tb3ih

[tb3ih]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS, fushiguro megumi.

[ CLASSMATE!megumi has you wishing for more than the night... ]

⨳ cw: smut, 18+ (mdni), alcohol consumption, university jjk parallel, cunnilingus, pussy-drunk!megumi, creampie, use of 'sweetheart', fem!reader.

fushiguro megumi is all bite no bark. he is a silent killer, stealing hearts from across the crowded club floor and sneaking out the back doors. he's got a face of porcelain and inky black locks that you find only extend his encapsulating aura if you manage to slip past the grasp of those beautiful jade irises.

rarely smiles and never manages to sustain his interest for more than a minute, you find yourself only a little surprised to see him sitting quietly in one of the club booths, his friends laughing over booze while he sits wordlessly holding a cup of something expensive.

you know him from some of your classes at university, though you hardly had the time to consider who he was. after all; being a scholarship student meant you spared no time for silly little pleasantries. it was only now--with graduation around the corner and all your exams done--did you allow yourself to unwind.

and he was the type of guy you promised to steer clear of--the inconsiderate kind to wear maison margiela to reel you in and leave you wondering why you even let him the next morning in his empty bedsheets.

so you're at the bar, shooting something that burns all the way down your throat before you let your heel-clad feet carry you to the sea of people on the floor. the bass of the music is booming and you let the your limbs flow with the rhythm you seem to swim in.

it's hot, crowded, and claustrophobic, but you've never felt more free.

"any room for a plus one?" when you turn to follow the sound of his voice, megumi stands close to you, the lights of the club dancing across the planes of his face.

you scoff, eyes falling down to the see that the tips of his fingers ghost at your waist.

he's waiting for an invitation.

so you carry your eyes back up to meet his gaze. "that depends," you reply, "if you can keep up."

and you never thought yourself much of a dancer, but something in the way his lips pull with the faintest bit of amusement and the weight of his hands when they do settle on the small of your back has you wanting nothing more than to fall into this unspoken tango between the two of you.

so you do.

and maybe when you feel the burning in your throat you blame it on the empty brandy bottle on your apartment floor because it never be the way his lips dance across your neck as you sit on the cold marble of your kitchen counter. your fingers find his collar, popping the expensive buttons and relishing the way the clinking sound they make bouncing across the tile of your kitchen.

you hear him laugh lowly against your jugular, muttering something about how you're the first to ever ruin such an expensive shirt. you only laugh in reply, telling him to shut up as you practically tear the material off of him, eyes raking over the way the contours of his chest and shoulders are painted in the moonlight of your kitchen. and in a flash, your poor dress is next, the cool of the air causing a sigh to escape your lips as the zipper comes undone and the fabric is discarded somewhere in the room.

his strong hands are pressing against your thighs, his force slow yet strong as he opens you up like a book. his lips find yours once more and you think you like the way he groans when you sink your incisors into the flesh of his bottom lip.

"fuck," he breathes, hands moving to grip under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the counter. "i could devour you and it'd never be enough."

and the two of you are a mess. half muttered curses and moans fall from your lips as he traces a path from your collarbones through the plain of your chest and down your abdomen. you feel the way his voice whispers promises into your skin as he unfurls you like silk on the marble counter, the occasional groan leaving his lips when his ears catch the way you call his name.

"may i?" you almost don't hear it because he's whispering it, eyes on the damp patch on your panties.

you take a second to catch your breath, "what?"

his thumb applies pressure to your clothed entrance, your walls quivering just slightly at the contact in a way that has you embarrassed. your body betrays you the way it craves the man before you.

megumi's gaze comes to meet yours, somehow repeating the question silently. you nod, "yes, please, anything..."

and that's all he needs before he's hooking a deft finger into the hem of your panties, discarding it over his shoulder like every boundary and shred of self-respect you thought you had when the night started in that crowded club.

two fingers prod at your entrance, and you can't help the arch that forms in your back when he does finally push in, relieve the aching in your core that has you breathless. "god, you're fuckin' beautiful..."

his mouth is parted, eyes hazy as they watch the way you cover his fingers in arousal. from the tone of your whines to the way your body reacts to his touch has something feral clicking in his head and he can't help himself when he finally brings his mouth down to your aching pussy. "holy shit."

he's tongue and lips on your aching core. he eats, you think, like a man starved. and you think to thank all the girls before you because he's got you mewling his name and your mind going blank with pleasure. you feel the familiar pull in your stomach, the occasional bump of his nose against your swollen clit bringing you closer and closer to your high, and you fear you might just like the way his edging makes the corners of your vision burn.

"hey," he mumbles against you, and you feel him pause, the loss of contact causing you to find his expression from between your legs in the dim light of the room. "it's not too late to stop, you know."

megumi's voice is soft and you like the way his words fall from his tongue to settle in your ears. "no i'm okay, really..." there is a clinking of metal, probably the buckle of his belt as it hits the floor of the kitchen and you hear his zipper follow.

he is no longer below you but above you, pushing you to lay back on the cool of the counter. there's something warm pressing to your exposed core and you're not quite processing things until his hand comes hold your face ever so gently.

"focus, sweetheart," he says, though from the look in his eyes and the way he sucks in a ragged breath, you think he's trying to will himself to do the same.

so you let your eyes drink him in, from the outline of his tousled hair, the jade of his eyes, and the heaving of his chest. he still has hand holding your face and you shift your head to bring your lips to his fingers, pressing gently.

"please?"

and that breathless whisper is all he needs before slamming his hips against yours, filling you till all the breath's escaped your lungs and your vision hasn't even the room for stars to fill it.

it's all so strange to you; the way his eyes trace over where your bodies connect, a nearly amorous glint in those beautiful jade irises. his pace is fast yet sure, and you're not so intoxicated by him that you don't catch the way his thumbs rub lightly over where his grip had been bruising only moments ago.

think nothing of it, you repeat in your mind every time you think his kisses on your neck linger a bit too long or the way his tone seems to rouse your heart when he's muttering how good this feels, how good you feel.

you know he's close when you feel the stuttering of his pace, the lilt of his voice getting desperate as he continues. his hand is back on your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that has you gasping his name again and again and again.

"ah ah," he coos, his free hand releasing your hip to frame your face, jade eyes alight with something more than amusement when you have no choice but to meet his gaze. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, i wanna know how you feel," he says.

and you can feel your own climax coming closer, his pace slowing but his thumb working simultaneous at your bundle of nerves. your stomach is tight and you think you might scream but he's got his lips against yours in an instant, your thighs locked tightly around his hips as he makes a final thrust, pouring warmth into you as finish with him. back arched and stomach pressed against his chest, you're both chasing the oxygen you find from each other, letting the rest of your high settle yet making no move to separate.

"'m sorry about that," megumi mumbles against your lips, eyes looking falling to where the two of you are still connected, "i forgot to ask if that was alright..."

you blink at him, something light bubbling in your stomach until it breaks a smile across your swollen lips and rings out as laughter. his expression is genuinely perplexed and you take a moment to gather yourself, tears beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. "you... just had me on my kitchen counter," you start, "and you're apologizing for finishing inside without asking first?"

his face contorts into a scowl, rose dusting his cheeks a little. he ducks his head, lips meeting your neck before muttering a small "yeah". his eyes are a little bashful when they meet yours again and you're surprised by the vulnerability in the way he's looking at you. "...felt like heaven..."

your hands hold his face and you chuckle, thumbs rubbing over his cheeks to reassure him that it was alright for him to do that. "but uhm," you say, clearing your throat a little, "could we move somewhere a little more comfortable? i think you might break my spine if we go another round on the counter..."

his lips curl and you don't know if you've prepared yourself spiritually for the way his eyes hold a mischievous glint in them. "thought you'd never ask, sweetheart," he replies, shifting his face to press a chaste kiss against the palm of your hand before lifting you off the counter effortlessly.

fushiguro megumi was the kind of man you couldn't hold expectations for; but here, in the dim atmosphere of your apartment, you find yourself letting his lips against your skin settle like a promise, hoping more than anything that your heart won't be hurting when the sun comes to replace the moon in sky.

after all, nothing could be more desirable than when it is illicit.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[tb3ih]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS, fushiguro megumi.

[ CLASSMATE!megumi has you wishing for more than the night... ]

⨳ cw: smut, 18+ (mdni), alcohol consumption, university jjk parallel, cunnilingus, pussy-drunk!megumi, creampie, use of 'sweetheart', fem!reader.

fushiguro megumi is all bite no bark. he is a silent killer, stealing hearts from across the crowded club floor and sneaking out the back doors. he's got a face of porcelain and inky black locks that you find only extend his encapsulating aura if you manage to slip past the grasp of those beautiful jade irises.

rarely smiles and never manages to sustain his interest for more than a minute, you find yourself only a little surprised to see him sitting quietly in one of the club booths, his friends laughing over booze while he sits wordlessly holding a cup of something expensive.

you know him from some of your classes at university, though you hardly had the time to consider who he was. after all; being a scholarship student meant you spared no time for silly little pleasantries. it was only now--with graduation around the corner and all your exams done--did you allow yourself to unwind.

and he was the type of guy you promised to steer clear of--the inconsiderate kind to wear maison margiela to reel you in and leave you wondering why you even let him the next morning in his empty bedsheets.

so you're at the bar, shooting something that burns all the way down your throat before you let your heel-clad feet carry you to the sea of people on the floor. the bass of the music is booming and you let the your limbs flow with the rhythm you seem to swim in.

it's hot, crowded, and claustrophobic, but you've never felt more free.

