rae

rae // 23 rec & rb sideblog

[bokubuns]

NAVI. 18+

[!!] please read warnings before reading! some works may contain dark content / things you may not like! lmk if links dont work

feel free to send recs :D

CHARACTER !!

HAIKYUU.

karasuno. hinata | kageyama | tsukishima | yamaguchi | tanaka | nishinoya | daichi | keishin | sugawara | ennoshita

nekoma. kenma | kuroo | lev |

seijoh. oikawa | iwaizumi | matsukawa | hanamaki | kyoutani

shiratorizawa. ushijima | tendou | semi | goshiki |

fukurodani. bokuto | akaashi | washio | konoha | yukie

inarizaki. osamu | atsumu | kita | suna | aran

other. sakusa | daishou | komori | futakuchi | aone | akiteru | alisa |

BNHA.

students. bakugou | todoroki | kaminari | kirishima | shinsou | midoriya | tamaki | mirio | uraraka

villains. shigaraki | dabi

heroes. hawks | endeavor | miruko

others. natsuo

OTHER ANIMANGA.

aot. zeke | eren | levi | jean | connie | armin | reiner | pieck | porco | colt | miche | erwin

jjk. getou | megumi | naoya | toji | inumaki | gojou | itadori | sukuna | nanami | shoko | choso

kny. uzui | sanemi

blue lock | genshin | tokrev

GENRE !!

smut | angst | fluff

angst + fluff | angst + smut | fluff + smut | angst, fluff + smut

multiple parts | smau

smut drabbles

SERIES.

angst/fluff | angst/fluff/smut | smut | angst | angst/smut | fluff/smut

EXTRAS. art, misc, ships

TAGS. #txt.post #q

none of the works / art reblogged are by me! all belong to their respectful and right owners!!

[bfbkg]

PROS AND CONS : BKG (2.3k)

bakugou finds a list you made before you dated him

“one. big cock and knows how to use it. two and it’s in all caps. EATER.”

you rest on your forearms on your sofa, looking across the living room to your boyfriend who has appeared from your bedroom. he’s reading a crumpled sheet of paper from god knows where with a massive grin on his face.

“did you get the fan from my room? katsuki, it’s hot!” you whine petulantly. you've got your thin shorts and bralette on, trying to fight the heatwave that has taken over your city.

the heat has beat you down, left you stranded in your living room with three ice lolly packets in your path and skin sticky. you can feel the sweat trickle down your spine, you can see it gathered on katsuki’s exposed forehead, yet he still stands there reading.

“hold on, i’m lovin’ this,” he says, gold tooth shining as his mouth stretches wider, “three. rich and generous with it. is that right? you with me for my cock and money?”

you blink at him a few times, trying not to get distracted by his shirtless bare chest or the black headband he’s got on to push his unruly blonde locks back. he’s handsome, deliciously so. still, you think back to why everything he’s saying is so familiar.

“four. handsome. deliciously so. body and face. rare,” bakugou laughs, boyish and booming, “thanks, babe.”

you feel uncomfortable, perspiration dribbling between your breasts, limbs heavy with exhaustion.

“what is that? what are you reading?”

still bakugou ignores you and continues reading from the paper, “five. successful and ambitious. six. good friend even though he pretends he’s not. protective!! seven. so gentlemanly, holding open doors, paying for dates, very clear on why he likes me.” ruby pupils flicker over to you, “that last one is bare minimum.”

then it clicks, about seven points too late. your head snaps over to him robotically, eyes about to fall out of your head. “where the hell did you find that! stop reading it! stop katsuki!”

you hop up from your seat on your sofa, speed like no other taking over you as you run across the room to grab at the paper in bakugou’s hands. his laugh only booms louder, holding the flimsy sheet in the air over your head as you jump like a child.

“seriously, don’t read anymore!” you shout, trying to hoist yourself up his larger body, using his arms and shoulder as a climbing frame.

nothing about bakugou budges, he just continues reading with the paper in the air.

“it’s getting good, baby!” he laughs, ignoring your jumps and furrowed brows, “eight. listens to me. really listens. makes me feel heard and remembers what i say.”

he looks down at you, whose fingertips are slapping the bottom of the paper. you recognise it all too clearly now. the pink ruled lines, the edges ripped out from one of your old notebooks. your handwriting. “that’s cute. i still listen to you, don’t i?”

“you’re not now! give it back!”

“i’m almost done, two more,” bakugou says, hooking his arm behind your back to keep you locked close to him. you’re both sweaty and sticky. you’ve got no choice but to listen, “nine. cooks. such a good cook! you added five exclamation marks there. ten. fulfils some of my love languages. some?”

“now stop.” you urge. he can’t turn the paper around. he can’t.

bakugou pecks your forehead, his cheeks blushed with all the compliments. he continues skimming the list, rereading it. 

“so this is why you chose to date me, huh?” he looks down at you, pouts his lips, “c'mon gimme a kiss.”

if you just grab it out his hands, he won’t see the other side. with pros always comes—

he stops pouting at you.

“give me the paper. i wrote this all a few years ago!”

“if these are the pros, where’s the cons? you must have done a cons list.” 

you shake your head, side to side. he holds the paper away from you. the opposite side, the list of all your cons, written back at you. you loop out of his arm, trying to reach for it.

he notices you staring, eyes fixated and that’s when he flips the paper around. CONS in big red capital lettering.

“this is private! you weren’t meant to see this, you shouldn’t be snooping in my room!” you squeak but bakugou’s already half down the page, pupils running across every line like he’s in a race.

“one. WILL choose his job over me—,”

“well obviously, your job is to save the world!”

“two. odd relationship with his mother? but apparently it’s better than before.”

“it’s so much better now!”

bakugou’s eyebrows drop now, voice getting lower as he continues, “three. argumentative. argues with EVERYONE. his agency workers, the media and his friends.”

