2cool2livw

certified re-blogger 1998/09/27

[asiangok]

r18. everybody knows gojo satoru doesn’t like you. he makes sure you know it every time you’re in the same room, never missing a chance to remind you that suguru only keeps you around to fuck you when he’s bored.

ⓘ bullying, misogyny, toxic dynamics.

the first thing he said when he walked into the bar was, “there she is. suguru’s favorite side piece.”

the men at the table laughed.

you smiled anyway.

years of working as a hostess had taught you how to do that. smile when they’re rude. smile when they’re drunk. smile when they think you’re less of a person because they’re paying for your time.

but gojo satoru wasn’t paying. that was what made him worse.

he sat beside suguru, long legs stretched out beneath the table, blue eyes immediately finding you across the room.

like always.

like they always did.

“you know,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “i still don’t get it.”

suguru glanced up from his drink. “get what?”

“her.”

your smile stiffened.

satoru pointed in your direction.

“you’re rich. you’re attractive. you could fuck anyone. why waste your time with a girl who’s literally paid to pretend she likes men?”

the table went silent. you felt every eye land on you.

suguru only chuckled.

“you’re being an asshole again.”

“am i wrong?”

no one answered.

because he wasn’t.

at least not entirely.

you spent your nights laughing at jokes that weren’t funny and making lonely men feel important. you knew what people thought of women like you.

most were simply polite enough not to say it aloud.

satoru never was.

the rest of the evening passed the same way it always did.

a comment here.

a cruel joke there.

every sentence designed to remind you exactly where you stood.

and every time, you stayed quiet.

because arguing would only prove he got under your skin. and because deep down, part of you thought you deserved it.

satoru never said don’t sit with us.

he didn’t have to.

it would happen in small ways. ways that were easy to dismiss if anyone called him out on it.

whenever everyone met up at a pub, there would always be just enough seats for the group. you’d arrive a little later than everyone else, usually straight from work, still tired from sleeping only a few hours after your shift.

and somehow, the last empty seat would always disappear the moment you got there.

you’d watch satoru casually toss his jacket over it.

or his backpack.

or stretch his legs onto the chair beside him.

the first few times, you thought it was an accident. then you noticed he only ever did it when you showed up.

“scoot over,” suguru would say sometimes.

and before you could even feel relieved, satoru would click his tongue.

“she’s fine.”

as if standing wasn’t a problem.

as if you weren’t part of the group anyway.

nobody argued.

nobody wanted to deal with him when he got like that.

so you’d end up leaning against a wall while everyone else sat around the table.

listening.

smiling when appropriate. pretending it didn’t bother you.

he never raised his voice. never started a fight. never said anything cruel enough for people to call him out.

just little comments.

little actions.

tiny cuts that added up over time.

and every time satoru noticed, he’d lean back in his seat with that infuriating look on his face.

like he’d won something.

like making you feel unwanted was exactly the point.

the conversations weren’t any better. they’d talk about professors they hated. midterms. group projects. people getting suspended. parties on campus. things that happened in lecture halls. things that happened in dorms.

entire memories built around a life you weren’t living.

you worked nights.

while they were sitting in classrooms, you were sleeping.

while they were studying for exams, you were getting ready for another shift.

it never started with anything obvious.

just small conversations that drifted into things you couldn’t fully relate to — classes you didn’t take, professors you didn’t know, places on campus you’d only ever passed by.

you usually stayed quiet during those parts.

not because you didn’t want to join in.

but because it was easier than being reminded, over and over, that your life didn’t quite line up with theirs.

tonight was no different.

they were crowded around a low table, half-lounging on mismatched chairs and cushions in someone’s apartment, the air warm with cheap alcohol and the kind of laughter that came from people who didn’t have to be anywhere else in the morning.

you sat slightly to the side, glass in hand, listening more than speaking.

suguru was in the middle of it all like he always was — relaxed, easy, occasionally glancing your way like you belonged there when he felt like acknowledging you.

and satoru was there too.

which meant you were already waiting for something you couldn’t name.

because with him, it was never random.

it was timing.

it was attention.

it was the way his eyes would land on you just long enough to make you aware that he was watching, even when he wasn’t speaking.

and tonight, he had been quiet for too long.

someone had been talking about a party the night before. loud music, cheap alcohol, strangers crowding the living room like it meant something.

you weren’t really listening until someone turned to you and asked if you went to things like that too.

you opened your mouth to answer.

you didn’t even get the chance. satoru beat you to it.

“why wouldn’t she?” he said, leaning back in his chair like he was bored. “she works in a club. she’s basically already at a party every night.”

a few soft laughs followed. not mean enough to stop him. not kind enough to help you.

you forced a small smile.

“it’s not really the same thing,” you said quietly.

satoru tilted his head, like he was considering you.

then he shrugged.

“sure it is.”

he looked around the table, addressing everyone now, not just you.

“guys buy her drinks. guys pay for her attention. she knows how to act interested when she has to.”

your stomach dropped at the casualness of it. the way he said it like it was fact. like it was just… obvious.

nobody stopped him.

you tried to speak again, but your voice came out thinner than you wanted.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

satoru smiled a little at that. not warm. not amused. just sharp.

“i know enough,” he said. “don’t i?”

the silence after that wasn’t loud.

it was worse.

because it meant everyone had heard him. and everyone had chosen not to argue.

you sat there, fingers tightening around your glass, feeling the heat crawl up your neck while satoru went back to his drink like he hadn’t just reduced you into something bite-sized for the room to swallow.

the room stayed quiet for a second after satoru’s words settled.

not the kind of silence that felt like shock.

the kind that felt like hesitation.

like everyone was waiting to see whether it was going to be a joke they were allowed to laugh at.

you didn’t look at satoru anymore.

you couldn’t.

your grip on your glass tightened instead, nails pressing into the cool surface like it could anchor you back into something normal.

“that’s enough,” someone muttered under their breath.

too soft to matter.

satoru didn’t even acknowledge it.

he just took a sip of his drink like he hadn’t said anything at all. like he hadn’t just stripped the conversation bare.

your eyes flicked, almost unwillingly, to suguru.

he was leaning back in his seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.

for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

didn’t move.

just watched the table like he was deciding whether this was worth interrupting his evening for.

then he sighed.

not loud.

not angry.

just tired.

“satoru,” he said finally.

that was it.

no sharpness. no correction. no defense.

satoru hummed in response, not even looking up.

“what?”

suguru glanced at you briefly — quick, unreadable — and then back to him.

“drop it.”

two words. flat. unbothered.

satoru’s mouth twitched like he found that amusing.

“or what?”

suguru didn’t answer right away.

and in that pause, something inside your chest tightened in a way you were used to now.

not surprise. not even disappointment.

just confirmation.

he wasn’t going to defend you.

not really.

he never did.

suguru reached for his drink again.

“just stop making it weird,” he said.

like the problem wasn’t what was said. like the problem was the attention it brought.

satoru leaned forward slightly then, resting his elbow on his knee.

his eyes flicked to you again. still sharp. still fixed.

“see?” he said lightly. “he’s not even mad.”

no one laughed.

but no one disagreed either.

and suguru…

suguru didn’t look at you again after that.

the thing with suguru geto had never been complicated.

at least, not for him.

he’d text you late at night asking where you were, and somehow you’d always end up at his apartment. sometimes he’d order food afterward. sometimes he’d let you stay until morning. sometimes he’d brush your hair behind your ear and ask about your shift like he actually cared about the answer.

those moments were what kept you around.

not because they meant anything.

but because they felt like they did.

you met suguru at the club where you worked, on a night that ran too long and felt too loud.

he came in with friends, but kept looking at you instead of the table. when you introduced yourself, he said your name like he’d been waiting to hear it.

after closing, he was still there. he offered you a ride, you took it, and somewhere between the quiet streets and his apartment lights, the night stopped feeling like something you could walk away from.

you told yourself it was just one night.

but you still ended up in his bed anyway.

suguru never called you his girlfriend. never introduced you as anything more than a friend. never promised you a future, exclusivity, or even consistency.

and yet he’d sling an arm over your shoulders in public when he was in a good mood, save a seat for you when satoru wasn’t around, and look at you with enough warmth to make you forget where you stood.

for a few hours, you could pretend.

pretend you weren’t just someone he called when he was lonely.

pretend you weren’t waiting for scraps of affection from a man who had never once asked you to stay.

which was exactly why satoru’s comments hurt so much.

because unlike everyone else, satoru saw right through the fantasy.

the conversation moved on eventually.

it always did.

maybe that was the worst part.

nobody lingered on what satoru had said. nobody looked uncomfortable for very long. within minutes, someone was complaining about a professor, someone else was arguing over a grade, and the room slipped back into its usual rhythm as if nothing had happened at all.

you tried to follow along. you really did.

you smiled when everyone else laughed and nodded when it seemed appropriate, but the longer the night dragged on, the more disconnected you felt from the people around you. every laugh sounded distant. every conversation felt like it was happening through a wall.

across the room, suguru looked perfectly at ease.

he sat sprawled against the couch with a drink balanced loosely in one hand, listening to shoko tell some story about a classmate she’d nearly gotten into a fight with. every so often he laughed, the sound low and warm, and for a moment you found yourself staring.

waiting.

hoping.

for what, exactly, you weren’t sure.

an apology, maybe.

an explanation.

some sign that he’d noticed the way your smile had faltered earlier. some sign that he cared enough to bring it up once everyone else had stopped paying attention.

but he never looked your way.

and every minute that passed made it harder to ignore the truth.

suguru wasn’t going to say anything.

he never did.

that realization shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. after all, this wasn’t the first time satoru had made a joke at your expense. it wasn’t the first time he’d found a way to remind everyone exactly what you did for a living. and it certainly wasn’t the first time suguru had chosen silence over confrontation.

still, something about tonight felt different.

maybe because you were tired.

maybe because satoru had looked directly at you while he said it.

or maybe because some stupid part of you had spent so long convincing itself that suguru saw you differently that hearing nobody disagree had finally cracked something open.

as the night wore on, people began leaving one by one.

the apartment slowly emptied around you. jackets were pulled on, goodbyes were exchanged, and the front door opened and closed often enough that cool air occasionally drifted through the room.

normally, you would have left too. instead, you found yourself lingering.

partly because going home sounded unbearable, and partly because leaving would mean sitting alone with thoughts you didn’t want to examine too closely.

so when someone started gathering empty bottles from the coffee table, you offered to help.

it gave your hands something to do.

you collected abandoned glasses, stacked empty cans, wiped rings of condensation from the table with a napkin. none of it actually needed to be done, but the small tasks kept your mind occupied.

or at least they were supposed to.

because no matter what you focused on, your thoughts kept circling back to the same thing.

satoru’s voice.

the look on suguru’s face.

the silence that followed.

eventually you carried an armful of glasses into the kitchen and set them beside the sink.

the apartment had grown noticeably quieter by then.

you could still hear voices somewhere near the front door, but they sounded distant now, muffled beneath the hum of the refrigerator and the rush of water as you turned on the faucet.

you stared down at the glass in your hands and watched soap bubbles slide across the surface.

for the first time all evening, you allowed yourself to stop pretending.

your chest ached.

it was ridiculous, really.

you weren’t dating suguru.

he hadn’t promised you anything.

you had no right to expect him to defend you.

and yet the hurt remained anyway, stubborn and humiliating.

you were so lost in thought that you didn’t immediately notice the apartment had gone completely silent.

it wasn’t until several seconds passed without hearing another voice that something in your stomach tightened.

the front door had stopped opening.

the conversations had disappeared.

even the music seemed quieter somehow.

you frowned slightly and glanced toward the kitchen entrance.

nothing.

just an empty hallway.

for a brief moment, you wondered if everyone had already left.

then a familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind you.

“you know what’s funny?”

your entire body went still.

because you would have recognized that voice anywhere.

and because somehow, before you even turned around, you already knew exactly who was standing there.

your entire body went still.

for a second, neither of you moved.

the faucet continued running between you, water splashing softly against the bottom of the sink, filling the silence neither of you seemed interested in breaking.

you stared at the glass in your hands.

then slowly set it down.

only then did you turn.

satoru was standing in the doorway of the kitchen.

his jacket hung loosely over one shoulder, one hand shoved into his pocket. he looked completely relaxed, like he’d wandered in by accident. like he hadn’t spent the better part of the evening making sure you felt unwelcome.

for a brief moment, you wondered where everyone else had gone.

whether suguru was still here.

whether someone would walk back in.

but the apartment was quiet.

too quiet.

and judging by the look on satoru’s face, he knew it too.

“what?” you asked.

your voice came out flatter than intended.

tired.

he studied you for a moment.

his gaze lingered just long enough to make your skin crawl.

“nothing.”

you almost laughed.

“right.”

his mouth twitched.

not quite a smile. more like amusement.

“you’re easy to read, you know that?”

you looked away first.

you hated that.

hated that he always seemed to notice things you worked hard to hide.

“horrible night?” he asked lightly.

you reached for another glass.

“don’t start.”

“start what?”

you didn’t answer.

because there was no point.

because somehow every conversation with him ended the same way.

you frustrated.

him entertained.

the silence stretched.

you focused on washing dishes.

he stayed exactly where he was.

for a moment, you thought maybe that would be the end of it.

that maybe he was finally leaving.

then he spoke again.

“you cried once.”

your hands froze.

the words were so unexpected that for a second you weren’t even sure you’d heard him correctly.

slowly, you looked up.

satoru hadn’t moved. his eyes remained fixed on you.

calm. observant. annoyingly attentive.

“what?”

“after that party last semester.”

your stomach dropped.

immediately.

because you remembered.

god. you remembered.

it had been months ago.

some stupid gathering at their friend’s apartment. too many people packed into too small a space. too much alcohol. too much noise.

someone had made a joke.

another person had laughed.

then another.

and somehow the conversation had shifted toward hostesses.

toward women who worked in clubs.

toward women like you.

you’d excused yourself shortly afterward.

locked yourself in the bathroom.

and cried for exactly five minutes before pulling yourself together.

nobody was supposed to know.

your face tightened.

“satoru—”

“bathroom near the hallway.”

he shrugged.

“you forgot the walls were thin.”

humiliation flooded through you so quickly it made your stomach hurt.

“why are you telling me this?”

“because i remember thinking it was weird.”

you stared at him.

he continued before you could respond.

“you spend every night around men who say worse things than anything i do.”

the words landed heavily.

because they weren’t entirely wrong.

customers could be cruel. drunk. entitled.

you’d heard every insult imaginable at work.

every assumption.

every degrading comment.

satoru tilted his head.

“so i’ve always wondered why mine bother you so much.”

your chest tightened.

you looked away.

because suddenly you didn’t want him seeing your face.

didn’t want him seeing how easily he’d landed on the truth.

because his words hurt precisely because they came from him. because somewhere along the way, you’d started caring what he thought.

and maybe that was the most embarrassing thing of all.

“they don’t.”

his laugh was immediate.

quiet.

disbelieving.

“okay.”

you gripped the edge of the sink.

“satoru, what do you want?”

finally.

there it was.

the question hanging between you.

because he hadn’t stayed behind for no reason. he hadn’t followed you into the kitchen because he was bored.

satoru’s expression shifted slightly, becoming harder to read.

for a moment he simply looked at you, taking his time. like he was deciding how honest he felt like being.

“i don’t get you.”

you blinked.

“what?”

“you keep showing up.”

his gaze narrowed.

“every single time.”

you frowned.

“because i’m friends with everyone.”

“are you?”

the question was so immediate it almost felt rehearsed.

you stared at him.

he stared back.

and suddenly the kitchen felt too small.

too warm.

too quiet.

“suguru invites me.”

the moment his name left your mouth, something flickered across satoru’s face.

gone so quickly you almost missed it.

“yeah.”

his voice was flat.

“that’s kind of my point.”

confusion twisted through you.

“what is that supposed to mean?”

satoru looked away briefly before letting out a quiet breath through his nose.

like he was already annoyed with the conversation.

annoyed with you.

“you really think that’s why?”

“why what?”

“why he keeps you around.”

you stared at him.

your heartbeat beginning to quicken.

slowly.

uncomfortably.

because suddenly you didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

and judging by the look on his face — neither did he.

but he continued anyway.

“you think suguru actually likes you.”

it wasn’t a question.

it was a statement.

a realization.

and the second he said it aloud, the room seemed to tilt slightly beneath your feet.

you felt exposed.

like he’d reached into your chest and dragged something private into the light.

your expression hardened immediately.

“fuck off.”

his eyes widened slightly.

not because you’d denied it.

because you hadn’t.

and he knew it.

“wow.”

the word left him softly. almost incredulously.

“you do.”

heat rushed into your face.

“i said fuck off.”

but your voice lacked conviction.

and that only made it worse. because now he was looking at you differently.

not with amusement.

not with irritation.

something closer to disbelief. as though he’d finally solved a puzzle.

and hated the answer.

“that’s actually insane.”

humiliation crawled beneath your skin.

“satoru—”

“no, seriously.”

he laughed once.

running a hand through his hair.

“you think this is going somewhere?”

every word felt sharper than the last.

you wanted him to stop.

wanted to walk away.

wanted the conversation to end.

instead, you remained rooted to the floor.

because some awful part of you needed to hear what he was going to say next.

“suguru isn’t your boyfriend.”

you looked away.

“i know.”

"then why are you acting like one?"

your throat tightened.

silence.

satoru watched your reaction carefully.

too carefully.

the realization seemed to settle deeper the longer he looked at you.

and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter.

crueler.

because now he wasn’t guessing anymore. now he knew exactly where to aim.

“you really don’t get it.”

your stomach dropped.

“satoru.”

“he fucks you because you’re there.”

the words hit so hard they barely registered at first. for a moment, all you could do was stare.

he continued anyway.

merciless.

“because you’re convenient.”

your chest tightened painfully.

“because you make it easy.”

“satoru, stop.”

but he didn’t.

“you think you’re special because he calls you afterward?”

his eyes locked onto yours.

“because he invites you to hang out?”

you felt sick.

genuinely sick.

the kind that settled somewhere deep in your stomach.

because every sentence sounded like something he’d been thinking for a long time.

“do you know how many girls would say yes to suguru?”

he laughed softly.

without humor.

“the difference is they have enough self-respect not to build fantasies around it.”

you flinched.

and he saw it.

god.

he saw it.

for the first time all evening, something uncertain flickered across his expression.

a split second.

gone immediately.

but not before you noticed.

not before you realized he hadn’t expected that reaction. he hadn’t expected to actually hurt you.

which would have mattered more if he hadn’t kept going.

“you’re not stupid.”

his voice was quieter now. lower. somehow worse.

“so stop acting like you don’t know what this is.”

your eyes burned, and you hated yourself for it.

hated that tears were even threatening.

especially in front of him.

especially now.

satoru looked at you for a long moment.

then let out a slow breath.

and when he spoke again, his voice was almost tired.

“he doesn’t choose you.”

the words landed with terrifying precision. because they struck directly at the fear you’d spent months avoiding.

“he just sleeps with you ‘cause you’re free & easy.”

and suddenly the kitchen felt impossibly small.

the air too heavy to breathe.

the silence afterward deafening.

because for the first time since he’d entered the room — you had nothing left to say.

your manager caught you just as you were stepping off the main floor to grab another tray. there was a particular look on her face that immediately told you this wasn’t a normal client request. she held a reservation slip between two fingers and glanced toward the staircase leading to the vip section.

“table 9,” she said. “private room.”

you nodded automatically, already reaching for the slip.

“requested you specifically.”

that made you pause.

for a brief second, you considered asking who it was. then you saw the spending limit attached to the reservation and didn’t need to. there were very few people who could casually spend that much money in a single evening, and even fewer who would specifically ask for you.

the realization settled heavily in your stomach.

gojo satoru.

of course.

you thanked your manager, fixed your dress, and headed upstairs.

the walk to the vip rooms gave you too much time to think.

two days ago, you had walked into suguru’s apartment with a spare key and found another woman in his bed. you hadn’t screamed. hadn’t cried. hadn’t even made a scene.

you’d simply stood there long enough for the reality to settle over you before turning around and leaving.

maybe that was why it hurt so much. there had been no dramatic ending. no fight. no closure. just confirmation of something you'd already known for months.

and now somehow satoru knew too.

the room was dim when you entered.

soft amber lights reflected off dark wood and expensive liquor bottles. the music from downstairs was barely audible from here, reduced to a distant pulse beneath the floorboards.

satoru sat alone on the leather couch, one ankle resting on his opposite knee, a glass of whiskey balanced loosely between his fingers. at first glance he looked relaxed. comfortable. bored, even.

then he looked up.

his eyes immediately found yours.

for a moment, neither of you spoke.

you were used to being looked at. men spent entire evenings staring at you for a living. you knew the difference between attraction, curiosity, desire, and drunken fascination.

satoru’s stare had never been any of those things.

it always felt more invasive.

as if he were trying to figure out something you hadn’t told him.

as if every interaction between the two of you was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.

and tonight, for whatever reason, he seemed especially focused.

his gaze lingered on your face longer than usual. not your body. not what you’re wearing. your face. his eyes moved carefully over every detail, and before he even opened his mouth, you had the unpleasant feeling that he was cataloguing things you wished nobody would notice.

the exhaustion.

the lack of sleep.

the fact that your smile wasn’t reaching your eyes.

something flickered across his expression.

then it disappeared.

“well,” he said finally, leaning back against the couch, “if it isn’t suguru’s favorite side piece.”

there he was.

you almost felt relieved.

cruel satoru was familiar.

cruel satoru made sense.

you slipped easily into your professional smile and approached the table.

“good evening, mr. gojo. i’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

instead of answering immediately, he watched you reach for the bottle. watched you prepare a clean glass. watched you perform every practiced movement with the precision of someone who had spent years learning how to be pleasant no matter what kind of person sat in front of them.

when you finally looked up again, you found him still staring.

“mr. gojo?” he repeated.

his mouth curved slightly.

“that’s cute.”

you ignored it and poured his drink.

“would you like ice?”

“would you like to stop pretending?”

the question landed between you.

most people wouldn’t have noticed how quickly it came. how little time he spent dancing around the topic. satoru had never been subtle when it came to hurting you.

you continued pouring as though he hadn’t spoken.

“one cube or two?”

he laughed.

not because anything was funny.

because he was frustrated.

and somehow that realization unsettled you more than his insults usually did.

“you walked in on him balls deep in someone else two nights ago.”

there it was.

direct.

blunt.

inevitable.

you set the bottle down carefully before answering.

“i’m here to work.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

“and i’m choosing not to answer.”

for a second, the room fell quiet.

satoru stared at you.

you stared at the whiskey bottle.

somewhere downstairs, the bass from the club vibrated faintly through the walls.

“you know what’s amazing?” he said after a while.

his voice had changed.

it was softer now.

less mocking.

which somehow made it worse.

“i spent months telling you exactly who suguru was.”

you didn’t respond.

“months.”

his fingers tightened around the glass.

“and every single time you looked at me like i was the asshole.”

only then did you glance up.

because that sounded strangely personal.

strangely bitter.

more bitter than someone should have been about a situation that technically had nothing to do with him.

“you were being an asshole,” you said quietly.

for the first time all evening, a genuine smile appeared on his face.

small.

brief.

real.

“fair.”

then it vanished.

and his eyes returned to studying you.

not mocking.

not teasing.

studying.

as though he couldn’t quite understand what he was seeing.

because you weren’t angry. you weren’t crying. you weren’t defending suguru. you just looked tired.

painfully, unbelievably tired.

and somehow that seemed to bother him.

a lot.

more than finding out suguru had cheated.

more than proving himself right.

more than the satisfaction of winning an argument he’d been having for months.

satoru looked at you for a long moment before exhaling sharply and reaching into his wallet.

the stack of bills landed on the table with a heavy thud.

you frowned.

“what are you doing?”

“buying your time.”

“you’re already doing that.”

“not this time.”

his gaze lifted to yours.

steady.

serious.

“this time i’m buying the rest of your shift.”

you looked from the money back to him.

confused. suspicious. tired.

and for the first time that night, satoru seemed to lose patience entirely.

“go home,” he said.

when you didn’t answer, he shook his head and laughed once under his breath.

“seriously. go home.”

his eyes drifted over your face again.

taking in every detail you had been desperately trying to hide from everyone around you.

and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“i’ve spent months making fun of you,” he said. “i know exactly what you look like when you’re trying too hard.”

his gaze didn’t leave yours.

a month had passed since that night in the vip lounge.

you still didn’t know what had possessed you to take the money and let him drive you home. you didn’t know why you hadn’t told him to fuck off when he kissed you against the door of his apartment instead. and you definitely didn’t know why you kept coming back.

but you did.

three, sometimes four times a week, you found yourself here — in satoru’s apartment, letting him peel your clothes off like he had every right to.

tonight was no different.

the lights of the city bled softly through the tall windows, painting his bedroom in cool blues and warm golds.

you were underneath him, skin flushed and warm, legs parted wide as he took his time with you.

satoru kissed you slowly, almost lazily, like he had all night to ruin you. his hand slid down your body, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist before slipping between your thighs.

he groaned quietly against your mouth when he felt how wet you already were, slick coating his fingers.

“always so ready for me,” he murmured, voice low and rough. two fingers teased your entrance before pushing in deep, curling slowly against your walls. “this pussy misses me even when you pretend you don’t.”

you gasped softly, hips twitching against his hand. he smiled against your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he worked his fingers deeper, stretching you patiently, thrusting them in and out with wet, obscene sounds.

“look at me,” he said.

when you met his eyes, he added a third finger, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face as he pumped them steadily.

“that’s it,” he whispered. “just feel me. don’t think about anything else.”

he kept that slow rhythm until your breathing turned ragged and your thighs trembled around his wrist. only then did he pull his fingers out, slick with your arousal, and settle between your legs.

he rubbed the thick head of his cock against your soaked folds, teasing your clit before finally pushing in — slow, thick, and steady, stretching you open inch by inch.

a quiet moan slipped from your lips as he filled you completely. satoru let out a long breath, forehead dropping to yours.

“fuck… still so tight,” he breathed. “every single time.”

his forehead rested against yours, white hair messy and damp with sweat. one of his hands gripped your thigh, holding you open for him, while the other braced beside your head.

“look at me,” he murmured, voice low.

you did.

his eyes were too blue, too sharp, even in the dark. they always saw too much.

“you’ve been so fucking quiet lately,” he said, rolling his hips deeper, pressing you further into the mattress. “still thinking about him?”

you shook your head, but the way your breath hitched gave you away.

satoru let out a soft, mocking laugh that didn’t quite hide the edge in it. he dipped his head, lips brushing your ear.

“liar,” he whispered. “you still get that sad little look in your eyes sometimes. like you’re waiting for him to text you again.”

he thrust a little harder, just enough to make you gasp, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

“but you’re here instead. letting me fuck you raw every time i want.”

your fingers dug into his shoulders. not pushing him away. just holding on.

“satoru…”

“yeah?” his voice dropped, rougher now. “say it. tell me whose bed you’re in.”

“yours,” you breathed.

he hummed in approval, slowing down again, dragging it out until you felt every inch of him sliding in and out.

“good girl. at least you know that much.”

he kissed the side of your neck, almost gentle. almost.

“you’re tighter when you’re like this,” he murmured against your skin. “all soft and needy. makes me wonder how long you’re gonna keep pretending this is just revenge.”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. not when he was moving like that — deep, steady strokes that made your toes curl and your mind go fuzzy. not rough. not frantic. just overwhelming in its intensity, his cock filling you perfectly with every thrust.

satoru shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot that always made your back arch. a quiet moan slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“there she is,” he breathed, sounding almost fond. “been thinking about this pussy all day, you know that?”

he rocked into you again, slower this time, savoring the way your walls clenched around him.

“thought about canceling my last class just so i could drag you here and fuck you properly. been hard since lunch, baby..”

your face burned. you turned your head slightly, but he caught your chin and brought your gaze back to his.

“don’t you dare look away.”

he kissed you then — deep, possessive, a little messy. when he pulled back, his voice was quieter.

he kept his pace steady, grinding against you with every thrust, one hand sliding down to rub slow circles against your swollen clit. the pleasure built gradually, thick and consuming, until your thighs started trembling around him.

“that’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing yours. “come for me, baby. let me feel you.”

and you did — quietly, breathlessly, clenching hard around his cock as the orgasm rolled through you in long, slow waves. satoru groaned low in his throat, burying his face in your neck as he followed right after, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you, filling you with warm pulses.

for a long minute, the only sound was both of you breathing.

he didn’t pull out right away. he stayed there, heavy and warm on top of you, lips occasionally pressing lazy kisses against your collarbone like he wasn’t quite ready to let the moment end.

eventually, he shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you against his chest without a word. his fingers traced slow patterns on your bare back.

you hummed, eyes already heavy.

your phone lay on the nightstand beside his bed. it had been on silent, but the screen suddenly lit up with a new message notification. then another. and another.

satoru noticed immediately.

he reached over and turned the phone slightly toward him before you could stop him. the screen showed multiple unread messages from suguru.

satoru’s body went still.

“you’re still talking to him?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

you froze.

he let out a short, amused scoff — surprised, almost disbelieving, but with that familiar sharp edge underneath.

“really?” he sat up a little, one eyebrow raised, staring down at you. “after he fucked someone else in front of you basically… you’re still replying to his messages?”

you looked away, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked.

“…because he’s nice sometimes,” you said quietly. “he can be sweet when he wants to.”

the silence that followed felt heavier than anything he’d said all night.

satoru stared at you for a long moment. something shifted behind his eyes — a slow, bitter realization settling in. his usual smirk was gone. in its place was something colder. disappointed, almost.

he let out a low, humorless laugh and ran a hand through his hair.

“fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “you’re still looking for him.”

he said it like he was stating a fact he’d been trying to ignore for weeks. like the truth had finally hit him square in the chest.

even after a month of fucking him, of letting him hold you, fuck you raw, keep you in his bed — you were still waiting for scraps from suguru.

satoru leaned back against the headboard, jaw tight, blue eyes fixed on the ceiling instead of you.

and for the first time in weeks, the silence between you felt like the old kind again.