"any room for a plus one?" when you turn to follow the sound of his voice, megumi stands close to you, the lights of the club dancing across the planes of his face.

you scoff, eyes falling down to the see that the tips of his fingers ghost at your waist.

he's waiting for an invitation.

so you carry your eyes back up to meet his gaze. "that depends," you reply, "if you can keep up."

and you never thought yourself much of a dancer, but something in the way his lips pull with the faintest bit of amusement and the weight of his hands when they do settle on the small of your back has you wanting nothing more than to fall into this unspoken tango between the two of you.

so you do.

and maybe when you feel the burning in your throat you blame it on the empty brandy bottle on your apartment floor because it never be the way his lips dance across your neck as you sit on the cold marble of your kitchen counter. your fingers find his collar, popping the expensive buttons and relishing the way the clinking sound they make bouncing across the tile of your kitchen.

you hear him laugh lowly against your jugular, muttering something about how you're the first to ever ruin such an expensive shirt. you only laugh in reply, telling him to shut up as you practically tear the material off of him, eyes raking over the way the contours of his chest and shoulders are painted in the moonlight of your kitchen. and in a flash, your poor dress is next, the cool of the air causing a sigh to escape your lips as the zipper comes undone and the fabric is discarded somewhere in the room.

his strong hands are pressing against your thighs, his force slow yet strong as he opens you up like a book. his lips find yours once more and you think you like the way he groans when you sink your incisors into the flesh of his bottom lip.

"fuck," he breathes, hands moving to grip under your thighs to pull you to the edge of the counter. "i could devour you and it'd never be enough."

and the two of you are a mess. half muttered curses and moans fall from your lips as he traces a path from your collarbones through the plain of your chest and down your abdomen. you feel the way his voice whispers promises into your skin as he unfurls you like silk on the marble counter, the occasional groan leaving his lips when his ears catch the way you call his name.

"may i?" you almost don't hear it because he's whispering it, eyes on the damp patch on your panties.

you take a second to catch your breath, "what?"

his thumb applies pressure to your clothed entrance, your walls quivering just slightly at the contact in a way that has you embarrassed. your body betrays you the way it craves the man before you.

megumi's gaze comes to meet yours, somehow repeating the question silently. you nod, "yes, please, anything..."

and that's all he needs before he's hooking a deft finger into the hem of your panties, discarding it over his shoulder like every boundary and shred of self-respect you thought you had when the night started in that crowded club.

two fingers prod at your entrance, and you can't help the arch that forms in your back when he does finally push in, relieve the aching in your core that has you breathless. "god, you're fuckin' beautiful..."

his mouth is parted, eyes hazy as they watch the way you cover his fingers in arousal. from the tone of your whines to the way your body reacts to his touch has something feral clicking in his head and he can't help himself when he finally brings his mouth down to your aching pussy. "holy shit."

he's tongue and lips on your aching core. he eats, you think, like a man starved. and you think to thank all the girls before you because he's got you mewling his name and your mind going blank with pleasure. you feel the familiar pull in your stomach, the occasional bump of his nose against your swollen clit bringing you closer and closer to your high, and you fear you might just like the way his edging makes the corners of your vision burn.

"hey," he mumbles against you, and you feel him pause, the loss of contact causing you to find his expression from between your legs in the dim light of the room. "it's not too late to stop, you know."

megumi's voice is soft and you like the way his words fall from his tongue to settle in your ears. "no i'm okay, really..." there is a clinking of metal, probably the buckle of his belt as it hits the floor of the kitchen and you hear his zipper follow.

he is no longer below you but above you, pushing you to lay back on the cool of the counter. there's something warm pressing to your exposed core and you're not quite processing things until his hand comes hold your face ever so gently.

"focus, sweetheart," he says, though from the look in his eyes and the way he sucks in a ragged breath, you think he's trying to will himself to do the same.

so you let your eyes drink him in, from the outline of his tousled hair, the jade of his eyes, and the heaving of his chest. he still has hand holding your face and you shift your head to bring your lips to his fingers, pressing gently.

"please?"

and that breathless whisper is all he needs before slamming his hips against yours, filling you till all the breath's escaped your lungs and your vision hasn't even the room for stars to fill it.

it's all so strange to you; the way his eyes trace over where your bodies connect, a nearly amorous glint in those beautiful jade irises. his pace is fast yet sure, and you're not so intoxicated by him that you don't catch the way his thumbs rub lightly over where his grip had been bruising only moments ago.

think nothing of it, you repeat in your mind every time you think his kisses on your neck linger a bit too long or the way his tone seems to rouse your heart when he's muttering how good this feels, how good you feel.

you know he's close when you feel the stuttering of his pace, the lilt of his voice getting desperate as he continues. his hand is back on your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure that has you gasping his name again and again and again.

"ah ah," he coos, his free hand releasing your hip to frame your face, jade eyes alight with something more than amusement when you have no choice but to meet his gaze. "don't hide from me, sweetheart, i wanna know how you feel," he says.

and you can feel your own climax coming closer, his pace slowing but his thumb working simultaneous at your bundle of nerves. your stomach is tight and you think you might scream but he's got his lips against yours in an instant, your thighs locked tightly around his hips as he makes a final thrust, pouring warmth into you as finish with him. back arched and stomach pressed against his chest, you're both chasing the oxygen you find from each other, letting the rest of your high settle yet making no move to separate.

"'m sorry about that," megumi mumbles against your lips, eyes looking falling to where the two of you are still connected, "i forgot to ask if that was alright..."

you blink at him, something light bubbling in your stomach until it breaks a smile across your swollen lips and rings out as laughter. his expression is genuinely perplexed and you take a moment to gather yourself, tears beginning to form at the corners of your eyes. "you... just had me on my kitchen counter," you start, "and you're apologizing for finishing inside without asking first?"

his face contorts into a scowl, rose dusting his cheeks a little. he ducks his head, lips meeting your neck before muttering a small "yeah". his eyes are a little bashful when they meet yours again and you're surprised by the vulnerability in the way he's looking at you. "...felt like heaven..."

your hands hold his face and you chuckle, thumbs rubbing over his cheeks to reassure him that it was alright for him to do that. "but uhm," you say, clearing your throat a little, "could we move somewhere a little more comfortable? i think you might break my spine if we go another round on the counter..."

his lips curl and you don't know if you've prepared yourself spiritually for the way his eyes hold a mischievous glint in them. "thought you'd never ask, sweetheart," he replies, shifting his face to press a chaste kiss against the palm of your hand before lifting you off the counter effortlessly.

fushiguro megumi was the kind of man you couldn't hold expectations for; but here, in the dim atmosphere of your apartment, you find yourself letting his lips against your skin settle like a promise, hoping more than anything that your heart won't be hurting when the sun comes to replace the moon in sky.

after all, nothing could be more desirable than when it is illicit.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[tb3ih]

i pop into tumblr every now and then (i quit a couple years ago due to busy-ness) and remembered that there was an ayato fic that i read a year ago that i really loved. so i came to see if you updated it, and you did! part 4 was a pleasure to read; i'm looking forward to further updates! i will wait for as long as needed :)

no i've never wanted to cry more than when i read this (you say you're just a reader but you're literally the reason i keep trying to write on this app).

[tb3ih]

SHUT UPPP (im in love)

satoru is an avid admirer of the fine arts.

he still remembers the feeling of running his fingertips over the golden ridges of a certain vase back in the gojo compound. a rare, invaluable piece, passed down from generation to generation for several hundred years and decidedly off limits to tiny children’s hands. with every scolding it had become more irresistible to him, he was inexplicably drawn to it, the shape, the colours, the texture - so much that he still never visits his childhood home without sparing it at least a glance.

he doesn’t recall his first visit to the tokyo metropolitan art museum - he had probably been of primary school age, more interested in what the gift shop had to offer than whatever was hung up on the walls. but he remembers the first time a piece had resonated with him, shortly after graduating from jujutsu tech. he was quick to wrap one of the museum’s curators around his finger - a middle aged woman, wooed by nama chocolate and his eyes - granting him after hours access whenever he felt like it. he would go there, before or after missions, wandering through empty spaces or spending all his time in front of the same artwork until he was running late for yet another assignment.

but none of that is what he has in mind when he tells people about his love for the visual.

what he means is you, right now, sleeping in his bed.

the inward curve of the small of your back where he delicately runs his hand up and down, separated from you only by the alabaster coloured sheets you are wrapped in.

the shape of your spine that he traces all the way up to your shoulder blades, taking a detour to paint endless circles on your heated skin, his touch unhurried and light, careful not to pull you from your deep sleep.

the back of your neck where he follows the lines of your muscles, feeling the tension and stress before trying to soothe the exhaustion embedded in them with a gentle massage.

satoru can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips when he seemingly hits the right spot and you let out a deep sigh, melting further into the pillow you’re hugging to your face. his fingers brush up the nape of your neck and tangle in your sleep tousled hair that spreads out like brushstrokes against a canvas, his blunt nails steadily scratching your scalp and brushing back stray hairs that threaten to tickle you awake.

he freezes in place like a child caught in the act when all of a sudden your brows furrow and your nose wrinkles. his mother’s scolding words ring distantly in his ears again, the gentle timbre of her voice trying to make him understand that certain works of art are simply not made to be touched. only when you stir does he notice the sliver of sunlight that had crept through the windows of his bedroom right across your face.

you mumble his name like a question, voice heavy with sleep and eyes barely open to the sun-soaked sculpture of a man next to you.

“hey you,” he whispers, palm resting on your warm cheek. “finally you’re awake. i’ve been dying for some pancakes for hours now.”

you chuckle, wiggling closer to him and haphazardly pressing your cheek to his chest.

“not awake.”

“not awake?”

“mhmm.”

“and what about my pancakes?”

“yours always turn out better than mine anyways,” you grumble into his chest.

“that is so very true.”

there’s no need for you to see the faux smug expression on his face to know that it’s there when you instinctively go to pinch his side. he yelps, swiftly grabbing your wrist and holding it as far away from him as he can but you laugh like a cartoon villain, twisting out of his grasp and grabbing his wrist in turn.

he looks at you expectantly, ready for your next attack but you use your leverage on his arm to guide it to your waist. before you even manage to let go he wraps his arm around you and pulls you closer to him, open palm resting on your back.

you sigh contentedly, pushing your knee between his thighs and letting your eyes fall shut again.