“i understand why you argue with them all now! it makes sense!”

“three. his job is terrifying.”

bakugou looks over to you, solemn narrowed eyes and you don’t have a positive word to say about that.

“it is, sometimes i don’t know if you’ll come home.”

“four. he doesn’t do much else besides work. all his friends are from work.” bakugou pinches his nose bridge, “really? you think that?”

“now i don’t! and i know they’re childhood friends and… and we do things together all the time. i know you love to read, game, you’ve got your lego. i didn’t know all of that then.”

“five. don’t know if my friends and family will understand.” bakugou steps away from you, “the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you huff on the spot, “this was from when i met you! all they’ve seen of you is shouting and yelling on the television. they didn’t know how lovable you are. how well you treat me.”

bakugou looks at you, then back at the paper. scratches his head. “six. inexperienced with sex but it’s really cute. has never had a girlfriend?”

“but number one pro is that you know how to use it. obviously we’re experienced now, we know everything about each other,” you flick your finger between you and your boyfriend. 

“and the girlfriend comment? i can’t help the fact you’re my first.”

“no, i mean yes i know that. it was just a question as to why. it doesn’t mean anything to me now.”

“but it was a factor in whether you wanted to be my girlfriend,” he states.

“well, yeah,” you drawl, “i thought maybe there was a reason as to why. that’s all.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows, looks back at the sheet, “seven. doesn’t always have time for me. travels a lot for work.”

“that hasn’t changed.” bakugou grunts. it’s something he knows you struggle with while dating him. it’s even been a conversation you’ve had a few times throughout your relationship. quality time. you want to spend more time with him but he simply can’t. 

you sigh, grabbing his chin between your fingers so he looks directly at you. his eyes are half lidded, cheeks red and exhausted from the negativity and heat. “we’ve been through this. i’m still gonna stick by you, everything i love about you means more than all the things i find difficult.”

he takes your palm away from your face and squeezes it. but you can tell he’s feeling off. “the last one. eight, he’s surrounded by beautiful women all the time.”

“you’re with celebrities, pro heroes, socialites a lot,” you shrug, “that was jealousy on my part, nothing to do with you.”

“i don’t give a fuck about any of that.”

you nod sharply, “i know! i wrote this a while ago, two years even? a lot has changed.”

bakugou sighs from the pit of his stomach, then flings his head back in a huff. “fuck, baby.” he groans.

then he looks down at you, looking up at him.

“just wanna put it out there, that was private, you weren’t meant to see that, my opinions have now changed and i’m sure you had a mental pro con list for me. i just wrote mine down.”

bakugou folds the paper, “yeah, yeah, i get it. you hate my job that much, huh? it covered half of the fuckin’ cons.

“i also said i liked you were successful and ambitious.” you sit on the back of the sofa, crossing your arms. 

bakugou mirrors you standing, crossing his arms too. “but nothing about my job has changed since we’ve got together.”

you groan, leaning your head on your shoulder, “katsuki, i think you’re making problems out of nothing here.”

“you made a list of the problems with datin’ me.” he frowns, holding the folded paper between two fingers.

“and a list of the reasons why i wanted to date you. obviously the good reasons won if i’m with you now.” you glare at him with a sharp tone.

he begins to pace around the room, paper still in hand. a terrible sign. you watch as sweat trickles down his skin, body flush with heat.

“but, babe. the problems you’ve had with me from before we were dating are still problems now. i still don’t have time for you, you still are terrified every time i’m minutes late from a mission, you don’t think i’d choose you over my job and you don’t think i do anything but work.”

you moan aloud, “and i still want you despite that all. i get the world needs you, heck, i need you if i come across a villain. i don’t hate you for being a hero.”

he stops behind you, on the other side of the sofa, “i don’t want you to resent me when you realise you could have been with someone who does have more time for you, isn’t obsessed with their job, can put you first and doesn’t scare you.”

you hop off the sofa. leaning your forehead on his collarbone. “katsuki. i wouldn’t be here if i didn't want to be. i love you. i choose you everyday. i don’t want to argue with you.”

bakugou doesn’t touch you. there’s a shake to his voice, “i’m sorry i’m not better. i’m gonna try to be. just wait for me, fuck, maybe when i’m slower and the younger lot take over, they’ll need me less. it’s just now—,”

“it’s okay. you have time for me right now but you wanna argue with me," you pout up at him.

“you did put that i’m argumentative,” he looks away from you as your hands link around his neck. 

“look at me.”

shiny lava red pupils find you. you ground him, takes him out of the what ifs and the failures of his past and places him in the present with you. 

“i have dated bakugou katsuki for two years and i love him so much. i love how kind and generous he is, always putting his loved ones first. how he dedicates his life and body to saving the world. how even if he’s tired from a long week of working, he still comes over to cook me a three course meal because he wants to see me eat his food. who was so open and willing to change for me. to change his routines and learn my body. who is argumentative because he wants to make things right. who wanted so hard for my family and friends to love him and manages to see his mother once a week just to check up on her.”

you search in both his eyes and he’s listening, he always is.

“i can write an updated list for you, if you want.”

he shakes his head, stuffs his forehead into your neck and slowly pushes you down into the sofa. you laugh, his hands plastered into your waist as his body crushes you in the plush cushions ever so slightly.

“‘m sorry. i shouldn’t have read it. even though i enjoyed the pros.” he muffles, lips tickling your skin.

you tap his shoulder. “you shouldn’t have but it’s okay. i still need you to get my fan. it’s hot.”

“promise you’ll tell me if you want somethin’ to change between us. i’m not wakin’ up one day to you leavin’ me for a reason right under my nose.” he urges and you can see him pleading. the desperation for you to agree.

“promise. now you promise me.”