© asiangok.

[calebunny]

⋆. Brat makers ˖Ი𐑼⋆

crow apple 𓄿𐂴

⋆ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧ ⋆ AppleDays ⋆ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧ ⋆

𑣲Day 3

A lesson in putting a spoiled girl in her place, courtesy of Caleb and Sylus ;)

Warnings: Explicit NSFW, MDNI (18+), Dubious Consent, Overstimulation Tropes: Dom!Caleb, Dom! Sylus, Threesome/Spit-Roasting, Brat Taming, Rule-Breaking, Rough, Double Penetration. WC: 1975

A/N: There is slight tension and fruitiness between Caleb and Sylus in honor of Pride Month, so if you aren't comfy with that, its totally okay, but this work isn't for you! 𐙚

Caleb and Sylus both agreed on one thing, they had spoiled you rotten. 

You knew exactly how to get your way with a stomp of your foot and a bit of incessant whining. They both had a massive soft spot for you, and you absolutely abused it. On the rare occasion that one of them actually stood his ground and denied you something, you simply went running to the other. Without fail, you always ended up getting what you wanted. 

So there you were, flopped unceremoniously across Sylus’s bed, dramatically huffing and taking your frustrations out on his pillows. You made sure your tantrum was obvious to the white-haired man sitting at his desk, casually flipping through documents. He looked up at your theatrics, a hint of amusement playing on his face. 

Seeing that your efforts were going to waste, you decided to kick it up a notch. You paused all your dramatic thrashing and sat up on the bed, going dead silent. The sudden lack of noise instantly caught Sylus’s attention. That's when you brought out the big guns. With a perfectly timed sniffle, crocodile tears began streaming down your cheeks. Sylus, defeated by your dirty tactics, tossed his documents onto the desk. He sighed, making his way over to the bed before pulling your body against his chest, enveloping you in a warm hug. 

"Alright, alright," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating against your ear as he stroked your hair. "We’ll get you your pet wolf. Don't cry now, kitten." 

The next of your schemes involved sneaking to the kitchen at 3 am in the morning, staying as quiet as possible as you tiptoed across the cold floors. You opened the fridge and retrieved the goods, and right as you thought you had gotten away with it, you heard someone behind you. Goddammit. You turned around guiltily to find Caleb standing there, leaning against the wall, shirtless and looking like he had just woken up. Ice cream in hand, you flashed him a nervous smile. "Pips, you know you can't have that so late at night," he scolded gently. Your instincts kicked in immediately. You pouted, hugging the tub close to your chest as you gave him your signature puppy eyes. "But Caleb, pleaseee... I've been craving it." Giving in, Caleb walked over and ruffled your hair with a sigh. "Fine, but not too much, okay?"

And just like that, victory was yours. Half the time, you made ridiculous requests just to test their limits, to see exactly how far they would bend to keep you happy. they were well aware of this fact too. But unbeknownst to you, Caleb and Sylus had recently made a plan. Deciding they officially had enough of your shit with the way your asks became more absurd by the day, they knew they needed to teach their bratty little girl a lesson. 

It was a day like any other, you woke up with a slow, heavy stretch, yawning your way out of bed and heading downstairs. In the kitchen, your two boyfriends were already occupying their usual spots. Caleb was making breakfast, while Sylus leaned against the counter, mindlessly popping cherries into his mouth and scrolling through his phone. Scurrying over to Caleb, you leaned over his shoulder, trying to peer into the pan. "I'm almost done, pips. Go sit down," he murmured, not looking up. You blinked down at the eggs sizzling in the pan, and like second nature, felt defiance bubbling up. You looked up at him with a sparkle in your eyes. "But Caleb, I'm craving pancakes today." Right as you expected to watch him immediately pivot to indulge your craving, he did the exact opposite. Caleb glanced down at you, held your gaze for a flat second, and deadpanned, "Nope." 

That caught you completely off guard. "Wha-?" It wasn't the kind of "no" that felt negotiable. It wasn't a "maybe" with extra steps. This "no" felt definitive. As you stood there, jaw slightly slack and confused, Caleb simply reached out, picked you up by the waist like a doll, and set you down next to the kitchen island. "Sit down," he ordered softly.

For once, you actually obeyed, slipping into the seat next to Sylus as if in a trance. Caleb caught your expression and let out a smug smirk. 

A few moments later, Caleb began setting the plates down on the island. Still reeling from the pancake rejection, your eyes drifted over to the bowl of juicy cherries Sylus was snacking on.

"Can I have som-" "No." 

Before the sentence could even clear your throat, Sylus cut you off. He didn't even look your way as he answered, instead, he popped another cherry between his lips, holding it between his teeth as he leaned back, his gaze locking directly onto Caleb. 

Wordlessly, Caleb moved across the space, leaning over the counter to meet him. He closed the distance and took the cherry right from Sylus's mouth, their teeth clashing in a quiet click. They both tried not to laugh at the sight of you looking like a kicked puppy. 

The rest of the day went on just like that, a rebellion was what it was. By evening, you were left thoroughly frustrated by the mountain of rejections that had accumulated all day. You could tell something was up, but you knew they couldn't keep this up forever. So, you decided to stage your own overthrow. 

When nighttime finally arrived, you got into bed a little earlier than usual. You could hear the steady rush of water from the shower Caleb was running in the bathroom, while Sylus was finishing up some work in his office. Smirking to yourself, you slowly stripped down to just your underwear, a lacy pair you knew that they were weak for.  Settling back against the pillows, you slowly spread your thighs and gave a few exploratory flicks to your clit. Mmm. As you started to play with yourself, your fingers spread your folds, rubbing gently before plunging two fingers shallowly inside. 

Despite always catering to your every wish and whim, Sylus and Caleb had one strict rule for you, hands off yourself. You knew not to cross this– you never had a reason to anyway, not with two utterly devoted men ready to give you more pleasure than you could ever give yourself. But after a day of them teasing and denying you, you didn't see why you couldn't play their game as well.

Soft moans spilled from your lips, juices leaking through as you could feel yourself getting hotter. Right then, you heard heavy footsteps moving through the hallway outside. Grinning, you worked yourself even harder now. Sylus, on the other hand, reached the outside of the room and knew immediately something was up; he felt your sweet scent filling the air, your faint gasps barely heard. Seems kitten is playing dirty. 

Walking inside, he locked eyes with you, only for you to scrunch your eyebrows and put on even more of a show, cunt in full display. And right on cue, Caleb walked out of the bathroom, skin glistening and a towel hanging off his waist. The moment he caught on to the events occurring in the room, he flashed Sylus an unhinged smile. 

Your mind had dissolved into absolute mush. Overstimulated as you were kept on your hands and knees, your back arched deeply as Sylus relentlessly drove into you from behind. 

You had lost track of how many times you'd finished already, yet there were no signs of stopping. Caleb, meanwhile, was in front of you, admiring the glisten on your face and lips from the previous load he shot up that he was still recovering from, panting with his abs clenching. 

You felt another intense orgasm coursing through you, cum and juice spilling out further as your pussy spasmed around Sylus, but this only prompted him to go faster. Tears streaming uncontrollably now, your knuckles turned white with how hard you were gripping the sheets, and you looked up at Caleb, almost pleading with him to reason with Sylus. Almost like Sylus figured out your ploy, he snapped your hips back against him harshly. “Oh no no no, he’s not gonna help you, sweetheart.” Caleb could only grin, giving you a mock pity look. “Aw, is pips tired? Should’ve thought of that before you decided to break the rules, no?” He looked over to Sylus. “Sy, my turn now.” Panting, Sylus plunged balls deep all the way into your cervix one last time before he pulled out completely, manhandling you to switch positions. 

Now you were sitting upright, your back leaning against Sylus with your legs being held up and apart by his veiny arms. Caleb took his position immediately, feeding you his cock from the front, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, a tad overstimulated from his earlier release. Sylus, looking at the vulnerable puppy boy, couldn't help but reach out and caress the side of his face, his fingers running through his slightly damp hair. Caleb only subconsciously leaned into his touch all the while plunging completely inside of you, moving in shallow, ragged thrusts. 

Then Sylus had an idea. Nipping at your shoulder, his fingers still tangled in Caleb's hair, he gripped a bit tighter, grabbing his attention. “You think she's ready for it?” 

“Huh? fuck– yeahyeaheyeah,” Caleb mumbled incoherently, looking absolutely pussydrunk by the way you clenched around him. You were confused. “Sy? Wha- what do you mean ready? Ready for what?” you panted, and right then, you felt something poke at your virgin back entrance. Fuck me, you thought.

Gathering all the slick from your combined releases and giving you a spit of his own, Sylus made sure you were well-lubricated before he attempted the intrusion. It felt weird in the start– an unfamiliar feeling– but you knew better than to oppose it. You were completely at their mercy. 

Soon enough, Caleb and Sylus found a shared rhythm, breaching your holes at the same time and building up an insane amount of pressure, slick sounds and moans filling the room. Even Sylus, who wasn't normally vocal in bed, was groaning and whimpering, and in no time, another orgasm ripped through you. “Fuck— yes baby, give it all to me. Come on, I know you can give me more,” you weren't even sure who was talking to you at that point.  

Hours dissolved into an exhaustive blur as positions were shifted and forced upon you. You were floating in and out of consciousness. You all looked like a litter of bunnies going at it for so long. You were tired, and just let them move you around for their own pleasure; their combined stamina was ungodly. You could feel your womb bulging with all the semen pumped into you, and finally, with bruising thrusts, they came at the same time, collapsing back against the bed. 

God, Smiling in your fucked out state, all you could think was, you still got what you wanted.

taglist: @meanhamster @feral-espresso-boba @dbglow @hilliserose @violojezel @sickleddreamer

♡ Bunny's Note: I'm a tad bit late with this one, thank you for being patient with me! I had to get out of my comfort zone for this one because I explored tropes and dynamics I wouldn't normally, but I hope you enjoyed this! Any suggestions are always appreciated! ₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎ 

[rllyobsessedgirlie]

Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it

Here are two alternate endings based on a nearly 50/50 poll.

People wanted to see reader get back with Gojo, but that felt too unfair to her after everything, so I ended up writing two Part 2s depending on what you wanted to see LOL.

Part 1

Part 2A: The apology - Gojo begs for forgiveness

Part 2B: Replaced - reader moves on, and Gojo regrets his decisions

Dividers by: @enchanthings

Taglist: @amaikusuri @dreamilyjollystrawberry @khayooooo @reallyamthegoat08 @vip-3-rrr @abrillavigne @akkiveslvt @mmonvchri @rosalia777 @minadiary07 @luvs-angel @bridgertonletsgo @hiromisdirtyslvt

[senalaced]

taking satoru's dick for the first time in theory and in practice are two very different extremes. sure you'd felt him from grinding, from holding the weight of him in your palm under the sheets while you two were supposed to be 'watching a movie'. it felt doable for the most part—taking him.

you've heeded all his thinly veiled warnings long enough and tonight of all nights wasn't one where you two could exactly stop at just heavy petting. you'd even laughed at it beforehand, assured him that you could take him for the millionth time.

if you could slap your past self, you would. because now you're barely 2 minutes into him being inside of you. back spread on soft sheets, practically folded in half under satoru. legs slung over his shoulders, panting, practically vibrating from the effort of trying to get used to the sheer size of him.

"fuck—you gotta stop—" his fingers press harder into the undersides of your thighs where he has you held, hips rocking incrementally to get you adjusted to what he's given already. not even halfway in and you're already all noisy. "breathe for me, pretty? so I can give you the rest."

“t-the rest? ” you gasp, voice going embarrassingly high. it feels like he's been pushing in for ages now and now he's telling you that there's more? “that’s not all of it? are you sure?"

"i'm sure, trust me. just a little more." a bit more than a little, but you'd cross that bridge eventually. he presses a kiss to your knee—soft, lingering like he’s trying to ground both you and himself. "you said you could take it."

"i say a lot of things when I'm horny. you know—oh fuck—that!" you snap, voice breaking on the last word. "you're too big. this is all your fault, satoru."

"my fault?" he manages a huff despite the strain in his voice, brows knitted like he's the one struggling here. to be fair, he sort of is. "you said, and I quote—" his hips ease forward by an infinitesimal amount, just enough to have the bulb of him swabbing against your soft insides. it's enough for your jaw to go slack, toes curling near his ears. "—'please just fuck me already'. and to 'stop treating you like glass'." so here he is, not treating you like glass. not holding out on you. large hands press your thighs and knees closer to your chest, his body angled downward to drive into you with short, gentle thrusts.

"I don't even sound like that." you're clawing blindly at the bedding, airy sounds punching out of you like he's owed them.

"mhm. just breathe." he murmurs, voice rumbling low against your skin as he nudges deeper with the next roll of his hips—a slow, steady push, feeding you yet another inch. one hand leaves your thighs to slide up to your stomach, pressing in like he's trying to feel for himself there. "yeah...that's it, let me in.." the same hand settles just above where you're taking him to thumb at your arousal slick clit, your own darting to out the grab at his wrist. to no avail of course, since his thumb just keeps on moving in circle after circle.

“tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?” he whispers, hips tilting just a little deeper. new slick from his teasing helps, sliding deeper with ease. “that's right...all the way. you're doing so well."

it's soft, so sweet and encouraging that you're reaching a hand out to bring him closer to you by the back of his neck. "m'good, 'toru. you're fine."

you can't help but wonder how much more he has left to give, what kind of monstrous beast he's been hiding under his briefs. curiosity gets the better of you, eyes dropping to where you've yet to fully connect.

and boy, do you regret it almost instantly.

it's near obscene. inches of him glistening and buried, folds parted against his girth. even with how long he's been easing in (or how long it feels at least), there's still a gap. his gaze follows yours, nosing gently at your ankle, hand squeezing your thigh. "you okay?"

the glisten of his flesh, the taut flex of his abdomen like he's holding back...no, you're not okay in the slightest.

you can feel your core flutter involuntarily at the sight and god, he feels it too.

“oh fuck,” satoru's voice breaks, forehead tipping down to rest against your forehead. “baby, please don’t do that. i'll...this really won't last long.”

"oops, sorry. sorry."

the bits of soft pink that aren't inside inch in-in-in with every second that passing. it's barely anything left to give, yet, he's being so careful. too careful."

"holy fuck, just do—shit!"

you're arching clean off the bed with the way he suddenly, finally hilts himself inside. bare behind flush to his hips, groomed hairs at his base grazing against your skin.

he’s silent for a moment, breathing slow, forehead still dampened and pressed down against yours. "..okay, I have bad news."

you're a little drunk on him, just lucid enough to manage a small hm, nails scraping through the damp hair at his nape.

"there's...there's a high chance that I'll cum if I move."

even in your state, laughter breaks out of you, the heavy man above you flushing a soft pink from the highs of his cheeks up to his ears. murmuring something about it 'not being that funny' and him 'embarrassing himself here'.

"stay still then." you finally breathe when your laughter dies down just enough, smile all gentle up at him, lips brushing against the sharp point of his nose. "we'll just stay like this all night." the pain had properly eased into a dull, barely there ache at that point—more pleasure than any other feeling. with how he'd taken his time, it'd been almost inevitable.

"can't just not move," he replies through gritted teeth, hips shifting just a hair. enough for you both to feel the heavy drag, the way your walls clench instinctively. "god—I can't not move when you feel like that."

it's endearing in a way, very much flattering. your grin only widens, head lifting to angle your mouth against his with a firm kiss. "i'm close too if that makes you feel any better."

words meant to help only make him whine, throbbing inside you, hips beginning to rock slowly. "you are?"

"mhmm. very close." you let out a strangled sound when his hips angle just right and it's enough for him to give up on pacing himself. his weight crushes your thighs against your chest, pace building. "so just keep moving. please."

the sounds leaving you are a mix of 'ahh's' and calls of his name, all broken, all sending his hips into you a little faster. they stutter as he fucks into you with less and less finesse, 0 rhyme or rhythm just the need to see you cum for him like this. hips slapping against the back of your thighs, paced breaths dually filling the room. "you feel so good. taking me so well." and when his thumb finds your clit again with those same, easy circles? you're a goner. "gonna cum--gonna- oh my god, keep doing that—" he finds that spot from before over and over again like there's a target stuck to it, leaky tip wedging itself right where you need it, pleasure mounting far too quickly. you're crying out at this point, hips angling up into his thrusts. so full it hurts in that perfect, dizzying way.

“fuck, you're gonna make me—”

“shut up and cum,” you choke out. “do it inside. pleaseplease—”

his entire body jolts, pace faltering. you feel him twitch deep inside you before it hits, his hips driving in and out hard—once, twice, and then he’s moaning into your mouth as he spills. he drags you down with him, pressure in your abdomen bursting, unfurling outwards with your release—his name still falling from your lips. helpless sounds that only spur the continued movement of his hips to draw out the pleasure.

you're both shaking, sucking in breaths of air greedily for moments after that. you're still folded like a pretzel, still crushed against his weight. "...that one doesn't count."

"agreed."

-- repost from previous account ˙ᵕ˙ likes and reblogs appreciated, thanks for reading!

[mimujus]

satoru can’t help but fuck u behind a tree ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

satoru’s hands are already on you, rough and frantic, shoving the hem of your sundress up your thighs before you've even fully registered the shift in his mood. one moment you were walking through the park, hand in hand, the late afternoon sun dappling through the leaves, and the next he's pulled you off the path, yanking you behind the broad trunk of an ancient oak.

"’toru—" you whisper, half protest, half thrill, but his mouth cuts you off, hot and demanding against yours. his tongue slides into your mouth, tasting of the soda he'd sipped at the food truck, and his fingers bunch the fabric of your dress higher until it's bunched around your waist. the cool air hits your bare thighs, your dampening core, and you gasp into his kiss.

he breaks away, breath ragged, and his eyes—those impossibly blue eyes, usually so lazy and teasing—are dark with hunger. "can't wait," your boyfriend mutters, his voice low and rough, the words slurred with want. "need you. now."

you're pinned against the rough bark, the texture scratching through the thin cotton of your dress, but you don't care. the risk of being seen—the distant sounds of children laughing, a dog barking, footsteps on the gravel path—sends a sharp pulse of adrenaline straight to your cunt.

his hand slides between your legs, two fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. he groans, a sound that vibrates through his chest and into yours. "fuck, you're already so wet. were you thinking about this the whole time? walking next to me, pretending to look at the flowers, but really just wanting my cock inside you?"

you can't deny it. your hips push into his hand, a silent plea. "yes," you breathe, and the admission makes him smirk—that infuriating, gorgeous smirk that makes your knees weak.

satoru hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanks them down, not bothering to take them off completely, just enough to bare you to the cooling air. the fabric snags on your ankle, but you don't care. nothing matters except the thick, hard length of him pressing against your hip through his jeans.

he makes quick work of his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet of their hidden spot. his cock springs free, already slick at the tip, and he pumps himself once, twice, before guiding it to your entrance.

"you gotta be quiet," he whispers, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and uneven. "unless you want someone to hear. want them to hear how good i fuck you?"

the challenge sends a shiver down your spine. you shake your head, but the thought—the possibility of being caught, of someone stumbling upon them, seeing you spread open for him—makes you clench around nothing.

he pushes in.

a single, smooth thrust that fills you completely. your mouth falls open, a silent cry of pleasure, and your nails dig into his shoulders. he's big, always so big, stretching you in that perfect way that makes your vision blur. he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours, and stays there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting the sensation sink in.

"so tight," satoru murmurs, his voice strained. "like you were made for me."

then he starts to move.

slow at first, shallow thrusts that make you feel every ridge and vein of him as he slides in and out. he's not being gentle—there's nothing gentle about the way he grips your hip, the way his other hand presses against the tree beside your head, steadying himself. but it's deliberate, controlled, each stroke designed to drive you insane.

you bite your lip to keep from moaning, but a whimper escapes anyway. he shushes you softly, but the sound only makes you wetter. the fear of exposure is a living thing, coiling in your belly, heightening every sensation. the rough bark scrapes your back through the dress. the heat of his body seeps into you. the faint scent of his cologne mixes with the earthy smell of leaves and soil.

he quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. "fuck, you feel so good," he groans, his forehead dropping to yours. "could fuck you right here, right now, with the whole world walking by, and i wouldn't give a shit."

his hand leaves the tree and finds the hem of your dress, pulling it up further until it's bunched around your neck, exposing your breasts to the open air. he doesn't bother with the bra—he just pushes the cups down, freeing your nipples, and immediately takes one into his mouth.

the sensation is electric. his tongue laps at the sensitive peak while his hips keep up their relentless rhythm, driving into you harder, deeper. you arch into him, your fingers threading through his white hair, tugging at the soft strands as a wave of pleasure builds low in your belly.

"satoru—baby, i'm close," you gasp, the words barely audible.

he pulls his mouth away, breath hot against your skin. "not yet. not until i say."

but his body betrays him. his hips lose their rhythm, slamming into you with a frantic urgency that tells you he's close too. his hand slides down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down in tight circles.

that's all it takes.

you come undone, a silent scream caught in your throat as your walls clench around him. the orgasm rips through you, sharp and blinding, and you feel him follow a second later—a hot rush of cum filling you, his groan muffled against your neck as he pulses inside you.

for a long moment, there's only the sound of their ragged breathing, the rustle of leaves overhead, the distant hum of the city.

he pulls out slowly, and you feel their combined release trickle down your thigh. he tucks himself back into his jeans, then reaches down to pull your panties back up—not because he cares, but because the act is tender, a silent aftercare.

"you okay, sweetheart?" he asks, his voice soft now, the teasing lilt gone.

you nod, still catching your breath, still trembling. he presses a kiss to your forehead, then your lips, soft and lingering.

"good," satoru says, and then the smirk is back. "because i'm thinking we should find a bench next."

a/n: eeek thank uu 4 reading mi first post ! feedback & reblogs r appreciated ^ - ^

[https-iso]

AITA for fucking my twins ex ?

Toru (20) has been eyeing you ever since his brother, Satoru (20), introduced you to him. How could a pretty girl such as yourself end up with a good for nothing boy? Now, don’t get Toru wrong, he loves his brother (most of the time) but, Satoru has never taken his future seriously. He preferred to party all night instead of studying for an important test. Because he claimed “it isn’t that deep. Just live your life.”

Unlike you.

Toru has seen the way you tire yourself out in the library. You had to force your eyes to stay open, reading multiple books stacked on your desk and worksheets spread out with neat notes you had taken in class. In a way, Toru was like you.

You took college seriously, and you actually cared for your education.

So he asks himself again, what did you see in Satoru? Well yeah, he had the looks and all. But that’s about it.

“Oh, we broke up.” Satoru casually said as he tied together the two elastic bands attached to the trash bag. Toru’s eyes widened. “W-what? Why? You guys looked so well together!” That was obviously a lie, but there was no way he’d show his excitement at the sudden breakup.

“We just didn’t match each other that well. Thought it’d be like, opposites attract or some shit, but nah.” Satoru scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. He was clearly bothered with the still sensitive topic. Regardless of the mutual agreement to break up, Satoru genuinely liked you. You were both pretty and smart and best of all, you saw past the ‘party animal’ and understood him.

Until you eventually decided it was best to break things off. “So..” Toru dragged out the ‘o’, tapping his hands on the kitchen table. “What happened?”

“She thought I was holding her back, which I probably was. And I want what’s best for her..” He quietly said before leaving to throw out the trash. Toru sat in silence after the door clicked behind his twin. Sure he felt horrible, but fuck, he wanted you too.

Toru never told his brother that he’s been eyeing you since the start of the semester, nor the way he’s been fantasizing about you.

He loved your eyes, wanting to be the one to make them roll behind as he slammed his pulsing cock into you. Or the way he’d daydream in class about ripping off your top to suck on your tits. The thought alone made his jeans begin to feel tight.

Toru’s back straightened when his brother walked back in. “I’m gonna go out, mind doing the dishes tonight?” Satoru asked, already going over to his room to grab his jacket. “Oh, sure. You going to a party?”

“Where else? Need to get my mind off things.”

Perfect. Toru had already planned to spend his whole afternoon jerking off to your posts on instagram. He prayed you weren’t the type to completely delete everything after a breakup.

“See ya.” Satoru threw a peace sign as a goodbye.

Toru nodded, waiting for a bit before eventually heading to his room now. His cock was already straining against his pants the second he pulled out his phone. His thumbs quickly moved to open up your insta account. “Oh thank God.” He sighed in relief when he saw that your pretty pictures were in fact, still there.

His fly unzipped, pants pulled down to his ankles. His dick was fully emerged, the soft pink tip glistening with pre-cum. “Fuck..” He said through his teeth after teasing himself with his thumb all while letting your story highlights play. “You’re so gorgeous. He never deserved ya.”

His personal favorite picture showed up, making his hand quicken its pace on the base. The sensitive vein on the side bulged out, drawing out more moans from Toru. He threw himself onto his back, squeezing himself.

You looked like a goddess. Your hair was neatly done, makeup on point, and the slight arch of your body? It had Toru shooting blanks. He’s lost times as to how much he’s jerked off to this specific picture. He had practically mastered the art of male masturbation. His hips thrusted into his own hand, feeling himself grow closer.

“So close.. so fucking close!” With one final stroke, his warm seed shot out. Some landed in his hand while the rest managed to get onto his shirt.

A pleasured sigh fell from his lips, knowing he had to go just one more time in order to feel satisfied. Right as he was about to position himself into humping his pillow, the doorbell rang.

Toru froze.

Had Satoru forgotten something? No, he would have used the keys instead. So then who was at the door? He quickly scrambled, wiping his cum on an already used tissue. He reached for his pants, quickly putting them on.

“Coming!” He yelled out when the bell rang once again. He gave himself a look over in his mirror, making sure it wasn’t obvious of his previous activities. That’s when he noticed the cum in his shirt. “Fuck it.” He quickly discarded of it, rushing to get the door.

The person would unfortunately have to deal with seeing his lanky torso. His hand twisted the doorknob, opening up to reveal.. you?

You felt your cheeks heat up when your eyes met his. He didn’t have his glasses on, and well, he didn’t have his shirt on either.

His breath stuttered.

“Hi.. um,” It wasn’t your first time interacting with Toru, so why was it suddenly so hard? Surely it was because he’s your ex’s brother. “Is Satoru home?”

Toru couldn’t trust himself in speaking so he shook his head instead. He could barely make sight of your figure, but he’s memorized your face. “He’s at a party..”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that because it clearly hurt you in a way. “Oh.” You could feel your heart sink. You had recently broke up and he’s already moving on? “Okay.. I just came to drop a few things off.”

Toru’s throat throbbed, scooting to the side to let you in. “Come in, please.”

You mumbled a small thank you, offering one of your sweet but forced smiles. In your hands was a box full of clothes left behind. Toru let his eyes travel down to the seat of your hips. His boner hasn’t come down yet, matter of fact, he could swear it got bigger.

“How are you doing?” He managed to get out.

You placed the box down on the side table, contemplating if you really wanted to vent to Toru out of all people right now. Not with the way you could barely even look at him. How could he look so hot without muscles? That was your type, no?

“Not that great to be honest.. but it was coming anyways.” You shrugged. “Has he said anything..?” Part of you hoped Satoru has.

But Toru knew what you wanted to hear, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. “Just that you broke up. That’s all.”

“Of course. I don’t know what I expected.” Your body was now turned to him. “Mind telling him that I came to drop things off for me? I tried texting him, but I couldn’t bring myself to.”

“Yeah, yeah for sure.”

Don’t go.

“Okay, thank you.”

Where are you going?

Before you could take a step to the exit, a faint familiar voice caught your attention. Toru felt his heart drop to his ass. He never clicked out of your highlights, nor turn off his phone.

Your eyes widened, head snapping over to his bedroom.

Toru’s heart was racing so hard he could hear it. “That’s not..” He tried to make up an excuse, but there was no denying it. “Shit..” He hid his face in his hands, totally embarrassed.

“What..” You couldn’t even form a sentence. Why had Toru been looking through your highlights? “Toru?” The lingering smell of release lingered on his hand, becoming more prominent when you got closer to him.

And it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together.

So here comes the first question, is Toru the asshole for dragging his twins ex into his bed?

He didn’t care if you were frustrated with the breakup, fuck, he couldn’t care less if you were just using him to release that frustration! “Ngh!” He moaned into your mouth. Toru wasn’t the best kisser, but it somehow made it better. The kiss was sloppy, wet, and had your teeth clashing against one another’s.

“Is this okay?” His hands traveled up your shirt. “Yeah!” You tugged at his undercut, bringing him in for another kiss.

He gently squeezed at your breasts. You weren’t wearing a bra, and to that he thanked every God out there. He wasn’t swallowing every sweet sound that came out of you. “Keep whining like that..” He begged.

His fingers roughly twisted around your nipples, pinching them until your back arched onto his. His hips gave experimental humps, carefully checking if you were okay with it.

Seeing as you were, the bumps became full thrusts, rubbing his clothed cock on your clothed cunt.

“Toru!”

His eyes adverted down to see the wet patch on his pants. “Did you just..?”

“Yeah.” He wasn’t going to deny the effect you had on him. “Can you clean me up?” Toru pulled away, pushing down his pants along with his ruined briefs. His cock was way too heavy to fully stand up. The tip was still oozing with cum that he wiped off to put on your lips.

“Looks like your lipgloss.” Toru grinned.

Is Toru the asshole for fucking his twins ex’s mouth?

“God, angel..” Toru gently cupped your cheeks as you slowly slid his cock in. “That’s it. Take all of it.” His breath hitched once his head grazed the back of your mouth. You looked so pretty, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him off.

A hand reached behind to fist in your hair, using it as leverage to practically fuck your mouth. But the sudden action only resulted in you accidentally using teeth on him.