“do not move your hand away. i’m beyond comfortable like this.”

you miss the way he smiles to himself.

guess there’s a loophole after all.

[tb3ih]

welp, my suguru fic flopped so i might just quit tbh

[tb3ih]

growing pains | geto suguru

[ GIRL DAD!SUGURU doesn't think he can handle his growing girls ] fluff!!!

"kohana, hold still," suguru pleads, voice muffled just slightly by the hair tie clenched between his teeth, brows creased together in concentration as he attempts to tame the locks of onyx silk on the little girl sitting not-so-still in front of him. the poor guy still had her omelette in the pan when she came begging to have her hair done the way she saw you do yours.

and of course, suguru being the softie he was, could only hold his large hand out with a sigh as she dropped a few accessories in his palm to adorn her hair with. you had a stressful night at work last night, a meeting run overtime well past the girls' bedtimes (which he knew put you in the worst of moods because you absolutely adored your little ones), so he knew he had to take over the morning shift with the girls today.

perhaps it was your absence which left the two girls a little more chaotic than usual, their normally neutralized demeanors suddenly nowhere to be seen. luckily he was able to convince the youngest, kaiyah, to finish her breakfast with the persuasion of some cartoons, not to mention, her short hair needed nothing more than brushing and the correctly colored bow.

your oldest on the other hand was a little tricky. though independently dressing herself now, she didn't quite have the skill to do some of the hairstyles by herself. and because you were nowhere to be seen, it only seemed reasonable to ask her papa.

"daddy, i'm hungry!" though she's not as loud, kohana resembles you in both her stubbornness and pout, a look she wears as often as the slight furrow in her brow when she disapproves of something.

suguru can only hum, tying the last bit of hair up to resemble the look she wanted. the lotus hairpin was the last bit of decoration he added before finally allowing her to hop up from her seat and join her sister at the kitchen island for breakfast. when he stands, the dark-haired male is quick to help his eldest to some utensils before placing her plate in front of her, moving to start the dishes while the two eat.

"itadakimasu~!" kohana begins digging in without a second thought, a small smile coming to pull at the tired man's lips.

when the two girls finish, they place their plates by the sink, allowing suguru to retrieve them for a rinse before being placed in the dishwasher. "alright girls, go get your shoes, please."

there's giggling followed by small footsteps as the two go rushing to the front closet where all the shoes are kept. he finishes soon after drying his hands on a towel before going to check in on the girls, two backpacks in either hand. velcro in place on both of their shoes, kaiyah and kohana are already reaching for their bags, smiles on their faces as the oldest laughs out a "thank you" and the youngest mutters a small "thank you, daddy".

"alright girls, are you ready?"

"mhm!" kohana replies, turning to her sister and grabbing her hand. "let's go!"

they're just stepping out of the door when kaiyah, your youngest, turns to look over her shoulder at her awaiting father, causing him to halt in his follwoing footsteps. "daddy, you don't have to worry about us, we can go by ourselves!"

and this moment only leaves him dumbfounded, as he had planned to walk them to their usual bus stop like always. when did this routine stop? had you known about this?

"w-well, are you sure?" suguru scratches the back of his neck, thinking of the worst of this proposition, "i don't mind, i love walking with you girls..."

kohana only giggles at her father, urging her little sister by where they are linked at the hands. "we'll be late daddy, we have to go!"

and so he lets them, his waving hand slowly coming to a stop when he sees the two skip out of sight and into the street from the front door. it's not a big thing, but it's something, and poor suguru who didn't think much of the idea of letting his daughters go but if it felt this way when they were this small, he wasn't sure if he could keep doing this.

and so when he finally closes the front door and moves back to the kitchen to clean up, he finds a little bit of relief for his aching heart, settling back into the comfort of the sheets with you in the master bedroom. you stir a little, sleepy eyes finding his with a soft smile.

"mm, suguru? what's wrong?" the male doesn't make much of a reply, only sighing as you pull him into your embrace, your warm chasing the tension from his frame.

there's a moment of silence before you hear him inhale, letting out a small sigh before his violet irises meet yours. "you didn't tell me they walk themselves now..."

and you smile, teeth pulling at your lip to bite back your laugh. you loved your husband, but this was too damn adorable. "hmm, they're growing up, huh?" you bring a hand to thread through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a second, his lips pressing a chaste kiss against your forearm as you continue your ministrations.

"i... knew this would come, but i didn't think..." suguru doesn't have to finish what he's saying for you to understand, because you felt the same thing when kohana asked to dress herself or when kaiyah started putting her dirty dishes on the counter to help you after dinner. "is it supposed to hurt?"

you laugh a little, your hand pressing against his face before offering him a small kiss. "it's just growing pains, honey," you say softly, "it doesn't get better but it'll make your memories happier."

your husband sighs, pulling you closer to settle into the crook of your neck. he breathes you in deeply and the two of you lay for a moment together in your little world of peace. "...okay."

you hum, "okay?"

"okay," he replies.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[tb3ih]

oh GOD “4th and 5th ribs…” “my dear” KAJSJSJ?!??!?? “bc you’re going to kiss me… and i’m going to let you…” SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!! this is godsend :\

somewhere in the back of your mind, you know this isn’t how it should be. 

your living room is dimly lit, illuminated only by the tv in front of you, and the moon is glowing a pearlescent blue. flimsy strings of moonlight spill over your floorboards, reflecting off the windows, and whatever you’re doing isn’t what you should be doing. you shouldn’t be awake this late, shouldn’t be gorging on sweets before bed, shouldn’t be having a rendezvous with an enemy — shouldn’t be watching movies with your ex of ten years. 

most of all, you shouldn’t be feeling nearly this content.

getō is seated right beside you, legs comfortably spread, popping a macaron into his mouth. chewing it slowly, savouring the flavour — or lack thereof, you suppose. he can’t taste much, anymore; one too many curses digested. or so he says.

this time, he brought pastries with him. expensive ones, you can tell, just from the package alone — a soft pastel pink box, wrapped up in silk, golden letters etched into the front. mont blancs, macarons, two slices of strawberry shortcake. carefully picked, suited to your tastes.

(you aren’t actually too fond of sweets, anymore, but how is he to know? he hasn’t seen you in years.)

”would you like me to make us some tea?”

when you turn your gaze towards him, getō’s wearing a smile. laid-back, the slightest upward curl, tilting his head in a manner you’re far too used to. eyes shining with something keen. somehow, it feels difficult to tear your gaze away from his.

but you manage, turning forward, grasping control over your sleepy vocal cords. ”no, i’m good.”

a low hum. he’s still looking at you. ”coffee?”

”the sweets are more than enough.”

this time, a smile, one you can’t see but still somehow sense. a little bit amused. geto gazes at you with a knowing look, watches you glance at the box of pastries on your coffee table — studying you under the monochrome flicker of the tv-screen. 

”understood,” he finally quips, leaning back into the leather couch, exhaling a little breath. ”eat as much as you’d like. i bought them for you, you know.”

you nod, nibbling at a macaron. not glancing his way.

being alone with him still feels a little awkward. a little tense, to be curled up on the same couch, watching the same movie, just like your old sleepovers in high school. there’s an elephant in the room that neither of you have addressed — not since he first showed up, just a couple weeks ago, waltzing up to your apartment with a plastic bag of dvds after a decade of estrangement. wearing heavy robes, and a familiar smile. asking to be let in.

and despite every single circumstance telling you not to, you did just that. you’ve yet to refuse. 

(satoru would hate you, if he knew.)

so he’s there, right beside you, and you don’t talk about it. not his choice, not your work, not anything except the movie playing on the screen in front of you. this time, it’s one he’s seen before — beautiful, he called it, and for once you think it might be a romance; if the kiss between the main actors is anything to go by. 

you wonder if that’s why he says it.

”say, do you hate me?”

you still. freezing in place, for a moment, discontent but not surprised. he’s always been like this; breaking the illusion of peace before you can find any solace in it. 

you bite back a groan, and shoot him a glance out of the corner of your eye — but he isn’t looking at you. only at the tv, at the two men, holding hands and standing on a bridge in the rain, watching the stars twinkle in the sky. and you sigh, turning your head to look at him fully, parting your lips. your voice comes out frustrated. 

”do you really want to have this conversation now?”

”when else?” he chuckles, meeting your gaze with one brow raised. amber eyes gleaming with mirth, and something else, something less practiced. ”you don’t have to answer. i’m just curious.”

you gulp down the last of the macaron, licking your lips for any leftover crumbs — unaware of how his eyes follow the movement. ”are you?”

a hum buzzes in the back of his throat, a tiny rasp. you wonder if he’s tired. ”i hadn’t expected this, you know.” he taps at his knee with the pads of his fingers, rhythmic and controlled. ”i thought it was just wishful thinking… that you’d let me come this close.”

you feel his gaze on you. it’s heavy, heavy like lead, like a loaded gun. you feel it dissect you from afar, and can’t find it in you to reach for another pastry. 

”… would you have preferred being kicked out?”

”not at all.” a little grin plays at his lips, something in his voice betraying the face he’s making. ”are you avoiding the question?” 

another sigh. you’re painfully aware of how resigned it sounds, spilling out into the open air, already filling with a sense of dread; any leftover nostalgia bursting at the seams. you want to tell him so many things, but every thread inside your mind feels all tangled up.

and, as always, getō beats you to the punch. 

”that’s fine, too.” a brief pause, a twitch of his pinkie. he closes his eyes, a flutter of his lashes, and inhales a breath. ”— because i’ll keep waiting.”

for a second, you consider not taking the bait. 

… then you’re giving in. because that’s what you always do, whenever he’s involved. you watch him in the dark, pale skin enveloped by moonlight, raven hair spilling across the headrest. he looks beautiful, just resting his eyes.

”… for what?” you whisper, and his answer comes without a hitch to his breath.

”for you to love me again.”

…

getō tilts his head, opening his eyes, a golden brown dragging you into their depths. he looks expectant, selfishly awaiting a response, and you’re tired. 