“course i promise. i couldn’t even fill out ten reasons as to why i hate you.”

“i didn't say i hate you. and sure you can. you hate my cold feet. you hate how i moan about my job. you hate how i hate your job. you hate how i always want a massage. you hate how i wait until the last minute when you’re tucked up in bed for you to get me a glass of water. you hate how i’m indecisive for what i want for my birthdays and—,”

bakugou sits up, “i don't hate any of that shit. love listenin’ to you and half that shit is cute as hell.”

you pout, “you hate when i wear low cut tops out—,”

he frowns, “that’s foreplay, baby. you let me suck your tits after to make me happy. couldn’t give a shit what you wear.”

“how about how protective my friends are? and the fact i tell them everything?”

bakugou shrugs, “you deserve friends that love you that much and that you can tell everythin’.”

“i get snappy when i’m running late or too much is going on or i’m hot.”

with that bakugou gets up. your fan. though not without hovering over you to give you a peck. then another. you press your soft lips against his though you don’t open up because then you will get even hotter and snappy.

he pulls off you and rises from the sofa, “that makes sense, baby. you’re stressed and uncomfortable.”

you roll your eyes, “stop being so understanding!”

he walks towards your bedroom, but not without turning around to look at you. his fingers grip the door frame, “i love you.”

“i love you too… and no snooping!”

[alygator77]

୨₊signed in sweetness₊୧

꒰ summary꒱ nineteen days in hell leaves marks no one else can see. when your husband satoru returns from the prison realm, he realizes your life was survival too. you survived his absence the only way you knew how. by loving him anyway.

꒰ tags/warnings꒱ angst ꭷ fluff ꭷ very hurt/comfort ꭷ grief ꭷ isolation ꭷ emotional reunions ꭷ classmates to friends to lovers ꭷ canon adjacent ꭷ minor timeskip ꭷ reader is kinda a sorcerer (but not really) ꭷ she's also a sweetheart who stress bakes and we love her ꭷ hints of an eating disorder ꭷ explicit sexual content ꭷ mdni ꭷ smut ꭷ creampie ꭷ heavy breeding kink (like... a LOT) ꭷ belly bulging ꭷ masturbation ꭷ feral gojo ꭷ overstimulation ꭷ praise ꭷ happy ending!

꒰ authors note꒱ happy valentines day 💘 i hope ya'll enjoy this little love letter of a story for our pookie! this fic is a commission for my very best friend @strychnynegirl 🫶🏻 i love you sm sweetheart! (wc. 10.3k)

“You’re too soft for this world. Too sweet.”

Sweet.

The word snapped sharply, just before the blow did. And with a harsh slap of your back against the training mat, you blinked up, breathless. Your core ached, and the ceiling beams swam in your blurred vision — just before your sensei’s shadow cut across it all.

“You know what your problem is?” he deadpanned, clipped and cold, glaring down at you. “You never follow through. You second-guess. You hesitate. You don’t stand your ground, and you sure as hell don’t hit like you mean it.”

Your mouth opened, desperate for something to say, to explain, or maybe to apologize again — but nothing came out. Because how were you supposed to say ‘I don’t want to hurt her’ or ‘I don’t want to fight’ without sounding stupid?

Sweet girls don’t belong in combat. Sweet girls got chewed up and spat out.

“Again,” he snapped.

And as you pressed your stinging palms to the mat and forced yourself upright, you caught them from the corner of your eye: your classmates. Poised in practiced stances, exchanging low murmurs and whispering smirks.

“…why is she even here?”

“Seriously. I thought this school had standards.”

“Wow. Look at her. Can’t even block a basic sweep.”

They giggled, and with a shuddering breath, you got to your feet, pretending not to hear it. Because that’s what you always do. Pretending is a skill you learned early. It’s quieter than crying, and less embarrassing than asking them to stop.

“Yes, sensei…”

From a young age, you had always known you weren’t born for battle. That was never your story. Because you weren’t the girl with fire in her veins, sharpening her teeth on spite or grinning through broken bones.

No — you were the girl who gave up the last plate of dinner. Even when your stomach ached. Even when you’d already skipped lunch and were pretty sure you might fucking pass out. But someone else needed it more, right?

And you were… fine.

Always fine.

Yeah. You were the girl who once found a bird in the yard — its wing bent backward, chest fluttering like paper. And you were desperate to save it. You tried. God, you tried. But… it died anyway. And you cried so hard that your mother scolded you like an insulant child.

‘Stop being a baby.’

‘Get over it already. You need to toughen up.’

You’d heard it all, for as long as you could remember. And still, you didn’t understand why softness was something you were supposed to outgrow. They offered those words like wisdom, but… really? It felt more like they were trying to reshape you. Like they were tweaking the recipe of who you were into a flavor more palatable, for a story worth telling.

A strong woman. A capable woman.

But… what even is strength, anyway?

The thought swelled in your chest as you paced through the corridors of Jujutsu High, sniffling back tears from your latest sparing match, and praying no one saw you like this. Across the courtyard, a row of vending machines glowed in the cold dusk like a salvation.

You just needed something fizzy. Something cold. But as you stepped up to the vending machine, your breath caught in your throat as you patted your pockets, fingers fumbling for spare change when—

THUD!

“Ughhhh. Yaga-senseiii,” a voice had whined somewhere beyond the grass. “Is it lunchtime yet?”

You flinched, blinking toward the sound — and when you peeked around the corner, sure enough, there he was. A boy. Sprawled dramatically across the lawn like a fallen soldier, limbs splayed as if flung from the heavens themselves. His sunglasses were pushed into snowy hair, with pale lashes fluttering in exaggerated agony.

“I’m dyyyying,” he moaned to the sky. “Starvation. Malnutrition. Premature and preventable death. Is this what it feels like to be forsaken by God?”