He groaned loudly, not expecting that. It hurt like hell but fuck, he secretly wanted you to do it again. His other hand held onto his headboard that banged on the wall time to time. Toru was absolutely in a trance with the way you were kneeling in between his legs.

It was like a wet dream come true.

He grew upset when you closed your eyes, giving you a soft yank at your hair to force you to keep looking at him. “Eyes on me. Good girl.”

You whimpered in apology, looking up at him through your glassy eyes. Your toes were curled to prevent yourself from gagging, but that barely helped with the way he was plummeting into your throat.

You’ve never taken a dick like this before, not even Satoru’s was this big.

“Gonna.. gonna cum.” Toru warned, throwing his head back. Sure enough, warm liquid spilt inside your mouth, forcibly pouring down your throat. Some managed to get out through the corners, dripping onto your chin.

Toru panted, pulling away from you.

“Shh..” Both his thumbs reached up to clean you off. “Thank you pretty, for making me feel so good. Now it’s your turn, okay?”

Is Toru the asshole for fucking his twins ex in a mating press?

Toru has consumed a lot of porn in the past year alone. He’d scroll through twitter, jerk off to videos that featured girls that looked adjacent to you, or simply go on the hub. And he absolutely had a favorite position.

“You ever try this one?” He asked, already lifting your legs until your knees were brought up to your chest.

Your cunt was glistening, shouldn’t be a problem for him to slide right in. “N-no.” You bit your lip, furrowing your eyebrows when he teased your entrance with his tip. Unfortunately, Toru didn’t have any condoms in his room.

If it wasn’t obvious, the boy was a virgin.

“Alright, just tell me if I need to slow down.” Toru leaned down to press a sweet peck on your lips as he slowly entered, inch by inch. The vein that he had scraped at your walls so deliciously, it had your lips drooling. Both of them. “So fucking tight.” He rasped.

Your hands kept themselves on the back of your knees, moaning when he slid out just to slam right back in. “Toru!”

“Shit, did it hurt?” Worry overtook the boys face. “No!” You assured. “Feels good..”

A smile broke out on his lips at your words. “If ya say so.” His hands were on top of yours, bending you in ways you didn’t even know you could. With his lips on yours, cock fucking you relentlessly as his balls smacked against your hole, and moans coming out of both of you, it was really difficult to heart the door opening. It seems like you two had lost track of time.

Oops.

I MADE MORE BS ⊹ ࣪ ˖ there prob won't be a pt. 2 sowwy

ok bai.

[ryulcom]

— attention

boyfie! Ryul x bigtits! Reader 🔞 (minor DNI)

Imagine you’re sitting on his lap while he’s trying to play a game, your arms wrapped around his neck as you try to distract him. but because you're leaning in so close, your heavy, braless chest is resting right against his pecs, shifting and pressing flat against his solid chest with your every breath, driving him absolutely insane. he tries to ignore it for two seconds, his knuckles turn white on the controller, but the friction is too much.

he finally snaps, throws his controller down on the floor with a loud thud, and grabs your waist with bruising force.

"fuck it, i can't do this anymore" Ryul growls, his voice deep and completely wrecked. before you can even giggle, he hitches you up just enough to grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it completely over your head and tossing it somewhere in the dark room.

he freezes for a second, his eyes going pitch black as he looks at your massive tits bouncing slightly from the movement, spilling over your lap. a ragged, breathless "fuck" slips past his lips.

"look at you," he mutters, his big hands instantly cupping the undersides of your breasts, lifting their heavy weight. "you knew exactly what you were doing, didn't you? teasing your man like a little slut while i'm trying to focus."

"i just wanted your attention :( " you whisper, your face already flushing hot under his dark stare.

"well, you fucking got it."

instead of keeping you on his lap, Ryul suddenly hooks his large hands under your arms and lifts you up entirely. he guides you down off his thighs, steering you right between his legs toward the floor. as he pushes you down under the desk, his huge palm instantly cups the back of your head, his thick fingers cushioning your skull so you don't accidentally crack your head against the sharp wooden edge of the table. he keeps his hand firmly protecting you until you're completely dropped to your knees in the dark space beneath the desk, looking up at him.

"stay right down there" he commands, his voice vibrating in the small space as he leans back in his gaming chair.

he reaches down, unzipping his jeans with an impatient snap, and pulls his thick, rock-hard cock out. it’s already leaking pre-cum, glistening in the dim light of the computer monitor. he grips the back of your neck again, his thumb pressing into your jawline, forcing you to lean forward and look right at it.

"now lean forward, princess. squeeze them together around it" he orders, his breath hot as he leans down slightly.

you know exactly what he wants. you lean in, gathering your large breasts together with both hands, burying his thick shaft completely in the soft, tight valley of your cleavage. the second his tip pops out the top of your tits, ryul lets out the filthiest, most guttural groan you’ve ever heard.

"fuck, yes... right there. stay just like that," he pants.

he starts titty fucking you, slamming his hips forward in a violent, heavy rhythm. his cock slides fast and incredibly wet between your soft tits, the friction creating a slapping, squelching sound that fills the quiet space under the desk as your skin heats up. Ryul is staring straight down at you the whole time, his eyes wide and feral, watching your face distort and your lips part with every rough thrust.

"you like that, huh?" he growls, his voice dropping as he stares at you on your knees. "fuck, you're so soft... it feels so fucking good, yn. your big tits are choking my dick so tight."

"Ryul... it's too hot," you whimper, your hands gripping his thighs for balance as he pounds himself between your breasts, the friction making your nipples ache and harden against his skin. "you're going too fast..."

"i don't care" he gasps out, completely breathless, his thumbs digging hard into your skin as he snaps his waist forward even harder, burying every single centimeter of his leaking dick into your heavy chest. "you wanted my attention baby girl, so now you're gonna sit here and take every fucking inch of it."

he's panting like an animal now, his pace becoming completely feral as he nears the edge. his thrusts get shallower but twice as hard, his hips violently jackhammering into your cleavage. you can feel his shaft pulsing aggressively against your skin, getting even thicker as his breath hitches.

"fuck, yn, i'm gonna—i'm gonna paint these fat tits of yours," he chokes out, his voice dropping into a desperate, guttural whisper. "keep squeezing them, princess... squeeze them tight for your baby boy."

with one final, violent surge of his hips, Ryul cocks his head back, his entire body going rigid in the chair. a deep, trembling groan tears out of his throat as his cock erupts. he unleashes a massive, hot torrent of cum right between your breasts. heavy, thick ropes of white coat the tight valley of your cleavage, splattering up against your skin and dripping down the heavy curves of your breasts in warm, messy streaks.

he pants heavily, his chest heaving as his cock twitches out a few last drops against your skin. but he doesn't let you pull away. while still completely breathless, his eyes track the path of his cum dripping down toward your dark, swollen nipples.

"fuck, look at the mess we made" he murmurs, his tone dropping into something deeply needy.

without warning, he leans down under the table, bringing his face right back into your chest. his hot tongue licks a slow, messy stripe through the warm cum on your skin, tasting himself mixed with your sweat. you gasp, but before you can even react, Ryul locks his mouth directly onto one of your large nipples. he latches on hard, pulling the entire sensitive bud deep into his mouth and sucking it with a desperate, heavy hunger, his tongue swirling aggressively around the base while his hands squeeze your heavy breasts to force even more of your soft flesh into his mouth.

"Ryul—ah! stop, it's too sensitive," you whimper, arching your back under the desk as a sharp jolt of pleasure shoots straight down to your core.

he just lets out a muffled growl against your skin, refusing to let go, his lips locked tight around your nipple as he continues to suck you dry, completely marking his territory on your heavy chest

— All of these are @ryulcom works, please do not copy, translate or even repost to other platforms. Thank you.

[achors]

Never Let Go

Kim Ryul x 5th Fem Member!Reader "You and Ryul were inseparable. Late nights together talking shits about the show you're watching, those drunk nights where he would take care of you, or the extra time you'd spent together after practice. But one misunderstanding and an argument ruined it all." ✧Inspired by "Never Let Go - LGNSHOT"✧ Wc: 3.2k Warnings: Angst (with happy ending), Arguments, Curse words, Kinda suggestive at the end.

────── ✧˚ ༘⋆｡Arc𓂃˖₊⊹ ──────

You didn't know what went wrong.

Ryul is more distant toward you, his eyes don't meet yours whenever you talk, and he seems to be avoiding you if you're in the same room with him.

No more spending time together from 2 am til morning, no more going to the cafe near the studio after practice. It feels like he's going farther away from you intentionally.

It was another usual evening at the dorm, everyone had just come back from the studio. You immediately went to the kitchen looking for anything to drink in the fridge. It was an intense practice, and your throat felt like it was about to collapse if you didn't hydrate it right away.

Everyone pretty much just went to their own rooms, probably going straight to sleep. Usually, you'd come home late after practice with Ryul, bringing home coffee or any drink from a cafe near the studio for the others. But these days, you've been coming home on time.

You took a can of soda from the fridge and went to sit at the countertops with your feet dangling. You were lost in your own thoughts, trying to reminisce and find out why Ryul was acting like this with you, but you couldn't remember any bad interactions with him. Being with him was always pleasant, comforting even.

"You okay there?"

You looked up to see Woojin making his way to the fridge to get himself a drink. The light from the fridge made you realize that you were sitting in the dark the whole time. Woojin turned on the lights and stood beside you, drinking his own can of soda.

"Why are you in the dark alone? That's creepy." He teases.

"I like the dark...?" You hesitantly answered.

You don't want anyone to know that you have your mind on Ryul and how bothered you are with it these past days.

Woojin chuckled beside you, probably thinking you sounded stupid with that sentence.

"What's up with you and Ryul? You know I've been waiting for a coffee from you guys."

You were surprised that he noticed, well, maybe it was easy to spot because you're usually glued to Ryul. It wasn't surprising at all.

"Huh, what? Of course we're okay. We were just... too tired from practice and didn't have time to grab some coffee on the way home." You explained, trying to assure him that everything is fine between you and Ryul.

"Yeah, right. Don't bullshit me Y/n, you think we didn't notice the way you two suffocate each time you're in the same room? Or the silence between ya'll? It was pretty obvious." Woojin countered.

Well, maybe you could ask him to help you. You were confused as to why Ryul is acting this way, and it's pretty agonizing on your side to ignore each other.

"Yeaaah... Here's the thing Woo, I don't know what's up with him. He has been avoiding me these past, like, what? a week? And I couldn't remember if I did anything wrong..."

You were actually feeling bad because you thought maybe you did something that upsets Ryul, but you didn't memorize it.

Woojin squints his eyes at you, probably trying to figure out Ryul too.

"Hmmm... What's the date today?" Woojin suddenly asked, taking you off guard with that question.

You sniffled a laugh while looking at the date on your phone.

"It's May 16th." You showed your screen at Woojin.

He nods his head knowingly. You thought he figured something out, a way to help you, or what's wrong with Ryul, maybe? But why does he need to know about the date?

"He's on his period." Woojin said that flatly, it took you a second to register what he had just said before laughing, hitting his shoulder playfully.

That's when both of you hear the cracking sound of a door opening. It was Ryul, he didn't even acknowledge the both of you and went straight to the bathroom without a single glance.

Your laughter silenced, and so is Woojin's. He glances at you, you are still looking in the direction where Ryul was, your face flat, even after the laugh. Woojin immediately catches what's going on.

"Ooh, that's sharp..." Woojin grimaces. He put his hand on your shoulder, then looks at you in the eyes. "I think you should talk to him first, even when he doesn't want to. Take some time together, the two of you." He suggested.

You were contemplating it, you were scared even. What if Ryul doesn't want to talk to you? What if it turns into a fight?

But for now, you can only nod at Woojin's suggestion. He gives you a reassuring nod and a tight smile.

────── ✧˚ ༘⋆｡Arc𓂃˖₊⊹ ──────

It was another day of filming for LNGSHOT. Today, all of you are going to do some challenges for a Youtube video.

At one point, the producer asks them to split into two teams. Usually, you'll pick Ryul as one of your team members, but you were so scared that he would deny it. You're not risking it and getting yourself embarrassed in front of the camera, so you went straight to Louis.

The filming process went as usual, laughing everywhere, Woojin's cheating, and Louis being the groups baby.

But one thing is 4sho, Ryul is not being chaotic as usual, he's just kinda... there. He would crack a joke here and there, but that's about it. At this point, the staff members probably notices the huge transparent gap between you and Ryul.

"Okay we will do the 'how well do you know each others' challenge." The producer announced. "Y/n and Ryul is up first."

Your heart stopped beating for a second too long, you can already feel the awkwardness creeping up your spine. But you make your way in front of the camera anyway, without looking at Ryul of course.

You could hear his boots thumping closer, you finally turn your head toward him, still avoiding eye contact. You were looking everywhere but his eyes. His shoulder, the button on his shirt, or the blonde tips of his hair. Ryul, on the other side, looked you in the eyes without a single flinch.

The challenge began, you two answered each question the PD threw at you, and all of them were correct answers. Of course, since you two are the grand duo of LNGSHOT, you would know each other's habits or favorite foods obviously.

────── ✧˚ ༘⋆｡Arc𓂃˖₊⊹ ──────

You all went straight home after the filming. You were not letting Ryul avoid you anymore. You had planned to talk to him no matter what, you'll follow him anywhere he goes if you need to, and that's exactly what you're doing right now.

You want to talk to him, but you couldn't build up the courage to say a word. So here you are now standing behind the couch in the living room while Ryul sits there watching a random drama.

"Stop being a creep Y/n."

Finally, a single sentence from Ryul to you after some days. He probably wants you to leave him alone based on that sentence, but you're not giving up.

You make your way to stand in front of him, blocking his view from the TV.

"I need to talk to you." You sternly said.

He looks up at you, looking unbothered as ever, sipping his drink that he has been holding.

"Did I do something that upsets you?" You asked almost pleadingly.

Ryul looked at you, not saying a single word for a concerning second.

"What are you talking about?" He questions you back.

You were confused. He says that as if he didn't ignore her the whole week.

"Hey, now. Don't act like you didn't actually treat me as if I'm nonexistent these past few days." You snapped. You were annoyed. You didn't get it. What does he want? You look at him with literal fury in your eyes.

Ryul stared at you for a second too long after you said that. There was a hint of anger in his eyes as he tried to hold back. "You really want to know?" He quietly say.

"I'm sick of you Y/n. I'm sick of you clinging to me 24/7. You're annoying, loud. I can't stand being with you anymore."

That was the harshest thing you've ever told your whole life about yourself. You were… speechless, your mouth opening and closing, but nothing is coming out of it.

You couldn't believe what he just said to you, your heart is broken into a thousand pieces, and you could feel it continuously breaking apart as your eyes let out a single tear, hardly noticed due to the dim light.

Ryul was also speechless, not moving a single inch at all. He tried to process it, the things he said about you. He regrets it. It feels like a blur, he couldn’t control his mouth. Why did he say that you?

He was about to say something, but you were already running away to your room, slamming the door and locking it behind you.

────── ✧˚ ༘⋆｡Arc𓂃˖₊⊹ ──────

Ryul never meant to say all of that shit. The truth is, he is silently suffering too.

You and he are undeniably close, the other members know that, the staff knows that. Heck, even the fans labeled you two as the grand duo of the group.

The thing is, Ryul likes you, he has this growing feeling towards you. He was in denial at first, he's also super confused about why he has this feeling for you, and he is scared that he will ruin the friendship between the two of you just because he has feelings for you. That would be dumb.

But you know what's dumber? He ruined his friendship by saying stupid shit and hurting your feelings.

He was too scared. What if you notice? What if you don't like him that way? That's why he decided that it's probably best to keep some distance from you.

Until he heard you laughing your heart out with Woojin in the kitchen after practice.

He doesn't know why, but Woojin making you laugh made him feel this rage, some sort of jealousy.

He pressed his ears against the door, listening quietly as you laugh with Woojin in the kitchen. His heart was thumping hard in his chest, trying to break free. He hated how it felt, he hated that your laughs weren't because of his jokes, he hated how you sounded so happy and carefree with Woojin and not him.

He then opened his door, announcing his presence to you and Woojin. The laughs immediately died down, which hurts him even more. Thinking that you probably hated seeing him.

He went to the bathroom, he didn't know why he went there, and he didn't even need to use the bathroom. It was just the closest room he could hide in. He looks at his reflection in the mirror, gripping the sink tightly, trying to control his emotions. He could see anger in his eyes, jealousy, and sadness.

────── ✧˚ ༘⋆｡Arc𓂃˖₊⊹ ──────

It was another day for you all. Today you will be working on a new song, making the lyrics and all those things.

Ryul was sitting on the couch they have at the studio, trying to figure out the lyrics for his rap line. But he couldn't focus, his mind just kept getting back at you, at how your face distorted from anger to sadness in just seconds. And you make it even harder by just existing in the same room as him.

Ohyul notices how bothered he is. The members knew about your fight in the living room, well... it's your own faults for arguing too loudly while the others were trying to sleep.

"Did you mean what you said?" Ohyul flopped himself on the couch, startling Ryul with his question.

"I said what exactly?" Ryul tried to act dumb in front of Ohyul, hoping he wouldn't bring up the argument.

"Oh, please. When you said she's annoying and loud, and... all of that talk about you being sick of her." Ohyul whispered with a deadpan.

Ryul looks at him, his face is flat, Ohyul couldn't figure out if he was mad, sad, or annoyed. But Ryul just sighs and goes back to scribbling lyrics on the paper.

"Dude. You can't be like this forever with her, you have to do something. We're literally a group Ryul. We solve our problem, don't just wait until it dies down. Besides, I know you don't feel that way about her, I know you love her man. Just... you know, don't give up with your own feelings." Ohyul said, slapping Ryul's shoulder as he got up, then leaving Ryul with his own mind.

Ohyul was right, he shouldn't just run away from his problem, and besides that, he couldn't keep being like this with you. It breaks him in ways he never imagined before.

Later that night, when everyone is asleep, Ryul is sitting on his desk with a pen clutched in between his fingers. He kept thinking about you, about those things he said to you, and how sorry he feels. And apparently, it gives him ideas for his line in the new song, he was too scared to directly apologize to you. Coward.

So he will be rapping the apology to you.

────── ✧˚ ༘⋆｡Arc𓂃˖₊⊹ ──────

It's finally the day to record the new song, ‘Never Let Go’.

Everyone has gathered in the studio, evaluating their own lyrics and warming up their vocal cords.

You were standing, pacing back and forth trying to memorize your line. But you were distracted, Ryul has been staring at you, sometimes making some awkward eye contact.

You were still mad at him, the things he said just couldn't be erased from your mind. The way he looked so unbothered while saying all that made you positive that he truly hates you.

So you have been avoiding him too. That's what he wants, isn't it? But why does he keep invading your space today?

It's finally time to record your own lines. You and the other finished yours, then it's time for Ryul to record his.

You watch him as he makes his way inside the recording room, his eyes glued to the paper he has been clutching. He looks nervous for some reason, and you don't know why, he wasn't usually like this. Is it because of you watching? Is it that awkward if you watch him or something?

He clears his throat, getting ready to sing his part, waiting for the music to start.

"Let's start." He told the producer.

The music starts, his head bobbing to the beat of the music, his eyes closed, fully invested in focusing.

"Yeah, I wanna get a chance,"

He starts singing. You can't help it, but you were watching him intensely. You miss his voice, when he talks to you, when he makes jokes about your hair in the morning, his laughter, everything.

"넌 내게 항상 priceless." (You're always priceless to me)

He looks at you, meeting your eyes with such passion as he sings deeply from his heart.

"값을 매길 수가 없지, don't get away, 영원하길 바라, 나 timeless " (There's no way to put a price on you, don't get away, I hope this lasts forever, I'm timeless)

Those lyrics make you realize that he is talking to you. Through the melody, the way his eyes lock on you, like you could disappear if he blinks, the way he sways with the melody.

"Never let go, never let go, I never. 멈출 수 없어, 나는 근데 이미 알아 답을" (Never let go, never let go, I never. I can't stop, but I already know the answer)

He stretches his arm in your direction, as if trying to reach you and hold you tightly in his arms, never letting go.

"Take me by my hand, baby, stay right by my side. I know you hate me, but I always try."

He ended his rap with desperation in his voice.

You were mesmerized, you didn't even realize that you had been locking eyes this whole time. And it feels unreal for once.

────── ✧˚ ༘⋆｡Arc𓂃˖₊⊹ ──────

That night after the recording, Ryul immediately walks up to you asking for your time.

Ohyul immediately realizes what's going on, he wants to give you two some time together to talk it all out, so he takes Louis and Woojin out for a shopping spree at the night market.

You agreed to talk to Ryul. You two were in the kitchen, Ryul had quietly made you a cup of hot chocolate and give it to you as you sat on the countertop. He stood in front of you, holding his own cup of hot chocolate.

He seems hesitant, but he tries his hardest to keep his eyes on you, building up the courage to say a single word.

"So?" You flatly say.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. But his voice just wouldn't come out. But his head is full of words, apologies, explanations, and confessions. His heart is thumping so hard that it physically hurts.

He puts his cup down on the counter beside you. Then slowly... he moved closer to you, standing in between your legs as he embraces you into a hug. You were surprised, you did not see this coming.

Ryul snuggled into the crook of your neck, your smell physically calms him down like magic. You could feel his warm breath blowing slowly on the side of your neck.

"I'm sorry..." He breathed out. "I didn't mean all of it... I was stupid Y/n. I'm sorry. I was so scared of you not liking me back, so I pushed you away... I was jealous. I don't know why I'm jealous, but hearing you laugh with someone other than me? It kills me." He explains.

His voice is so quiet, like he's scared to startle you if he talks too loud. His hold on you feels tight, clutching you like it hurts to let go.

"I... I love you. I know it's stupid, but I can't help it. When you're around, everything seems to have brighter colors, your voice somehow soothes me down, and your touch is just... irresistible." He rambled.

You put your cup aside, then embrace him in a tighter hug.

"Idiot."

You said that as if it's nothing. You could feel him clutching on to your shirt as he snuck his face deeper into your neck, rambling I'm sorries.

You reach for his cheeks, making him look at you. You stare at him for a second before slowly leaning in, closing the gap between the two of you.

It was a soft kiss at first, you two were just feeling each other. Then he started moving his lips, pulling you deeper into the kiss as he held the back of your neck.

Seconds later, it's becoming a more sloppy kiss. You reach for his hair, grabbing a handful of it, feeling the moment. He pushed you until your back hits the wall, deepening the kiss. His hands found their way inside your shirt, exploring the warm skin on your back before slowly pulling away.

The two of you were out of breath, looking deeply into each other's eyes. You hold his face in your hands as you softly smile at his cute face and messy hair.

"You're an idiot if you don't realize that I love you too." You confessed. He smiles widely, then rushly kissing you again.

Let's just say that the members went home with a disgusted face after finding you two kissing in the kitchen.

────── ✧˚ ༘⋆｡Arc𓂃˖₊⊹ ──────

[3-aem]

and again

[slutla]

JJK HUB: UNCENSORED…?!

ft. toji fushiguro, gojo satoru, geto suguru, choso kamo, sukuna ryomen.

+ jjk men as (corny) porn titles.

warnings. mdni. fem reader. milf reader. prostitution. age gap. backshots. creampie. blow job/throat fucking. praise. cults/religious themes. sub choso. usage of good boy. squirting. size kink. consensual recording. deff ooc.

@cash_only (Toji Fushiguro)

SORCERER KILLER RAW-DOGS RICH BUSTY MILF TO PAY OFF HIS GAMBLING DEBTS (GONE FILTHY) !

Toji can barely bother to spew out the filthy commentary his subscribers pay for. He’s too busy working—taking you from behind, heavy balls slapping against the round globes of your ass, forcing your manicured nails to clench deep into your expensive silk sheets. He reaches down with his free hand, shifting the phone camera, angling the lens down to show the audience exactly how your soft, well-kept cunt is stretching to take every single inch of his cock.

Then, he stalls. He pulls back slowly until only the flushed-angry red tip remains inside, holding you right on the edge. You let out a soft, breathless murmur of his name. When you glance back over your shoulder with lidded eyes, the faint lines around your eyes, the elegant crinkles of a woman who has lived a little, deepen into a heavy, knowing smile. You aren't some young, terrified brat. You’re a grown woman who knows exactly what she bought, and you aren't ashamed of how much you want it.

Looking at that expression on your face, Toji figures he’s giving you every single yen’s worth. He slams his cock back in. The sudden, brutal bottoming out forces an audible, messy squelch from your needy pussy, tearing a sharp gasp straight out of your throat. His shaft is already heavily coated in a thick, wet layer of your own cream, but it’s barely visible beneath the dim, shifting shadows of the room. Unbothered, Toji reaches over and clicks the camera flash on. The harsh, white light cuts through the dark, exposing everything. He uses his massive, calloused fingers to ruthlessly spread you further apart, getting a perfectly clear, high-definition shot for the camera—showing the internet exactly how wide you stretch around him, glistening and completely filled to the brim.

@honored1inthesheets (Gojo Satoru)

THE HONORED ONE CUMS IN WHINY BRAT'S THROAT: LIMITLESS COCK MAKES HER CRY !

The white glare of his phone screen reflects off your sparkly lip gloss that’s smudged all over Gojo’s shaft. Fat, hot tears are already swelling in the corners of your eyes, your cheeks puffed out and aching in a desperate (frankly pathetic) attempt to stretch around the sheer length of his cock.

“There you go, baby,” the white-haired man above you coos, his voice dripping with mock-sweet sympathy.

After ten minutes of nonstop gagging, whining, and bratty complaints—to the point where thick, bubbly spit began dripping down your chin and pooling right into your cleavage—you’ve finally managed to take him all the way down. Gojo looks down at your warm, tear-stained face with a proud and condescending grin, his fingers tangled in your hair to keep you pinned.

“A hard worker, aren’t you?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek with fake gentleness. “Took you long enough to fit it in, baby. But look at you now, a real fuckin’ trooper.”

You try to drown out his teasing and focus on your ministrations, determined to wipe that smug look off his face. You bob your head up and down, deliberately pushing his dick to the very back of your throat. Nasty, wet slurping sounds echo through the quiet room with every single movement, the friction so intense that hot tears streak down your round cheeks again, leaving you breathless. It’s an exhausting effort, but it’s all worth it when he finally loses his cool ‘n mocking composure. His hips jerk forward as he releases a thick, heavy load straight into your mouth, his voice dropping as he praises you.

"That’s my pretty girl. Clean it all up for me, yeah? The fans wanna see.”

@purification.ritual (Geto Suguru)

CULT LEADER BREEDS OBEDIENT MEMBER ON THE ALTAR (FILLS HER UP TO THE BRIM) !

“Perfect,” Geto grunts, a low groan vibrating deep within his broad chest as he rolls his heavy hips against yours. He stays buried deep, keeping the thick, sticky mess he just pooled inside your slicked cunt trapped, using the prodding head of his shaft to push his kids even further up against your womb. He handles your hips like property, long fingers digging dark bruises into your soft skin to anchor you beneath him.

“Always been such a good listener, haven’t you?” he murmurs, his voice a smooth, velvet purr that echoes off the dim sanctuary walls. He leans down, his long black hair brushing against your damp shoulder as his lips graze your ear. “Your loyalty deserves a proper reward.”

You lazily nod in response, but it’s more of a dazed response, your head rolling back against the cold cedar of the altar like some flimsy rag doll. Your mind is completely gone—utterly cock-drunk, floating in a warm, ditzy haze of absolute pleasure and devotion. You can barely form a coherent thought, your round eyes lidded and unfocused as you stare up at the flickering candlelight.

You’re just so incredibly honored. After so long spent listening, obeying, and bending to his every single whim, having your messy pussy stuffed to the brim by your savior feels like the highest holy blessing. It’s the best gift you could ever ask for in return.

“Mmm… thank you, Master,” you whimper out, a tiny, pathetic line of spit stringing from your lips as you tilt your hips, desperately trying to swallow every last drop of his offering. Geto lets out a satisfied chuckle at the sight of your ruined, vacant expression. He strokes your cheek with a mock-gentle touch, pleased with how thoroughly he's broken your mind.

“Just keep it all inside.”

@malevolent_cock (Sukuna Ryomen)

MORTAL SLUT STRUGGLES TO BOUNCE ON A KING.

His bored, crimson eyes blink down at your frustrated, pouty face. You glare at his heavily tattooed cock before wrapping your small hand around the thick shaft, trying your best to guide it into your entrance. The stretch is undeniably painful, the sheer width of him making you pause. This is your third attempt, and your tight walls can only manage to swallow him halfway before you stall out, whimpering from the pressure.

“Any day now, woman,” he grunts, his deep voice scraping through the dark. He’s growing frustrated, patience running thin as he’s forced to just lie there while half his cock is being choked by your wet, trembling walls.

You don’t blame him for getting irritated.

Growing determined, your eyebrows furrow and tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes as you try to force yourself down a few more centimeters. Sukuna sighs—a low sound and suddenly, his large, clawed hands find your waist, his grip bruising as he ruthlessly pulls you down in one swift, sudden swoop. The whine that rips out of your mouth is loud and trembling, your core stretching to its absolute limit as he bottoms out inside you.

The pain turns into a blinding, suffocating rush of pleasure. Gaining a sudden burst of courage from the sheer intensity, you start hopping on his cock like a rabbit, your tits bouncing frantically in unison. Messy, loud squelching sounds echo through the room as your juices spray over his lower stomach, your wet cream coating his tattoos with every deep stride.

@yujisolderbrother (Choso Kamo) <— (had no clue what the website was till after btw)

GOOD NEEDY BOY LICKS MOMMIES PUSSY TILL SHE SQUIRTS !

The camera is shaky in your hand, the angles wobbly and uneven. In your defense, it’s nearly impossible to keep a lens steady when you’ve got a pretty boy buried between your thighs, his tongue thrusting deep in and out of your wet, aching hole. He’s eating your cunt out like he’s on death row and you’re his last meal, completely desperate to please you. Choso is needy beyond belief, letting out soft, pathetic whimpers against your puffy folds each time you use your free hand to shove his face harder into your mount.