(unbeknownst to you, he resists the urge to intertwine his fingers with yours, to trace every ridge and dip of your knuckles with his thumb. to squeeze your palm like a promise, something concrete.)

when your mind has managed to untangle itself, something in your gaze turns sharp. frustrated, impatient, disappointed, looking at him with a raised brow. ”you really are stupid, aren’t you?”

as fast as it came, your gaze returns to the screen in front of you. monochrome, flickering, two beautiful men. one of them is holding a gun to the other’s temple, and the victim looks appeased. the movie’s almost over.

(how very like him, to find such violence beautiful.)

quietly, you swallow down the bile building up in the back of your throat. a decade of bitter flavours. clenching your teeth, nails digging into the couch beneath you, leather on your cold fingertips. it’s a little peeled.

you wonder why you even bother being honest, when he never quite seems to return the favour.

but the room is dimly lit, and the moon is big and bright, and your ex of ten years is sitting right next to you. in your apartment, on your couch, watching a movie on your tv. when he could, should be anywhere else. he’s with you, and he pulls the words out of your throat without trying. puppeteering your heartbeat.

”… as if i ever stopped.”

silence.

you hear a gunshot ring out. low, muffled, a crackle of static. one of the men falls down to the ground, and you can’t tell who's who. the actors are forgettable, but the soundtrack is pretty. it rings in your ears like a lullaby. 

getō says your name.

it sounds the same as you remember. honeyed syllables, spilling from his parted lips, silky and sweet. he says your name like he’s asking to marry you, and you can hear the smile he’s struggling to repress.

”will you look at me?”

it’s less of a question, and more of a demand. you wonder why he even bothers asking — but you’ve never really understood the way his brain works. never understood why a burglar would bother asking the shopkeeper for permission before reaching for the register, when they’ll be leaving with the money either way. 

and you’re paralyzed, stuck in place on the couch, gaze glued to the screen in front of you. but you aren’t watching, not really, just looking. and you don’t want to see what kind of face he’s making. so you whisper;

”.. no.”

”no?” he mimics, something like a coo on the tip of his tongue, lightly amused. as always, you can feel his gaze, travelling down your face like a trickle of honey. ”and why is that, my dear?”

you bite down on your lip.

a long, long moment passes, and neither of you say a word. he’s looking at you, and you’re looking down at your lap, at your clenched fists. a little meek. it’s quiet, the calm before the storm, and you know exactly what’s going to happen — because it’s already set in stone.

”because you’re going to kiss me,” you exhale, finally, resignation on your breath. ”and i’m going to let you.”

…

for a second, you wonder if his silence means he understands. if he can hear the desperate plea in your voice, if he can translate it correctly. 

but his fingertips graze the lines of your jaw, his palm sneaks under your chin, and he keeps you in place. turning your head to meet his gaze, his amber eyes, dripping with something hungry; something pleading. 

this time, he doesn’t ask for permission. he leans forward until there’s no space between you, tips your head back, and kisses you with bated breath — as softly as he can manage, which is still too intense for your liking. still brimming with desperation, something carnal, like he wants to pour his everything into the kiss but knows he shouldn’t. he tastes like tobacco.

and it’s over. 

you know it is, because your senses are flooded with him, him, him. nothing but him, the strands of his raven hair ghosting your skin, his greedy tongue licking along your teeth, large palms resting on your spine and the back of your head. you’re pliant, surrendering yourself to his touch. he’s cradling you like he loves you, and you feel like you’ve done something awful, because you have.

because you’ve let him come so close, again, invited him inside — inside of your home, your ribcage. and he won’t bother making a home for himself there, because it’s already waiting for him, untouched, between your fourth and fifth ribs.

you never bothered to get rid of it.

(that’s your sin.)

getō hums, muffled by your lips. he sounds pleased. he sounds like he’s been waiting for this for decades, and you suppose that he has. he murmurs praise that you do nothing but swallow down.

everything feels too perfect, too normal, and it’s too much, too much, too much. your lips pressed together, your chests pressed together, your noses meeting in a tender touch. you choke down the noise that threatens to push past your lips, and he kisses you like a starved man. like he’s trying to drown in you.

he only pulls away once he realizes that you’re crying, and by then it’s too late. his widening eyes don’t matter, your cold hands don’t matter, the tremble of your erratic heartbeat has never mattered less. he looks at you with remorse, and it doesn’t matter. 

(he’s yours, again, and you’re his.

you can’t stop crying.)

”… i’m sorry.”

in the background, you hear the sound of gentle whispers, an ending scene. the men are talking to each other, speaking softly, and your eyes burn with tears. geto catches one of them with his forefinger, and leans forward to plant a kiss against your nose. chaste, this time. still mumbling apologies.

it doesn’t matter, because a tiny sob still breaks past your throat — and you know the sound must hurt him. 

you hate that. you hate that you always hurt him, hate that you care, hate that you feel nothing but guilt when he’s around. you hate the movie still playing to your left, hate that he doesn’t hate it, hate that he loves you. hate that you love him, that you probably always will.

you hate that you blink up at him with glassy eyes, swallow down a shaky breath, and kiss him again. hate that it’s still the only thing you know how to do well.

he doesn’t pull away, only biting back a noise of surprise — but he makes sure to kiss you gently, as if you’re made of porcelain, slow and tender, cradling you closer still. he wipes away your tears with his thumb, one after another, and you hate yourself because everything feels so deliriously right.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you know that what you’re playing is a losing game. 

(he’s yours, and you’re his. it’s already set in stone.) 

[tb3ih]

this is the funniest thing i’ve ever seen rip atsumu

[tb3ih]

growing pains | geto suguru

[ GIRL DAD!SUGURU doesn't think he can handle his growing girls ] fluff!!!

"kohana, hold still," suguru pleads, voice muffled just slightly by the hair tie clenched between his teeth, brows creased together in concentration as he attempts to tame the locks of onyx silk on the little girl sitting not-so-still in front of him. the poor guy still had her omelette in the pan when she came begging to have her hair done the way she saw you do yours.

and of course, suguru being the softie he was, could only hold his large hand out with a sigh as she dropped a few accessories in his palm to adorn her hair with. you had a stressful night at work last night, a meeting run overtime well past the girls' bedtimes (which he knew put you in the worst of moods because you absolutely adored your little ones), so he knew he had to take over the morning shift with the girls today.

perhaps it was your absence which left the two girls a little more chaotic than usual, their normally neutralized demeanors suddenly nowhere to be seen. luckily he was able to convince the youngest, kaiyah, to finish her breakfast with the persuasion of some cartoons, not to mention, her short hair needed nothing more than brushing and the correctly colored bow.

your oldest on the other hand was a little tricky. though independently dressing herself now, she didn't quite have the skill to do some of the hairstyles by herself. and because you were nowhere to be seen, it only seemed reasonable to ask her papa.

"daddy, i'm hungry!" though she's not as loud, kohana resembles you in both her stubbornness and pout, a look she wears as often as the slight furrow in her brow when she disapproves of something.

suguru can only hum, tying the last bit of hair up to resemble the look she wanted. the lotus hairpin was the last bit of decoration he added before finally allowing her to hop up from her seat and join her sister at the kitchen island for breakfast. when he stands, the dark-haired male is quick to help his eldest to some utensils before placing her plate in front of her, moving to start the dishes while the two eat.

"itadakimasu~!" kohana begins digging in without a second thought, a small smile coming to pull at the tired man's lips.

when the two girls finish, they place their plates by the sink, allowing suguru to retrieve them for a rinse before being placed in the dishwasher. "alright girls, go get your shoes, please."

there's giggling followed by small footsteps as the two go rushing to the front closet where all the shoes are kept. he finishes soon after drying his hands on a towel before going to check in on the girls, two backpacks in either hand. velcro in place on both of their shoes, kaiyah and kohana are already reaching for their bags, smiles on their faces as the oldest laughs out a "thank you" and the youngest mutters a small "thank you, daddy".

"alright girls, are you ready?"

"mhm!" kohana replies, turning to her sister and grabbing her hand. "let's go!"

they're just stepping out of the door when kaiyah, your youngest, turns to look over her shoulder at her awaiting father, causing him to halt in his follwoing footsteps. "daddy, you don't have to worry about us, we can go by ourselves!"

and this moment only leaves him dumbfounded, as he had planned to walk them to their usual bus stop like always. when did this routine stop? had you known about this?

"w-well, are you sure?" suguru scratches the back of his neck, thinking of the worst of this proposition, "i don't mind, i love walking with you girls..."

kohana only giggles at her father, urging her little sister by where they are linked at the hands. "we'll be late daddy, we have to go!"

and so he lets them, his waving hand slowly coming to a stop when he sees the two skip out of sight and into the street from the front door. it's not a big thing, but it's something, and poor suguru who didn't think much of the idea of letting his daughters go but if it felt this way when they were this small, he wasn't sure if he could keep doing this.

and so when he finally closes the front door and moves back to the kitchen to clean up, he finds a little bit of relief for his aching heart, settling back into the comfort of the sheets with you in the master bedroom. you stir a little, sleepy eyes finding his with a soft smile.

"mm, suguru? what's wrong?" the male doesn't make much of a reply, only sighing as you pull him into your embrace, your warm chasing the tension from his frame.

there's a moment of silence before you hear him inhale, letting out a small sigh before his violet irises meet yours. "you didn't tell me they walk themselves now..."

and you smile, teeth pulling at your lip to bite back your laugh. you loved your husband, but this was too damn adorable. "hmm, they're growing up, huh?" you bring a hand to thread through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a second, his lips pressing a chaste kiss against your forearm as you continue your ministrations.