“Satoru…” Yaga let out a long, suffering sigh. “Lunch isn’t for another two hours. You’ve barely finished half your drills and—”

“Two HOURS?!” Satoru shrieked, flinging an arm over his face like a dying poet. “I can’t train like this—do you want me to waste away?! My cursed energy has dietary requirements, Sensei!” He grumbled, huffing in dismay. “Wow. This is it. This is the end for me, guys.”

Wait.

Satoru? As in… Satoru Gojo?!

Your breath hitched. You’d heard his name whispered like a myth since you were old enough to sense cursed energy; a prodigy, a legend, the strongest sorcerer of his generation. And yet… he was currently holding his own funeral in the quad. Covered in dirt. Not even pretending to be dignified.

“Here he goes again,” Shoko snorted, already lying on her back in the grass, one leg propped over the other lazily. She sighed, amused. “I give him three minutes before he starts reciting his will to the clouds.”

“Three? That’s too generous,” Suguru smirked, leaning against the base of a tree, arms crossed. “Nah… I’d give him two.”

“Pfft… I hear you!” Satoru glared, lifting his head just enough before letting it thunk back down with another theatrical groan. “Fuckin’ rude. I’m dying, and all you care about is betting on my demise.”

Yaga sighed, rubbing his temple. “Satoru, look. If I let you take a break now, everyone’s gonna say I’m playing favorites and—”

“But senseiiii,” he pouted, one hand clutching his stomach. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast. And y’know my technique might be limitless but my metabolism sure as hell isn’t.”

“Christ…” Yaga muttered, shaking his head, brushing his hand through his hair like he knows he’s going to regret this. “Okay, fine. Take a five-minute break. But that’s it.”

“Really?!” Satoru gasped like he’d just been resurrected. “Oh thank god, I was starting to see the light,” he chirped, springing upright and dusting himself off. “Oi! Suguru, Shoko, you want anything from the vending machine?” he called, and when he was already halfway across the lawn, panic bloomed in your chest because—

Oh no.

No no no.

He was headed right toward you. And he can’t — can’t see you like this. You tried to shove your coin in faster, fingers slipping against the metal, eyes still raw and damp. The machine clanked, with your drink tumbling into the tray just as he stepped beside you, already digging in his wallet. You reached for the bottle, fully intending to flee, but—

“Figures,” he muttered, giving the machine a light kick. “Seriously? No chocolate. No melon bread, either.” He sighed, glancing over at you. “You see this shit? Like… who the hell keeps buying all the good snacks? I mean—”

The moment his voice cut off, you didn’t even have to look to know why. Because… yeah. He’d seen you swiping at your eyes that moment, trying to hide the redness. And… damnit. How pathetic can you be?! Breaking down in front of the strongest?!

Don’t do it. Don’t acknowledge the pain.

Sniffling, you straightened your shoulders, clutching the can to your chest. Your lower lip wobbled, but you bit down hard, willing it still, pretending you’re fine. And gathering your resolve, your eyes flicked towards his when—

Oh.

A shaky breath pulled out of you, almost like relief, with your chest loosening instantly. Because… what a beautifully, vibrant, crystalline blue. And somehow… soft too? Like sunlight through stained glass. Eyes that looked like they could see straight through you, and hold you through it all.

“Hey… um,” with furrowing brows, his voice gentled, head tilting in concern. “You… good?”

It’s such a simple question, really. But that acknowledgement? It’s all it takes. Something in your chest gave way. “Y-Yeah… um,” you choked, nodding as more tears spilled hot. You sniffled, trying to stop them. “I-I’m… I’m fine, really. Fine.”

It’s the least convincing lie you’ve ever told, but it’s the only thing you have left. Because pretending hurts less than admitting to yourself that this is all your life will ever be.

A prison.

And despite Satoru not buying it, still, he didn’t push. Instead, he just rocked back on his heels with a quiet sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair like he was trying not to make things worse.

“Um… so like… I’m gonna assume you’re havin’ a rough day?” he offered lightly, like he was tossing you a rope. “I mean… unless you’re crying over the empty strawberry mochi too. In which case, shit. I swear we might be soulmates.”

At that, a laugh slipped out — small, choked, but real. And his grin was crooked and triumphant, like that was exactly the sound he’d been hoping for. Like he was absurdly proud of himself for coaxing it out of you.

And god, his smile was boyishly perfect. It tugged at the corners of your own mouth, even when everything in your chest still felt unbearably messy and knotted and wrong.

“…no, that’s not it,” you muttered, wiping your cheek with the edge of your sleeve. “It’s not the mochi. But… um,” you huffed a smile, glancing up. “I get it. I do. Because, like… strawberry’s definitely the best one.”

“Ohmygod right!?” He gasped, beaming. His delightful smile grew. “Finally, someone with taste!” and with a sigh, he leaned back against the vending machine, tilting his head like a curious puppy. “So… you love sweet things too?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, sniffling.

The worst of the tears had passed. And with a quiet sigh, you leaned back against the vending machine beside him, mirroring his posture. “I… always have,” you murmured, a distant look softening your features. “I mean… man,” you huffed, smiling. “What I wouldn’t give for a crepe right now.”

“Ooooo, crepes,” he nodded solemnly. “You’ve got excellent taste.”

You both stood there, eyes ahead, the vending machine humming behind you. After a moment, he glanced over observantly, tilting his head with a curious grin.

“Okay, okay—but like… there’s this place in Shibuya that does crepes with caramelized strawberries. And… just imagine it,” he sighed dreamily. “Beautifully burnt sugar, custard, a little dusting of kinako on top? It’s insane. You ever been?”

The brightness radiating off of him is endearing, making your lips tug up further.

“…No,” you admit, looking out towards the garden. “But… that sounds, nice.”

