letting him lead you out as he scrolled through the pervertâs phone one last time, deleting the photos from the gallery, the trash bin, and even the iCloud. When he was satisfied, he tossed the phone onto the ground.
Outside the mall, Ni-ki exhaled sharply, shaking his head. âDisgusting.â
But you⌠you felt awful.
This was supposed to be Ni-kiâs day. He had been so excited, and now, because of youâ
Tears welled in your eyes. âNi-ki iâm so sorryâŚâ
He frowned, turning to you. âWhat?â
You sniffled, biting your lip. âI ruined everything you were looking forward to this and now we got kicked out because of me.â
His expression softened instantly. âBaby⌠no this isnât your fault.â
âBut if I hadnât worn a skirt if I had been more carefulââ
âDonâtâ Ni-ki interrupted, pulling you into his arms. âDonât do that to yourself.â
Your tears spilled over, soaking his hoodie as you clung to him. âI just feel so badâŚâ
Ni-ki sighed, rubbing slow circles into your back. âListen to me, okay?â He pulled back just enough to cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. His thumbs brushed away your tears as he spoke, voice gentle. âYou did nothing wrong. That creep is the only one to blame. Not you, not your skirt, not anything else.â
You sniffled again, lower lip trembling. âBut you wanted to go there so badâŚâ
Ni-ki smiled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âBaby i donât care about some stupid mall. I care about you.â
Your heart clenched. âYou really mean that?â
âOf course I doâ he murmured, kissing the tip of your nose this time. âNow no more crying okay?â
You nodded, taking a shaky breath. Ni-ki grinned and wiped away the last of your tears. âGood. Now come onâI know another mall nearby and they have an even better arcade.â
Your eyes widened. âReally?â
âReallyâ he chuckled, lacing his fingers with yours. âLetâs go crybaby.â
You pouted at the teasing nickname, making him laugh as he tugged you toward the car.
And just like that, the day wasnât ruined anymore.
@semisasseater
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i need rafe with a painfully shy reader. she literally cannot. verbalize
and usually when she wants a kiss rafe just knows so he obliges but he decides to tease her and forces her to ask for it which is an uphill battle for her bc shes a horrible flustered stuttering mess
rafe was used to the way you communicatedâor rather, the way you didnât. he never needed you to say much. the way your eyes flickered to his lips, the way you fidgeted with your sleeves, the way you tilted your head just slightly in silent invitationâhe knew what you wanted before you could ever put it into words.
and usually, he gave in without making you ask.
but tonight, he felt like being mean.
you had been staring at his mouth for the last five minutes, big eyes darting up to his every time he caught you, cheeks already burning pink. it was adorable. painful, even, how shy you were, how you practically shrank into yourself when he turned the attention back on you.
âyou want something, angel?â rafe asked, leaning in just enough to make your breath catch.
your lips parted, but no words came out. just a small, helpless squeak before you looked away, hands twisting into the hem of your sweater.
he smirked. âcâmon, baby. use your words.â
you shook your head quickly, as if to say never mind, but he wasnât letting you off the hook that easy.
âwhat is it?â he pressed, voice lower now, teasing. His fingers found your chin, tilting your face back toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. âyou always get so quiet when you want a kiss.â
your eyes widened, the mortification clear on your face. he had never said it out loud before, had never made you acknowledge the way you begged for his affection without speaking.
âsay it,â rafe murmured. âjust one little word.â
you swallowed hard, but your lips stayed sealed, trembling slightly as you fought against the unbearable weight of his gaze.
his thumb brushed your bottom lip, his other hand resting possessively on your thigh. âiâll wait.â
you let out a shaky breath, fists clenched in your lap. your entire body was burning, and he was enjoying this, watching you struggle, watching you squirm.
after what felt like an eternity, you finally managed a tiny, barely audible whisper.
ââŚkissâŚâ
rafe hummed, pretending to consider it. âthatâs all you got for me?â
your lashes fluttered, frustration and humiliation mingling in your expression as you tried again. this time, it was just a little louder, a little clearer.