"i... knew this would come, but i didn't think..." suguru doesn't have to finish what he's saying for you to understand, because you felt the same thing when kohana asked to dress herself or when kaiyah started putting her dirty dishes on the counter to help you after dinner. "is it supposed to hurt?"

you laugh a little, your hand pressing against his face before offering him a small kiss. "it's just growing pains, honey," you say softly, "it doesn't get better but it'll make your memories happier."

your husband sighs, pulling you closer to settle into the crook of your neck. he breathes you in deeply and the two of you lay for a moment together in your little world of peace. "...okay."

you hum, "okay?"

"okay," he replies.

© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.

[tb3ih]

“Is it okay if I draw fanart of your fanfic?👉🏼👈🏼”

My brother in Christ we shall have a spring wedding

[tb3ih]

An old, restored photo of Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter with her crimson DH-82A Tiger Moth.

[tb3ih]

i really miss my genshin fandom (where are you guys?)

[tb3ih]

mornings

[tb3ih]

somewhere in malaysia

[tb3ih]

im gonna go broke.

[tb3ih]

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔... never thought that in a million years he would be using his six eyes to play hide 'n seek with little kids.

his own little kids for that matter.

you always told your children that their father had good eyes, but they've never believed you till now. you're seated on the sofa next to your blindfolded husband, head leaning on his shoulder as you both take in the shenanigans of your young children.

"where am i, daddy?" the youngest chirps, teetering on her feet behind the sofa in the living room.

"hm. let me guess." your husband chuckles, just to fuel your daughter's antics.

he knows exactly where she stands and what soft, fuzzy pieces of the carpet tickle her little toes as she sways back and forth in her little pink princess dress. your husband's black bandage is wrapped around his eyes, and your children stifle their giggles as he pretends to ponder.

"he can't see us, can he?" the oldest whispers.

you shake your head with a soft smile.

a beat of silence before your husband speaks again.

"you're behind the sofa, aren't you, my little flower?" gojo speaks, and a fit of his daughter's girlish giggles makes his heart feel as warm as springtime.

"okay, but where am i, dad?" the oldest asks from where he's perched on a pillow in the center of the room.

"hmm." gojo hums. "you're sitting on mommy's favorite pillow. you're right in front of me."

a soft gasp is drawn from your son, and you watch as gojo lifts the black blindfold. he gives you a playful wink when the kids aren't looking before adjusting the blindfold.

"that's not fair!" the oldest protests. "is he cheating?"

you laugh.

"your father is definitely not cheating." you wave your hand in front of his blindfolded eyes. "see?"

your son pouts.

"that's so cool, daddy!" the youngest smiles. "can we do it again?"

"if mommy says yes." gojo replies, voice smooth as ever.

two pairs of puppy eyes meet yours.

when you say yes, they both cheer happily.

and one day they'll grow old, and he'll tell them about his six eyes and his keen gifts and treasures. his kids will grow up and gasp, shocked that their father really did have exceptional eyesight. they'll laugh and remember the times their father used to play with them, and look at those childhood memories fondly. but for now they're still little and full of light and spirit, hearts warm and tummies full with the dinner you made them an hour ago.

"okay, go hide again!" gojo chuckles, and his children scurry off with pattering feet.

your husband presses his lips to your shoulder gently before slipping his blindfold back on. a silent thanks.

he'll let children be children.

after all, no one is allowed to take the youth from young people, not even himself.

© YUNYMPHS 2024 modifications, reposts, and translations of any kind are strictly prohibited.

[tb3ih]

"sure thing"

pairing: target!gojo x assassin!fem!reader summary: you've been hired to kill the satoru gojo. how will you pull it off... and what will you do when he figures it out? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, darkish content (all is well in the end), no established relationship, assassins/organized crime, blackmail, mention of a “suicide mission”, attempted murder (uhhhh), hidden identity, intended use of sex as a means to an end, mating press, unprotected sex, p->v, creampie, oral (fem!receiving), praise, pet names (gorgeous/sweetheart/baby), slight aftercare. a/n: me 🤝 describing gojo as having dimples welcome to my second 1k followers event fic! At this rate tho i’m going to hit 2k before i finish the 1k event LMAO. not that i'm complaining hehe. thank you for being patient and for all the support on my recent works! i really appreciate every ask, comment, follow, reblog, everything. they mean the world to me. check out the rest of my 1k event here. enjoy and remember that ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! creds: twitter template by @cafekitsune wc: 7.8k

“Who?!” 

No fucking way. There’s no way he just said what you think he said. 

“You heard me,” he scowls. He glares at you from across the desk. His seat is one of those cushy little office chairs, of course. Yours is plastic– cold and hard.

“Are you fucking insane?” you hiss. There’s no other explanation for what he’s asking you to do. He’s lost his fucking mind. 

“We have a client willing to pay big money for this. Big money for just an attempt,” he answers. 

You laugh, but there’s absolutely nothing funny about this conversation. “Oh, I’m sure you do. Probably because he’s practically invincible. I’ll never even lay a hand on him.” 

Your “boss”, for lack of a better term, only scowls harder, the wrinkles forming near his eyes etching deeper in his skin. “Well, you’d best find a way to make it work. You’re taking this job. That’s final.” You scoff. Maybe you should recommend he see someone… “No. There’s no way. I’m not doing this.” You stand, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Get someone else to go on your suicide mission.” You take a couple strides toward the door before two very large men move to block your path. 

“Not so fast,” your boss calls. You pause, eyeing up your competition. You could definitely take them if you needed to. You sense only a very faint amount of cursed energy coming from each of them– not even enough to make you blink– but something in your boss’s tone makes you turn back. 

“Yes?” You cross your arms over your chest, fingering a blade hidden in your breast pocket. 

He fiddles around in his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up right there in his office. You don’t try to hide the way your nose scrunches up. “You want to do this job.” 

Your eyes narrow. Something tells you you’re not going to like what comes next. “And why’s that?” 

He takes a long puff, letting the smoke flowing out of his lungs with a slow exhale. “Because otherwise that little brother of yours is gonna be…” he pauses to give you a smile that makes your stomach churn. “Hmm… a lot smaller, shall we say? Maybe in several limb sized pieces?”

You think your heart stops. Time halts as ice runs through your veins. Nobody knows about your brother. At least, they didn’t. 

Your boss’s smile grows even wider. In all your time as an assassin, you’ve never wanted to kill someone more. But you know you can’t. Just an attempt on his life will end your brother’s. 

“Don’t worry. He’s all tucked away and safe at home where you left him.” Just a tiny piece of your heart thaws with relief. “But try to run with him, or run yourself, and he won’t be safe much longer.” Your pulse pounds so viciously you’re sure everyone can hear. A bead of sweat rolls down your neck. “Now, will you accept the assignment?” 

Your jaw clenches. He got you. In all these years of working for him you’ve been careful, meticulous about hiding every piece of your personal life to avoid situations just like this. But he still got you. He got you. 

“Yes,” you breathe. You have no choice. You will either kill Satoru Gojo or you will die trying. 

“Good,” is all he says, and then you’re being escorted out of the office wondering where the hell you went wrong. 

~

It’s been three weeks since that fateful meeting with your boss. True to his word, your brother has remained unharmed, but you see his lackeys lurking around every corner. Neither you nor your brother are truly safe and you never will be again unless you can pull this off and then put together some plan to escape your boss’s clutches. 

You’ll fail. You know you will. The thought eats you up inside with every waking moment. 

You’ve done your best to learn every possible piece of information about Satoru Gojo in the past two weeks. You know you can’t tail him closely– he’d pick up on your cursed energy and notice your incessant presence, so you’ve had to study from a distance with only minimal moments of proximity. You know where he works, who he works with, what restaurants, bars, and clubs he frequents and what days of the week he tends to visit. You know what his order is at his favorite ramen restaurant, where he lives, what time he wakes up. Hell, you know what fucking brand of dish soap he uses. He lives a surprisingly… predictable lifestyle. He makes no attempt to switch up his schedule or cover his tracks. In any other situation he’d be every assassin’s dream, but this is Satoru Gojo and Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to worry about assassins– assassins need to worry about him.

It took you the first week to come up with a plan. You had no clue how you were going to get close to him, much less kill him, and his infinity technique was going to prove particularly problematic. How were you supposed to kill him when you couldn’t even touch him? You had to get him in a situation in which he would willingly let his guard down for you. 

You’d been on the subway when it hit you. Sex. You’d get him to have sex with you. If you could get him to take you home, he’d have to turn infinity off for at least a short time. That would be your time to strike. 

You’d spent the next two weeks primping yourself. You’d bought the most expensive dress you’d ever owned, got a mani-pedi, whitened your teeth, and spent a small fortune on makeup. Considering your circumstances, you thought your plan was quite a good one. You knew when he’d go out to the bar with his friends, which bar he’d go to, how long he’d stay, how he’d get a taxi home. You also knew when you’d arrive, how long you’d stay, and how you’d get a taxi with him– everything planned perfectly to best catch his attention. But for all your planning, there was still one thing you didn’t know. What kind of woman did Satoru Gojo go for? Someone submissive? Teasing? Aggressive? Playful? In all your time tracking him you’d never seen him take somebody home. It struck you as… odd. He was Satoru Gojo, renowned for his power, wealth, and good looks– surely he had women falling at his feet. Maybe he was just a little more… selective. If that was the case you’d have to be even quicker on your feet when you finally met him. And that time is now. 

You’re in your bathroom, checking your makeup one last time before heading out the door. Your brother sleeps soundly in the room down the hall, safe for the time being. You’ve contacted a friend, one who is at least willing to try to get him out if– when– you fail. You doubt it will be enough.

You make your way to his room. A quick peek inside reveals he’s snuggled up with a plushie elephant that he carries around like they’re attached at the hip. You creep inside, a sad smile on your lips. This may very well be the last time you see him. You brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes and press a kiss to the crown of his head. With one last whispered ‘I love you’, you’re out the door. If you linger, you won’t be able to go– and you have to. For him. 

The streets of Tokyo are cold tonight, like the weather knows what you’re about to attempt, like it’s preparing for death, for failure. For your failure.

The club you arrive at is upscale, and one where you’ve already tipped off the bouncer to let you bypass the line. You hear a few groans from the people behind you as you saunter straight inside. 