And it was hard not to picture it — that soft cream on your tongue, sugar sticking to your fingertips, laughter curling sweet in your chest. It’s too easy to crave it, to remember what it used to taste like. What it felt like to not be afraid of wanting those things. But—

‘A lady doesn’t indulge.’

‘No man wants a girl who can’t control herself.’

When your mother’s voice echoed in memory, a bitterness curled in your stomach. A reminder you can’t escape from. And blinking slowly, you cleared your throat, pushing it away.

“…I just… um. I can’t really eat that kind of stuff anymore… unfortunately.”

You shrugged it off like it was nothing, while Satoru’s expression hardened.

“Uh… can’t?” he pressed, raising a brow. And hesitating, your lips pressed together.

“Y-Yeah…” you swallowed. “Um. Diet thing… y’know,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on the ground, fiddling with the hem of your uniform. “It’s strict clan rules. Gotta… keep up appearances, I guess.”

The vagueness in your words wasn’t hard to miss. Satoru picked up on them, instantly. A brief silence settled between you, but you felt those sure, crystalline eyes, watching you. And for a moment? You wished you hadn’t said anything at all.

He huffed, clicking his tongue. “Man… that sucks,” and shoving his hands into his pockets, he grumbled. “That’s bullshit. Here I thought I had it rough.”

Glancing over, you could tell he was biting his tongue. And you worried that maybe… you said too much. Did you just admit to being… broken? But he didn’t let you feel heavy with it.

He flopped against the vending machine like gravity owed him an apology.

“Damn. What the hell?” he let out a long, theatrical sigh. Sliding down to the ground with his legs splayed in front of him. “You’re pretty incredible. I could never.”

Your heart raced while the cicadas thrummed in the trees. And you stared down at this boy — this ridiculous, blinding boy who somehow looked both divine and completely, utterly human.

His eyes softened with a sadness. “Um… by the way,” he murmured. “Did y’know my cursed technique drains the hell outta me? It’s… exhausting, actually.”

Holding your breath, you listened. It was like, the world tilted just a little to keep him in frame. Like he carved out a space in the universe where the two of you were allowed to just… exist.

“There’s been a bounty on my head since before I could read…” he mumbled. “So, if someone ever tried to make me give up sugar?” he huffed, bitterly. “I’d be hallucinating crepes by lunchtime. Like… full delusion. Would probably try to lick the fuckin’ grass or somethin’.”

Before you could stop it, you’re doubling over, giggling. Sliding down the vending machine, catching your breath. Because you hadn’t felt this is so long. Warmth. Acceptance. And he made existing so… easy.

“Oi! Little missy. Is my life a joke to you?!” he tried to pout, but that triumphant grin was winning from the sound of your laughter. And you huffed, shaking your head with a relieved sigh. “No… sorry,” you sniffed, leaning your head back, allowing the gentle blue of his eyes to hold you steady.

It was the sweetest shade of blue you’ve ever seen.

“But… I gotta say,” he whispered. “To not eat any sweets…? You must be really strong.”

You blinked, lips parting.

Strong?

You sure as hell didn’t feel strong. You felt like a thread pulled too tight — like if someone tugged a little harder, you’d snap in two. But… god. The way he said it made something ache in your chest.

He was… sweet.

Hesitating, your fingers curled around the strap of your bag. There was a bento buried under your books. With cookies, still warm from when you packed them this morning. Not for you, obviously. You were never allowed to eat what you baked.

But… you baked anyway. You always did. Measuring peace in spoonfuls of sugar, finding warmth in the rise of dough. Even if all you ever did was give it away. Because sweetness was something to share… something you’d never get it return.

Your fingers twitched.

…should you?

Screw it.

“Um… here,” you muttered, reaching into your bag and slowly pulling the bento free. “I-If you want something sweet… I-I baked these this morning and…”

As you held them out, Satoru blinked, staring like you just handed him a marriage proposal.

“Wait… seriously?!” he grinned, hands brushing yours, taking them. “Do you just… like. Carry cookies around your bag every day? Like some kind of secret snack sorceress?”

Your cheeks burned. “What? N-No… I…” and the moment he was bringing it towards his lips, excitedly, a nervous flutter spread through your chest. Close to panic.

“I-I haven’t tasted them though!” you added quickly as he took a bite. “Since I… y’know. Can’t eat them… um. So if they’re awful—”

He moaned. “Holy shit,” eyes widening with a mouthful, turning to you. “Wait. You made these? And can’t fucking eat them?! Um. That’s illegal. You’re too powerful.”

Warmth spread through your chest, and giggling, you tried so hard — tried not to stare at the crumbs on his ridiculously soft lips; tried not to let your damn heart skip a beat the moment he deadpanned:

“Huh. Maybe we are soulmates,” with the corner of his mouth quirking up, flashing that dangerously white grin, while his pale lashes fluttered over an impossibly beautiful blue.

“I think…” he teased. “You’re gonna have to marry me one day, sweetheart.”

And marry Satoru Gojo, you did.

Because three months later, he still called you his sweetheart.

It started with cookies. Then cupcakes. Then fudge, and buttered sponge cakes in little paper wrappers. Every lunch break, like clockwork, he’d find you — sprawled beneath the camphor trees, arms tucked behind his head like a makeshift pillow, his white hair catching sunlight like it was spun from sugar.

“Oi, snack sorceress,” he’d hum, already rifling through your bag like it belonged to him. “What d’you have for me today, hm?”

At first, it was a joke.

Then? It became ritual.

You weren’t sure when he started dragging you around campus like you were his favorite person — but it happened fast. A blur of hallway detours and courtyard interruptions, always grabbing your wrist, tugging you along with that ridiculous grin. And honestly? You weren’t sure if he considered you a friend, or if you were just another satellite caught in the beauty of his orbit.