ââŚkiss meâŚâ
that was enough.
before you could even exhale the last syllable, rafe had you pinned beneath him, his mouth finallyâfinallyâclaiming yours. his lips were rough and demanding, rewarding your effort with all the intensity you had been silently pleading for.
and when he finally pulled away, leaving you breathless and dizzy, he smirked at the dazed, flustered look on your face.
âsee?â he murmured, brushing his nose against yours. âthat wasnât so hard, was it?â
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â°ââ¤ËËË. "You were going to ...save me?"
141 task force x fem! reader
ââšââ´ there's this one scene from "the suicide squad" where Flagg takes it upon himself to save Harley Quinn, and I couldn't help but imagine that entire sequence happening with all the 141 doing the same for usâĄ
This was supposed to be a rescue mission.
Tactical entry. Controlled aggression. Get in, neutralize threats, and get you the hell out. Standard procedure.
But reality? Reality had... a sense of humor.
Ghost spotted you first, stepping out of the warehouse like youâd just finished a coffee break instead ofâwell. Whatever the fuck just happened in there.
You were drenched. Blood soaked through your gear, congealing in thick streaks down your arms, dripping from your chin, pooling at the base of your throat. It had seeped into the seams of your gloves, sticky between your fingers, darkening the fabric of your pants and boots until you reeked of copper and gunpowder. It clung to you in handprints that werenât yours, in splattered patterns across your jaw, in a slow rivulet curling down your temple, almost elegant in its descent.
And behind you? The warehouse was silent. Corpses littered the floor in ruinous heaps, bodies torn apart with surgical precision. Walls, once stark and industrial, were streaked in crimson. The air was thick with the scent of burnt gunpowder, metal, and death.
For the first time in a long time, your team didnât quite know what to say.
The blood still hadnât dried on your face when you tilted your head, blinking at them like you hadnât just obliterated an entire battalion single-handedly. Then, with a small, almost amused smileâ
âWhat are you guys doing?â
Silence.
Soap let out a breath. Gaz dragged a hand down his face. Price didnât move.
Ghostâs grip on his rifle didnât ease.
Then, finallyâ ââŚWe were here to save you.â
Gazâs voice was careful, measured, like he wasnât quite sure what reality he was operating in anymore.
You looked between them, brows raising. âSave... me?â You gestured vaguely to yourself, fingers still slick with blood. âYou were going to save me?â
Ghost, to his credit, didnât miss a beat. âIt was a very good plan, too.â
Thatâs what did itâSoap huffed out a breath, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. âFucking christ, bonnie. What the hell happened in there?â
You exhaled, rolling out the tension in your shoulders, glancing back at the bodies cooling behind you. âWell..I didnt think you guys were actually going to come!?"
Priceâs gaze was sharp, unreadable. âHow many?â
You considered that, tipping your head. The blood was starting to dry on your skin, crackling slightly as you flexed your fingers. âI lost count after the last guy...so maybeeee twenty?, I think it was twenty? But, I know for sure it was a lot... more.â
Gaz looked at you, then at the bodies, then back at you. He gestured vaguely. âAnd you didnât think to radio in?â
You gave a small, sheepish shrug. âI didnât wanna be ruuude?.â
Ghost made a soundâsomething between a sigh and a chuckle. Price pinched the bridge of his nose like this was giving him a migraine. Soap peered past you, lips parting slightly as he took in the sheer fucking carnage.
â...You did leave one alive, yeah?â
A pause.
You blinked. âOh...Oh waaaitâ
Gaz let out a low groan, looking up at the sky like it might give him strength.
Price sighed through his nose, adjusting his stance. âWeâre leaving.â
You fell in step beside them, still trailing blood like a second shadow. The air between you all was heavy, thick with disbelief and something close to exasperation.
"So... does this mean I still get a dramatic rescue next time, or did I just waste my one freebie?"
Soap snorted. "Next time, just let us know when you've already killed everybody."
You smirked, shaking the blood off your hands, letting it splatter against the dirt. The scent of it curled in your nose, rich and sharp, staining the air around you. âWell, whereâs the fun in that?â
And then, before anyone could react, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Soap.
He stiffened for half a second, tension laced through his frame like a coiled wireâthen one hand slid up your back, firm and warm, the other still gripping his gun.