You’re conscious of every little move from the second you step inside. At any moment, he could see you and it could make or break your entire plan.

You press your shoulders back. You have a plan– stick to it. 

You make your way over to the bar, weaving your way between groups of people who are somewhere between giggling a little too loudly and tripping over their own feet. 

You find a free space at the bar and lean up onto your elbows, your eyes screening the bartenders. You smile when you see a familiar face. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call.

He turns and the sight of his friendly green eyes sets you a little more at ease. 

“Oh, shit. Hey!” He slings a towel over his shoulder and comes to stand across from you. “You’re back,” he says. You nod and smile softly. Ever since you’d determined this would be the place you’d been coming periodically, chatting up the bartenders. The last thing you needed was to stand around in a corner alone with seemingly no friends. That wouldn’t attract anyone, much less Satoru Gojo. 

Out of all the bartenders, Dean was your favorite– and you’d been oh so happy to learn that his schedule put him on every Friday night. 

“Yeah. Long day at work.” 

A smile pulls at his lips, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The usual, then?” 

You nod solemnly. “That’d be great. Thanks.” 

You watch him prepare the drink for you, feeling a little bad that it’s all a lie. There’s no bad day at work, you didn’t just happen to come in here one day and strike up a conversation with him. All of this is premeditated, planned, and it feels… lonely. It feels lonely to know that on what is probably your last night on earth you are surrounded by people who only think they know you. 

“So, anything new happening?” Dean drops your drink in front of you and you have a feeling it’s filled with a little more vodka than he’s supposed to put in there. 

Your eyes shift around the bar as subtly as you can manage. As much as you want to seem like you fit in, you also need to find Gojo. It’s a fine balance. 

You shrug. “Yeah, I guess I just feel like a lot of things are going to be changing for me pretty soon.” 

His brows pull together and the look he gives you is one of genuine interest and concern. It makes your heart wrench. “How so?” 

You swallow. “Dunno. Just… everything.”

There’s a moment of silence and then the tapping of a finger on your glass. “Damn, girl. Drink up. You need it.” 

You can’t help but smile. You have a feeling that Dean would have been a good friend of yours in another life. 

You take his advice, though, and bring your drink to your lips and force a smile. You can’t be moping– not tonight. 

The next twenty minutes are spent with Dean. Even when he’s making other drinks he’s still chatting with you, still being a good… friend. You dread leaving your little haven at the bar. The time is coming when you’ll have to seek out your target.

You’re shocked when it’s the other way around. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” There’s a light brush on your shoulder and you turn. It takes all you have to keep your features schooled and calm. Satoru fucking Gojo just tapped your shoulder. 

Nothing prepared you for how handsome he is up close. All those days of research, of tracking and tailing– none of it does the real thing justice. Even with those stupid sunglasses inside… he’s fucking beautiful. “I’ll pay for all of your drinks tonight if you let me skip this hideous line,” he whines. 

You give yourself no more than a second to recover. You school your features into a smirk. You glance at Dean with an ‘is this okay?’ look. He just smiles and shrugs. 

You turn back to Gojo, bracing yourself this time for the beauty you’re about to face. You meet his gaze and know you could get lost in it. “Be my guest.” 

His smile nearly blinds you and his dimples nearly make you pass out. Still, you keep your cool. 

“Yesssss!” He looks like a puppy just offered a bone. 

He spills his drink order to Dean and it’s far more than could possibly be just for him. He’s here with his friends, then. Probably the blonde man who always looks too tired to be here and the girl with the brown hair who always seems like she’s just along for the ride. 

You bite your lip to hide a laugh when he orders himself two strawberry daiquiris. Somehow you still catch his attention. 

“What?” he pouts. You can’t help but feel a small stirring of surprise in your gut. He’s far more… relaxed than you’d expected him to be. He’s almost… childish? 

You press your lips together and shake your head. You’ve reached the point where your research can’t take you any further. From this point on, it’s up to you to discover what Satoru Gojo likes in a woman. 

You debate how to answer. Play coy? Tease him? Stay silent? Any option could be as correct as the next. You didn’t know where to start… so maybe you’d just start by being yourself. 

“Just, um… not the order I was expecting,” you laugh. It’s halfway genuine. With the way he’s acting, it’s hard to remember that he’s the most powerful man alive. 

His pout only intensifies. “Well, what’s your order?” 

His question is answered when Dean sets another cosmopolitan in front of you. You laugh. “Never said I was judging, just that it wasn’t what I expected.” 

Another smile tugs at his lips and something stirs in your gut that you try your very hardest to ignore. This was a job. There was no room for actually enjoying it. This man was probably going to kill you later, in a matter of hours. 

There’s a beat of silence, and then a slight shift in his demeanor. He leans closer and you see a twitch of his lips. Your heart jumps. 

“You’re a sorcerer,” he says. 

You hold back an exhale of relief. You thought he might be onto you. If he is, he’s choosing not to reveal it yet. 

You nod and take what you hope is a casual sip of your drink. “And you’re Satoru Gojo.” 

A brow arches high enough for you to see it over his sunglasses. “You know who I am?” 

You force a chuckle, smirking despite the pounding of your heart. “Who doesn’t?” 

You’d decided long ago to tell him that you knew exactly who he was. It would seem more suspicious for a fellow sorcerer to have no idea what the Satoru Gojo looked like. 

He flashes you a smile full of white and stupidly fucking perfect teeth. “That’s true, heh.” You press your lips together to avoid a smile. Not too humble, then… 

“So, what’s your technique” 

You shoot him a glance that questions his sanity. Asking a sorcerer what their technique is… is personal. It’s not information you give out to a rando at the bar– even if it is Satoru Gojo.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You take another sip of your drink, trying your hardest to remain somewhere on the border or interested and casual. 

“Bet I could find out.” 

That makes you turn fully, angling your body toward his. “Oh yeah? You challenging me to a fight?” You smirk and shake your head. “I’ll pass.” 

He pouts again, but you see a hint of a smile peeking through. “Aw, come on. That’s no fun…” 

You chuckle and take another sip of your drink. You’re not sure you’re sipping just for appearances anymore. You think you probably just need a little liquid courage to see this thing through. “Sorry. I value my life.” 

You watch as he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, just enough for you to get a glimpse of what’s behind. You nearly choke again and this time you don’t manage to hide your nervous swallow when he smirks. 

“You’re so sure you’d lose?” His voice is teasing now and you hate that it’s actually having an effect on you. Job, job, job, just a job… 

You clear your throat. “I like to think I’m not stupid enough to think that I could win.” 

His eyes are blue– so fucking blue– and you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul. Can he see? Can he see your filthy intentions? Your plotting? The rottenness of what you’re going to do? “What if I promise to take it real easy on you?” 

Your drink is forgotten now. You’re lost in what he’s saying– in him. “No thanks.” Your voice is growing lower and you feel like there’s some magnet forcing you to lean into him, to seek his warmth. 

“So you like it rough, then.” The trance is broken and your blood runs hot. Holy shit. This man is flirting with you and you hardly even had to try. He's trying to take you home. Little does he know, you’re a sure thing. 

You watch as he throws back the rest of his strawberry daiquiri with a pleased “ahhh” at the end. When he turns back to you his eyes have a certain spark in them that makes your thighs press together. “You wanna dance with me?” 

Fuck. This is going too well to be real. But you’re not about to pass up a good deal. 

“What about your friends?” you ask and eye the several untouched drinks still left on the bar. It’s risky– giving him an out, but you can’t seem too eager.

He follows your gaze only to bounce his eyes straight back to you. “I’m sure they’ll get a look at ya and understand.” 

The smirk he’s giving you is making electricity shoot straight between your legs. Damn. You really wish you didn’t have to kill him– or at least try to. 

When he extends his hand you only hesitate for a second. Your heart leaps when you feel his skin on yours, knowing he’s let infinity down. He pulls you onto the dancefloor and it’s not long before he’s running his hands all over you– groping your ass, pinching your thighs, nipping at your neck. Pretty soon the dancefloor evolves to a dark corner of the club with his lips on yours and goddamn he’s a good kisser. You’ve got your fingers in his hair and his hand way too close to your boobs when he whispers those fateful words– “let’s get out of here.”

You can only hide your swallow and nod before he’s pulling you through the crowd, leaving the club behind. He hauls you both into the backseat of a taxi and the door’s barely closed before he’s all over you again. You think you hear the taxi driver mutter something about ‘staining the seats’ but you’re too far gone to give a shit. 

Fuck, he feels good. He’s kisses you like he’s starved and your lips are the fountain of fucking life, like he’s never felt something so good and now he can’t get enough. And, god, he’s handsy. You’re forever grateful to your past self for discreetly hiding your blade in your bra– he would have felt a holster on your thigh at least ten times over by now. 

He groans when you arrive at what you know is his apartment building, though you don’t let on that you recognize the place in the slightest. The look on his face makes you think he’s feeling actual physical pain at the prospect of having to peel away from you for even a second. Nonetheless, he tosses a wad of cash at the taxi driver and pulls you straight inside.

He can’t even wait for the elevator to come, groping your waist right there in the lobby and then when the elevator finally does come, shoving you up against the metal wall a licking stripe across your collarbone. 

You can’t deny how nice it feels to be so desperately… wanted. Never once has a man made you feel this way– so consumed by him, him, him. Once again you curse the universe that you’re here with a mission other than getting laid. 

You find yourself giggling when he pulls you out of the elevator and presses his palm to a fucking scanner to get into his apartment. You try to pull yourself together, but when he laughs with you, you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, he’s got you up against another wall with your legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried in your neck. His sunglasses are long gone and you pull at his shirt, popping the buttons straight off the fabric until you slide the shirt down his shoulders and onto the floor.

“That was Versace,” he whines. 

You plaster your lips to his. “I don’t care.” All he does is chuckle. 