“Please…” Your name rasps out on his tongue, raw and begging. Strands of his black hair stick to his damp forehead, his dark eyes shining with pure, unadulterated need as he looks up at you.

“You want to make me feel good that bad, Cho?” you coo down at him, your tone dripping with indulgence as your fingers tangle in his hair.

“Want you to feel so good… want to taste all of you,” he whines, sniffling a little and rubbing at his teary eyes with the back of his wrist because he’s so overwhelmed at this point. He’s completely unraveled, just wanting you to cum on his tongue more than his next breath. He pushes two thick fingers inside you, scissoring them in with perfect harmony, his tongue lapping and circling around your sensitive clit. Deciding he's been a good boy (and because you can’t hold on much longer), you finally grant his wish. Your gummy walls clamp down hard, thighs shaking violently as you spray sweet juices straight onto his waiting pink tongue. Choso licks you down greedily as you capture every single second on the shaking screen.

+ these r short nd unedited cuz they’re all wip’s i scrapped, been burnt out asf lately so this is all i can post rn myf </3

[heliumshorns]

SMILE, YOU'RE ON CAMERA!

featuring...Ryomen S.

⤷In which you take a picture of Sukuna... while he's being pegged!

Cw: Sub!Sukuna, Dom!Reader, pegging, fucked out!Sukuna, crying, cumming ontouched, using Sukuna's hand mouth, strap sucking, prone bone, picture taking

Wc: 2.1k

Now, Ryomen was a man.

He was into hyper masculine, macho man, testosterone filled shit. Such as hunting, woodworking, killing, and Hello Kitty. Couldn't get any more masculine than that. So, when you two were laying in your couch, talking about kinks and nasty shit you two would want to try someday, he has no clue what pegging was. You were laughing so hard in his face, he looked it up. Watched five seconds of a video before frowning and staring at you with a raised brow.

"Why the hell would a real man want to get fucked in the ass by his woman?"

You'd told him about the prostate. Hell, he got so curious he did some.. ahem... research (read: jerking off to the idea of being tied up and fucked dizzy) and got curious. Texted you. Gave you the oportunity of a fucking lifetime, to fuck the brute, four-armed mans ass.

Was he ashamed? Slightly.

Was he turned on? Fuck, yes.

Ass up, big hands tied behind his back as you giggle, smearing lube across his puckered hole. "How's that feel, Ryo?" He's visibly shivering, biting his lip, eyes falling shut to not let you know how he was absolutely into it. Eyes already rolling back at the sensation of your thumb slowly pushing inside, a shaky grunt leaving his lips. If he was going to have his ass touched, he was going to sound like a man while he does it.

You weren't stupid. You could see how he was holding back from how his muscles flexed and danced beneath his skin, how his rim tightened around your thumb with a grunt of his. "Heheh... You're enjoying this."

He shakes his head, knowing damn well his dicks were hard enough to be used as a fuckin' hammer at this point. Twitching and leaking against the matress, pressed between his hips and the bed as you lean down, giving a playful kiss to the sculpted wonder this man's asscheek is, only to watch his hips buck forward and his hole actually fucking clench. He's scowling at your loud, unashamed laughter.

"Promised you wouldn't laugh." He pouts, turning his face away from you. "Aww, Ryo! You upset?" You're giggling. Again. "You jus' want my fingers so bad, don't you?"

He hates how he's nodding, looking over his shoulder at you, those wide eyes hunrgy. "I want them now. Put them inside of me, woman."

You raise a brow. "Ya think it's that easy? Hmm... I could..." With no warning, a single digit of yours slides inside of him, and, well, in his defense! He was not warned, so- Ryomen moans. Like, what-you'd-find-in-porn type of moan.

Your eyes wide. "Holy shit." His face? Red. "That was not me, woman! Tch, stop laughing-" Hips squirming back, trying to get your fingers to massage that fucking spot again, and when you give in and curl them to poke at his prostate? He can feel precum slowly droop out of him as he lets out a very masculine, and not at all whiny: "Gah! Fuck.."

"There ya go... enjoy it so much, you're fuckin' yourself back on me. Good boy!" You mumble, at first as a joke, only to hear him actually whimper at that. "Oh... Awh, Ryo, you're so cute. Such a good boy f'me, clenching so tight." Ryomen Sukuna had thought he'd been humiliated before, only to be proven wrong by a simple finger inside of him, as if that little organ was the button to pushing his brain out of his ears through mush.

"Fuck... Fuck, woman..." He's tucking his face further into the pillows, moaning under his breath when you actually push a second finger inside. Making his whole body shudder, nails digging into his palms as you sigh at the sight. Eyes stuck to where his ass streches and clenches and sucks in your digits. "You're so good like this... All soft and pliant. Jus' for me, right?"

Silence.

You pull your fingers out, stepping into the harness and strapping yourself onto it.

"Ryomen, I am asking you a question." A sharp smack to his ass makes him actually grunt this time, hands trembling. "Ugh. Yes, woman, jus' for you. God, you're so annoying."

Now it's your turn to be silent. He's feeling absolutely humiliated, having to hear as you slick up the dildo he had picked out himself. Not too realistic. Not too thick. Can't be shaped like that-

"...Woman?"

You're stiffling an excited giggle, guiding the dildo to his hole. No shame as you slowly start to stroke your hips forward, all of his four eyes rolling back, his lips parting open as he gasps. "Oh... oh my god-" He whispers, forehead pressed hard against a pillow as he feels his dicks twitch pathetically against his belly. Your hand pressing gently down on his lower back, mimicking what he always does to you when you two do doggy style.

"Baby? That feel okay?" You whisper, once you're fully seated inside of him. He's nodding, trying to go all tough again. "Yeah. Just... keep moving. Or else you'll bore me to death."

He rolls his eyes at your snicker, rolling his shoulders as he sighs. "What's so funny?" A breath. "What is it? 'Ryo, you were gasping while I was pushing inside. You sure I can start moving?"

He rolls his eyes. "Just do it, woma- ah! Fuck!"

There he is. Moaning like a damn slut when you draw your hips back, only to slam forward. Setting a mean, slow pace. Punching out every single one of his stiffled moans. "Oh my god, 'kuna, you could become a pornstar, y'know? These perfect fuckin' hips." Giving them a squeeze, only to hear him moan out. As if any drop of shame had left him.

"You sound so pretty. Wanna moan louder f'me, or do you wanna take your time?" You murmur into his shoulder, letting your tits press against his back. He's shaking, mouth agape and eyes distant. A true, perfect mess you'd made.

"T-Take my time." He whimpers, biting into the pillow. Moans increasingly louder. "I... It feels so good." And if you weren't so close to him, you wouldn't have heard it. "Does it, baby?" You're whispering right back. Watching him nod, again and again.

"Want it faster. Please." Holy shit. He's already begging. That was easier than anyone would expect. And, well, since he's being such a good toy... You do as he asked. Hands now braced on his hips as the strap moves in and out and in and out of his clenching hole. His moans growing shakier, thighs trembling as he tries to lift his head.

You do him the favour, grabbing him by the neck with a gentle arm around it, tugging him up until he was flush to you. Stuck there, forced to feel every drop of pleaure flowing through him.

"I... Oh.. Please don't stop." He whispers, eyes gazing at yours. Are his pupils... fucking heart shaped? They seem to be. And he's so fucking gone, too. Cocks leaking against his stomach as you reach around his massive body, hand soft as it slowly strokes him. He's moaning, tears of overstimulation decorating the corners of his eyes, feeling more and more precum cover your knuckles.

"I won't stop. Wanna make you feel good, too, 'Ryo. You can leave it all t'me today. Just... focus on feeling good, yeah?"

He's nodding, pathetic as drool slips from the coner of his lips. Your tongue peeking out, giving a lick from his shoulder all the way up to his ear, where you decide you're going to fucking make him cum, one way or another.

"Such a good boy. Taking my dick so well, baby. Such a cute toy for me, aren't ya?"

It works like a charm. Sticky, creamy ropes of his cum spurting from his cocks the second your hips still and roll, abusing his poor prostate while his brain blanks out. A loud, shaky whine of your name spilling from his hips as his hands flex and grab and-

"Gonna untie you, yeah? But you'll be good for me and just take it, yeah?"

He's dazed, struggling to come down from his orgasm as he nods. Face blooming with warmth and heat across his lower back, as if deperate for more. More touch. More of you.

So, you untie his hands. Gentle, pressing pecks to his chafed wrists, watching goosebumbs rise on the skin across those beautiful, strong arms. "Baby? Can I keep going?"

Another slow nod while his arms all cuddle into a pillow, looking over his shoulder yet again to watch you place a hand on the back of his neck, the other on his waist. Fucking him nice and slow, his moans dragged out, pathetic, desperate. "Just like that... Such a pretty boy for me. Just close your eyes. I'll take care of it."

Nails ripping the covers, lip bleeding with how hard he bites into it before you're literally fucking his brains out. Hips now fast, mean, bullying his prostate as he screams. Tears of pure pleasure running down his cheeks. You're growing breathless, tired at the constant moving, and how the fuck does Sukuna do this for hours on end?

"Fuck! Fuck, right there! Please- oh my fucking- ugh!"

All four of his hands grabbing the sheets, a lewd moan leaving his lips the second your hand tugs his hair back, two of those arms coming to support himself as you bring a camera to his face, smiling at it as the flash reflects off the tears and spit on his face.

"Smile for the camera, baby." You coo, making his whole body light on fire as yet another orgasm crashes through him. Weak spurts of cum, soaking into the sheets. This time, untouched.

He's dazy, eyes distant as he gives the camera a weak grin. Looking every bit of fucked out you could ever imagine from him. A tiny pout then covers his face, brows tugging together at the overstimulation, and you snap a picture of that, too.

When you pull out of him, he has a single thing in his mind. Tasting you.

So, he gets on his knees. "Please, lemme.... lemme eat y'out, ma. I have to," a harsh swallow. "Need it."

You giggle. "Sure, baby." Pressing a hand to his forehead the second he moves his face between your thighs. "Nope. This mouth?" You tease, pressing your thumb against his tongue. "Gonna suck me off."

Your eyes glint, and he fucking hates how he instantly moves to lap and suck at the dildo, tasting the flavoured lube. You're sighing, yanking at his hair, before raising a brow. "Now, two fingers inside, and a mouth on your palm. Got it?"

He nods eagerly, going back to sucking onto the damn strap before you feel two of his fingers slide inside of you. Of course you'd be soaked, you just fucked Ryomen into his next life and had to hear every one of his moans. You'd be stupid not to grow wet.

And, well, his hand-mouth-tongue-thing seems to agree, circling and teasing your clit, digits rubbing up against your g-spot, his shaky moans around the dildo growing louder the closer you get to orgasm. As if using his noises to coax it out of you.

"Please. Please cum on my tongue, baby, please"

He's fucking whining, begging for it, and it's not long before you're bucking your hips up, fucking the strap deeper into his mouth, making him gag, as the waves of pleasure crash through you. Making you dizzy as warmth floods your senses. His eyes squeeze shut, tears running down his cheeks as he chokes and pulls back, staring up at you with those eyes, spit connecting his lips to your strap as he pulls his fingers out. Eyes not fucking leaving yours as he licks his fingers clean.

"Hmm.... amazing." He mumbles.

A beat.

Two,

"Pfft. You just sucked cock."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, woman."

His voice is hoarse. Tears in your eyes are you cackle.

"You so did. You were such a slut for it."

You feel the harness rip.

"Never again."

...

Safe to say, after that life-changing experience, Ryomen Sukuna never made any jokes about being fucked in the ass, after all, you two had finally decided that every two weeks, he'd be dicked down.

No pictures taken this time.

Videos, though? Definetly on the table.

masterlist!

kinktober masterlist!

Taglist: @mannythemunchkin; @po1x3n; @chososoneandonlywife; @noirsabattoir; @wavetojulia; @nanamiswifeyy; @needsleep3000 ; @ketchupkuna; @gabbyscribbles; @xonyoka; @junkuna; @sweeeeeetjjk; @archivedfilesofmei; @besidesjustmyamour; @satorupi; @asherthecompost; @whispersofautumnfog

divider: @all-with-angel

[musatoru]

dear reader,

thank you for spending some of your time making plans with me. feel free to find your way into your next adventure.

satoru gojo

~ series

angels under the bed (!)

~ one shots

11:11 - he wishes for you every time.

a field full of clouds - you reunite in the afterlife.

a long dream - he sees you inside the gokumonkyo.

amber waves - you stand by him through his addiction. (!)

cardigan - taylor swift's folklore love triangle.

champagne problems - shoko gives a toast at your wedding.

cinderella - he's the first one to notice your wounds. (!)

gintsugi - you meet during world war II.

limerence - you date the idol of the moment. (!)

lying on the couch - you confess to him your darkest fantasies. (!)

needles - he's sick and you get too because of him.

neverland - you have your first child. (!)

oblivion - you find out he bet your virginity.

of seahorses and sponges - your asexuality brings fear.

origami bones - he's a model, you're insecure. (!)

out of the dark (into the blue) - he's an ophthalmologist, you're blind.

puppy eyes - you adopt a dog.

sixtieth spark of a sparkler - you are each other's light in the dark. (!)

song of stars - he's an astronaut, you're an alien.

stolen curls - he hates you. or maybe he doesn't.

strawberry soap - he lives with your OCD. (!)

supermanish - he's offended by your son's drawings.

tchaikovsky - he's a figure skater, you're a ballerina.

teacher's pet - your martial arts instructor is your first time. (!)

the pickle theorem - he's disgusted by your pregnancy cravings.

three words - he never gets tired of hearing you say you love him.

to the moon and to saturn ; beyond jupiter and back - he’s a lonely child until he meets you (part i and ii).

where infinity blinks - he lost you in every timeline, so he'll sacrifice everything to keep you in this one. (!)

whisper of the heart - you spend two weeks under his roof.

white shadows - he's following you.

wine stained dress - he's supporting you through an HPV diagnosis. (!)

megumi fushiguro

all's well that ends well - you realize you're in love with him when he belongs to someone else.

flowers in the drawer - he hides flowers in your room.

gingerbread - you meet him while transitioning.

praliné effect - you’re the perfect match.

sakura touch - he holds your hand for the first time.

sleeping beauty - he visits you in the hospital while you're in a coma.

yuji itadori

murphy's law - he gives you the ultimate dream date.

yuta okkotsu

acts of service - his primary love language.

suguru geto

imaginary prayers - your faith trembles when he enters your life.

ryomen sukuna

crying wolf - back and forth relationship. (!)

ossuary - you're desperate to earn his respect. (!)

toge inumaki

harmony - he's a deaf-mute who falls for your voice.

jujutsu kaisen

the hollow purples - you're a fangirl meeting your idols. (!)

(!) - heavy angst, graphic depictions, sensitive topics or adult content.

» you may appear as 'yomu nanashi'. this translates to 'anonymous reader'.

[musatoru]

limerence

you get the chance to date gojo satoru, the idol of the moment.

(!) warning: BPD traits such as fear of abandonment, identity disturbance, impulsivity, risk-taking behaviors, affective instability, feelings of emptiness, emotional dependency, paranoid distortion, and drug use.

*wc: 23,656. all characters are of a similar age.

it was over.

the 697 days came to an end in the most unexpected way. there was nothing left of the bond that once held you together, only memories floating on a surface you couldn’t reach while you were drowning in that ocean of wreckage. how did it end? you wished you knew the answer. but lying there on your bed at 1:03 pm, the breakup felt surreal. the only weight pressing down was your own body sinking into the mattress.

how could he end it with you? what exactly had you done to make him decide he was tired of being with you? because as far as you remembered, you gave him a blind, unconditional love –love that went right to the bone, until you were hollowed out. he left you with so much of it in your hands that it simply overflowed and shattered upon hitting the ground, like a downpour that couldn’t be contained.

forty-eight hours since his frivolous, callous decision, and it felt like death. lying there, staring at the ceiling, putting off the inevitable loneliness, felt better than facing anything else. you had missed calls from megumi, from nobara, from all the friends you’d messaged saying you were going to die, that nothing made sense without him. 697 days of talking to him every day, going out only with him, sharing your hobbies with him… and he hadn’t cared in the slightest. how selfish. he didn’t consider that you were practically bleeding out because of the abrupt way he ripped your heart out, without a second thought. and you hated him for it. you hated opening your gallery and seeing all the photos of you together, rereading the messages, seeing his posts on facebook, his interactions, and the hundreds of thousands of comments on your photos, promising you a future that he himself had made sure to trample. it didn't feel right to erase all of that. because you loved him. you still loved him with everything you had. dammit, you were even ashamed to remember that just a month ago, you’d been on your knees begging him not to leave, saying you couldn't handle it, that you were nothing without him. and you were about to do it again, if not for the fact that he warned you he wouldn’t listen to any more pleas or laments.

your finger pressed the ‘empty trash’ button to make sure every trace of your time together vanished, and the action felt like grabbing a handful of angry bees.

your sob was the only sound in the room. maybe some music would make you feel better, or, conversely, help you reach the catharsis your chest was screaming for. apple music seemed to be spying on you because the first playlist it suggested on the home page was for a broken heart. you would have laughed, if only you’d eaten something to gather an ounce of strength. or if you’d had something to drink so your mouth wouldn't feel so dry. even so, you opened the playlist and hit shuffle, while your earpods –with their slightly frayed cord– lulled you into a trance, forcing you to descend into the spiral of memories with him: the first time you spoke, the way he looked you up on every social media when he didn't have your number, the first date, the promise ring, all the secrets you shared, even the fetishes… that level of intimacy you felt you’d never share with anyone else. yes, maybe it was torture to listen to heartbreak songs under the circumstances, but you felt validated in a way. you felt less alone.

a moment before you decided you’d had enough, an acoustic ballad played through the small speakers, followed by a deep breath before the singing began. it was a voice as melancholic as an edward hopper painting or a bouquet of jasmine in a summer typhoon. the most accurate description was the sensation of swimming against the current in the playful atlantic, icy tones submerging you up to your shoulders, dragging you to a point as far away as nemo was to the pacific. the cheerfulness of the melody was peaceful, with an anesthetic effect that, for a second –just one second– forced you to lift off the ground and float on its guitar chords. you lifted your phone so the name of the song wouldn't escape you, and, as if it were meant to be, kioku no umi (sea of memories) flashed on the screen.

-

your next relationship wasn't any better. in fact, it was the worst one of your life.

a week after the breakup, you met a very sweet girl named kaede on one of those forums where people roleplay as famous characters; she had short brown hair and always wore a signature red headband. kaede’s character was gojo satoru –better known as ‘six eyes’, your impossible love whom you imagined by your side every night before sleep. he was the one who sang his hits in your ear while you dreamed that you two were building a village full of ladybugs and clotheslines with hand-knitted garments, ready to be taken down once the sun had dried them. it was impossible to resist answering her, creating a virtual world that felt so much better than the reality where he wasn't actually there.

over time, the friendship with kaede blurred; the lines of your relationship became undefined. between the flirting and the heavy hints, you gave her all of your time. why not? you told her about your last boyfriend, and she promised she wouldn't hurt you the same way. it was a lie. technically, it was the truth, because her way of hurting you was entirely different.

it all started when she realized that your love for this gojo satoru wasn't just a phase or some ridiculous fandom. it was a stronger, inescapable feeling. it was waking up to dozens of gojo satoru edits, your frantic messages vibrating with emotion over a new photoshoot, a new interview, a new commercial, or worse, a new song.

"it seems like if you had the chance to go off with him, you’d take it without a second thought." she commented one time when you showed her your pinterest board with 12,539 photos of him –none of them duplicates, though quite a few were of the same moment from different angles.

you let out a soft laugh, but your expression turned serious when you realized she wasn't laughing with you.

"of course i wouldn't." oh, but of course you would –only, some things are better left unsaid.

you didn't need to verbalize it; it was evident in the way you gestured when you described, with carefully chosen words, how beautiful and hot the japanese pop star was. and you weren't the only one who thought so: millions of women, men, and children melted over the iridescent tuft of hair crowning his perfectly round head. my god, in china, they even celebrated gojo satoru day on may 5th (05/05) in honor of the root of his surname. on his birthdays, the screens in shibuya were illuminated with his sharp, chiseled face –so smooth, even when made of pixels– and specials on spotify and other music platforms launched unique features to commemorate his magnificent birth. there wasn't a single soul indifferent to his charms.

except for kaede. she developed an antidote to such a pandemic, thanks to your reminders every couple of hours about his perfection. she was fed up. but you couldn't stop. you didn’t want to either, because you wouldn't let anyone control your tastes or set limits on your joy; kaede would have to accept you as you were: enamored, devoted, hopeful, and lost in your loyalty to gojo satoru. as long as he was with you in your photocards, your limited-edition vinyls, your special-edition CDs, and the albums that cost an arm and a leg, everything would be fine.

until it wasn't.

kaede destroyed the merchandise you had of your beautiful white-haired idol, tearing it to shreds with her own hands before setting it on fire, choking you both with the smoke. once, the fire department even had to help at your home. thank heavens your parents worked all day and didn't notice the attack on their house or the girl you snuck into your room most of the time; the same girl who ate over your sheets and poked you with fingers still seasoned with chili or spices, turning your intimacy into a burning fire in your already meager moisture. the same girl who, depending on her mood, would caress you with her fingertips or disfigure your lips with those sharp nails, painted an orange so intense that the remains of the polish would get stuck to your inner thighs and glow faintly in the dark. yes, the same girl who had a leather notebook dedicated to writing how much she loved you, yet at the same time, punished you for having eyes for the great gojo satoru, instead of only for her.

when it all ended, the only thing you had left was one sticker you’d hidden inside your phone case.

-

"good news for you, genki-chan." nobara announced one hot afternoon, dropping her bag onto the coffee shop table with a loud thud. you’d managed to pick up a part-time shift there to replace all the merchandise that had been destroyed –which your parents could have easily bought, but you would rather save yourself the hassle of explaining your romantic disasters to that pair of conservatives. they would’ve overlooked the abuse entirely and focused solely on the fact that you ate pussy. "seven eyes is back from military service."

"six eyes," you corrected, rolling your eyes. "and i already knew. he’s making an announcement next week. i suspect it’s a new album."

and it was. it was as if you could read his thoughts, as if you knew him better than anyone else. as if you were bound by an invisible force that rubbed these coincidences in your face, just so you’d be certain you were born in the same era to meet, for him to save you, for you to support him in every step of his career. because there was absolutely nothing in existence that could make you turn away from him. it didn't matter how much megumi tried to keep your feet on the ground or how much yuji laughed at your ‘schizophrenia’: one day, you would meet gojo satoru and give him a hug. maybe you’d scream at him, telling him how grateful you were for the company he’d kept you from afar, that you loved him like no one else, that you would wash his performance outfits with your own tears if necessary just to show him how much he meant to you.

in contrast, the guys you toyed with from time to time weren't even an eighth as charismatic as the blue-eyed star. they were like boiled chicken breast and rice without salt: tasteless, the kind of dish that made you lose your appetite and wish for something else. but they were what you had to keep the blankets from feeling so cold in winter, and so you wouldn't have to rely on dildos that, obviously, couldn't have an orgasm of their own. you regretted all those who couldn't bring you to finish, but you also regretted the ones who were too vanilla and used way too much spit in their kisses while they had you splayed out on your back like a starfish.

at least they were more fun in other areas. for instance, one of them agreed to take you on a high-speed joyride through the city in the dead of night, no helmets; that adrenaline rush made you reconsider whether the beauty of life was exclusively reflected in landscapes and monuments, and it left you longing for more and more. another, to please you, went bungee jumping with you off the shintabisoko bridge, plunging 215 meters for seven glorious seconds. others would gather at your request to drink awamori until dawn between sessions of unprotected sex, and the excitement only peaked when the possibility of pregnancy came knocking with a late period. having those tests –and the sti screenings– come back negative was just the reinforcement you needed to keep pushing every sensation your body and mind could exploit to the absolute limit. though nothing, not even the contraband vape in your possession, could compare to the rush of seeing gojo satoru.

four years had already passed since you first discovered his music. four years since that safari search took your breath away. four years since your life had found its true meaning. four years since you had found something exciting that didn't involve putting yourself in danger.

-

happy birthday to the most stunning, breathtaking, exquisite, ravishing, radiant, luminous, resplendent, splendid, dazzling, striking, impeccable, immaculate, elegant, graceful, comely, fair, pulchritudinous, winsome, alluring, captivating, enchanting, bewitching, mesmerizing, hypnotic, attractive, appealing, charming, delightful, lovely, beautiful, pretty, handsome, statuesque, photographic, picture-perfect, photogenic, gleaming, glowing, effulgent, regal, imperial, noble, grand, magnificent, stately, august, subliminal, sublime, monumental, colossal, imposing, commanding, sovereign, majestic, royal, pompous, splendiferous, sumptuous, opulent, luxurious, palatial, princely, aristocratic, distinguished, eminent, illustrious, prestigious, formidable, awesome, awe-inspiring, terrific, glorious, heroic, epic, mythic, legendary, fabled, vaulting, towering, gifted, brilliant, exceptional, extraordinary, phenomenal, outstanding, remarkable, incredible, prodigious, accomplished, masterful, skillful, deft, adroit, capable, apt, proficient, expert, virtuosic, stellar, superior, peerless, unrivaled, incomparable, matchless, supreme, prime, first-rate, eximious, superb, transcendent, exemplary, consummate, elite, preeminent, notable, famous, heavenly, celestial, seraphic, cherubic, angelic, ethereal, supernatural, otherworldly, mystical, sacred, hallowed, sanctified, divine, godly, saintly, virtuous, pious, righteous, pure, untarnished, pristine, serene, tranquil, harmonic, ideal, perfect, unblemished, flawless, astral, airy, dreamy, visionary, ineffable, blessed, illuminated, enlightened, sophisticated, cultured, urbane, polished, refined, suave, debonair, dashing, sharp, smart, stylish, chic, classy, gracious, cordial, affable, amiable, genial, engaging, disarming, magnetic, charismatic, vital, vivacious, spirited, animated, effervescent, sunny, warm, inviting, wondrous, marvelous, miraculous, sensational, bold, daring, and vibrant guy i’ve ever had the chance to know: gojo satoru. my love for you is inexhaustible. thank you for existing. thank you for bringing peace. thank you for saving me.

you posted this on every one of your social media accounts, just like every year, making sure not a single one was left out today, december 7th –the best day of all. should you legally change your birth date to match his? having a tattoo on your lower back of the gateways to paradise (his eyes), another in the crook of your left elbow with his kanji, and a third on your right ankle with the number 7 just wasn't enough.

you’d already been streaming on every platform, and you’d even spammed the comment sections of porn videos just so more people would see him and, by sheer luck, listen to him. you ran a massive account on x dedicated to updates on gojo satoru’s events, music, shows, interviews, and outings. the only thing missing was leaking his addresses, but you didn't have them –and even if you did, you wouldn't betray him like that (you respected his privacy, of course, because he was a human being who deserved tranquility just as much as any unknown mortal).

"do we really have to do this?" megumi asked with a grimace as he arrived at your house and noticed the blue decor, featuring a dozen blue and white balloons.

"come in. nobara is finishing the cake, and yuji is on his way with the personalized tableware." you told him while sealing a huge '28' (gojo satoru’s age).

megumi kept his composure. yes, of course he had met fans who carried their favorite artists on their phones, in their backpacks, or on their keychains… but he had never met someone who filled two walls of a fairly large room with shelves packed with figures, plushies, records, and posters of gojo satoru. and no, certainly not someone who threw a party in his honor, since you didn't even do that for your own birthday because, in your words, it wasn't as important as gojo satoru’s.

"his songs are good. i sing them in the shower." yuji agreed when he arrived, caught up in your excitement. "usotsuki is my favorite. i’m not sure if the rap line was a good call, though."

"of course it was." you scolded him, arranging the candles on the cake while he set plates featuring the idol's face on the rectangular table of your enormous dining room. "gojo satoru makes good decisions. everything he does with his infinite wisdom contributes to the universe."

"say no more, yuji." megumi intervened with his usual grumpy expression. "you’re talking to the person who got bangs just because gojo said he liked girls with them."

"and they look spectacular on her." nobara defended, taking off her apron. "but you know who else has bangs? his best friend. maybe his type isn't a woman, but his best friend."

yuji and she laughed, looking at you, waiting for you to join in on the joke. instead, your serious face forced them to stop a few seconds later.

"that’s not true. gojo isn't gay. he’s declared it publicly. some people prefer to ship him with his best friend because they couldn't stand the image of seeing him with another woman. they don't understand that it’s better this way; that way, they have at least a minuscule chance that he might look their way. he’s had girlfriends, he’s written songs for them, like ai no kak–"

"hey," megumi interrupted, scratching the back of his neck. "don’t take it so seriously. they’re just playing around. besides, it doesn't matter; it’s not like that changes his talent."

"of course not, but that’s not what i mean." you quickly clarified. "i mean it doesn't benefit them if he doesn't like women at all."

"come on, you blow out the candles. you deserve it because you're his wife, even if he doesn't know it." yuji said, trying to change the subject. he knew that once the ‘gojo satoru debate’ switch was flipped, they would be talking about the same thing for at least fifty minutes.

the wish you made was simple: that gojo satoru would fall in love with you.