Blood smeared across his vest as he let out a slow breath, fingers pressing lightly against your spine. Careful. Measured. The weight of the rifle in his other hand was a stark contrast to the slow, absentminded way he caressed your back, like grounding himself against something visceral, something real.
"You're a fuckinâ menace," he muttered against your hair, but his touch was steady, voice softer than it shouldâve been.
You grinned against his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath layers of Kevlar and sweat. âYeeeaaah, but you loooove meeeeâ
Soap exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.
Behind you, Ghost just shook his head. Price sighed. Gaz muttered something under his breath about "absolute fucking lunatic."
You hummed in amusement, blood still dripping from your clothes as you looked up at him with a soft smile.
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Hiii, hope youâre doing well! Iâve been obsessed with rewatching The Nanny and thereâs this episode where Fran (the mc) reveals she has a tattoo but not the place, which leads to Maxwell (her love interest who she has an absurd amount of tension with) wondering where it is. Fran teases him constantly, and Maxwell checks her out endlessly and spends his time thinking about the tattoo and how hot it is that she has one. Could you write smth like this for poly!marauders? Maybe when theyre friends or at the start of their relationship. Honestly you could pull so many ideas from this series for fanfic. Thank youu so much!
"It's gotta be a tramp stamp." Sirius decides, "There's no other place on her body she'd be trying to hide from us."
"She could show us her back," James scoffs, "I bet it's, like, on her thigh or something. Y'know, right by the- well, she'd have to take off her pants. That's why she won't tell us."
"Maybe it's between her tits." Sirius snickers, "Or right on her left asscheek."
"Why the left and not the right?" Peter asks, "Maybe it goes across both."
"Right. It's James on one side and Potter on the other." James nods, blinding grin in full force, "She just can't admit that to me or she'd be embarrassed."
"Nice try." Remus had refrained from joining the conversation until now, but he leans in to murmur, "Marlene says she's seen it before."
"Where is it?" Sirius's eyes blow wide, surely jealous of the Gryffindor girl, "And what is it?"
"She wouldn't say." Remus admits, "But that means we're probably right. It's somewhere she can't show us."
"It's confirming our hypothesis." James nods, mouth set in a thoughtful expression, "We're using the scientific method."
"You're a genius," Remus snorts, "Anyways, I'll keep asking around."
"I'll ask Lily," James hums, faux-casually, "I think this time she'll-"
"She'll never tell you. I'll ask Lily." Sirius decides, "And you stick to Alex."
James's nose scrunches in displeasure at the thought of having to interrogate your unsavory ex, but their curiosity is eating them alive. They make to get up and fan out to search for more clues, but you come and plop down on the bench beside Peter, your hand already reaching for one of the breakfast platters.
"Morning boys." You hum, and Remus's eyes catch on black ink dotted over the base of your ring finger, "How was practice, James?"
"What's on your finger?" Remus blurts before James can begin rambling, and he realizes that the ring you typically wear is absent.
"Oh." You glance at your hand, shoulders stiffening slightly as you realize your secret is out, "I forgot my ring."
"That's your tattoo?" Sirius exclaims, incredulous and feeling just a little cheated, "Two letters? On your finger? What's scandalous about that?"
"I never said it was scandalous! I just said it was embarrassing." You defend yourself, "And it is."
"What is it?" James asks, and perhaps he's the only one that could have gotten it out of you, with the gentleness permanently present in his voice.
You groan, "It's the initials of a boy I like, okay?"
Sirius's head jerks back, surprised, "Were you together?" Then his eyes narrow further, "Are you together?"
"No! No, we're not together, he's-" You stammer, stuffing a bite of egg into your mouth to delay the inevitable, "He's not even real."
Silence and confused looks greet you, and you sigh, voice dejected, "He's a character from a book. Okay? And I was a little drunk and I thought it'd be a good idea for a stick-and-poke, but it was not as temporary as I thought it'd be."
"He's pretend." Sirius realizes, glee filling out his expression and making him beam, "You've got a fake man's initials on your ring finger!"
"Here comes the bride," James snickers, "Marrying a bloody book."