“So gorgeous…” he breathes and your head slumps back against the wall, giving him better access to the soft skin of your neck. Any minute now. Any minute he’s going to start stripping your clothes off and you’re going to have to let this charade crumble. You don’t want to. He’s practically worshiping you. It’s perfect, it’s amazing, and you don’t want it to end. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass and suddenly you’re moving again– moving, moving, moving until your back is bouncing against the softness of a mattress and you’re fucking giggling again like a lovesick idiot. Maybe you’d had a few too many sips of those cosmopolitans. 

He’s smiling as he crawls over you and the sight makes your heart flutter with both lust and terror. Lust because he’s so fucking beautiful and terror because you know that any moment now you’re going to attempt to end that beauty forever. 

A lump forms in your throat and you try unsuccessfully to swallow it. You have to do this, have to try. There’s no other way, no other option. Not for you.

Your thoughts must not have been as perfectly concealed as you’d thought because he quirks a brow. “Something goin’ on up here?” His lips slide across your temple in a touch that feels far too tender for a hookup. “Don’t worry, baby. It’ll fit.” He snickers at his own joke before burying himself in your neck. His hand slides down your side, pressing you up into him until you can feel every curve and cut of his muscles. 

You bite your lip. You’ve already slipped enough for him to notice your nerves– you can’t let it happen again. You have to do it soon. Now. As soon as you see an opportunity you have to strike. You have to. 

You arch up into him, scratching your fingers down his back, trying to seem as invested in the moment as you can. He gets greedier, leaving open-mouthed kiss down your neck, across your collarbone. You nearly freeze up when he kisses low into the valley of your breasts– as low as your dress allows. Then he moves over your clothes, kissing down your stomach as his hands rub your thighs. 

Now. Now, while he’s not looking.

You slide a hand into his hair and another up to your chest, trying to play it off like you’re touching yourself. You sneak your fingers into your bra, feeling the cool metal of your blade glide across your thumb. Now. 

You fist your fingers in his hair, holding his head down as best you can while you arc the blade toward his neck. Just one good hit, please… 

You think you’re going to strike true– you’re so close– and then a firm hand wraps around your wrist, stalling your attack just as it was about to land. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t look up right away, but you hear him sigh, feel his hot breath fanning over your thighs and stomach. When he finally does look up it’s with the eyes of a teacher who’s disappointed his student didn’t do their homework. 

“Come on now, baby. I was really hoping you’d forget about all this and we could just have a good night together…” He’s pouting, whining, like a child who’s been told he can’t have dessert before dinner. Your shock stills you long enough that he easily maneuvers the blade from your hand, throwing it with a thwack into the wall to his right. It lands perfectly. 

This is it. You’re going to die now. But not without a fight. 

You spring up from the bed, kicking him a couple times in the process. You’ve missed your only chance. Now, if there’s even the slightest chance of escape, you have to take it. 

You bare feet hit the carpet. No time to find your shoes. You dart for the door and hear him groan behind you. For a second you think you might actually make it, but you should know better. 

He appears in front of you, straight out of fucking thin air, and his pout has transformed into something a little more sinister. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s talk it out, yeah?” 

You take a shaky step back, but you know it’s no use. He’s got you. It’s over. 

You swallow and lift your chin– you at least want to die with a little dignity. “Just make it quick. Please.” 

He sighs again and slides his hands in his fucking pockets, like this is just a stroll down the street. He stalks toward you, forcing you back until you’re pressed up against another wall. This motherfucker really likes walls. 

His pout shifts to a smirk that borders far too closely on a grin. “Oh, no. I’ve always had a thing for taking it slow.” 

You nearly snort. He certainly hadn’t had a thing for taking it slow just a minute ago. His arms cage you and your world grows infinitely smaller until it’s just him and those blue-ass eyes staring you down. Some distant part of you thinks you might not mind if it’s the last thing you ever see. 

“Damn, I really thought you might give it up and just let me fuck you,” his pout returns. “So disappointing…” he sighs. 

Your lips part. “You knew?” 

That lights his face up like a Christmas tree. “Sensed you tailing me these past few weeks. Started on theeeee– 21st, no?” 

Fuck. You’d been so careful. You’d only tailed him in public spaces, where your energy would be more diluted by the crowds. You’d stayed far enough away that he should only have caught mere glimpses of you, even suppressed your energy. He should not have been able to sense you. But he was Satoru Gojo– things people were not supposed to be able to do came easily to him. 

But you have one thing on him. 

“The 18th,” you whisper. “Started on the 18th.”

There’s a beat of silence and then his smile is growing wider, wider, wider, until it’s practically blinding you. “Well, shit,” he laughs. “You’re pretty good.” 

You let a tiny smile slip through your terror. “I try.” 

His eyes travel up and down your body, his pout slipping away to a frown. “What to do with you… hmm…” You lift your chin, taking shallow little breaths through your nose. You’re looking death in the face, but you’d never thought it would be so beautiful. He sighs. “I guess I could let you go.” 

You freeze. He notices. 

He quirks a brow, another smirk sliding across his lips. “What? Didn’t think that was an option?” You stay silent. No way he’ll let you go. It’s a bluff. A cruel trick. “It’s not like you could try again, gorgeous. I know your energy now and what you look like. Sorry, but your chance is gone.” That was fine by you. Your breaths come a little heavier, hope pulsing in your veins. “But–” shit. “Letting you go is so… boring. Especially after where we left off, yeah?” 

Your jaw drops. “You cannot seriously be suggesting that we–” 

He cuts you off with a kiss, one that makes your toes curl in the carpet and your stomach clench in anticipation. 

“Oh, yes I am,” he chuckles. You feel his hand sliding down your hip, cool and calculating. “I know you weren’t faking the whole thing, gorgeous. Nobody makes out like that when they’re faking it.” You feel your cheeks heat. “And nobody gets this wet-” his fingers snake beneath your skirt, pressing to the wet patch on your panties. “When they’re faking it.” You gasp and reach out, hands clasping onto his shoulders for support. He only chuckles. “No worries, gorgeous. No need for any more faking tonight. I’ll make sure it’s all real.” 

Somehow you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist again and you’re headed to the bedroom– again. It’s like a replay– a redo. 

“Let’s keep it less killy this time, yeah?” 

Your back hits the mattress, your body bouncing lightly on its softness before he’s crawling after you. It’s simultaneously the best and worst deja vu you’ve ever experienced. 

His hands slide down your body again, fingertips hooking beneath the hem of your skirt and shimmying it up your thighs until your panties are on full display. 

“Shit,” you breathe. He’s moving so fast, like he’s desperate to go further, to get his greedy hands all over your bare skin. 

You can’t say you blame him. You feel the same.

His thumbs hook under the fabric of your panties and you know it’s over for you. You can feel his warm breath skating across your thighs, feel the calluses on his hands scraping against your skin. You reach a hand down, tangling it in his hair, and you nearly faint when he smirks and looks up at you with those blue fucking eyes. 

“I think I’ve seen this film before, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. “No more knives hiding anywhere, yeah?” 

You clench your jaw, trying to control your pounding heart. You can’t believe you’re doing this. Why are you doing this? You wish you had a better answer than he’s beautiful and sexy and just a glance at him makes you want to rip his clothes off and climb him like a tree. 

“Silent, hm? Guess I’ll just have to check myself…” 

He’s pressing up the hem up your skirt, more, more, more, until he’s pulling your dress straight up over your arms and running his hands down your bare sides. 

“None there…” His fingers cup your breast and you gasp, unable to contain your shock and the jolt that just rushed through you. He traces the outline of your bra. “You had the last one in here, no?” Your chest heaves under his touch, pressing the flesh of your breast up into his fingers. He smirks. “Best check again.” You feel an arm slide beneath you back and then your bra loosens before it’s completely gone. 

There’s a beat of silence, of admiration. He gazes down on you and you see his snark falter for just a moment, replaced by a sparkle in his eyes. It makes your skin heat. His fingers brush the swell of your breasts, thumb trailing down over a nipple. You arch and gasp again. 

“Fuck. Quit teasing so much.” 

He chuckles and the sound washes over you until it settles in your bones. “Sush. I’m not done checking for weapons yet.” 

You scowl but before you can even move to open your mouth he’s sliding your panties down your legs, hooking them around your ankles and tossing them somewhere on the floor.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you watch him settle himself down between your thighs, eyes never once leaving your center. “Don’t see any knives here, either, but maybe I should double-check…” he breathes. 

He hooks your legs over his shoulders and you shudder, your breaths shaky. Fuck. You were supposed to kill him tonight but if he keeps going like this you’ll be the one deceased. 

He meets your eyes when he takes the first long lick along your folds. You swear he’s smirking.

Your head rolls back and a pathetic sounding groan slips past your lips. You hadn’t realized how much he’d worked you up. Just the slightest touch feels like heaven.

His tongue nudges at your clits and your legs clench, tightening around his head. He laughs into your cunt and his warm breath skates up and over your tummy. Your fingernails scrape his scalp.

“I think you like this, gorgeous.” 

Each word sends little puffs of air against your folds. It’s driving you crazy. You stare down at him, letting a smirk pull at your lips. Your eyes dart over his mouth, wet with your slick, and you don’t fail to notice the way he’s struggling to hold your gaze, eyes flickering back down to your cunt every second. Your smirk grows. “I think you’re liking this, too.” 

He licks another stripe, from you pulsing hole to your throbbing clit, and this time he’s the one groaning. “Damn right I am.”

He eats you out like he kisses you– like a starved man, like he’ll die if he stops for just one second, like he can’t live without your juices on his tongue. 

You whine and bury both hands in his hair, tugging desperately when his lips wrap around you clit and suck. It’s so much, too much, and yet it’s just right. 

Your hips buck and squirm, but he’s got his fingers pressed deep into your flesh, holding you down to take whatever he gives. You think you see heaven when he slides two fingers into your walls, curling them into that gummy spot that has an unbearable heat building deep inside you. 

“S-Satoru-” you stutter and you hear him moan and mutter into your cunt like he’s unwilling to leave it for even a second.