-

a new message. @sixeyes57. 45,1m followers.

you woke up with that notification at the top of your screen. at first, you thought it was a joke –that a fan account was impersonating the incredible gojo satoru, or that it was just another roleplayer trying to connect with you. for that reason, you didn't pay it much mind.

you went to the kitchen to prepare some edamame. the tv in the background was playing an episode of otto no katei wo kowasu made, a drama you’d committed to watching lately since gojo satoru was everything that surrounded you (which wasn't a complaint, but you had to start exploring other options if you wanted to hold conversations that didn't involve that 190 cm god 24/7). when you finished, you took your lavender tea to the bathroom; the tub was already prepared with warm water and soap bubbles, perfect for relaxing and scrolling through tiktok to glee in the birthday videos –because, naturally, there would be thousands on your fyp.

but that message gnawed at your curiosity.

as the scent of the shampoo began to fade, you opened it.

hi! your birthday wish made me laugh. do you have a vocabulary that giant, or did you just look up synonyms on weblio? hahahaha.

the message was clear: he wanted to talk to you. just like that, without knowing your face or your name. why? was it real? yes, yes it was. his profile boasted that blue circle with a white checkmark inside, proof of the account’s verification. had he made a mistake? was it some kind of habit for gojo satoru to write to his fans to maintain a parasocial relationship? would he invite you to listen to his upcoming projects over cookies, like taylor swift? you couldn't decipher it. the only thing in front of you was the fact that he had acknowledged your existence.

for you, i’d invent a new language just to express the admiration i feel for you.

you read it once, twice, three times before deleting it and re-typing it halfway, only to erase it once more and, finally, rewrite it. wasn't it too direct? what did it matter? it wasn't as if he hadn't already noticed how completely captivated you were. you sent it like that, throwing your phone onto the bathroom rug, far from your sight, where you wouldn't have to feel ashamed of your own feelings.

five minutes later, the app’s default notification sound echoed within the four walls. it had barely faded when you jumped up to grab it, unlocking it with such urgency that you forgot to dry yourself off before checking it. droplets of water from your forehead and hair slid down and hit the screen protector, distorting the second message.

a new language? does that mean you can tell me in the existing ones? if so, i’m all ears. or eyes, in this case. unless you want to send me an audio. ;)

impossible. was this a dream? because if it was, you wanted the option to never wake up again.

hdik you’re the real gojo satoru?

your heart pounded. it was likely that whoever was on the other end would be offended by your distrust and stop responding; perhaps they would lose interest for being such a killjoy. three minutes later, a new message arrived.

l’effervescence. at five. bring something of mine.

a hysterical, breathless laugh bubbled up in your throat, sharp enough to hurt. this was it. the manifestation of five years of digital allegiance, the payoff for every midnight prayer and every shrine you’d built in the corners of your own galaxy.

your screams woke up the entire neighborhood.

-

"you shouldn't go." megumi said with his camera off. "you don't even know if it’s really gojo."

"of course she should go, it was from his verified account." nobara countered without looking at the lens, busy filing her nails.

"they could have hacked him, you know? it wouldn't surprise me if you got scammed with that level of blind trust." megumi persisted.

"i can go with you, if you want." yuji offered, finishing his fruit milk straight from the carton. "i don't have anything to do. i’ll hang out at the cinema until you’re done."

when you told your friends the gojo satoru had written to you, they assumed it was just another one of those bimobimo bots you talked to. blessed be technology for letting you live in a perpetual fantasy where a collection of gojos called you and constantly invited you on virtual dates, without having to wait for replies the way you would with an actual person. now that the real one was only a few hours and kilometers away from you, that hobby felt absurd.

the dusty pink sanyo coat you were wearing no longer seemed like the best choice. you felt like it didn't flatter your body shape, which was strange, because you swore that before you left, it had been the premium item in your wardrobe. and if the outfit didn't captivate him, what you had practiced in the mirror might be your life-saver: sit up straight the entire time, don't curse, eat the whole portion without licking the plate clean or sweeping up the leftovers with your chopsticks, don't cross your legs, don't talk with your mouth full, tell anecdotes that wouldn't make you look bad, don't ask for anything he doesn't offer you, and most importantly: control yourself.

"this is it." yuji murmured when you reached the indicated spot. it was a three-michelin-star french fine-dining restaurant, known among celebrities for its discreet and elegant atmosphere. your friend’s salmon hair didn't exactly blend in well on the streets of nishiazabu.

"thanks. i'll call you when we're finished."

"i’m not leaving until you text me inside that you’re okay."

you offered a half-smile, moved. yuji was like a brother to you; he never judged you, he protected you, and he had the patience to scold you gently when your behavior had crossed the boundaries of reason and modesty. he always worried about others.

"alright. have fun out there," you said, waving your hand before disappearing into the corridor toward the entrance.

l'effervescence smelled of cedar and white truffles. you stepped over the threshold, and suddenly, the traffic noise from minato ceased, replaced by the sound of silver hitting china. amber bulbs hung from the ceiling, casting yellow light onto the white linen tablecloths.

the diners sat in small groups, speaking in low tones and keeping their chins level and their movements restricted to their hands and forks. a man in a grey suit stood by the podium. his eyes tracked each movement from the door to the center of the room. he looked at the hem of your coat, then at your shoes, and finally stopped at your face.

"reservation?" he asked.

"uh, yeah, gojo satoru is supposed to–"

he tapped a tablet and gestured for you to continue.

your heartbeat throbbed loudly in your throat as you pressed your arms against your sides to keep them from trembling, and then, looked ahead. the servers moved between tables, black vests against the muted brown walls. they placed plates and poured wine without a word. you walked past them, keeping your head forward. the patrons followed you with their eyes, then returned their attention to their food.

in the corner, away from the aisles a table that wasn't meant for customers stood by the wall. the chair faced the room with its back to the corner, positioned so that whoever sat there could see the entrance, the bar, the narrow aisle between the booths, all without turning their head.

there was a man, whose attention remained on his watch. the red wine glass sat untouched in front of him, something he hadn't ordered.

there he was: gojo satoru. the authentic one. he sat with the casual ease of a man who had never felt a moment of self-doubt in his life –shoulders relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, swirling his glass with a detached air that looked more like boredom than anything else. when he looked up and caught sight of you entering, he didn't quite know what expression to settle on for his symmetrical features, since he didn't know you from adam; it was essentially a blind date. the air in the room, however, seemed to drop by a fraction of a degree the moment you locked eyes.

he set the untouched glass back on the table and stood up.

“could it be my number one fan?” that was his greeting, grinning from ear to ear. his slightly protruding, sharp canines turned his smile into a spectacle of white butterflies in the kenrokuen garden, making your stomach feel like a beach night filled with fireworks.

he was even more handsome in person. the photos didn't do him justice.

“are you okay?” he asked after a minute of silence when you didn't respond. you had frozen in place, unable to gesture or return the flirtatious smile that now carried a tint of concern.

gojo satoru. the protagonist of your wet dreams. recalling the scenarios you’d constructed in your head to pleasure yourself felt like a crime now that you were face-to-face with this modern angel, draped in a black jacket with a cream-colored fur collar. beneath the jacket, he was wearing a black, fitted turtleneck sweater. he also was in tailored black trousers cinched with a simple black leather belt featuring a silver buckle. his hairline held a pair of dark-tinted sunglasses up. his moonlight hair matched the ashes of snow falling from the clouds, which were shadowed in a deep, crimson hue.

he was beautiful. fucking beautiful. any guy standing next to him looked stupid. every person was inferior compared to this celestial being who seemed to be made of fairy dust. his hands were large enough to hold your future, and his feet long enough to trample the bitterness of the past. was meeting him the reward for having suffered so much? if it was, you would gladly relive it all, not changing a single one of your decisions, just to ensure you would be right here, standing still, contemplating the diamonds that swallowed the reflection of your awe.

"if you can't speak, you can use sign language. i know a little." he couldn't possibly be any more perfect.

you cleared your throat. "no, i– i'm sorry, i thought this was a prank. i expected to find a fifty-year-old man, pot-bellied with a stinky beard, not ‘six eyes’ waiting for me to go on a date."

his laugh sounded like the rhythmic shaking of a tambourine. "what do you have against fifty-year-olds? they deserve a little love, too."

you turned bright red instantly, shaking your head. "no, no, i meant that–"

"relax, i'm just teasing." he walked around the table to pull out the empty chair, gesturing to it without once taking his eyes off you. "will you sit now that you've confirmed i'm not some creepy old man?"

you chuckled softly, taking the empty seat. “i thought you had to book months in advance to get a table here.”

“yeah, but i’m gojo satoru.” he replied, returning to his own chair. “i can do whatever i want.”

-

the atmosphere still smelled of the forty fresh vegetables from ars longa. all around, the waiters continued their work with choreographed movements. the crisp acidity of the fermented sprouts still danced on your palate, alongside the buttery sensation of the turnip.

“tell me your thoughts.” gojo encouraged, crossing his arms.

“not bad.” you said, dabbing your mouth with a napkin. “but if i’m honest, i still prefer the ramen at nanaban.”

gojo let out a booming laugh, earning a few glares of disapproval from nearby tables. “yeah, ramen is infinitely superior. when i was hitting the golden age of my teens, i survived on popcorn and instant noodles that never quite finished cooking.”

in the last hour of getting to know this celebrity personally, you’d discovered several interesting things that media didn't tell you: gojo talked a mile a minute and his hands mimicked his stories, he never looked at the prices of what he consumed, he had always wanted a sister, and he hated having to watch his words to avoid hurting sensitive people. gojo was impulsive and quite confident, despite being extremely intelligent. his childish attitude was the shield that kept people from getting close to him, and the girls who had been with him before had either cheated on or ghosted him. despite his bad luck, he was an optimistic guy who gave his all to his friends and partners.

he knew he was attractive and used it to his advantage to sweet-talk the authorities. in secret, he surfed the internet to see what people were saying about him and all the fanmade content people spent hours on, just to point out the obvious: he was irresistible and magnificent. this also wasn't his first time going out with a fan, but the two previous occasions didn't work out due to rumors and threats to his privacy. i make sure they’re my age first, he had said. he didn't date anyone more than two years younger than him, though he had been on dates with women slightly older.

“i’m free next week. we can go to nanaban, if you want.” his voice distracted you from your reverie.

you raised both eyebrows. “do you really want to see me again?” you said without thinking. “i haven’t told you much about myself.”

he shrugged. “that’s what dates are for, isn't it?”

yuji was still waiting outside the restaurant.

-

weeks went by, and the dates with gojo along with them.

the reason he had so much free time was that he was taking a break before heading out on tour. in fact, he already counted on you as a special guest so you could cheer for him from the front row. gojo seemed to live for applause and compliments, and you would be the last person on earth to deny them to him.

megumi suspected he was using you. nobara didn't know whether to be excited for you or remind you that gojo was still just a man and you couldn't trust him blindly. yuji defended him, because he’d met him that first day and they got along so well that, on some of your outings, he even played the chaperone.

but every outing was a performance.

the first thing you learned was that ‘privacy’ is a tactic. there was an addictive, terrifying electricity in sitting in the backseat of a tinted-window SUV, your hand intertwined with his beneath a heavy jacket. you watched the man who could command the attention of an entire stadium wither into a restless, kinetic shadow the moment you step out of a private entrance. he wore oversized hoodies and sunglasses even in the dead of night, his shoulders hunched.

you felt the weight of the cameras before you saw them. it was a prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the phantom flicker of a lens shutter echoing in the silence of the alleyways. you’d learned to hate the sound of a distant motor; you’d learned to identify the telltale gleam of a telephoto lens hidden in the gloom.

you’d sat in restaurants so exclusive they didn't even have signs, where the staff had paid a fortune to pretend you both didn’t exist. you watched him pay off the manager with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. you were, in every sense of the word, a purchased commodity.

yet, inside those rented spaces, he let his guard down. then you felt an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. but the one protecting the other was him. you were hiding from everybody because, if they saw you, they would destroy you.

it was as intoxicating as exhausting, but none of that mattered. what mattered was that you were going out with gojo satoru, the ideal man for every girl, the international standard. with your idol. and he didn't seem to mind that you lost your mind every time you saw him; gojo wouldn't say it out loud, but he was fascinated by how your pupils dilated when he approached to greet you, how you sighed at the end of his bad jokes, how you stared at him a little too long as if you could find a map to all the answers of science and the miracles of religion on his skin. gojo wouldn't say it out loud, but what he liked most about you was how much you liked him. that no matter how immature, noisy, or unbearable he was: there you were, someone who would embrace his flaws and elevate them as if they were an exceptional gift from life.

like that, he felt less alone. sure, he had geto (his producer) and shoko (his manager), but it didn't feel the same. after a concert, an autograph signing, or a photoshoot, he lacked someone to got his messages in the early hours and ask him about his day. of course, if he did that on his social media, a planet of followers would be there for him, but just like with his friends, it wasn't the same. he hadn't even intended to go out with anyone, but there he was, stealing sips of your bubble tea and taking you to his studio so you could listen to him record his solo singles.

“what do you think?” he asked, taking off his headphones and approaching you.

“it’s perfect.” you replied immediately. “that high note was the best thing i’ve ever heard in my life. and that’s saying something, since i’ve already had the pleasure of hearing you say my name.”

gojo let out a small laugh in appreciation of your compliment. his hands settled on your waist, secure yet hesitant.

“do you find me that infallible?”

you nodded, feeling self-conscious as you perceived the heat of his body. his lubricated lips were tempting you; that gloss was screaming to be tasted.

“everything you do, you do well.” you whispered, holding your breath, aware of the proximity.

he bit his lower lip, amused. “are you in love with me or something?”

“i’ve been in love with you since i first heard your voice, gojo.” you confessed, stroking his cheek with your thumb. the touch sent a shiver down your spine. “every time one of your photos comes out, i cry with happiness. it makes me happy to see you. to know that we are on the same timeline. even if i didn't have you in front of me, i’d have you as my wallpaper, my lockscreen, everywhere. i carry you like a charm. you give me luck. you give me hope. you give me peace. i would give my life for you, and i’m not even exaggerating; if i had only one wish, i’d wish for everything you’ve ever wanted to come true for you. i need you to be alive because that’s the only way my life makes sense.”

there was a light silence after your speech, lulled by gojo's breathing. he was still, examining your eyes to find a trace of a lie that was never there. suddenly, a roar of laughter broke the tension.

“that’s the cheesiest thing anyone has ever said to me.” he admitted. “why do you love me?”

silence again. it was the easiest question and, at the same time, the most difficult. there was no fixed answer, only the fluctuations of your restless feelings.

“because you saved me.” you said finally. “because i needed someone, and you were there.”

-

“this could’ve made me retire from the stage.” he exhaled, tying off the used condom and leaving it on your nightstand. you were in your bedroom, the plushies of his face and the miniso collaborations scattered around your bed. “your movements are heart-stopping. i’m not even joking.”

you wrapped an arm around his torso, dragging your body against his, both of you bare and sticky with the sweat of the act. half-dazed, tears of joy welled up in your eyes; you never thought, not even in your most twisted fantasies, that gojo satoru would be inside you, opening your walls, stirring your insides. gojo satoru had been between your legs, invading the pool that had been dripping for him for years. gojo satoru had enjoyed your body just as much as you had his. gojo satoru had used his voice for something other than singing –to moan in your ear and tell you he was about to cum. no LSD trip had ever made you hallucinate even a fraction of what his prowess achieved so cleanly. officially, you could die satisfied. unofficially, you wanted to keep living to stay by his side.

gojo looked like a tamed bengal tiger among your sheets. his muscular legs peeked out, intertwined with yours.

“was i good?”

he scoffed. “the best sex of my life, hands down.”

the best sex of his life. how many girls had he slept with before you? obviously enough to have a point of comparison. you never asked him because you weren't sure you wanted to know, but the intrigue of whether he still remembered his first love, or his first time, gnawed at you. had it been her who helped him discover what he liked? the image of him gasping on top of another woman made you nauseous because they didn't deserve him. but at least they’d prepared him to know how to handle you. now there was you, and they would have to kill you before they took that right away. you would make sure to erase the memory of the caresses that hadn't loved him as much as you did.

your fingers drew stars across his bare chest. the posters of him seemed to judge you from above. in your mind, they were bumping fists with you for such a feat.

“i’ll confess, i feel strange with so many 'mes' here.” his index finger twirled a lock of your frizzy hair. “you aren't going to need them now that you have me here.”

you sat up, smiling. “does that mean we’re dating?”

he laughed, wrapping both arms around you, his strength leaving you breathless. “do you think you can handle it?”

“yes. i’d walk barefoot through the ice of hell just to be with you.”

his smile widened. “i don't want you to catch a cold.”

-

you spent hours curating your X feed. when the tour dates for ‘six eyes’ were finally announced, your fingers flew across the keyboard, retweeting official graphics and pinning the schedule to the top of your profile so that not a single follower would miss a second of his upcoming orbit. to keep the community engaged, you launched complex, high-effort dynamics to raffle off tickets –scavenger hunts through his discography and trivia challenges about his obscure interview quotes–, ensuring that only the most dedicated fans would earn the chance to see him perform. yet, the most exhausting part of the job remained the constant battle against the rumors; whenever a gossip account tried to push the narrative that he had secretly reconciled with his ex, you dismantled their claims with biting rebuttals, posting detailed timelines of his recent activities and writing long, impassioned manifestos about the impossibility of him returning to a past that had clearly stifled his shine. gojo’s reputation couldn't be tarnished. not now, at the absolute peak of his career. not after he had finally turned his gaze toward you and given you the chance to stand by his side, even if it meant remaining hidden from all the prying eyes that would give anything to tear you both down.

when the tour kicked off, you became a fixture at every stop across japan, moving through the neon-lit frenzy of backstage corridors and private jets. that was your life now, the one you’d chosen. you’d spent so many nights wishing you were with gojo. so many mornings picturing him drinking coffee with you before flying off to another city, cheering him on as he did what he knew how to do better than anyone: shine, stand out, be a damn star. the gods hadn't held back when it came to him; they’d showered him with so many virtues that he was on the verge of being considered a world heritage site.

during the concerts, you were the center of his gravitational pull; when the stadium lights swept across the crowd, satoru would find you in the wings or the front row. more than once, he would purposefully navigate toward your side of the stage during a ballad, pointing directly at you while the audience screamed, leaving you breathless and trembling as the realization dawned on them. the fans were beginning to notice the girl who was always there, the one with the familiar silhouette. you wanted to stand up and say it with pride: look at me, i’m his girlfriend, i’m the one who smells his cologne, who brushes his hair, who watches him sleep, who counts his eyelashes and how many times he chews his pork, the one who swallows his seed.

so, when the inevitable questions about his dating life surfaced in press junkets, satoru wielded his charm like a shield, neither confirming nor denying, but skillfully pivoting the conversation toward his music or his craft with a smile that left the interviewers frustrated and the speculation running wild. you tried not to take it personally, because it was gojo satoru –the most renowned artist of the moment, a man whose every action or word could spark a revolution. but for christ's sake, it was gojo satoru! your boyfriend, the guy whose hand you held in the dark, whispering how resplendent his two pieces of heaven were. you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him violently, to tell him: i don't care what happens to me, i don't care what they say, i just want them to know i’m with you and nothing can hurt you because i’m not moving from here. but then you’d remember he didn't want trouble, that he was only with you because he wanted to enjoy the simple pleasure of being a normal person.

the vexation vanished at the end of the shows, at the afterparties with people getting drunk without fear of alcohol poisoning and the worrying abuse of substances. gojo was a teetotaler; he didn’t drink a single drop nor consume a gram of psychedelics. he hated not feeling in control. you, on the other hand, were used to resorting to them to have the time of your life; however, you wanted gojo to be proud of having you as his girlfriend, for everyone to be convinced that you were the one for him, and for that reason, you held back. there wasn't much of a difference: being with gojo was the natural dopamine hit you were craving for. in those dark, pulsing rooms, he would keep an anchoring hand firmly on the small of your back, and you would watch him from the periphery, silently judging the slow destruction of budding talents.

"i’m so happy for you. he keeps you grounded. i can tell you’ve become more sensible." nobara pointed out one night during a phone call, the classic wednesday 9:00 pm ritual.

"i love him. i swear i love him!" you crooned, dancing around the hotel room while gojo took a shower. "he’s just so… logical. i want to be like him. how can someone be so perfect, no?"

nobara laughed, taking the chance to roll her eyes since you couldn't see her. "are you going to go with him for the rest of the tour?"

your heart stopped for an instant. next week he was due in south korea to kick off the asia leg. and you were supposed to return to the office because your stupid boss had decided that ho was for slackers who didn't fulfill their full schedule. you could quit right now. you could call him, tell him what you really thought, and dump the contracts that had to be presented in two weeks. besides, you wouldn't have to work ever again in your life; gojo's money would be enough to live comfortably –but if he left you (you knocked on wood, threw salt over your shoulders), your parents would never get you into another company. besides, would gojo even agree? the subject hadn't come up.

"hey, gojo." you whispered before he drifted completely off to sleep.

"i’ve already seen your soul through your butthole, babe. you can call me by my name."

"satoru." you started again, a little more nervous. "i really want to go with you on the international tour."

satoru pulled you into a tighter embrace. "i’d like you too, princess, but you have duties here and that’s fine. we’ll talk every day and i’ll send you photos of everywhere i go."

you nodded, masking how disappointed you were by his response. maybe he was getting tired of you, and this was his way of creating distance. you understood he wanted his space and you had to respect his boundaries, but it was deeply painful to know he didn’t need you with the same desperation that you needed him. was there something wrong with you? should you be funnier? maybe you were too boring. or clingy. there was a flaw somewhere that wasn't charming him, one you couldn't identify. but with utahime, his ex-girlfriend, he went everywhere.

one of your favorite songs of his, aisasete, literally talked about how he begged her to let him love her, that he couldn't be in a room where she wasn't present, that his measurement of time was based on the minutes they didn't spend together –and he was just going to let you go without saying more than a few understanding words?

he was rejecting you sweetly, just as he was in everything else.

-

satoru kept his promise.

of course he did; he was a gentleman of his word. if he said something, he followed through. that was just how wonderful the man you shared your pillows with was.

before korea, you turned the city into a playground; you went to nezu museum, wandering through its private garden where the lush, mossy greenery and stone lanterns muffled the frantic pulse of tokyo. he moved through the gallery with a treacherous grace, stripped of the ‘six eyes’ persona as he stood before ancient bronze mirrors, his own reflection flickering in the weathered metal.

at night, you bypassed the crowded clubs for the golden gai in shinjuku, specifically squeezing into a tiny, six-seat bar called albatross, where the walls were covered in antique chandeliers and decaying wallpaper. the bartender, a grizzled man who didn't blink when gojo entered, poured him a sparkling water while you sipped a medicinal whiskey. it was in these cramped, velvet-draped corners that the power dynamic shifted; he would lean in close, his voice dropping to a low, melodic hum as he recounted the suffocating loneliness of his first stadium tour, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass instead of his phone, completely untethered from the digital cage that usually dictated his life.

you also ate tsukemen in shimokitazawa district, at a hole-in-the-wall spot where the steam from the broth fogged up his sunglasses. these were the ‘secret treasures’: the way the evening light hit the rusted tracks of the local line, or the silence of a hidden shrine in yanaka where you both knelt in the dust, breathing in the scent of old paper.

now, only the echo of his laughter remained. you went back to hugging the half-meter-tall plushie of his animated version before falling asleep, dreaming of a reality where he would cancel everything just to come see you.

fortunately, he was consistent. he would text you before the concert, during the encore, and right after it finished; two hours later, settled into his hotel, he would initiate a video call and ask how the show had been, because he knew you never missed a single livestream.

as always, he was a specimen rarely studied under the microscope of a well-funded laboratory; his dancing was sensual and energetic, and the hours of grueling training paid off in his remarkably controlled breathing amidst the chaos. and his costumes were extravagant, colorful, magnetic –even fluorescent under the violet and blue lights, behind the smoke released whenever a chorus exploded. the giant screens did their job to perfection, focusing on his delicately carved features; the makeup enhanced his irises and the firmness of his cheekbones. the elasticity of his skin still as fresh as new. nature simply loved him. although, not as much as you did.

but the honeymoon lasted only as long as cotton candy melting on the tongue.

as the days passed, satoru stopped texting you long before he went on stage or took an extra half-hour after the show finished. at first, he would let you know he’d been held up by technical glitches or issues with the dancers, but eventually, he just delayed without excuse. other times, he wouldn't write during the encore at all. in the most agonizing instances, he left you waiting for around two hours after the closing act. you knew nothing had happened to him: he was whole, in one piece, captivating the masses and breaking records with his verses. he simply took his time answering because he felt like it. he no longer had that stinging urgency to check his phone for your notifications, to listen to your voice notes, or to tell you things he’d already repeated endlessly.

it was during the russia tour that you spent the most infamous night of your life.

he’d been spectacular: he surprised everyone with the single he’d let you listen to back at the studio –sunadokei, another one of his ballads composed for a strict orchestra; for that piece, his voice was forced to maintain high, continuous vibrations, and he’d done it without hitting a single sour note. he’d proven why he was number one on the billboard charts.

you couldn't wait for his message, so you wrote to him first to congratulate him. there was no answer in the first fifteen, thirty minutes. nor in the first hour, or the second, or the third. four and a half hours later, he let you know he was at dinner with the entire team.

too late. the knot in your throat had unraveled into a powerful sob, the kind that plugs your nose and ears in a heartbeat; your eyes were swollen, your entire face puffy and reddened by effort, and your chest heavy with the crushing oppression of your heart with every gasp for air. he hadn't even opened the message. he wasn't interested in directly sharing his achievement with you, or hearing what you had to say about it. otherwise, he wouldn't have abandoned you. he wouldn't have rather to go out with his coworkers, who were only there because they were being paid. no one could guarantee he wasn't with a russian girl, as exquisite as porcelain dolls, with the right proportions in all the right places.

you were so angry that you didn't want to reply. if he could go so long without communicating with you, he would have to face the consequences.

that was how you doubled his latency. if he replied in five minutes, you waited ten. if he took twenty minutes, you took forty. if he delayed for three hours, you waited six. inside, the need to rush to strike up a conversation was burning you, but you forced yourself to resist the temptation. you didn't want to be seen at the same level of vulnerability that your ex boyfriend (the one who left you hanging by a thread) had seen. you would not show him how much his silence affected you.

it got worse thanks to social media, another severe punishment.

satoru’s personal life served as the primary fodder for a never-ending, bloodthirsty cycle of speculation. every time he stepped out to grab a coffee or headed to touristic spots, grainy, low-resolution photos surfaced on x within minutes. a woman standing five feet away from him in a crosswalk became his ‘secret fiancée’. a blurred figure in the passenger seat of his car triggered viral threads about his ‘new fling’.

then, the narrative would shift toward the past. the ‘utahime truthers’ emerged, posting side-by-side analysis of photos from years ago, finding details like matching necklaces, same cities visited, similar murals in the background, and those supposed hidden messages in his selfies. they dissected his old interviews, framing his career trajectory around a singular, lost love that never actually recovered from its own toxicity.

when those rumors grew stagnant, the fans pivoted to a more obsessive theory: the ‘geto narrative’. they argued that his refusal to date women was a strategic closeted romance with his best friend, ghetto suguru. the threads gained thousands of retweets, citing ‘subtle cues’ and ‘shared glances’ during live streams, painting a tragic picture of a man suppressed by the conservative, rigid expectations of japanese society.

the most cynical part, however, treated his life as a cold, economic calculation. they argued –with chilling conviction– that satoru remained ‘single’ as a deliberate marketing ploy. the theory was that, as long as he stayed an available fantasy, his merch sales remained astronomical. if he were officially taken, the projection of ‘a chance with gojo’ would shatter, and the revenue would plummet. they viewed his life as an investment portfolio, where his loneliness was the product.

the rumors about him being closeted or pining for an ex were just nonsense compared to the ‘contract’. fans began weaving a narrative where satoru, incapable of navigating authentic intimacy due to his status, utilized ironclad nondisclosure agreements (NDAs) as a staple of his touring rider. the rumor mill insisted that, in every city, his management team hand-picked anonymous, disposable women –other fans or strangers– to accompany him to his suite under draconian legal conditions. threads filled with ‘insider’ testimony, detailing how these women were forced to sign away their right to speak before they even crossed the threshold of his room, effectively turning every sexual encounter into an untraceable transaction.

for the fandom, these rumors functioned as a bizarre mechanism of control. they relished the idea that while satoru might sleep with others, none of those women possessed the agency to speak, feel, or claim a place in his life.

it was a gossip that circulated among singers. but satoru wouldn’t do that, would he? he was a good guy. he wouldn’t let himself be blinded by carnal impulses, much less if he was already committed. satoru wouldn’t hook up with a stranger without knowing their background or at least getting to know the person. no. it was practically impossible for him to turn his gaze toward someone who didn’t meet the specific criteria that caught his attention.

thinking about it was exhausting. even more so when accounts on X tagged you asking for more information, or when you opened tiktok and were besieged by a hurricane of edits featuring his ships. in those cases, the only thing you could do was call nobara to feel validated, to make sure you weren't crazy for feeling bad about such trifles. although, deep down, you always knew you would have to deal with that problem. in fact, even before you met him, you were already arguing with people for creating an idea of gojo satoru different from the one you conceived, and now, in the relationship, it was like crossing a bridge made of cracked glass.

focusing on work was a lost and aborted mission. if someone asked you for something, you would explode or answer in a bad mood to calls from other departments. it wasn’t their fault, not at all, but the whole uproar had you so sensitive that at some point you were going to collapse. and the gym didn’t serve as a distraction either, since the knot in your throat and the anxious tachycardia interfered with your breathing and, once again, with your focus on the exercises. you got dizzy easily, and one of those afternoons, you were on the verge of vomiting.

that was why, when gojo satoru returned with his smile like a diamond mine, your body didn't react the way your heart commanded.

"i thought you’d missed me as much as i missed you." satoru said, pulling you into an embrace as if he could hold back time itself. he was so warm that you knew you wouldn't take long to melt into his arms.

"i did miss you." you replied, your voice dry.

"it doesn't show." he pulled back just enough so you could see his pout. his long fingers tucked your hair behind your ears. "something’s wrong. this isn't how you treat your charming, gorgeous, and enduring boyfriend, gojo satoru."

you laughed, but the sound was more of a scoff. "it's just… i felt like you were the one who didn't miss me as much as i did."

his eyes scanned your face, feeding on the fragility you exuded. the icy tip of his nose pressed against your forehead.