Because Satoru Gojo became your sun, and your moon. Your sky, and your stars. He was loud where you were quiet. Brilliant where you were cautious. Strong, where you were sweet. And he kept showing up. Pulling you into things. Making space. Seeing you.

“C’mon pretty girl,” he’d say, lacing his fingers through yours, dragging you out of your dorm. “No staying cooped up alone all day. That’s how curses breed!”

And when people talked — because believe me, they did — about your clan, about how your cursed technique wasn’t strong enough to warrant the family name, about how you were lucky to even be at Jujutsu High…

He’d cut them off mid-sentence.

“I’m sorry? Fuckin’ say that again?” he’d murmur, six-eyes glimmering in threat, smile gone. “And slowly. Because I wanna make sure I heard you disrespect my girl correctly.”

His girl.

He’d say it with such casual authority; like it was obvious, like it had always been true. But… he never touched you. Not like that, at least. And you’d pretend not to notice how your pulse would jump under his fingers.

It was a quiet dance of intimacy between you — one that never broke rhythm. You’d bandage the cuts on his knuckles after every mission. He’d let you fuss with his collar when it was crooked. And he’d drape himself over you like a lazy cat claiming its favorite spot.

It was a silent rule you both followed. A line you never crossed. Because the world was already asking too much of him, and the elders were always watching. You accepted that this was all it would ever… be. You were students. Sorcerers. Weapons-in-training. There was never room for a softness like that, in this world.

He needed…

Strength. Right?

Not you.

And yet, things started to change when he missed lunch the week Suguru defected. You found him that day, on the roof — knees pulled to his chest; sunglasses forgotten beside him.

“Oh… there you are,” you murmured, kneeling beside him with a small box in your hands. “Why are you up here? I was worried when I couldn’t find you?”

He didn’t respond. And the sky above him was too blue that day. A cruel, endless kind of blue. Unlike his eyes, which were hollow. Distant. Quiet in a way that broke you.

“…Satoru?” you whispered. “I… made mochi?” You offered, voice unsure. “Strawberry. With… extra custard? Um. I might’ve overfilled them though and—”

Once the lid clicked open, he was reaching for it instantly. He took a bite without a word, and dropped his head onto your shoulder; like he was too tired to hold it up.

“It’s perfect…” he mumbled around a bite, breath hitching. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

When you felt the tremble in his body, you knew. That was the first day you saw Satoru Gojo cry. And you held him close, that day; brushing your fingers through his hair, like maybe it could lull the grief to sleep. Like maybe you could carry it for him.

Because you would, if you could.

And after that?

Well… he started showing up at your dorm after curfew. He’d always teleport unannounced, with his hair damp from a shower, dressed cozy. You blinked at him, heart fluttering, still clutching your pillow.

“Hey…” he mumbled that first night, kicking his foot at nothing. “Um. I’m bored,” he stated, scratching the back of his neck, sheepishly. “And the dorm’s just… quiet. Without Suguru. So…”

That was his first excuse.

Next, it was cupcakes — when he claimed to have a craving and tried to guilt you into baking. The night after that, he brought a deck of cards and insisted on teaching you how to cheat at poker. Then came movies. Snacks. Your favorite iced tea, chilled just right. A blanket already draped over his shoulder like he belonged there.

But he wouldn’t sleep beside you. No. He’d stay until your breathing slowed, and your body instinctively curled towards him. But by morning, he was gone. Until he’d return the next night like clockwork.

That line you’d never cross. But eventually… you both stopped pretending.

One night, you were curled up together beneath a heap of blankets, half-watching a movie you’d both already seen. He cradled you in his arms, with his chest rising against your side in slow, steady rhythms. The credits rolled, and as your eyes began to drift shut, that was his cue. But…

“I don’t wanna go back,” he whispered in the quiet. Your lashes fluttered open, and turning, you brought your face to his. “…no?” you asked, and he swallowed, hesitating. “Yeah… um. It’s too quiet over there. And… everything echoes.”

The flickering light from the screen bathed him in soft blue shadows. And those beautiful eyes were… tired. But he’d managed to smile at you anyway. While you brushed your hand down his jaw, he leaned into you.

“Then… don’t,” you whispered, eyes flicking to his lips. “You can always stay here, Satoru. You know that… right?”

Brows furrowing, he nodded, searching your face for a moment, like he was searching for permission, maybe. Or courage. And the moment he leaned in, allowing your lips to finally fit together, it was like a thousand sleepless nights, a thousand unsaid wishes, poured between each trembling breath you took.

Clothes slipped off in quiet pieces. Like a secret shared in the dark.

And Satoru made love to you with slow, reverent hands — like every inch of your skin was something sacred he hadn’t dared touch until now. Your legs wrapped around his waist while he pulled you into each thrust.

It was a night filled with panting breathes, hushed moans, soft nips against your skin as the bed creaked beneath every insistent, aching snap of his hips.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” his breath hitched into a moan while his dick swelled, dragging through the slick clutch of your heat. “S-shit…” his hips began to tremble, and his mouth fell open in awe, balls tightening, desperate to spill.

“Fuck—be mine,” he begged, voice unraveling. “Please, baby… please, I—m’gonna—”

“M’yours,” you gasped.

And with a breathless groan, Satoru’s hand found yours, fingers lacing tight as he erupted deep, flooding you with his hot, pulsing release. His face buried into your neck while he jerked helplessly against your snug walls, spilling a thick, creamy warmth from his beautifully flushed tip, in eager bursts.

It left your thighs sticky, your chest heaving, and your heart, impossibly full.

That night, you didn’t just fall asleep tangled in his arms. You made a vow. He was yours. And you were his.

Always.

He proposed not long after. Multiple times, actually — half-joking at first, murmured between kisses, in the quiet lull of mornings or when he was half-asleep and clinging to you like a vine.