“Fuck, yes. Say my name, sweetheart.” Who are you to deny him? You whisper, whine, and whimper his name with every thrust of his fingers, every lick of his tongue. It’s delicious. Every so often he swaps his mouth and hand, thrusting his tongue as deep inside you as he can while his fingers rub dangerous little circles on your clit. Whenever things get a little too filthy he laps his tongue across your entire cunt and along your inner thighs, cleaning up every stray drop. You don’t know how much longer you can last under such a complete and total assault. 

“S-Satoru, ‘m gonna-” He licks a thick stripe through your folds that makes your sentence end in a whine, his lips settling to suckle on your clit again.

God, it’s messy. It’s fucking disgusting. His whole chin is covered in spit and slick– and you love it. “Cum for me, baby,” he breathes. 

You don’t need to hear much more. You let the heat inside you release with a whine, thighs trembling on his shoulders. Your walls pulse and throb around his fingers, sucking him in and never wanting him to leave. His tongue continues to rub lazy circles around your clit, working you through your high and making it last so long you think you might pass out.

Warmth spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your toes and your muscles tense and clench with each pulsing throb. You swear to god you see fucking stars.

It seems to go on forever, leaving you limp and shaking when the last waves finally slip away. 

He presses a final kiss to your clit, one that makes your hips jolt from the overstimulation before he’s lifting himself up. “Wow. That looked like a big one,” he chuckles. He runs a soothing hand along your thigh and you don’t even have the energy to give him some sort of snarky reply. There’s hardly even a pause before something shifts in his eyes. “Let’s see if we can get one that’s even bigger, yeah?” 

Before you can even process what he’s said you feel strong hands slide under your thighs, pressing them tightly to your chest as he settles himself close to you

You grasp at the sheets, hearing the clinking of a belt buckle and then the familiar pitch of a zipper being undone. 

“Fuck,” you mutter. He’s big. Long and pretty and with a perfectly flushed tip. Your eyes are rolling back just thinking about having him inside you.

A strong hand smooths along your thighs, folding you in a way that feels more vulnerable and exposing than anything you’ve ever done before. He pauses for a beat, just staring down at you silently.

“Gorgeous,” he finally mutters, and something in your heart squeezes. His hand grips your hip firmly, holding you in place and you gasp when you feel him prodding at your entrance. It’s pathetic. You’re pathetic. Big bad assassin turned simpering little bitch over some good Gojo dick. 

“Just relaxxxxx, baby.” His hand rubs soothing little circles into your side and it’s so divinely distracting that it catches you by surprise when he starts pushing into you. You gasp and he only chuckles. Asshole. 

He’s big– really big – and the stretch is somehow both painful and perfect. You groan into the air, struggling to take him. Every inch feels like it must be the last, but then there’s more. Your walls clench around him on instinct, trying to force him out. 

“Fuck, baby. What did I say about relaxing?” You hiss when his hand skates down your tummy to rub messy circles on your clit. The relief is instant and you moan when you feel him slide in a little further. “There we go. Good girl.” 

He continues feeding his dick into you, inch by inch, until his hips finally press to yours and you think you can feel him in your fucking throat. You hear him exhale, like it’s a relief to finally be fully inside you, like he’s been waiting for ages. 

You expect him to not hold back, to let himself go and pound into you relentlessly, but he doesn’t. He only leans down closer to you, settling in when he starts a pace of slow, sensual thrusts. His brows pinch, his eyes hardened in concentration.

“Ah, fuck. You’re so tight.” 

You want to shoot something back at him, but you’re hardly remembering to breathe with how deep he’s sliding into you. Instead, you just end up holding him tighter, your eyes fluttering shut. 

Lips dust across your cheeks, just below your lashes. “Keep your eyes open, gorgeous. Wanna see you.” 

You blink, thinking that it’s a notion that feels a little too intimate for a hookup. Regardless, you do as he wants, opening your eyes and holding his gaze.

A smile splits his lips and he presses his forehead to yours, picking up the pace of his thrusts. It’s not long before the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you’re both panting. His breath skates across your skin, hot and heavy, hitching with the groans and whines that spill from his chest. You can’t help but pull him closer, raking your nails down his back hard enough to leave marks. The action makes him emit a noise you can only describe as a desperate whimper. “Fuck, baby. Yes.” 

His lips press to yours in a kiss that’s all desperation and teeth and tongue. You kiss him back with equal intensity, your body rocking with each heavy thrust. He’s pounding into you now, frantic for more, more, more of you. You want him to take it, take all of you. 

A familiar heat pinches in your stomach and you know it won’t be long before he’s pushing you to another release. His dick drags in and out of you, prodding at the gummy spot inside you with every thrust and brushing so deliciously against your cervix that you can’t stop the moans spilling from your lips. It has you seeing stars again, has you clawing at him and panting into his mouth. 

“Satoru… harder,” you breathe. You need more– more of everything, of him. 

He groans. “You got it, gorgeous.” 

His hips slam into you and it’s so perfect that you can’t help but whimper beneath him. It only gets worse when you feel his fingers on your clit again, hand pressed between your bodies. “Cum on my dick, baby.” Your eyes roll back, that coil inside you rolling tighter. You feel his muscles tensing and shaking above you and you know he’s close, too. “Where do you want it?” he asks, and from the pinched look on his face you can tell exactly where he wants it. You know you’re an idiot for feeling the same. 

“Inside,” you breathe. He groans so loudly it rattles in your ears.

“That’s my girl,” he says, but it’s nearly a whisper with how strained it is. His hand continues at your clit, rubbing perfect little circles that make your legs tremble where they’re pressed against your chest. Your jaw hangs open, but you don’t dare close your eyes. Satoru is still holding your gaze intently, desperately, like he needs to see you. The thought throws you over the edge.

You cry his name, clawing at his shoulder and shaking like a leaf as you feel yourself gush and pulse all over his dick. For the second time that evening you feel the heat inside you swell and burst, washing through you in waves that nearly consume you whole. It’s a struggle to hold his eyes, to not let them roll back into your skull and give into the pure ecstasy of your high– especially when he’s cumming, too. You can hear him moaning in your ear, feel him twitching inside you, feel his hot cum coating your walls and there’s just so fucking much of it. You swear he cums for a minute straight before he slumps down onto you, burying his face in your neck as you pant. 

You’re shaking and so is he, breaths heaving in and out. Reality slowly starts to seep back in, even with his dick still softening inside you and his cum leaking down your thighs. 

You tried to kill him. You failed. You had sex. Now what? Would he really let you go like he’d said he would? You wanted to believe it, but life hadn’t taught you to be that trusting. You should move, untangle yourself from him and escape before he has time to change his mind. 

“You assassins are always thinking so hard,” He mumbles into the curve of your neck. “Maybe you should try to relax for once.”

You swallow when you feel him pressing his lips to your throat, trailing up to your jaw. It’s… tender, gentle, and it feels so nice. You can’t help the way you melt into the touch a bit. You feel him smile into your skin. “There we go.”

His hand settles on your waist, rubbing soothing little circles that send a jolt of urgency up your spine. No. You’re enjoying this– being close to him, laying here with him, breathing him in. That’s not what this is supposed to be. 

You tense again, shifting to get away from him, but he only sighs and presses his weight onto you. 

“Come on, gorgeous. No need to leave so soon. Just stay for a bit, yeah?” He nibbles at your jaw, but it doesn’t work this time. You have to go. You’ve failed your mission. You don’t know what that means for your brother. You’d never thought this would have an ending besides your death. 

“I have to go,” you mutter, pushing at his chest. 

He chuckles, but you don’t miss the strain and… hurt? “Got something more important than trying to kill me?” 

You clench your teeth, trying once again to shove him away. “Yes, actually.” 

He finally pulls back to meet your gaze, brows slightly pinched. “Like what?” 

You push in earnest now, anger and panic rising in your gut. You have to go, have to check on your brother, have to figure out what you’re going to do. “That’s really none of your business,” you seethe. 

You go for another shove, but strong hands clasp around your wrists, pinning them to the bed. His expression has gone flat now, serious. “Actually, I think it’s completely my business. You going to report your failure? Should I expect another assassin soon?”

You scowl, tugging at his grasp and trying to free yourself. “Yeah, probably. He’s an insufferable idiot. I told him it wouldn’t work and it didn’t, but I don’t doubt he’ll send another.” 

His face cracks, his brows pulling together again. “If you knew it wouldn’t work then why’d you take the job?” 

You struggle again, less angry and more desperate now. “Because he’s got my fucking brother at gunpoint and I’ve got to figure out how the fuck I’m going to save him!” you shout.

There’s silence for a long moment– a long, uncomfortable beat of it– and then his expression softens into something… tender. It sends a chill up your spine. Satoru Gojo was never supposed to be tender with you, and that’s all he’s been. 

“I’ll save him,” he says. Your heart jumps and his grip on your wrists loosens, allowing you to slip free. 

“What?” you breathe. He sits back, allowing you to prop yourself up into a slightly less vulnerable position. 

He exhales slowly, but you don’t miss the way his hand settles on your bare thigh, a comforting weight. “I’ll save your brother and then I’ll take care of your boss.” A smirk creeps across his lips. “What? Don’t think I can do it?”

You stare blankly, lips parted. There’s no doubt he can do it, but that’s not the question swirling in your mind. 

“Why would you help me?” You’d tried to kill the man. You couldn’t make heads or tails of a reason why he’d go out of his way to help you. 

He chuckles. “Well, in case you didn’t know, I’m a hero of sorts.” You have to fight not to roll your eyes. “And… there’s something I want from you.” 

There it is– the catch. He wants something. You have no idea what you could possibly have to give him, but you’re willing for it to be just about anything. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

He grins, but you can see the glint of mischief in his gaze. His hand slides further up your thigh, up your side, over your shoulder, until it rests at the nape of your neck and his face is only inches from your own. “What’s your number, gorgeous?”

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