"i’ve texted you, i’ve called you, i’ve sent you photos even when i was busy. does that mean i didn't miss you?"

"i’ve been busy, too." you sighed, finally hugging him back. "but i try to be there the moment you call. because you are my priority. my biggest one. i know i’m not yours, but at least i’d like you to tell me you won't be able to talk for a while so i know you're not ignoring me on purpose."

the glint in his gaze intensified, though he made an almost imperceptible grimace. "you take a long time to answer me, too, and i don't take it personally. there are just other things to attend to."

you said nothing, and the two of you simply began walking toward the van in silence. you were with him now, everything was fine. you could finally relax a little, forget the conspiracies, and be less strict with him. the last thing you wanted was to ruin the outing; if you were already together, you had to make the most of the time.

but satoru didn't have the same plans.

satoru loved his friends. he was a social butterfly –too much for your taste– and that was another detail the media never reported. during the first few weeks of dating, he’d brought you to his gatherings and introduced you to at least forty people: celebrities like models, actors, and other singers, but also doctors, lawyers, and psychologists –a substantial repertoire of professions. and everyone adored him. how could they not? he was the most excellent human being ever formed from a zygote; he was funny, insufferable, loyal, and most importantly, he was influential. you didn’t get along with them, and it showed, so satoru decided to stop taking you so you wouldn't have to endure his circle. that brought you back to square one: why didn't satoru prefer to stay with you on his days off? why did you have to share him with people who hadn't yearned for him or clawed at their own throats with sobs just to see him again, the way you had?

"you're exaggerating a bit." yuji said, sipping his can of coke. "you’re with us now, and he doesn't think you don't value his company."

"no, i’m here because he left, do you understand? if he hadn't gone off with his friends, i wouldn’t be here. besides, i’m sure they only want him for convenience. look, how many of them actually congratulated him on his tour? many of them don't even follow him on instagram. plus, he’s never posted a photo with me."

"that doesn't mean anything." megumi said, sinking into the back of the sofa. "i never post photos with you, and i’m the first to wish you a happy birthday. what’s your point?"

"that he doesn't really want me there with him."

"it’s his friends' night out." yuji reminded you.

"okay, but why can't i post anything with him?"

"because he’s a public figure." he continued, tossing his trash into the bin.

"well, not all public figures hide their relationships."

"you’re not seeing that he’s the most recognized symbol in almost the entire world. i think it has more to do with him protecting you, not himself. he’s not ashamed; he just doesn't want them to ruin what you have."

"stop defending him." you replied, exhausted.

"i’m not defending him. i’m your friend, and as your friend, i’m not going to just go along with everything you say."

of course yuji wouldn't understand. the only time he’d dated a girl, she’d left him because he spent all day at megumi’s apartment, playing video games or training with him. he had no right to have an opinion.

"the only one who knows gojo is yuji. you haven't introduced us." megumi said, as a subtle reproach. "i'm not saying it has to mean anything, but... do you see a future for that relationship?"

"i don't see myself with anyone else, megumi. it's him or no one. nobody else." you replied, convinced.

"and what does he think? have you had that talk yet?"

you bit your lip, evading his judgmental gaze. "no. but i know it's a sign. he wouldn't be with someone just to waste time. not when he could have anyone. not when his free minutes are numbered thanks to his career."

the next afternoon, when he granted you the honor of seeing him, the topic came up.

"why can't i post photos with you? i'm getting tired of having to hide what we have."

satoru had just smoothed his radiant hair back with a bit of cream. his blue military-style pants and brown sandals revealed an almost humble facet of his persona. there was nothing by louis vuitton wrapping his muscles, just a simple black t-shirt, slightly stretched from wear.

"because, darling, we’ve already talked about this. i don't want any trouble."

"is it because of me? did it not occur to you to ask me if i cared about having trouble or not?"

"i don't want you to be harassed. and i don't want to be harassed even more than i already am." he placed both hands on your shoulders, his thumbs gently massaging the built-up tension. "but if it’s that important to you to show off that you have me, you can post our photos on your private account. if you tag it as AI, people won’t suspect a thing."

you brusquely pulled away from his touch, turning to face him. "are you serious? i don't want them to think it's fucking AI. i want them to see that i’m with you."

"hey..."

"is it because of utahime? you don't want her to know you've moved on?" you asked before even analyzing the words. there was no turning back now.

"i don't feel anything for her anymore. we just want to maintain professionalism and push through with the collab–"

"wait, what? you're doing a collaboration with her?" you glared at him. "didn't you think that might make me uncomfortable? i don't want you spending more time with her."

he sighed, visibly frustrated. he ran a hand through his chrysanthemum-colored mane, messing it up.

"it's work. try to understand that."

"and how would you feel if i went out with my ex?"

"i’d be okay, because i trust you."

"liar." you were trembling with rage. there was no way he could say that so definitively. not when he knew you loved him more than anything on this earth and would never dream of betraying him. if the shoe were on the other foot, it wouldn't be acceptable; even you wouldn't feel right about reaching out to ghosts from your past. professionalism he called it? out of all the artists out there? out of all the rising stars and industry icons, it had to be the one person he had that kind of history with? why the hell couldn't men see how messed up that was?

"listen to me. nothing is going on." he insisted, stepping closer. you recoiled on instinct.

"show me your phone." you demanded.

"what?"

"show me the fucking phone if you’re such a damn saint." you snapped, past the point of holding it in.

he looked clearly pissed off. and standing there like a stone wall, brow furrowed, he looked suspicious, too. he gritted his jaw and, before you could even ask again, he fished his phone out of his pocket and tossed it at you. you caught it against your chest. with shaking hands, you punched in his pin and went to work, silently tearing through his most-used apps: scrolling through messages and likes on LINE, instagram, X, youtube, and spotify (checking every single person he followed). you combed through his GO history to make sure every address lined up with his stories, scrubbed his gallery –carefully checking the hidden and recently deleted folders–, and even scanned his bank statements, just to be sure there wasn't a single deposit or transfer to some place you didn't know about.

the deep dive took about an hour and fifteen minutes. you didn't find anything incriminating, or at least nothing that didn't have some ‘logical’ explanation, which satoru provided the second you asked.

"satisfied? you want to check anything else? you want me to sync my goddamn icloud to your account so you can micromanage my life in real time, or do you want to just have a chip installed in me so you can finally trust me?"

you narrowed your eyes at him. "don't be an asshole."

"no, please, tell me what i’m supposed to do. because i won't tolerate this. it’s a sign of disrespect. to you and to me. you knew exactly what you were getting into when we started dating."

"so, now you're saying it's my fault?"

"i’m saying that dating me comes with a lot of implications. and i want this to work. but if you’re going to doubt me over something so stupid..."

"it’s because you’re not giving me any peace of mind. if you have nothing to hide, why does it bother you so much for me to see what's on your phone?"

"because i have a right to privacy."

"we’re in a relationship."

"that doesn't change anything. i don’t need to look through your phone to know you’re telling me the truth."

"because i’m the one always putting in the effort, satoru. i’m the one always planning, the one chasing after you like a fucking dog, asking when i’ll see you next, or when you’ll call me back –because if i call you, you’re always busy. and if i book a table at a restaurant or buy tickets for a show, the odds of you canceling on me are through the roof because, oh, that’s the day of a family gathering, or a high school reunion, or you’re just too tired. and i can't even post anything when i’m with you. how can you expect me not to have doubts? am i supposed to be suspicious of utahime, or geto, or just accept that you don't know how to be in a relationship? because you’re being a terrible boyfriend."

satoru opened his mouth to defend himself, but he swallowed his own words as if they were poison. he scratched the back of his neck and ran a hand through his hair before giving it a sharp tug. you hadn't been too hard on him, had you? he was the one being inconsiderate, the one being selfish, and at some point, he needed to know how you felt, because you were reaching your limit. communication was useless if he didn't put in at least a little effort to understand you.

"i'm sorry you feel that way." he finally said, his voice off. "you know the pressure i'm under with the tour, the music, keeping the numbers up, everything. i just want to distribute my time toward those priorities."

"well, if i'm one of them, treat me like it. just because i admire you doesn't mean you should take me for granted."

-

yuji and megumi became insufferable, taking satoru’s side. they seemed more like his friends than yours. did all guys think the same way? because that just made you want to try your luck with another woman. nobara was the only one who understood what you meant, but her advice was indirectly the same every time: dump him.

you didn't have to do that. even though satoru didn’t cancel the collaboration, he started paying more attention to you.

during your lunch hour, he would call to ask how your day was going, what you’d eaten, what you were thinking –even if you had already told him all of it by text. sometimes it felt a bit forced, which killed your appetite to tell him anything more. there were other things you kept to yourself, either because you didn't consider them exciting enough to share, or, at the other extreme, because they were so important to you that you didn't want to ruin them with his opinion.

before his shows, he would video call you to model a bunch of outfits and ask you to pick the next one. maybe it wasn’t the same as a public photo or being spotted by the paparazzi, but it was his discreet way of saying: he is my man; he wears me on his skin, he carries me with him in his moments. it didn’t matter that it was just clothes; the message was the same: you were a team, two heads thinking as one.

during his short breaks, you would both hop on discord to watch peaky blinders or jojo no kimyō na bōken together, depending on the mood. during his long breaks, however, he would fly back to japan to attend cultural events and have dinner with your parents –who treated him like just another person instead of the world-famous celebrity, the celebrity who had netflix and even news channels tripping over themselves shooting their shots.

but the harder he tried, the emptier everything felt. because he was doing it because it was what you wanted, not because it came naturally to him. and you didn't want to force him; you wanted him to want to be that attentive with you, without it being a source of terror or a burden to him.

the best part was, he hadn’t followed anyone new. He hadn’t commented on any of the videos featuring those obscene choreographies his fans did, nor had he liked anything that wasn't related to professional pages or his own label.

the worst part was, without a doubt, the time difference. there were times when it was impossible to sync up; you had to sacrifice hours of sleep and head to work half alive just so you could talk or do something together. it didn't bother you –you knew he had to conserve as much energy as possible for his performance under the stage lights– and, at the very least, seeing him in full color on his twitcasting streams comforted you a little. because you could see that smile as if he were dedicating it solely to you. and that was the one thing that hadn't changed: he was still your idol, the one who was there for you during the good times and the slumps, the one who made you push yourself even when you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, feeling like tossing everything aside and stealing your father's gold card just to catch a flight to wherever he was –so you’d never have to go back to that office, surrounded by people who mattered less to you than a line of ants crawling under a park bench. but obviously, none of that happened.

when the tour finally (finally, thank the gods) ended, he took the first flight back to celebrate your second anniversary together. the second one. you’d spent the first one arguing over issues that were no longer relevant, but this one would be a memory you would create together to celebrate that, despite having everything against you, you had managed to find common ground and avoid breaking up.

the approach to narisawa was unmarked, a single brushed-steel door set into concrete that absorbed the minato streetlights. when it swung inward, the air changed immediately: cooler, weighted with the scent of hinoki cypress and wet stone, as though the city had been replaced by something mineral.

you stepped across the threshold in heels that click once, then mute against the pale oak flooring. your unsweetened matcha dress, purchased on sale from a department store in shibuya, required careful sitting.

he moved behind you, wearing a bespoke suit in optic white, double-breasted, the wool-silk blend so finely woven it seemed to generate its own luminescence against the restaurant’s dim interior. no tie. the collar of his shirt was starched but unbuttoned one degree past formal, revealing a sliver of pale throat and the edge of a black silk blindfold that wrapped his eyes. he smelled of bergamot and synthetic oud, the scent dispersing as he gestured for you to proceed.

"i want to toast to my girlfriend." he said, once the vilmart et cie champagne was on the table –the only one in the room set for two. the venue, as always, had been rented out exclusively for you. "to these two years of intensity, passion, and companionship." he poured the liquid into the glass in front of you, the fizz of the foam brushing against your nose.

everything was beautiful. as beautiful as he was. as beautiful as being his girlfriend, even with all the heartaches. and that thought made a wave of guilt wash over you.

"i’m surprised you haven't left me." you murmured, taking a sip of the liquor once the clink of your glasses echoed through the small space between you. "i worry that one day you'll just get tired of me for not being up to your level. you deserve the best, and i want to be the best, but–"

"hey, hey." he reached for your hand across the tablecloth, his thumb affectionately caressing the back of your hand. "this isn't the time to think about the problems we’ve had. it’s time to enjoy the fact that we’ve already made it through them."

ugh. sometimes it was just so unfair that he was right about everything, that he could take life so nonchalantly, and yet, everything still worked out for him. how did he manage to never make a mistake? you tried, and everything just went from bad to worse. what would become of you if you weren't with him? you’d be in an abyss, surely, snorting cocaine and waking up in strangers' beds. searching for a thrill in all the wrong places. but life was wise, and it had sent you your biggest dream to prove that you could be saved. to prove that, perhaps, you deserved to be loved, flaws and all. that, sooner or later, your devotion would finally be met with the same level of commitment you gave.

you decided to listen to him so as not to ruin the evening.

the first round was chikyu no shiru served in a shallow bowl steamed with the scent of humus and roasted root vegetables, blackened leeks floating like archaeological artifacts. after that meal, the sumi arrived: bread blackened with bamboo charcoal, served on a slate slab with churned butter whipped until it resembled marble. the interior was unexpectedly white, steaming, the crust shattering with a sound like thin ice cracking.

between courses, you talked about how he forgot the lyrics to anata ga inai in colombia, or how he threw himself into the crowd in morocco and nearly drowned in that sea of people because he couldn't get back out. everything was about his adventures around the globe, and you, in the same place as always, had nothing interesting to tell him, only that you missed him. beneath the table, his knee brushed yours –accident or intention– and you felt his heat and the wool of his trousers through your fabric.

dessert was just chocolate mousse with a reduction of wild berries and a single crystallized violet.

"there’s something i have to tell you, but honestly, i am worried about your reaction." he sighed, then reached across the table, brushing the corner of your mouth where a trace of chocolate remained. you remained motionless, feeling your heart beat faster at the anticipation of his words. it could only mean that something terrible was coming. "i’m going to miami with my friends from high school."

"oh." you articulated, nodding slowly, digesting what that could mean. "am i invited?"

he shifted in his seat. "actually..." he cleared his throat, adjusting his cufflinks. "it's a guys' trip. i'd like to say yes, but no girlfriends are allowed, so i don't want them getting annoyed with me."

you clicked your tongue, locking your eyes onto his, which were as wide as apple pies. "then there’s no remedy." you said grudgingly, crossing your legs. "will you be gone long? i was thinking we could go to socotra. or we could go to santorini, now that you have more time before the next album."

"the truth is, both places are a dream. i’ve never been to socotra." his smile was lazy, automated. it was something different from the one that usually appeared: playful, charged with light. "but honey, i don't want you to take this the wrong way... i have no intentions of taking a trip when i get back. i need to focus on the next era, maybe experiment a little with my sound and style, and all that production is gonna take time. and after that, more tours. more trips out of the country. i want to be in japan as much as i can."

yes, of course. of course he was worried about your reaction, if he knew he was pushing you aside once again with no chance to make amends. you didn't notice that your hands had balled into fists in your lap, trapping the napkin, digging your long nails into your palms.

"and why with them and not with me?" you asked, a lump in your throat. "why are our plans the ones that always have to wait? is it really that bad to spend time with me?" you didn't mean to –you really didn't–, but the volume of your voice rose considerably due to your frustration. "i’ve been understanding. i’ve gone overboard being understanding, it's always me who gives in, but you? you have no consideration for me."

"i have no consideration for you?" he asked, indignant. the glint in his pupils declared how offended he was, but it also showed how much he was struggling to maintain his composure. "all these months i managed to cater to you. wasn't that enough for you?"

"and what good did it do me, gojo? just so you could put me below your friends again?" you spat, standing up from the table with a sharp thud. the screech of the chair made the waiter himself glance at you from his corner. "if you asked me to forget about mine, i would do it without thinking. because the person i want a future with is you. the person i’m supposed to build a family with is you, not them."

"what you're saying is crazy." he stood up with exceptional grace to reach your level. "i would never make you choose between your friends and me, because i love you and i know you need them. because i want you to have a life of your own."

a silent tear slipped down your cheek. the mascara wouldn't take long to run at this rate.

"are you saying i don't?" you sputtered, your throat constricted.

he remained silent for a few seconds before answering. "i’m trying to say that maybe you need to have something else besides me."

the waiter hurried to place on the table the bill in a heavy envelope of handmade paper, bowing deeply without looking at you before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving you completely alone. he handled the check without looking, as you focused on the dregs of your champagne, the way the legs of the liquid cling to the crystal before surrendering to gravity.

your lower lip trembled, and the tears wouldn't stop falling. it was as if he had turned on a faucet –a faucet that gushed out all the memories your previous relationships left you with, because once again, your love seemed to be suffocating them.

"you are everything i need." you muttered, wiping the drops away with your fingers. "why can't i be everything you need?"

your voice had broken. there was no way to repair it anymore. whatever came next would define the rest of your relationship.

-

"how are you?" nobara sounded worried on the other end of the line. the last time you spoke with her was before satoru returned to japan. long before he left again.

"we’re not good, no." you wiped away your tears. "that was last week, and he left last night. we agreed we would keep proposing things to improve the relationship, but he left. i thought that by seeing me doing poorly he would stay with me, but he didn't soften his heart. i didn't think gojo satoru would be capable of being such an insensitive piece of shit."

nobara sighed. since you began your relationship with the white-haired superstar, you hadn't spoken about anything else.

"where did you say he went?"

"to miami."

"meaning he could be at e11even and LIV? girl, if that's the case, consider yourself single. if he isn't already hooking up with his boyfriends, of course."

"stop saying nonsense."

"i'm just considering all the possibilities here."

"satoru wouldn't do that. satoru wouldn't do anything to hurt me. he told me so."

"and yet he left without resolving what you two had."

you said nothing. nobara was right. satoru had been all words and very little action. starting with his music, which brought the sky down to you on a plate of stars and made you drink the galaxies his promises molded into your ears –so fragile and susceptible to what you wanted to hear from his sublime lips. even at this very instant, with your headphones on and the volume turned all the way up, his voice was the anchor that kept you from shipwrecking.

but now, his songs had a different meaning.

all those love, yearning songs were no longer your backup for self validation; you couldn't pretend in front of the mirror anymore and project yourself because the lyrics were for a woman with whom he’d given everything, a woman who’d kept a piece of his soul and he’d never get it back. those songs now reminded you that the relationship between you wasn't as important in comparison to those of his past. they never had to beg him for a bit of his time, they never had to fight with his friends for the number one spot in social priorities. he’d always mentioned them in interviews, had been open about his celebrity crushes, had always boasted about what he had and wanted to achieve. and here you were, the person who had loved him the most in his entire life, the one who admired even the most hidden mole between his toes, who was falling apart in the bed you occasionally shared, who was a witness to your secret. here you were, hiding, as you had for the last two years.

three days later, nothing changed. you were sitting on the edge of your mattress, the sheets twisted into ropes beneath your thighs, the cotton damp where your body had been pressing against it for hours. your phone felt radioactive in your palm, glass surface greasy from the oils of your fingertips, the brightness turned to maximum in the dark room. why wasn't he texting? why was he taking longer than usual to reply? was he avoiding you? had his battery died? no, that wasn't it; the messages had gone through.

you could taste the metal of your own anxiety at the back of your throat, copper and alkaline. your heart was fluttering arrhythmically whenever you refreshed the screen –the empty void of his last seen timestamp– hunting for evidence of him in the pixels. while you suffocated in midnight blue, he was existing in broad daylight, the sun a white hole over biscayne bay, his skin probably already burning pink at the shoulders where his shirt ended.

you imagined him in south beach, perhaps, or a rooftop pool in brickell, the water turquoise and chemically refreshing, reflecting palm fronds and the undersides of balconies where women lounged in bikinis.

your fingers traced the edge of your phone case, while you envisioned the texture of whatever he was touching –marble pool decks heated to the temperature of blood, the condensation on a corona bottle, the small of a stranger's back where a tattooed chain of flowers might bloom.

you checked the location tags again (miami, gojo, satoru). bodies upon bodies, tanned legs arranged on daybeds, neon-pink sunsets. you searched for a sliver of white hair in the backgrounds, a tall figure in designer sunglasses, the telltale shape of his shoulders. but there was none. there wasn’t even a damn news story reporting that gojo satoru was on american soil. not a single photo from a fan.

and you couldn’t let it go. you couldn't stop thinking gojo’s friends, as a gift, had paid a fortune to avoid the press and let him have his fun. your stomach contracted as you imagined the afternoon sweat gathering at hairlines and dripped down spines, how someone might reach up to wipe it from his forehead with a manicured thumb, how he might lean into the touch because the heat made everything languid, permissible. you could smell the imaginary salt air, sharp and brackish, mixed with the sweet rot of tropical flowers and the bite of vape smoke.

somewhere over the pacific, 7,000 miles away, he was surrounded by noise –spanish and english overlapping, music with heavy dembow rhythms, the splash of bodies entering pools, laughter that rang with the particular timbre of flirtation. images of bodies pressed too close in crowded elevators of art deco hotels, of his hand on the small of a back that wasn't yours, guiding someone through a doorway into air-conditioned darkness.

when your phone buzzed with a notification, your heart raced against your sternum, but it stopped when you saw it was a spam email. your hand was shaking, sweating cold, and the lump in your throat struggled to come out due to the crushing weight of his silence.

this was medieval torture. while you were agonizing, he was having the time of his life.

and then, like a ray of hope:

i’m sorry, my love, my phone got wet at the beach and it wouldn't respond.

-

when gojo satoru returned from his nine-day, well-spent trip and walked into your room, the scene left him speechless: the stuffed animals neatly arranged on the shelves and on the bed were now decapitated, their stuffing spilled out; the acrylic figures were broken, while others were scattered all over the carpet; his posters were slashed with foul messages, threats, and his eyes had been stabbed through with scissors. half of the merchandise that had cost you so much to recover was lost again, and this time, by your own hand.

"i see you thought of me a lot." he joked, though he didn't sound happy. he left the massive bouquet of white and red roses on the edge of the bed and sat to one side, extending his hands for you to take them. an invitation to come closer.

"i always miss you." you said, unable to smile. the bags under your eyes were so swollen they looked like prosthetics. your lips were raw from all the biting, a trickle of blood peeking through and drying at the corners. the skin around your cuticles had been picked raw.

"i'm so sorry i was out of touch these days. the time zone and what happened to my phone made everything worse. but i was thinking about you the whole time." he kissed your knuckles with a devotion that seemed like a reflection of your own. his declaration was enough for your shoulders to relax.

"i thought you didn't want to talk to me." you pouted, and he didn't waste a second before kissing it.

"yeah, who would want to talk to this gorgeous woman, with vanilla-flavored kisses and a magical touch? definitely not me." his fingers began to tickle your ribs, his ears craving to hear your laughter, which felt like it had been lost.

the outburst of laughter made you lower your guard. his touch was the one that was truly magical, because as soon as it came into contact with your skin, it had access to every part of you, and it healed everything. it healed every pain, every sadness, every wayward thought. looking into his eyes, as clear as the ocean, the bubbling feeling of love hit you and made you dizzy in one fell swoop. out of your sight, it was very easy to feel that he despised you, that he failed you on purpose, that to him this wasn't all that serious. but having him there, hugging you and breathing in the scent of your hair, you felt safe again. at home.

"how was it?"

you had a golden rule: don't ask about things you didn't want to know. you had to learn that the hard way after he told you everything you wanted to know, but couldn't bear. this time, you didn't even think about it.

"it was fine. we didn't leave the hotel much. suguru told us he's getting married and we bought –well, they bought a lot of alcohol, enough to give away at an autograph signing. then yu took us to a nudist beach, and poor kento looked so uncomfortable."

"what?"

"yeah, kento is actually shier than he looks."

"why did you go to a nudist beach?"

satoru raised an eyebrow. "do you have a problem with that?"

you pulled away from his grip abruptly, shoving him hard toward the bed, where he bounced. if you weren't so angry, you would have laughed at his expression.

"of course i have a problem, satoru! what the hell were you thinking?"

he jumped up, trying to take your hand again, but only met your rejection. "do you consider it cheating?"

"didn't it occur to you to ask me first?" you pulled at your own hair, exasperated. another inconsiderate move. another action made while thinking only of himself. "didn't it cross your mind to call or text me before going?"

he sighed, respecting your space. "it’s the beach. it’s miami. things like that could happen. are you going to be like this when i go to suguru’s bachelor party? because they’ll probably hire naked women."

you couldn't believe what you were hearing. who was this stranger, and what had he done with the real gojo satoru? this guy was an abomination, an insult to all the nights you’d spent listening to the real one behind the scenes and reading the dedications on his albums. to all the days you spent defending him from behind your monitor. to the one who kept you sane when kaede was driving you crazy. to the one who caught you from falling into the bottomless pit when your ex boyfriend abandoned you without taking your entire history into account.

this gojo satoru was disgusting.

"you disgust me." you whispered, looking up. for the first time in your existence –and disbelieving that you were actually doing it–, you looked at him with a resentment greater than all the love you’d ever had for him.

"what?" he seemed surprised by your choice of words.

by reflex, you grabbed the bouquet of roses and ripped them one by one from the peduncles to throw them at his face with fury.

"i hate you." you shrieked, unable to stop. tears blurred your vision, but you had memorized the exact shape of his body so well that you knew exactly where you were attacking. he covered his face with his arms, though that couldn't stop the rain of petals that exploded on contact with his body. when there wasn't a single head left, you began to strike his abdomen with the bundle of stems that had been stripped of their thorns. "i hate you, you fucking jerk. i wish you had died. i wish you had drowned in the damn sea or your damn plane had crashed, along with your whole band of enablers."

in one swift motion, he pinned you against the wall, holding your hands above your head.

"let me go, you bastard son of a bitch. get away from me, or i swear to god i’ll kick you right in the balls."

"i need you to calm down." he exclaimed, ignoring your threats. he looked worried, even terrified, but there was something you didn't notice in that expression you had praised so many times in the past: regret.

"if you don't let me go right now, i’m going to ruin you. you know i’m one post away from doing it."

his grip loosened until his arms fell to his sides, and yours were left hanging. maybe the NDAs were never a rumor, which was why he didn't invite you on the international tour. maybe the plan from the start was to go wild in miami, which was why they didn't want to bring any of their girlfriends. and you, like an idiot, had given in. as always. and they had made a fool out of you, just like everyone else did. you gave them an inch, and they took a mile. he was no different from any other human trash: he was just as stinking and wretched. for so many years, you’d been deceived, believing he could be the exception, the faith that remained unshakable in adversity, but he was only a charlatan. he was a goddamn hypocrite. he had never valued you. he had only climbed down from the pedestal you had built for him in the clouds.

"if i had done anything wrong, i couldn't look you in the face. is it that i shouldn't tell you so you won't get angry?"

"and should i be grateful because you told me?" you walked to the other end of the room, far away from him. "you knew i wouldn't be able to stand you looking at anyone else, and you expect me to take this calmly? to trust you blindly? to believe you didn't have a single reaction among those people?"

"at what point have i done anything to make you doubt me?"

you sniffled, turning your gaze toward one of the walls with his face printed all over it. "you already did. by not telling me at the time. you just ruined this."

he took a step forward, but stopped immediately. the only things you could hear were your ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart.

"i just want us to be okay. for everything to go back to how it was before."

how it was before. like when he didn't know you. when he could take advantage of what you felt for him without suffering any consequences. when you didn't tell him what bothered you. when you allowed him everything because you were so afraid he would leave you if he saw who you really were.

a hysterical laugh escaped your mouth. it was similar to that occasion when you first found his message, but now it was cynical, stripped of happiness. apparently, even gojo satoru could break the best things without asking for forgiveness.

before you could wonder what you were doing, your hands rushed to the posters and ripped them down without mercy, tearing to pieces the entire history you had with him, from the moment you discovered him to this very second. you shredded them until they were an identical copy of your heart.

-

gojo’s humming was soft, hypnotic. the vibrations from his bare chest rumbled against your cheek, the harmonic thump-thump of his heart acting as the backing track to his improvised song. the day had committed suicide, and the night glowed behind the curtains of your window.

one of his hands traced slowly up and down your back, while the other rested on your head.

"i like you more than chocolate-covered candy apples." he murmured, planting a loud kiss on your forehead. "next time let's take off the condom to get you pregnant."

you’d been curled up for hours, taking short breaks for another round. by now, you’d counted four complete ones without a word about the incident. after the meltdown, he’d tried to stop you, and you’d seized the opportunity to avoid a goodbye.

"you’re not gonna leave me, are you?" you whispered, clinging to his solid torso. "you don’t regret being with me?"

"what is life without a little madness?" he chuckled softly, pressing his chin against your head. his warm feet met your cold ones.

you let out a sigh of relief, though deep down, the urge to cry was getting the better of you. you hated gojo. you despised him. he was a filthy being who had disappointed you in every way possible without any intention of changing the narrative.

you wished a truck would hit you tomorrow on your way to work, leaving you unconscious or broken enough to die, just so he would regret not valuing you. you wished he wanted back the time he gave to others to give to you instead. you wished he lamented setting such sharp boundaries with you when he allowed everything for everyone else. you wished he would miss you and loathe himself for having let so much time pass without answering your messages, because he would never receive another one. you wished all of this would confirm that there was no one who could fuck him with as much hunger as you could. much less love him.

and you didn't know how you could touch him with all the disgust you felt for him. seeing him sensitive, on the verge of breaking, his face distorted with pleasure, made you think that this was the same view some girl on the other side of the world had; that his pecs, his legs, and most importantly, his member, were devoured by other lustful eyes and not by yours, which could only radiate adoration every time you contemplated him.

you felt dirty. so dirty that not even a bath could wash it away.