“Just… marry me already,” he’d whisper into your hair. “Let me take care of you. Let me love you.”

And when he finally pulled out that platinum ring — with an infinity sign delicately carved across the band — you knew he was serious. Because his hands were trembling.

“Please…?” he asked, voice barely a breath. He looked at you like you hung the damn sky. “I’ll spoil you rotten,” he promised, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Buy you whatever you want. Keep you safe. You’d never have to worry about anything again.”

But it came with a condition.

He wanted you out. No more being a sorcerer. No more trying to be something you were not. When you warned him about what people would say, he insisted—

“Let them fucking try to stop me,” he scoffed, sharper now. “I don’t give a shit. Let them fight. Let me fight. You stay home. You stay safe. I wanna come home to you, baby.”

And what Satoru says, goes. Because if the elders so much as breathed a word about him marrying you, about you, a nobody, becoming his housewife, he’d snap their spines in half and toss their relics in the ocean.

He loved you, so, so much. And you loved him.

But…

Love makes you believe in stupid things. Like the strongest man you’ve ever known is somehow untouchable. Unstoppable.

Unbreakable.

‘Hey, Satoru. Long time no see.’

It’s… funny. You’d think eternity would feel bigger.

That’s the first thought Satoru has the moment his boots hit the ground — after whatever force dragged him through space drops him into what most would consider, hell.

The prison realm.

There’s no sky. No sun. Just a horizon with no depth, no curve — like someone flattened the world into static and drained it of color. Grey stretches in every direction. The kind of grey that seeps into your thoughts. The kind of grey that tastes like grief.

‘All the information provided by my six eyes is telling me you’re Suguru Geto. But both my heart and my soul know otherwise.’

Scoffing, Satoru kicks at the cracked femur of a skeleton with his boot. They’re clattering in disjointed piles. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. A reminder of the souls who didn’t survive this prison. Because the only way out… is ending it yourself.

“Creepy little fuckers…” he mutters, dropping onto a mound of skeletons like it’s a park bench. Bone shifts beneath him with a hollow rattle. “Whatever. I’ve had worse roommates.”

It’s too flippant, too loud, too casual. Like if he keeps the joke going, the silence won’t swallow him whole.

But truthfully?

He knows. He let his guard down, became too soft. Too vulnerable. Because for one second? He believed he could afford to. But now, all the strongest man in the world can do is pace in circles… and pretend he doesn’t feel the walls closing in.

Trapped in a box with no corners.

Waiting to break.

The prison realm reveals all.

Satoru Gojo learns it on the first day. Or… is it the first hour? Actually, maybe it’s already been a week. Hard to say, when a goddamn pocket dimension doesn’t come with a clock; there’s no sense of time.          He never gets hungry. Never gets… tired.

Well, at least not the tired you can sleep through. Because memories play like mirages, as if the realm plucked them straight from your bones, reaching into the marrow, trying to break you.

“Suguru…”

He hears his own voice before he sees it. And when Satoru’s eyes flick up, there he is. Himself. A younger version, standing in a crowd of nobodies, desperate to reach his best friend.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to kill unless there was a point to it?”

The skeletons seem to like this one, because it plays often. It’s usually this memory — or the few, ugly ones from his childhood; shitty ones of his parents’ hollow affection.

“There is a point,” Suguru says eventually, backed turned to his younger self. “And a cause. A significance, even.”

Satoru sits amongst the skeletons, elbows resting on his knees. His six eyes are dimmed to something distant and hollow. Watching his own past like it’s a show he can’t turn off. Like he’s been strapped into the front row of his worst failure.

“No, there’s not!” Younger Satoru snaps, hands flying outward; frustrated, desperate — clinging to something already dissolving between them. “There’s no point in chipping away at something you can’t possibly achieve!”

And this? This is where the memory always fractures. Because when Suguru turns, it’s never toward younger Satoru. It’s toward him. Toward the version sitting in the bones.

“You’re so… arrogant,” he scoffs, tilting his head with a wicked smile. “You could do it yourself, Satoru. Couldn’t you?”

Everything glitches like a dying bulb, with the courtyard tearing at the edges, while the sky bleeds grey again. The skeletons stir, chattering with taunting laughs, echoing in his mind.

‘Do it.’

Satoru squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tightening like he can muscle through it. But the whispers come from everywhere.

‘Failure.’

A skull rolls near his boot.

‘It’s all your fault. Isn’t it?’

Groaning, Satoru’s fingers rake through his hair while his foot taps against the bone-littered ground — restless, coiled, like he could rip this entire realm apart with brute fucking force, if only there were something solid to grab onto.

‘You should’ve done better. But no. You weren’t there for him.’

Something snaps. With a ragged, broken growl, Satoru hurls the skull across the wasteland, making it shatter into fragments of endless grey.

But… it doesn’t help.

The sounds continue to echo, and nothing changes. The whispers don’t stop, don’t fade. And with a sharp exhale, Satoru collapses — curling forward into himself, burying his face in his hands.

Crying.

“Shit—shitshitshit—my cookies, they’re gonna burn!”

At the sound of your voice, Satoru’s head snaps up so fast, it practically makes him dizzy. His lashes are still wet. His throat is still raw. And for one fragile second, he thought he imagined it.

“Baby?” he croaks, scrambling to his feet, bones clattering beneath him. “S-sweetheart—?”

The wasteland flickers. And suddenly—

Warmth.

Sugar.

Light.

It hits him full throttle, while he’s stumbling into a kitchen that smells like butter and caramel and citrus zest — so achingly domestic it almost brings him to his knees. The counters are dusted in flour. The oven timer screams. And golden light pools across the focused lines of your back. You’re wearing that flour-smudged apron you swore you hated but refused to give up.