"Easy boys, let's not tease her." Remus seemingly takes pity on you, nudging his foot against yours beneath the table, "She's gonna be pretty beat up when he doesn't show for the wedding - we shouldn't make things worse."
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All of this is real but I wanna add on a personal story that's the reverse of the original post, just so folks don't think all is lost.
When I was growing up, my parents were staunch Republicans. Both of them are very Evangelical, both are from from southern families, both were military brats, and my dad spent 20+ years in the air force. Not a combo that's particularly well known for making people less conservative. My mom tells me that when my parents were in college in the early 90s my dad could've been a Young Republican.
I think my dad's mind began to change around the 2008 election, when we lived in DC. DC is a fairly progressive city, though it's also a military town, and for the first time my dad knew people at church who were liberal and had productive, respectful conversations with them. He still disagreed, but he understood that it was a difference of opinion - not that liberals were evil or stupid.
My dad's mind further changed in 2014, when he was deployed to Afghanistan. He became really close with his translator, who was working and hoping to immigrate to the US - actually I think his first translator did immigrate while he was there and he had a second one for the last couple months he was there. He also saw the incredible hospitality of Afghan people and was blown away by it. He still keeps up with his translator, who lives in Texas now. One thing he said to me at the time was something to the effect of, "Afghans are just like us. They want a better life for their children and are willing to work hard to attain that."
I couldn't trace the evolution in my mom's beliefs quite as well, since she was less outspoken about her politics when I was a kid, but I know a couple things more recently helped move her left. One of our good friends from the church we attended in Arizona, a kid a couple years older than me, came out as trans a few years after we moved away. When we knew her, she had always been thoughtful, intelligent, and well-spoken, as had her mom. When she came out, her mom was unflinchingly supportive, despite plenty of transphobia from other people at the church. My mom didn't actively join in either side but watched it play out on facebook. A few years ago, after the Club Q shooting in my parents' current home of Colorado Springs, my mom said that she thought that all the homophobia and transphobia from the church was wrong. She said there were maybe some Bible verses against being gay, but she couldn't think of any that were against being trans.
But the thing that got my mom really fired up against the republicans was COVID-19. My sister is immunosuppressed and so the isolation of the pandemic hit my family particularly hard, since it was really not safe for them to go anywhere. All the while, conservative voices at their church insisted that services go on as usual, in person, masks and tests not required. This was life or death for my sister, and the callousness of my mom's community broke her heart, I think, and also got her upset at the republican party and Donald Trump (someone my parents had never liked). In 2020, my parents cast their first blue votes.
As my beliefs have rocketed leftwards, my parents' have less quickly. But I still find it fairly easy to talk about politics with them, as long as I don't use the most inflammatory language. Last year, my dad brought up not liking Biden's foreign policy, and said that the handling of the situation in Palestine was a disaster. He said, "I'm not pro-Hamas, I mean, they are a terrorist organization, but the response from Israel has just been so incredibly outsized and unwarranted, and Biden has done nothing against it." Maybe not #fromtherivertothesea, but a more progressive stance than most would expect.
Anyway, I think this reiterates what prev said, that you have to be continually progressing forward. My parents haven't ever been radical, but they've always been open to new ideas, new experiences, and new perspectives, listening to others and hearing what they have to say. If you strive for those things, I think that will do a lot to inoculate you against propaganda.





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Putty in My Hands

He used to fight it. He used to squirm, whine, and insist that diapers were "yucky"âthat he wasnât really a little boy. But now? Oh, now heâs nothing but soft, helpless putty in your hands.
The proof is right there, written all over his blushing face, in the way his body responds without him even meaning to. That thick, crinkly diaper that he once hated? Now itâs the only thing he wears, wrapped snug around his waist, and instead of pouting, heâs squirming for an entirely different reason.
You coo at him, trailing a finger along the waistband of his diaper, just enough to make him shiver. âSuch a fussy little thing,â you tease, watching as he wriggles, his mittened hands balling into useless fists. âWhatâs the matter, baby? You used to hate your diapers, but now look at youâŚâ
His cheeks are practically glowing pink, his lips wrapped around his paci as he sucks faster, like itâll somehow distract from whatâs happening. But it wonât. Nothing will. Not when his body gives him away so easily.