"what are you thinking about?" gojo’s voice pulled you from your daze. his fingers tangled in your messy hair.

you raised your gaze, hesitant. "i don't think i can fully trust you now."

he stopped. carefully, he pulled his arm from beneath your body and sat up, leaning his back against the headboard. he was serious. more serious than he had ever shown himself to be.

"what do you mean? are you breaking up with me?"

"no, no," you sat up too, scared. "i would never leave you."

"then what is this? you take the initiative to go to bed with me, and then you say you’re uncomfortable with me?"

"i just want you to know that i can't see you the same way. i feel bad about what you did, and every time you go out, i’m going to have uncertainty. i... i can't trust you like before."

gojo swallowed hard, his long, thick eyelashes fluttering like a fan. "and yet you still want to be with me?"

you didn't answer. at least, not with words. your body was the first to react, your head coming to rest on the firmness of his warm shoulder. a tear slid down your flushed cheek, followed by another heavy one that landed on his collarbone.

"you’re my favorite person." you murmured.

a couple of seconds later, his temple rested against your head.

-

the following days, you didn’t leave gojo’s side. you didn’t go to work, you didn’t even notify anyone from there that you were taking time off (which you weren't entitled to anyway); you just went home with him and didn't leave his bed.

he tried to cheer you up by playing your favorite movies or acting out the funniest scenes from icarly like a ridiculous clown. he also put on little concerts for you, using a kitchen ladle as a microphone while he presented the day's breakfast dish to you. you couldn't remember the last time you’d been so at ease with each other, laughing and eating burnt toast with butter. like that, in the humidity of his room, going out only to use the bathroom, it seemed like everything had been fixed. life felt simpler, perfect.

there was nowhere he could go outside of your sight. in addition to eating and sleeping together, you showered together, brushed your teeth together, went to the store together if necessary, and ordered groceries online so you wouldn't have to leave the refuge you were building as yours –even though it was still his. it was evident by the clothes in his closet, with no room to hang yours. but it wasn't so bad, not when there was no other alternative but to dress yourself in everything he wore. sometimes you caught yourself pulling his clothes out of the dirty laundry basket just to wrap yourself in them for his scent, because having him a few meters away wasn't enough. not when you had to look at his face and remember he’d failed you.

you looked for it in his eyes, in the way he held your hand, in how he drank milk, even in how he sat down to use the toilet. you searched for proof that it was all over, but you only found a gentleness that infuriated you. how could he be so calm even when you had told him how much he had hurt you? his betrayal didn't keep him awake at night, tossing and turning in bed, staring at the ceiling until it lost its shape and meaning. he didn't cry in the showers or avoid any oral contact, kisses included.

his phone didn't yield any damning evidence, either. whenever the device vibrated with a ringtone or a notification, your heart went a thousand miles an hour, and you felt a hollow sensation in your stomach that soon turned into an unsustainable vertigo. even him answering in front of you or opening everything without turning the screen away wasn't enough. and to tell the truth, you didn't know what consolation it was that you needed, because in all the scenarios you’d composed inside your head, none could amend what you’d lost.

you couldn't accept that the gojo satoru you knew had never existed.

"ijichi is waiting for me at the studio to sign the next contract. after that, i’m heading to suguru's bachelor party. we’ll be in toshima until tomorrow, so you’ll have me back before you go to sleep."

that was what he said before taking off. again. once more, you were alone with your thoughts and a barrage of messages he sent, never letting more than twenty minutes pass without checking in. it was overwhelming; he wasn't writing to you because he wanted to talk, but so you would stop being a damn psycho and wouldn't annoy him or ruin his night out. always thinking about himself, and no one else.

you had to find a way for him to feel that pain, too. because if you weren't having a good time, he didn't have the right to, either.

"here. maybe this will help you relax. or maybe not." said ryomen, who had crushed three grams of mushrooms into powder before letting them soak in lemon juice. fifteen minutes later, the shot was ready, dangling from his tattooed hand, his black-painted nails standing out.

"how long until it kicks in?" you asked, looking at noritoshi. the latter just shrugged.

"half an hour. maybe much less. it's a heroic dose."

"for her, it'll be a walk in the park, you’ll see." ryomen knocked his back in one go; the taste of old cork was masked better with the citric acid disguising it.

"i’m not surprised she called us to get messed up." noritoshi continued, taking his portion and grimacing at the bitterness sliding down his throat. "what surprises me is that we’re in her famous boyfriend’s mansion. saying it like that, it feels like the drug has already hit me."

"just shut up." you growled, drinking the liquid without a second thought. "he doesn't even know about the drugs. much less about you pricks."

ryomen let out a mocking laugh. noritoshi simply rolled his eyes. "whatever. as long as there aren't any security cameras that can jeopardize us, i don't give a shit."

ryomen rolled a cigarette across from you when the first wave came behind your eyes as a pressure, like someone was erotically thumb-screwing your frontal lobe. there it was. the trip.

you could see the dust motes suspended in the amber light from the single lamp, each one spinning like a tiny solar system, and you realized you'd been staring at them for– how long? two minutes? twenty?

"hey." noritoshi snapped his fingers in front of your face. "you good?"

you nodded, far away from the couch where you were sitting just a few minutes ago.

the music was coming from somewhere –maybe the phone, maybe the walls, maybe your own blood. it was that voice, that huge, haunting voice filling the room like smoke, and you were lying on your back on the carpet (which was no longer skin, thank god, just very orange shag) watching the ceiling fan drew slow, hypnotic circles in the air.

"who sings this?" you asked. your voice sounded round, like you were speaking into a tunnel made of velvet.

ryomen was sprawled next to you, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. his pupils were blown wide. "choso."

you blinked. the ceiling fan left tracers, blue and gold ribbons that hung in the air like christmas tinsel. "choso?"

"yeah, man. choso. he does covers on youtube or some alternative, indie shit. my cousin showed me."

your brain didn't question this. why would someone be named other way when everybody could be named choso? it made perfect sense. choso.

suddenly you were not in the big house anymore, or rather, you were, but the walls became screens, projecting images in soft focus. the voice kept singing –masculine, rougher– until you could saw him.

he was standing in a doorway that shouldn't exist, backlit by sodium-vapor light that turned the dust around him into floating embers. he was wearing a white tracksuit, unzipped to the sternum, and there was blood under his fingernails. maybe he'd been busy, maybe gardening, maybe fighting, maybe both. his dark brown hair was tied into two buns on the sides, and perpendicular lines appeared on his face, turning into arrows across.

"choso." you whispered, feeling his name like a melted marshmallow.

he didn't look like gojo. thank god. he didn't have that impossible beauty that hurt to look at, that perfection that made you feel like a troll under a bridge. choso looked real. there were marks under his eyes –red, like he'd been crying blood, or maybe just crying for a very long time.

he didn't say anything. he just walks toward you until standing over you. his hands were rough, calloused, the hands of someone who'd worked. actually worked.

"you believe i sang this?" he asked, his voice intimate, nothing like the booming baritone filling the room.

"i believe everything right now." you said.

he knelt, reaching out to touch your face, his fingers left trails of light, painting you with phosphorus. you leaned into it, hungry for touch that didn't come with history, with the weight of all your shared fights and fuck-ups and the miami beach that hadn't happened yet (or had it?).

"you're thinking about him." choso observed.

you laughed. "i'm trying not to."

"don't try." his thumb traced your cheekbone, and you could feel every ridge of his fingerprint, every spiral. "think about him until you're done. then think about me."

choso leaned even closer. he wasn't just pretty. he was something better: solid, constant, staying. he looked like he wouldn't know how to lie if he tried.

ryomen was saying something about getting water, and noritoshi was laughing at a painting on the wall that was distorting. but choso– he was undressing you with the kind of patience gojo never had. gojo was always too fast, too bright, too much. a lightning in a bottle that kept escaping your grasp.

gojo was neptune. choso was venus. and you were everything but alone right now.

he laid you back on the tiles and the ceiling above you was stars now, actual stars, wheeling in their patterns. his hands were on your waist, and they were warm, so warm, and you realized you'd been cold for months, maybe years, maybe since you started dating a man who was more concept than human.

"i would take you to the beach." choso purred against your neck, and you shivered because he knew. he knew about miami. "but i wouldn't look at anyone else. i wouldn't need to. you're enough skin for me."

you arched up into him, and his tracksuit was gone, covering you, surrounding you, and he felt like safety, like the opposite of abandonment. something you never felt before.

"choso." you whined, and ryomen paused on his way to the kitchen, chuckling.

"what?"

"nothing." you giggled. "just... choso."

"yeah, he's good, right? my cousin's obsessed."

"yup. he's enough."

the carpet beneath your bare feet was breathing, the fibers rising and falling in a slow, oceanic rhythm, and your toes were sinking into them like wet sand. like miami.

fucking miami.

you pictured gojo at haulover beach, where the atlantic lapped against bronzed, naked flesh. you weren't there. you were in tokyo while he was in florida, his skin glistening with saltwater and coconut oil.

thousands of naked bodies, writhing, interlocking, fucking in geometric precision. you blinked hard to make them disappear, but they were still there, on the ceiling too, and the walls, and when you looked down at your own hands, your fingers had elongated, stretching into taffy-thin tendrils that pulsed with blue veins.

"he betrayed me." you whispered.

ryomen laughed again. "who, that pretty boy? no shit. they all cheat, babe. especially the ones that pretty."

"no." your voice sounded underwater. "no, you don't understand. he was naked with them. all of them. he was supposed to be with friends. and now he's with strippers."

the room was fracturing. you could hear the waves, but they sounded wrong. they were moaning.

you were standing on sand that shifted beneath your feet, but all that sand was really skin. millions of grains of shed skin, flaking off sunburned tourists, sloughing off in the heat, and you were sinking into it, up to your ankles, your calves.

he didn't love you enough.

"he's going to leave." you said aloud.

"he already left. he left the second he took off his sunglasses for them. he wanted to see them."

noritoshi was babbling something, but his voice was coming from the wrong direction, from inside your skull. you turned your head –too fast the room spun– and the wall became a mirror, reflecting the shitty beach.

and gojo was there.

he was lying on a towel, stark naked, his impossible pale skin that you knew better than your own. but he wasn't alone. there was a woman– no, women, plural, and men too, multiplying like cells dividing, splitting and replicating until he was surrounded by a writhing mass of limbs and breasts and dicks and open mouths. and he was smiling.

"look at me." one of the women begged, and she had your voice. "satoru, look at me."

but he wasn't looking at her. he was looking past her, through her, at the horizon where the sky was bleeding into the ocean. then, the ceiling of the house teared like wet paper. the blue ran, streaking downward in viscous rivulets, getting into your eyes, your mouth. you could taste the ozone and the despair, the particular flavor of abandonment that you'd known since childhood, since before gojo, before everything.

the sky was falling, and so were you.

you were not a person anymore. you were a walking wound. the space between his fingers and hers. the distance from tokyo to miami, measured in kilometers of insecurity and liters of tears you refused to cry.

"everyone saw him. they saw him in the way i'm only supposed to see him." you told the room, your voice coming from somewhere deep in your chest where you kept the things you didn't let yourself feel. "and he liked it. he wants to be seen, and he wants to see. nothing is ever enough for him."

you could feel the sand in places sand shouldn't be. you could feel his hands, but they were not his hands anymore; they were everyone else's hands, every person who ever touched him, every fan who screamed his name, every woman who looked at him on stage and imagined what was under that black uniform.

"make it stop." you gasped.

the room was dark now, or maybe your eyes were closed, or maybe you didn't have eyes anymore. you're floating in a void that tasted like his kissed and sounded like his snores.

it was beautiful, actually –a golden ratio of heartbreak, stretching from that beach in miami to this couch in this room where your friends were becoming shadows, becoming furniture, becoming nothing.

"he didn't cheat." a voice said. "you cheated yourself. you believed him. that's what you get from loving him."

you could feel the weight of it, infinite and suffocating, and you were screaming but there was no air left to scream with because the sky had taken up all the space.

ryomen had a blast watching noritoshi and you writhe through your hallucinations, but nothing amused him more than the way your phone interrupted the trip every few minutes with its bizarre alarms. when he couldn't take it anymore, he unlocked it, shoving the screen right in front of your face. he realized your inbox was saturated with selfies gojo had been sending to keep you updated on his night: no floozies, no bars, just wandering through the otaku streets and his friends gorging themselves on mountains of snacks.

miss you already. the lads want to go urban exploring. hope i make it out alive. are you asleep yet? take this pic so you can dream of me. have you eaten? take good care of yourself. suguru is so fucking weak. he got food poisoning from some salami. lol.

ryomen snorted, and in response, he snapped a selfie with you to send to him. the caption read ‘hello, cheater’.

he didn't bother reading the reply.

-

gojo came home on monday afternoon, just as he’d warned that morning.

your mouth was still dry, and your stomach growled for food. it was now that you regretted having sent the cleaning staff home to rest. you wanted to sleep a little longer before he arrived and you had to face him, before you had to explain the stupid photo ryomen sent and beg for him to believe you –because how were you supposed to justify him staying the night by your side while you were both high as kites? and with a second man, no less. if it were the other way around, you knew you wouldn't believe him.

you hadn't even replied to his messages. you hadn't sent him a single one since he left. you didn't want to lower your guard or give him the satisfaction of checking in. no. you’d hoped he would have racked his brain thinking about every possible way your trip could go wrong. although apparently, he hadn't; if he had, he would’ve been here sooner. he would’ve left his friends behind and come running back to kick your junkie friends to the curb. to mark his territory. but, as always, you didn't matter enough to him.

the front door opened while you were finishing preparing some quick french toast to take back to bed. his footsteps sounded heavy on the floor, dragging themselves to the kitchen threshold. as you turned, you saw him petrified, arms crossed, staring directly at you.

"hi." you greeted, forcing a smile.

"can you explain what the hell you did?" he attacked immediately, taking a couple of strides to close the distance between you. he snatched the toast you were bringing to your mouth and put it back on the plate, sliding it far out of his peripheral vision. "you got high. in my house. with men. are you gonna blame me for that, too?"

"i don't want to talk to you, gojo. i was very peaceful without you this weekend." you lied, averting your gaze toward the unused utensils. "i had as much fun as you did out there. don't try to ruin my moment."

"no, no," he pulled your arm, not hurting you, but firm enough to force you to stand. "i was never out of my senses, vulnerable to whoever doing who knows what to me. what game are you playing? are you taking it out on me just because you're still worried about the miami thing? if i already told you that–"

"yes! yes, i know what you told me, gojo! i remember it very clearly; it's all i can fucking think about!" you exploded, shaking yourself free from his claws. you had a massive urge to land a punch on his precious nose and fracture that pointed chin, but you stepped back the moment you imagined it. "nothing happened. it’s your turn to believe me."

"i’m not worried about whether you slept with them voluntarily." he retorted, leaving you stunned. "you could’ve overdosed. they could’ve disposed of your body just to keep from getting caught. and you trust them? because in the best case scenario, they could’ve abused you. and there’s nothing 'best' about that. it’s an unnecessary risk. why are you being so stupid and bratty? you’re gonna have to do better if you want us to move forward, because we are getting worse." he threw his glasses onto the table with violence, sitting down abruptly on the stool in front of the one you had just vacated.

his blue eyes shone like fireflies in a desolate valley. he didn't say it, but the situation was overwhelming him, and not even all the love he felt for you could be used as glue to magically repair your relationship. it took two people to do that, and apparently, you weren't willing to yield. was he really such a monster that you didn't even want to hold him at night, as you used to do?

the memory was bittersweet: when he would stay in your room because his felt too great, and that greatness only brought loneliness. a loneliness you had dispelled with your praise, your admiration, your verbiage expressing how incredible he was and how well he was doing. all that encouragement you gave him had gotten under his skin; it had made him believe that there was someone willing to see beyond the persona who stepped onto the stage –someone who provided a place to land after the cold concerts, a place to find warmth.

but now, as he reflected on it, he couldn't give a concrete answer as to why he was in love with you that didn't have to do with the love you had for him.

all his reasons ultimately rested on the way you treated him, on the fact that he was the world to someone –which was ridiculous, since he was the world to all his fans, but that was artificial. it was like walking down a staircase blind; and he was being far too selfish for wanting it all: friends, family, a partner. without being willing to sacrifice any of it. because rejection, having a door closed on him, terrified him to his very core. that was why he tried so hard to go out in secret, to make sure no one had proof that he wasn't worth it, even if that stripped him of his humanity.

loneliness didn't terrify him, exactly, but then why did he only seek relationships to escape it? he didn't even understand it himself. he just wanted to have someone to tell what was happening to him, and for that person to keep looking at him as if he were the most beautiful treasure a pirate had ever buried, with those heart-eyed, rose-colored-lens gazes. that person was you. and now he doubted he could ever find anyone as devoted and loyal as you; no one would adapt to his arrogant attitude, his persistence, his soliloquies, his gigantic ego, and his ambition. but he also didn't know how to hold onto you. he didn't know what to decide without it backfiring on them both. because he was looking out for the both of you, for the fusion that had emerged from your relationship.

you weren't prepared to see it, and he wasn't prepared to say it. little did he know, you were just infatuated too.

"i'm sorry." you whispered, your voice so small it was barely audible. your hands scrambled to take his, which lay limp in his lap. "i don't want you to be mad at me. i won't do it again. i’ll be better. i’ll never touch that stuff again as long as i live. i won’t talk to them ever again. i swear i’ll do better. please, just don’t be mad at me."

your pleading turned his stomach. it wasn't the first time he'd heard you this distraught, convinced you’d done something that would change his mind about you, but it was the first time he’d truly identified it for what it was. how many times had he ignored it? how many times had he brushed it off, thinking it was just about him?

"why are you apologizing?" he ventured, gently taking your wrists, as if you were porcelain about to shatter.

"because i made you mad. i don't want you to be mad at me." you repeated, pressing your forehead against his, intoxicated by his natural scent: peppermint and bare skin. he pulled back to look at you.

"you shouldn't be saying that because of this, but because you put yourself at risk." his voice sounded defeated. he let you go and stood up, turning his back so he wouldn't have to look at you. if he looked at you now, he wouldn't have the strength to keep talking. "i don't want you doing things you don’t want to do just to keep me happy."

"but," you hugged him from behind, your arms acting like a belt, "my priority is that you’re happy with me."

"you aren't living for yourself; you're living for me." his tone was sharp and final, and if you didn't know him, you’d say he was being cruel. "i don't want to spend my life worrying that you’re going to pull some stunt. i thought this was just a phase; i thought you just needed time to get past it, but it’s more than that." he sighed, pressing his lips together. you couldn't see his face, but something told you he was about to say something you wouldn't want to hear, and your muscles automatically tensed.

"no, what are you saying?" you used all your strength to turn him toward you. he looked at the floor, unable to make eye contact. "i’m not going to do anything stupid. i just need to be with you." desperation surged, fluttering like a lid on a pot at a full boil, about to burst and spill over. you prayed you were misinterpreting it, that it was just another senseless argument, that you’d both move past it soon. you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, but he dodged it before you could make contact.

"we aren't okay." he muttered. "i don't remember the last time we were okay. i… i told you i wanted peace, and… you aren't giving that to me."

oh, no. not again.

"i’ve done everything to be enough for you, but you always find something that’s wrong. you’re hypervigilant all the time, fixating on what i say or don't say, how long it takes me to answer, keeping a tally of every time we postpone our plans. and i’m terrified of your reactions. sometimes i don’t want to tell you certain things because of how you’ll take it, but if i don't, it’s worse. i’m trapped between a rock and a hard place with you, and honestly, i get the impression that you aren't enjoying this either."

your body felt cold, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on you. you opened your mouth to respond, but it took you a few seconds to form a coherent thought –or anything close to one. "that’s a lie, i– gojo, you are my whole life. i couldn't be without you."

"stop saying that. i can’t be responsible for a life other than my own."

he sounded pained saying it. but what he actually seemed to be saying was that you weren't enough. that you weren't beautiful, interesting, intelligent, or fun enough to keep trying. you weren’t worth fighting for. just like that voice in your head repeated until you were exhausted, the one you usually agreed with. because no one had ever stayed to prove otherwise. you were just too much to handle; nobody could stand you. you were a nightmare, a headache, a curse that was almost impossible to break.

yes, you were the problem, and this confirmed it. didn't you deserve love like everyone else? wasn't there something beyond this void in your chest, which felt like being dead inside?

you couldn't go back to having nothing. no, you couldn't, not when you’d become accustomed to the company and the emotions. to feeling something. something more than an ineffable nothingness. blank. infinite. anything was preferable to that. to waking up without a purpose, working on autopilot, and counting the days until you were dead or brainstorming ways to not have to endure that kind of suffering anymore. you couldn't be abandoned again.

without thinking, you dropped to your knees, clutching his legs. "please, don't leave me. i’ll do anything. i won’t talk about miami again. let’s have a kid. i’ll stay a secret, just please, stay with me."

gojo tried to pull away. he didn't want to see you like this. maybe he was ashamed that you didn't have an ounce of dignity left, but under these circumstances, you had to do whatever it took to keep him.

"honey… this is for the best. i want you to be stable and live a life with someone who can love you the way you want and give you what you need." a treacherous tear burned down his cheek, which he didn't bother to wipe away. "i don't want your begging, because i am not that person."

no, no, no, no.

"please," you insisted, your body trembling violently. you were already starting to hyperventilate. "i’m going to die without you. i don't want to live if you aren't here. if it isn't you."

"no. you have to live. i know you can."

gojo had already made his decision. and then, the kaleidoscope of moments between you began to play behind your eyelids like a movie.

thump.

the first time you saw him on stage. you were in the nosebleeds, barely able to afford the ticket, but when the lights hit him –when the spotlight carved him out of the dark– your lungs stopped working. he was wearing white, head-to-toe, blindfolded (a gimmick, just theater), and his voice was impossible. it filled the stadium like water, like drowning, and you felt it in your teeth, in your bones. you didn't know then that three months later you'd be in his dressing room, touching the fabric of that same white coat while he watched you in the mirror.

thump-thump.

his first promise of many. you were crying in his arms at 4 am because you'd had a nightmare about him leaving, about the fans finding out, about the thousands of women who loved him more purely, more sanely than you ever could. he didn't tell you to stop. he didn't call you crazy. he just held you tight while you sobbed into his shoulder.

"look at me." he said, and you did, and you saw the fiery intensity of his eyes for the first time. "this is only for you. this part. and it’s right here. i’m right here."

you believed him. god, you believed him.

thump-thum-thump-thump.

the tour bus. motion sickness and his laughter vibrating through the mattress as he held your hair while you threw up from too much vodka, too much adrenaline, too much him. the way he sang to you afterward –not his songs, but stupid nursery rhymes, off-key, his nose pressed to your temple while the world rushed past the windows in streaks of neon. you were sick and delirious and happier than you'd ever been in your life because he was yours, he was yours, and you were convinced this was forever, convinced this could burn without consuming.

thump-thump-thump.

the award show. you were hidden in the wings, watching him accept the trophy with that practiced smile, that idol smile, and then, he looked at you. just a glance. a half-second where the mask slipped and the smile became real, became his, and you felt seen, felt chosen, felt like the only person in a stadium of thousands. later, in the limo, he fucked you with the trophy still on the seat beside you, his blindfold loose around his neck, his eyes open and fixed on your face like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at.

"sing for me." he whispered, and you did, broken and breathless, and he swallowed the sound like communion.

thump-thump.

"so you feel things... more?"

"i feel things until they kill me."

"then i'll have to be careful. i'll have to be worth the intensity."

thump.

his voice in your earpiece during a show. "i saw you in the third row. you were wearing those holographic shorts. i could see you through the blindfold, did you know that? i can always see you."

the way he traced your scars with his tongue, like he could heal them with worship.

the time he wrote a song about you and played it acoustic, just for you, in an empty arena at midnight, your name hidden in the lyrics like the secret you always were.

crash.

even now, even here in the ruins, the goodbye showed you what came before miami: the morning he left, when he kissed you so hard your lips bruised, when he said "i'll be back next week, wait for me, forever." and you promised you would, you would, you would.

you waited. you were still waiting. you'll wait forever, in there, on your knees, clinging to his legs. because without the great gojo satoru, you were nothing more than a ragdoll that no one wanted to play with.

-

the key hadn't been used in five weeks, not since the breakup, when gojo was still here. but this time, your house was silent, suffocating, the kind of quiet that made him hesitate in the entryway. a hand hovered over the light switch.

"anybody home?" a masculine voice cut through the dark, uncertain.

the living room was a graveyard of evidence: bottles –soju, mostly, the cheap kind that burned going down and burned worse coming up– lined the coffee table like glass soldiers. your phone was face down on the carpet, screen cracked, notifications silenced but occasionally lighting up with another news article, another tweet, another photo of him. gojo satoru. six eyes. your ex. the nation's idol. currently trending because his new single, namida no riyuu, had just broken streaming records. another song that everyone analyzed and drew their own conclusions from. an activity you’d participated in just to torture yourself and realize it was about you. the only clue to the world that you’d been together and hadn't been a product of your imagination.

megumi's chest tightened. he moved slowly, stepping over an empty pizza box, a sweater that hadn't been washed in days, the detritus of a life that had stopped requiring cleanliness or order.

your bedroom door was ajar. just a sliver of darkness leaking out.

he pushed it open.

the smell hit him first: sour sweat, stale alcohol; then, his eyes adjusted to the gloom, to the curtains that hadn't been opened in days, to the figure curled on the floor beside the bed.

you were wearing gojo’s oversized orange hoodie. the fabric hung off your frame, swallowing you whole. you'd lost weight –too much weight–, your cheekbones sharp enough to cut, your hair greasy and tangled, matted against your forehead.

"hey." megumi's voice broke.

you didn't move. you were staring at the wall, at a poster of ‘six eyes’ you hadn't taken or ripped down, your eyes glassy and unfocused. there was also an empty bottle of pills on the nightstand. he saw it with his heart stuttering, and he was across the room in three strides, dropping to his knees beside you; his hands hesitated for a second, afraid to touch, but also afraid not to.

"hey." he whispered again. "hey, look at me."

your eyes drifted to his face, slowly. recognition flickered, dull and distant. "megumi."

"yeah. it's me." he reached out, his fingers brushing your shoulder, and you flinched –not away, but into it, starving for contact. "how long have you been like this?"

you laughed, or tried to. it came out as a wheeze. "dunno. what day is it?"

"thursday."

"then... four days? maybe five?" your head lolled back against the mattress. "the pills didn't work. i took them all and i just... threw them up. i’m so stupid. i can’t even die right."

"don't." megumi choked out, his hands finding your shoulders, gripping too tight. "don't say that. don't ever say that."

you looked at him then, and something in your face crumbled. "he's everywhere, megumi. everywhere i look. the convenience store. the train. my phone. singing about me, us, how i loved him deeply, how i bled him dry." your voice rose, cracked, shattered. "and i'm here, i'm here, and i can’t get over it. i can't– he was everything i had. all i wanted was him."

the sob that tore out of you was animalistic, a sound of pure agony that started in your gut and ripped through your throat. you curled forward, your forehead hitting megumi's shoulder, your fingers clawing at his shirt.

he caught you. of course he caught you. his arms came around your back, one hand cradling your head, the other pressing you close, close as he could get you. you didn't know where yuji and nobara were. fuck, you didn't even know how they were doing, but the only one here was megumi, and that said it all.

"i can't breathe." you screamed into his neck, your tears hot and endless, soaking through his collar. "i can't breathe without him, megumi, i can't, i can't, it hurts. where does all this sadness come from?"

"i know." he muttered. "i know, i know."

but he didn't know. he couldn't know. you were empty, broken, alone.

"i tried to be good," you sobbed, your body convulsing with the force of your crying, your nails drawing red lines on megumi's back through his shirt. "i tried to be chill, to not love too much, but i couldn't. i couldn't hide it forever, and when he saw– when he really saw–"

"he was a coward." megumi said, his arms tightening until you could barely breathe, until the pressure was the only thing keeping you from flying apart. "he was a fucking coward. you didn't do anything wrong by needing him. he just didn't have the strength to be needed."

you screamed then, your whole body shaking so violently that megumi had to hold you down, had to anchor you to the ground with his weight and his warmth. you beat your fists against his chest, not to hurt him, but because the pain inside had nowhere else to go, because if you didn't push it out you would dissolve into it.

he took it. he took every hit, every scream, every ugly, snotty, desperate cry. he pressed his cheek to the top of your head and rocked you, slow, steady, whispering your name like a prayer, like a spell.

time stopped meaning anything. you cried until your throat was raw, until you had no tears left, until you were just hiccupping, gasping, clinging to him. your hoodie had ridden up, and his hand found the bare skin of your back, tracing circles there like he could smooth out the fractures in your spine.

"i quit my job." you mumbled, the words slurring. "couldn't get out of bed. couldn't stop drinking. my parents think i'm fine. i told them i'm fine. but it’s obvious i’m not, and nobody notices. if you had taken any longer, i would already be dead."

megumi's jaw clenched. he reached up, gently, and brushed the matted hair from your forehead. "yes. you're not fine. and you don't have to be."

"i tried to die. i really tried. i wanted to stop feeling like this. like there's a hole inside me that just keeps getting bigger, and i fill it with him, with alcohol, with pills, with anything, but it's never enough."

"i know." he said, and this time he sounded like he meant it. "i'm here. and i’m not him. i won't leave. i'm not a band-aid. i'm not a fix. but i'm here for you."

you knew it wasn't fair, dumping this on him, making him the solution to a problem that had nothing to do with him. but with him, things felt better, lighter, safer.

with megumi, everything had been calm and predictable since the day you met. he’d always been there for you –through every breakup, every relapse, every low point. he knew your entire history, and he would never be capable of hurting you. he truly knew how to be a gentleman, a man of his word. someone who stayed true to his feelings. he always put the person he loved most above everything else.

maybe he wasn't what you thought you wanted back then, but he was exactly what you had always needed. for the first time in thirty days, it wasn't gojo’s face that made your pupils widen.

@violetyearner @cnavyblue

[catchymemes]

[louistxq]

SATORU GOJO - smut

in the mirror | @aliienangel

truth or dare (ft geto) ⭐️ | aliienangel

gojo & his pierced nipple | aliienangel

making it up to him | aliienangel

happy trail | aliienangel

the beginning ⭐️ | aliienangel 📖

best friend nerd!jo is a pretty boy | @epicderpface

sadistic jealous nerd!jo ⭐️ | epicderpface

wet frames (ft choso) ⭐️ | @kamiflix

pussy is the meanest ⭐️ | kamiflix

AITA for fucking both of the gojo twins? -> pt 2 ⭐️ | kamiflix

slutty!gojo wants the shy girl | @kill3ill

promiscuous boy | kill3ill

ceo!gojo eats you instead of dinner | @kmrbii

one final push | kmrbii

silk lies | @leclercloveletters

dear god i hope you're listening ⭐️ | leclercloveletters

jealous gojo wants to make you a mommy | @liahcharms

roommates x fanfic writer!reader (ft geto) ⭐️ | liahcharms

addicted to filming while fucking | @lilikoiyu

bsf!gojo walks in on you touching yourself to him | lilikoiyu

one night with doctor gojo | @madamechrissy

hand over your mouth | @polaroidsex

blowing air | polaroidsex

spitroast (ft geto) | polaroidsex

does anybody want a trip to paris? (ft geto) ⭐️ | @revolvingsaturn

suguru's mom has got it goin' on | revolvingsaturn

pink mist | @satomiu

gojo is a major bully | satomiu

fixer upper | satomiu

handle it | satomiu 📖

making out sloppy (ft geto) ⭐️ | @splurtz

he loves pissing you off | splurtz

slap me | @sugurusbadhabit

rob him blind (ft geto) ⭐️ | sugurusbadhabit 📖

attitude problem | @sweethearticism

professor gojo ⭐️ | sweethearticism

too big | sweethearticism

bully!nerdjo ⭐️ -> pt 2 | sweethearticism

boobs & breeding | @tojiscreampie

sandwiched (ft geto) | tojiscreampie

jerking your bsfs (ft geto) | tojiscreampie

motorboat | tojiscreampie

topia twins | @tonycries

to tame a monster | tonycries

letting his bimbo ride -> pt 2 ⭐️ | @toruuholic

how 2 make ur cute roomie cum! (ft choso) ⭐️ | toruuholic

massive curse | @wraithaku

on the phone | wraithaku 📖

bsf!gojo has been hit by an aphrodisiac | @xqce

turning off his infinity to let you slap him ⭐️ (suggestive) | xqce

asking nerd!gojo for notes goes wrong | @01-panther

tired n' needy | @anglbunny

frat!jo x spoiled brat!reader | @blondekisses

real good eyes | @cakedol

catching print with frat!gojo (heavily suggestive) | @elicalace

seven minutes in heaven with frat!jo ⭐️ | @gyarujo

pink & white (ft sukuna) | @iamsoclone

insufferable | @kissthesword

new glasses ⭐️ (suggestive) | @kozusworld

nerd!jo whimpering for you | @kunilovi

i hate gojo satoru so much to the point i want to fuck him! ⭐️ | @kurosaaki

will you dominate me? | @limitless-satoru

mid argument | @mojifushiguro

cute | @mrsblaileen

sex ban | @pillbaby

he loves marking his girlfriend up (suggestive) | @purrtoru

let's get wet (ft geto) ⭐️ | @reignpage

bullies (ft geto) ⭐️ | @satorules

dry humping with nerd!jo | @satorus-whore

apologising | @sazustarz

too hot to handle! | @seoyue

first time | @theprincesspervert

friends who suck dick together stick together (ft toji) | @toadtoru

in navy blue sheets (ft geto) -> pt 2 | @tootsuro

he found your onlyfans | @torusbabe

annoying | @wri0thesley

bsf!satoru helping you get off ⭐️ | @yailuxe

fidget toy | @zukunyy

two | main jjk masterlist | main masterlist

[serpenttine]

VIDEO GAME LUVR!

CHARACTER SELECTED: STREAMER!GOJO

summary : turns out the guy you’ve been bickering with on voice chat for months is pretty popular on twitch.. if you’d consider an average of 50,000 viewers per stream popular—then you are too! cause apparently you’re his main clipfarming tool..

content : [3.5K] mdni. f!reader, smut, exhibitionism(?), blowjob, face fucking, missionary, unprotected sex, pussydrunk gojo, a lot of references to games i kinda nerded out when writing this soorry

! art by @/reinnyz on X !

'CHKCHKCHK..’

"YEAH HOW ABOUT THAT—" you're about to celebrate your ‘victory’ and throw out the hundredth insult of the night when..

"BOW!"

the screen starts to dim as pieces of dirt and gravel float over your character. asshole had some type of SMG that would fire a grenade while he reloaded, took all the health you had left in one blow.

every time you die and fall victim to the reactions that man wants to drag out of you, you wonder why you're still playing—why you choose shooting aimlessly over something with real emotional depth, something that made you think instead of frying your brain.

story games have always been your 'thing.' so just how did you manage to rack up 83 hours on a shitty 3rd person shooter game with no plot whatsoever?

the answer turns out to be quite simple really, you gained a newfound love for competition from it.

after having replayed cyberpunk 2077 five times, trying out every character in borderlands 3 and hunting down achievements in assassins creed valhalla, you had come to the conclusion that it was time for something new.

off to the wasteland of the 'filter low to high' page you went. it's not like you wanted to, there's so many games you still haven't got the chance to play—but $80 for a game? in this economy? no chance. you figured you'd simply have to wait a year or so before you could afford to see leon kennedy's face again.

you watched the cover art of countless games blur together, haphazardly scrolling looking for something to try out. a shiver went down your spine when you ended up stumbling across genshin impact, it was the first ( and last ) gacha game you had ever played.

the story was alright for the most part, if you hadn't lost your last 50/50 you would most likely still be playing.

in the end it turned out to be both a blessing and a curse, as that's what made you stop and take a closer look at the game next to it.

the art style is what drew you in, it reminded you of the lalaloopsy dolls you used to play with as a kid—only there was a few small differences..

they were creepier, stitches that were still healing around the eyes where buttons had been sewn, detached limbs, some looked like sid from toy story got a hold of them.

it was messy, there were all kinds of dolls on the cover—boy dolls, girl dolls, animal dolls, inhuman dolls. the developers could do well with a different graphic designer.

despite the eyesore of the overwhelming amount of yarn blending together on the screen, you gave it a chance; 'RAGSHOT' downloaded with the simple click of a button.

that click would turn out to be the reason all your hair is about to turn grey and fall off, like a timelapse of a flower wilting.

the conniving bastards voice comes in over your speakers, "didn't see that one coming, did you?"

his doll doesn't fit the color scheme of the game one bit—it's too light compared to the darker aesthetic. the white hair blinds you, and the fact he chose the glowing blue for the buttons tells you all you need to know.

"didn't see that one coming diid youu?!" you repeat back in a high pitched tone, watching the time at the top of the screen go down slowly—theres only 4 minutes until the next round, enough time to plan out how you'll sneak up on him.

your mic has been forcefully muted since you died, so you can't continue going back and forth with him to your hearts content. being someone with the attention span of a 5 year old, you pull out your phone and open tiktok.

man raving about 'traditional women.' — not interested.

news. — you would have watched it on tv if you cared.

some OF model clickbaiting. — you can get porn for free literally anywhere else.

clip of hot streamer talking to his chat. he's playing ragshot, cool, finally something you don't have to force yourself to sit through.

"i'll get her on stream one day, and if i don't i'll gift chat 100 subs." he looks kinda familiar, maybe like a real life version of a cartoon character.

" 'do you even have her as a friend ' " he laughs at the message, "you know i actually don't, i somehow keep finding her in every lobby."

right, so theres clearly some sort of lore here you aren't aware of.

it's still managed to peak your interests within about 7 seconds, and you find yourself scrolling through the comments trying to piece together information.

hold on.

why is your username in every comment?!

no, this can't be right—your brain is just messing with you. some other girl probably has a similar username—why would they be talking about you?!

your finger quickly swipes right to check out the page, tapping on the most recent video.

it opens with your voice, "STOOP TARGETING MEEE!!" a clip of one of the many times he's pushed you to your limit.

"you're just an easy kill." he chuckled while continuously firing at you.

this is really you in the video. having a temper tantrum for hundreds of thousands of people to see—and THIS is the guy you've been straining your vocal cords over?!?

sorta wish they were being strained for a different reason.

that's besides the point, you need to get these mortifying videos wiped off the internet.

you've got quite the recognisable voice and aren't too keen on people you know in real life hearing you get this worked up over a video game.

doesn't help that there's tons of evidence, the videos of you raging go on and on—if you can't get them taken down you should be entitled to a portion of the money he's made from you.

you've become almost like a celebrity within his fanbase, all of his most popular posts are some form of you raging. as you scroll through them and pay no mind to the active round his voice can be heard through your headphones resting on your shoulders, "pay attentionnn.."

you look back up to your screen and see that he's killed you. again. what a shock.

not like you were planning on playing another round after all this anyway, you'll be heading straight to twitch to watch his live reaction when you confront him.

you're on his instagram in no less than a minute seeing as it's linked to the tiktok page, and typing out a very angry DM even faster.

6:55PM: TAKE THPSE CLIPS DOWN OR YOU WONT B.STREAMINF AGAIN

you don't bother fixing the spelling mistakes in hopes that they'll further communicate your feelings.

it's all making you feel very stalker-y, his virtual doll was just shooting at yours, and in just a few minutes you've got his insta opened on your phone and his twitch stream up on your computer—especially with the way you're watching his phone buzz and seeing him reading the message in real time.

you expect that he'll be able piece together that it's you given that you use the same username for everything, what you don't expect however, is that he reads it out to his audience with a big happy smile on his face.

"chat, she found me." it only makes you angrier that he doesn't refer to you by name, just says 'she' and everyone automatically knows who he's talking about.

"she says to delete the videos or i won't be streaming again," he cackles like it's funny, "what do i say?"

his chat immediately goes wild, tons of messages flooding in all at once—while you read every single one, only a few stick out to him.

ihateportals: is she hot show us the insta

shakabrah420: say L bozo plzz

28stabwounds: yoo get her on stream

"i'm not telling you psycho's her insta but.." he trails off, disinterested in the countless pleads from his chat and more interested in you—the phone isn't the only thing that lights up his face.

he also seems to forget he's still on stream and becomes completely engrossed in your photos.

glory2arstotzska donated $5.00 - whys he lagging

the donation makes him jump and he comes to his senses—clearing his throat, he chokes out, "yeah, yeah she's..i'll get her on stream."

no chance. the whole reason you're texting him in the first place is to remove yourself from the whole situation, what makes him think you'll show your face on his stream?

6:58 : come on stream and i will

looks like he's bold enough to actually send the text too, just hilarious isn't he? why would you ever—

6:58 : i'll pay u

well.. you have been eating nothing but struggle meals for the past 2 weeks so you'll take what you can get. you can get back to playing real games with that money too, so win-win..?

after an excruciating long and boring conversation where you two exchanged information about the stream and whatnot, you found out that he lived only a half an hour away from you, so all this time you could've beat him up whenever you felt like it.

it was also entirely your fault that the conversation was so boring, you refused to make small talk or be decent to him in general. half of your brain still held a grudge and the other half had the 'nice guys finish last' mentality.

you'd be lying if you said a part of why you agreed wasn't for the chance to bang him. it's either that or take your frustrations out on him a different way—with a belt or your bare hands.

maybe you'll let yourself be greedy and do both.

on the way over your uber driver wouldn't stop talking, which for once was a good thing. your nerves were through the roof and listening to her blabber on about whatever passenger from hell she had before you took your mind off of the whole ordeal.

it wasn't as awkward as you had expected, when you arrived you hid your unease by bantering with him and eventually put up the facade for so long that your anxiety had waned in.

he took some time to show you around his place and offered you some food before the stream started, to which you declined, afraid that you would throw it right back up in front of him.

now you sit in beside him a spare chair he found laying around. the hard part of starting the stream and letting the viewers have their fun is already out of the way, now you're letting him do all the work.

he didn't make the connection that you might not have been so good for clip farming in real life as you are behind a video game character, but his chat was very happy to see you anyways. almost a little too happy.

you're idly twirling with a strand of your hair, feeling extremely bored with the same things being said over and over, "stream her going to anger management," some form of "shes hot," and "they r 100% cracking after this." while they're repetitive, the last one gets an idea to pop up in your head.

"hey, satoru."

"yeah?" he takes his eyes off the game to look at you, "i'm gonna go use the bathroom, its that door there, right?" you point toward the slightly ajar door only a few feet away from you.

"mhm, go ahead." he responds, none the wiser.

from the way he's been looking at you ever since you stepped inside the house, you're able to gauge that he wouldn't be opposed to the idea of you giving him a blowjob under his desk. what a way to liven things up, right? enough of you being the laughingstock, it's his turn!

his bathroom door clicks shut and you aimlessly walk around in circles for about 30 seconds or so while doing a few throat exercises, hoping he actually is into you and you aren't imagining things that lead you to embarrass yourself.

when satisfied, you quietly open the door and waltz back over. making sure you're out of view from the camera you—THUMP!—drop to your knees.

it catches him off guard, he looks over at you with nothing but a startled expression and confusion in his eyes—only when you start crawling under the desk does he start to catch on.

bolognaincident donated $5.00 — wtf was that? she fall in the toilet??

"uhh, earthquake." trying to make it as subtle as possible, he acts as if he's aimlessly fidgeting around on his chair to 'get a bit of blood flow going' as he plays, when he's really making room for you to get under the desk.

once you're as cozied up as you can be in the dark and cramped space, you rest one arm on his knee and use the other to pump the air, prodding your tongue against your cheek in time with your fist.

despite him already having a clear idea of what you were going to do, the motion still makes his eyes widen and a lump form in his throat.

doesn't take you long to grow tired of your little 'show' and raise an eyebrow at him, waiting for any indication that he'll let you suck him off on stream.

he gives you a sly nod which is all you need to get started. you waste no time and hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down and eyeing his bulge. his huge bulge.

there's no way you're fitting all of him down your throat, but it's too late to go back now.

you palm him through his boxers as he mumbles something to the viewers about whatever strategy he's using. unsatisfied with his lack of reaction you apply more pressure while staring up at him, waiting for something.

fine. you make quick work of pulling down his boxers and letting his cock spring free—it slaps against his stomach, the veins bulging from it give you a clear path on where to lick. you also take notice that he shaved for you, cute.

the feeling of you licking a long stripe from base to tip has his dick twitching, he grips extra hard on the mouse and nearly breaks the thing when you take him in fully.

your lips stretch around the soft flesh as you watch his body tense up—he's utterly failing in his act to be as normal as possible, not acknowledging his audience one bit as he pours all his focus into attempting to regulate his breathing and keep his face still.

tahitiancowboy2 donated $5.00 — i think she snuck out u got no game loll

he so badly wishes he could retort by simply standing up and showing everyone that you've got his dick in your mouth, but unfortunately for him he's forced to swallow his pride.

"d-dunno what girls do in there. maybe she's—" he's cut off by you tightly wrapping your two hands around the base to make up for where your throat can't quite reach, "taking a shower!" he squeals out. your panties are getting wetter and wetter with every little slip-up you cause.

exoticbutterss: am i tripping or

3-2tomorrow: HE'S GETTING STRAIGHT TEETH LMFAOOO

everyone is thinking the same thing and everyone can hear the slurping noises, but he isn't too concerned with his chat right now.

you keep on giving little kitten licks to his tip and it's driving him up the wall. he wants to be a gentleman, he really does—but he just can't help himself from pushing his hips up and your face down. he's gave up on trying to play properly with one hand, just lets himself get shot down while his doll spazzes out.

not thinking he'll be able to take much more of this, he grabs a fistful of your hair and bobs your head up and down his length to take control. tears begin to well up in your eyes as he pushes his cock further and further down your throat, hardly able to breathe with the speed he's moving at.

y1kesf0rever: is this allowed on here . .

definitely not. which is why he chokes out some bullshit excuse, "she's n-not feeliing too well so i'm ending—mmph.. stream here." and slams his hand down, mashing a few buttons on his pc.

you're finally able to get a bit of air into your lungs as he lunges your head back, "y-you trying to kill me?" he says, his voice hoarse.

"just getting you back for all the times you've killed me."

so..who's winning now?

with him burying his cock deep inside you and your walls gripping him tight enough to cut off his circulation, neither of you are sure.

his balls could burst with how hard he's been holding back, he had refused to let you finish him off from the overwhelming need to have you squirming under him—yet he's moaning more than you are. didn't turn out as well as he expected, but at least he'll have more than enough cum to stuff you full of.

the various plushies scattered around his bed bounce around each time he drives his hips into you, he grabs your thighs to push further and further into your cunt.

"t-this your apology for being such—hhmn—an asshole?" you wouldn't be staying true to yourself if you didn't throw some kind of snarky comment at him even in this situation.

but unlike his usual self he doesn't taunt you, solely focused on how your pussy keeps sucking him back in each time he pulls back, and the borderline pornographic sounds coming from it every time he so much as breathes. who would've guessed that gamer pussy would be this good?

his face is painted with pure bliss, if your eyes weren't so glossy you'd double check if there's any hearts in his. they roll to the back of your head as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over again, you wonder how no one's snatched him up yet—a man with a cock like that is hard to find. even harder to find one that knows how to use it.

you're obsessed with the feeling of his veiny cock dragging along your walls, the longest one so prominent you think you've memorised the exact length and shape of it by now.

"fuuck.. she doesn't want me to—ngh—leave..look at her.." his voice is so raspy you swear you can feel it in your own throat, or maybe it's the consequences of having his dick shoved down it earlier?

the blush on his cheeks decorates his face, you wouldn't be surprised if he started drooling all over you with the way he looks right now. eyes locked onto where your two bodies meet and mouth held open in an 'o' as he pistons his hips in and out of you.

you can feel your orgasm build as he increases the speed of his thrusts, "mm—gonna c—"

"gonna cum?—“ he cuts you off, pleasepleaseplease, wanna feel it.. wanna feel it so bad." he's not sure himself what words are leaving his mouth, his brain occupied with only one goal in mind.

if he could barely take it before, he definitely can't bear it now with the force your walls clamp down on him. he doesn't even recognise the fact he's cumming until he sees it spilling out of your hole, he fucks it right back into you until a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock.

his body topples over onto yours, he stays there a while as you two share labored breaths, pressing a few light pecks to the skin below your collarbones before pulling out and running over to get a towel to clean you up with.

but when he returns you're already asleep, curled up beside his link plushie.

the morning sun is near blinding as you wake up, needing to shield your eyes you lazily roll over onto your other side as your muscles ache as a result of your actions from the night before.

satoru's awake, staring right at you with a smile he tries to hold back. "hey you. you're finally awake." he giggles.

ah. so this is why he's single.

note : i hope at least 1 person catches the ref at the end or at least any reference i put in this lolol

tags: @jaaazy @yoonsucks @cherrychoso @sluttyangel04 @itimisu @b-bitter @theyluvchanel @fairylilysstuff @yemmuis @measfaf @iheartspencereid @violasepals

[mightyjo]

unbearable – kim ryul

i present to you, a part two of this <3

genre : angst, slowburn(kinda?), romance, friends to lovers, ryul × reader, bestfriend!ryul × reader

summary : when your best friend ryul kisses you on the cheek one night, it sets off a chain reaction you can't control. suddenly, every touch feels intentional, every glance feels loaded with meaning, and the line between friendship and something more becomes dangerously blurred.

word count : 2k

warning(s) : mutual pining, some curse words here & there, please forgive mee if there are any typos (^-^)

· · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ·

for the next few days, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. the kiss he planted on your cheek. which is ridiculous, because a kiss on the cheek doesn't really mean anything right?

but somehow, your brain keeps replaying it anyway. the warmth of his lips against your cheek, the way he looked at you afterward, and the stupid grin that spreads across his face while you were actively trying not to combust right in front of him.

it was bad. very bad. because now, every little thing he did felt worse somehow. or better? honestly, you couldn’t tell anymore. because all you knew was that ryul had become completely unbearable after that night.

the touching got more obvious, like he had stopped trying to hide it. or maybe he never was hiding it in the first place, and now you were just painfully aware of everything.

his hand would rest against the small of your back whenever he walked behind you, fingers brushing against your waist absentmindedly like it was the most natural thing in the world. and whenever you sat next to each other, he somehow ends up sitting too close without fail, knees pressed together, shoulders touching, his arm lazily thrown behind you on the couch like he didn’t even notice what he was doing.

there was no way he didn’t notice and was doing that on purpose, right?

but the worst part is, you let him do that every single time.

· · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ·

"ryul, can you move?"

"make me."

you stared at him from the kitchen doorway, arms crossed while he stood there blocking the entire entrance with the most annoying expression you’d ever seen on someone’s face.

"ryul, i’m serious."

"so am i."

"you’re literally smiling."

"maybe because this is funny."

you rolled your eyes and tried stepping around him anyway, but he shifted at the exact same time, blocking you again effortlessly.

"oh my god."

he grinned immediately. "what?"

"why are you like this?"

"like what?"

"insufferable."

"mean."

you scoffed. "you started it."

instead of replying, he just tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in amusement as he looked at you for a second too long.

"you’ve been avoiding me."

your stomach dropped instantly.

"...i have not."

"you have," he said easily. "ever since the kiss."

"it was on the cheek."

"still counts."

you groaned quietly, already feeling your face getting warm. "can you stop bringing it up?"

"why?" he asked, clearly entertained now. "you get all nervous every time."

"i do not get nervous."

"your ears are literally red right now."

"...shut up."

he laughed softly under his breath, and God—you hated how much you liked hearing it.

there was something so unfair about the way ryul always looked at you after making you flustered, like he genuinely enjoyed seeing you fall apart because of him.

maybe that's what made the whole thing so confusing. it really felt like he was genuinely flirting with you. but then he'd act completely normal afterwards, which made you second guess everything all over again.

because what if this was just how he was?

what if you were ruining your friendship over something that only existed in your head?

you tried stepping around him again, but this time he gently caught your wrist just before you could pass him.

and suddenly everything felt weirdly quiet.

"ryul."

"hm?"

"...move."

instead of answering, his thumb brushed lightly against your wrist without even thinking about it, and the tiny gesture almost made your heart explode.

"you know what i think?" he asked softly.

you swallowed. "...what?"

he stepped a little closer.

too close.

close enough that you could smell his cologne, close enough that if you moved even slightly your chest would brush against his.

you looked up at him, trying your very best to hold eye contact without looking nervous. but it was hard when he was taller than you, hard when he was standing that close, looking down at you like that.

and somehow, having to tilt your head up just to meet his eyes made everything feel worse.

"i think you’ve been avoiding me because you kissed me first."

your eyes widened immediately.

"i have not been avoiding you because of that."

"oh?" his lips twitched slightly. "so you admit you have been avoiding me."

"...no..."

he laughed quietly, shoulders shaking a little, and you wanted to disappear on the spot.

"caught you."

"you’re so annoying."

"and you still kissed me anyway."

your heart genuinely skipped.

before you could respond, he finally stepped aside, letting you pass. but not before lightly tugging on your sleeve as you walked by him.

it was small, but enough to make your chest ache all over again.

· · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ·

movie nights with him became unbearable, too, because ryul slowly developed habits that were dangerously easy to get used to.

at first, it started with him laying his head on your lap every single time you watched something together.

it was natural, like your lap belonged to him.

he’d just walk into your room, flop down beside you on the bed or couch, then a few minutes later you’d suddenly feel his weight against your thighs while he gets comfortable beneath you, completely uninvited.

and the annoying part is?

he always looked way too relaxed there.

one arm thrown lazily around your leg, eyes half-lidded while you played with his hair absentmindedly because apparently that had become a thing too.

"you know," you mumbled one night, fingers brushing through his hair carefully, "normal people use pillows."

ryul cracked one eye open to look up at you.

"you’re way softer."

"...that sounded kinda weird."

"you’re making it weird."

you rolled your eyes, but your fingers never stopped moving through his hair.

eventually, though, laying his head on your lap apparently wasn’t enough for him anymore.

because somewhere along the way, it turned into him pulling you onto his lap instead.

especially whenever the two of you were on the couch together.

he’d complain there wasn’t enough space, even when there very obviously was, then grab your wrist before you could argue and tug you right onto him like it was the most normal thing ever.

and every single time you complained, he’d just wrap an arm around your waist tighter and mumble something about you moving around too much.

"ryul, i can literally sit beside you."

"you are sitting beside me."

"exucuse me... this is not beside."

he only grinned, chin resting against your shoulder while his arms stayed securely around your waist.

"stop complaining."

"you’re so clingy."

the worst part was how gentle he got whenever you sat on his lap.

completely different from his usual teasing self.

he’d absentmindedly play with your fingers while watching the movie, rub small circles against your waist whenever you shifted around, pull the blanket over you first before covering himself, and if you got sleepy, he’d immediately tilt your head against his shoulder without even thinking about it.

as if taking care of you had become second nature to him and pampering you was something he genuinely enjoyed.

and now you're confused all over again.

· · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ·

one night, the two of you were sitting on your bedroom floor together, building one of those flower bouquet lego sets you bought because you wanted something cute to decorate your room with.

the box had been sitting unopened in the corner for weeks until ryul noticed it and immediately insisted on helping you build it.

except his version of “helping” mostly consisted of stealing pieces from your pile, purposely handing you the wrong colors, and acting unbelievably proud whenever he managed to attach two parts correctly.

and somehow, despite all the complaining and bickering, neither of you were really focused on the lego bouquet anymore.

ryul was sitting way too close as usual, one arm resting behind you while your legs brushed every few seconds whenever one of you moved.

"ryul...what are we doing?"

the words suddenly came out of you, quieter that you intended. but ryul heard them immediately.

he turned his head toward you, eyebrows pulling together slightly. "what?"

you let out a small laugh, but there wasn’t really any humor in it.

"this," you said quietly, gesturing between the two of you. "whatever this is."

he stayed silent.

you looked down at your hands. "you hold my hand, you sit way too close to me all the time, you keep touching me and kissing my cheek and—and you look at me like..." your voice faltered slightly. "like i actually mean something to you."

his expression shifted immediately.

but now that you started talking, you couldn’t stop.

"and i don’t know if i’m insane for thinking there’s something here or if you’re just naturally like this with everyone."

the silence afterward felt horrible, thick and heavy.

you immediately regretted saying anything at all.

"...forget it," you muttered quickly, standing up. "i shouldn’t have said anything."

but before you could walk away, ryul grabbed your wrist again.

"y/n."

you didn’t look at him.

you just couldn’t, because suddenly you felt embarrassed. way too exposed. like you just handed him every feeling you’d been trying to hide for weeks.

"...look at me."

you shook your head immediately. "no."

"please..."

that got you.

slowly, you looked back at him.

and ryul looked overwhelmed.

like he didn’t know where to start.

"you really think i act like this with everyone?" he asked quietly.

you didn’t answer.

because honestly? you didn’t know anymore.

he stood up then, stepping closer until his hands rested lightly on your arms.

"i don’t," he said softly. "i swear i don’t."

"then why didn’t you say anything?"

he let out a quiet laugh, but it sounded nervous this time.

completely unlike him.

"because i didn’t want to ruin this."

"...ryul."

"i mean it," he interrupted quickly. "i like you so much it’s actually embarrassing."

you stared at him.

and something in him finally broke a little.

his forehead dropped against your shoulder as he let out a quiet groan.

"god, you make me insane."

you couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, your hands slowly moving to hold onto him.

"so, what are we now?"

ryul looked at you for a second longer after you said that.

"i guess we’ll figure it out."

his hand was still resting against your waist, thumb moving slowly against the fabric of your hoodie while he stared at you like he was trying to memorize the look on your face right now.

"together," he finished quietly.

and then he leaned in to kiss your lips.

your fingers instinctively curled into the front of his hoodie as he kissed you gently, one of his hands sliding up to your cheek while the other stayed securely around your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

you think your heart might’ve melted a little.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested lightly against yours, both of you still a little breathless.

his lips twitched into the smallest smile.

"together," he whispered again.

"...you’re making me emotional," you mumbled quietly.

and suddenly, there it was.

that stupid mischievous grin.

you blinked. "...what?"

before you could even process the switch in expression, ryul’s hands moved to your sides, and he started tickling you.

your jaw dropped immediately.

"RYUL—"

you jerked away instantly, but he only laughed and followed after you, fingers digging lightly into your sides while you practically folded in on yourself.

"oh my god, stop—STOP—"

your words kept breaking apart between laughter while he looked way too entertained by this entire situation.

"what?" he said innocently. "you said i was making you emotional. had to fix that."

"you’re literally evil—"

you gasped sharply when he tickled your waist again, immediately trying to shove him away while laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

"ryul, i swear to god—"

"swear to god what?" he laughed, dodging your weak attempts at fighting back. "you can’t even threaten me properly right now."

"i hate you!"

"liar."

you shrieked when he suddenly grabbed your wrist before you could escape off the bed, pulling you right back against him.

the movement made both of you collapse sideways onto the mattress, tangled together in blankets and limbs while your laughter slowly dissolved into breathless giggles.

"stop moving," he complained through his own laughter as you tried pushing at his shoulder.

"you started it!"

"yeah, and i’d do it again."

"you’re the worst."

ryul grinned immediately. completely shameless.

"and you love me anyway."

your face warmed instantly.

"...you’re so annoying."

"that wasn’t a denial."

you groaned and hid your face against his shoulder immediately, which only made him laugh softer this time.

his arms wrapped around you easily after that, pulling you closer until you were practically curled against his chest while both of you tried catching your breath.

the way ryul kept brushing his fingers against your side absentmindedly while smiling into your hair like he couldn’t help it.

oh how lovely it is to be loved by ryul.