You press a gentle hand against the front of his diaper, just enough to make him whimper. âOhhh⌠is that what I think it is?â you croon, grinning when he squeaks and tries to turn his head away. âSuch a silly little boy⌠getting all excited in your thick, babyish diapers.â
He whines behind his paci, his hips shifting instinctively, but thereâs nothing he can do. The bulky padding keeps him right where he belongsâhelpless, needy, and completely at your mercy.
And then, just when heâs worked up, just when heâs practically trembling, waiting for whatever comes next⌠you pull away.
âAww, poor baby,â you giggle, standing up and ruffling his hair. âBut Mommy has things to do. Be good while Iâm gone, okay?â
His eyes go wide, his little muffled protest coming out as nothing more than a whimper. He squirms, his diaper crinkling, but thereâs no escape. No relief. Just frustration.
You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before whispering, âMaybe if youâre really good, Iâll take care of my squirmy baby later.â
And with that, youâre gone, leaving him blushing, crinkling, and absolutely desperate.
Putty in your hands.
#ab/dl community#ab/dl story time#ab/dl mommy#ab/dl caption#ab/dl babyboy#ab/dl stories#ab/dl boy#ab/dl diaper
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i had this idea today when i was thinking about rafe fucking so hard and being so mean with reader because hes stressed about some work stuff and she couldnt take it so she tell him to stop. rafe being all worried about hurting her and also in love w the fact that she is so delicate and soft and pretty crying for himâŚ
TOO MUCH â RAFE CAMERON
WARNINGS â rafe is rough, crying, rafe stops and comforts reader â mdni 18+



Rafe was stressed. You could feel it in the way he held you, in the way his fingers dug into your hips, forcing you down onto his cock over and over, his grip so tight it almost hurt. His pace was brutal, his thrusts deep and punishing, using you like he needed to fuck the frustration out of his system.
He barely spoke, just the occasional grunt, the sharp sound of his palm smacking against your ass, the growled curses under his breath. But you could hear it in the way he breathed, in the tension in his bodyâthat tight, wound-up anger that had nothing to do with you but was being poured into you nonetheless.
"Rafeâ" You gasped as he drove into you even harder, your fingers scrambling against his shoulders, your body struggling to take it, but he barely seemed to notice.
"Too fucking pretty," he muttered, voice rough, almost pained. His hand found your throat, not squeezing, just holding, tilting your face up so he could see the tears pooling in your eyes. And something about it made him snap, his thrusts turning mean, punishing. "This what you wanted? Huh? Wanted me to fuck you stupid so you donât have to think?"
You shook your head quickly, a sob catching in your throat. You wanted him, but not like this. He was too much, too big, too deep, fucking into you like he was trying to ruin you. It was overwhelming, your body tightening around him, but not in pleasureâin desperation.
"Rafeâ" Your voice wavered, your nails digging into his biceps, clinging to him. "Stopâplease, I canâtâ"
Everything halted in an instant.
His whole body locked up, his grip loosening immediately. And then his hands were on your face, cupping your cheeks, tilting your head up, his eyes dark and wide with something close to panic.
"Shit, babyâfuck, Iâm sorry." His thumb swiped at the tears slipping down your cheeks, his expression crumbling as he took in the way you trembled beneath him. "Did I hurt you?"
You shook your head, but your sniffle gave you away.
His jaw clenched, his hands smoothing over your waist, your thighs, like he needed to check for himself. His touch was so different nowâsoft, careful, like you were fragile. His pretty girl, too delicate for the way he had just been handling you.
"Didnât mean to be so rough, angel." He kissed your cheeks, your temple, your hands, the edge of your trembling lips. He cradled you against him, holding you like something precious. His voice was quieter now, full of guilt. "You gotta tell me when itâs too much, okay?"
You nodded, sniffling against his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded. He held you like that for a long moment, stroking your hair, pressing kisses to your forehead.
"Lemme make it up to you, yeah?" he whispered after a beat, voice soft now, reverent. "Let me take care of you, baby. Slow this time. Just how you like it."
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