“Angel…” his voice breaks in relief, reaching for you. “It’s you. I…”

“Shit!” you hiss, turning. And when you walk straight through him like a ghost? Satoru stutters helplessly; spinning around while he watches another version of himself stand in the doorway, blinking at the warzone.

“Whoa,” Memory-Satoru deadpans, toeing the door shut with his boot. “Uhh… why are there ten different desserts in this house right now?”

Cupcakes lined along the windowsill, a half-frosted cake sagging on a stand, a pie cooling crooked on the stovetop, and a tray of macarons stacked like ammunition.

A battlefield of sweets.

Yanking on an oven mitt, you drag the tray out.

“Because. I didn’t know what I was in the mood to panic about, so I just… chose all of them, and—oh, fuck—” you hiss, dropping the tray on the stove. It clatters; revealing a burnt batch of cookies.

“Great. Fucking great…” you laugh, on the brink of losing it, tossing the mitt aside. “Ruined. Just like my goddamn peace of mind…”

As present Satoru stands amongst the midst of this memory, his eyes soften, blinking through the wetness, still clinging to his lashes.

What the hell?

You look so real.

The light on your cheekbone. The tension in your shoulders. He swears he can smell the vanilla on your skin.

It’s not fair.

“You know…” Memory‑Satoru says, carefully stepping around a bowl of frosting, grin crooked. “There’s technically a limit to how many sweets one man can eat.”

You scoff, snatching the piping bag off the counter, squeezing frosting into uneven spirals as you grumble, annoyed. “Oh. Okay… I thought your appetite was limitless.”

The words are tossed out like a joke, but Satoru can see the tension building beneath the tremble in your hands, can hear the tightness in your voice like you’re on the verge of breaking down and—

Shit.

His heart drops. He knows this memory. It was the night he left; the night of Shibuya. You’d read his mission report three times that afternoon. That damn condition in the veil stating to: Bring Satoru Gojo. You did what you always do when you’re stressed. Bake like your life depends on it.

He watches himself sigh, crossing the kitchen. “Hey, hey…” Memory-Satoru gentles your wrists, pushing them down with ease. “Oi… Betty Crocker. C’mon now, what’s this about?”

That softness in his voice, breaks you. And before you can stop it, the piping bag drops from your hands, as your body begins to tremble.

“I just—” your breath hitches, choking back a sob. “I-I… I dunno. I need something to do!”

The moment your quiet tears begin to fall, the urge to leap through this goddamn memory and hold you is unbearable. But Memory-Satoru beats him to it.

“Nu-uh… none of that,” he pulls you in from the waist, nose brushing yours. “Stop it. You hear me?” he whispers softly. “I’m coming back.”

Your glassy eyes look up at him. “…really?” you whimper, and he scoffs. “Duh,” with those blue eyes rolling in playful affection. “You know I got this. I’ll be back by dinner, sweetheart. Don’t sweat it.”

A wet giggle pushes out of you, as you nod, still crying, but smiling.

“Okay…” your hands grip his forearms, and you swallow. “Promise?”

“Promise…” the kitchen lights begin to flicker, and his voice warps when he says. “Remember, I’ll alwayyyssys come hommme to you, ba-baabyyyy…”

As the counters begin to dissolve at the edges, “No—wait—!” Satoru lunges for you “—please!”

But it’s too late. You’re already gone. And he’s left standing there, alone in a pile of bones, while the sweet echo of your voice rattles in his head. Along with that aching desperation in his chest; the need to see you again. To hold you again.

‘You abandoned her.’

He blinks, looking down at a skull that rolled to his boot. Attempting to taunt him. To break him again.

‘You let her down. Left her.’

But what the prison realm thought would break him, would actually recreate him. Because somewhere beyond this suffocating nowhere… you’re still waiting.

And Satoru Gojo doesn’t make empty promises.

That’s how it began. Trapped in this prison, your softness became Satoru Gojo’s strength.

Whenever those incessant voices slithered in — whispering, needling, trying to drag his thoughts somewhere dark and festering — he would stop. Breathe. Remember one simple truth.

This was his mind.

Not theirs.

They could replay whatever horrors they wanted. Parade ghosts in front of him. Twist memories into weapons. But they couldn’t make him stay there. They couldn’t decide what he held onto. So? He chose to reach for you.

Not power. Not pride. Not pain.

But you.

“Oooo! ‘toru, ‘toru!! Look at this!!”

You came skidding into the living room with your fuzzy socks, holding up your phone like you’d just uncovered a conspiracy. With a messy bun, wearing his hoodie. And you looked ridiculously beautiful. Ridiculously his.

“You’re gonna love this,” you snorted, plopping down beside him with a grin. “Nanami finally posted a photo with that bakery girl.”

“Wait… the bakery girl?” Satoru blinked. “No fuckin’ way. He swore they were just friends.”

“Mhm. Friends don’t look at each other like that,” you sing-songed, jabbing at the screen like the evidence was damning. “See? I fucking told you he had a thing for her!!”

He laughed so hard that for a second, he forgot what it meant to feel hollow. And when the laugher faded? He reached for another thread.

“Mmf—serioushly?”

Your mouth was full of toothpaste, wearing one of Satoru’s oversized shirts while he sat on the bathroom counter; shirtless, shameless, and already half-pouting.

“Yeah, seriously. Gakuganji wants to schedule another emergency meeting. At fuckin’ six a.m. On a Sunday!”

You raised a brow as you kept brushing.

“I swear to god…” Satoru threw his head back dramatically. “That old fossil has a personal grudge against joy. Or sleep. Or maybe just me.”

“Mmf—tha’sh shtupid,” you muttered, foamy and garbled. “Yer not fuckin’ goin’.”

He loved it.

You didn’t have a mean bone in your body — but god, you were fierce when it came to him. Always on his side. Always ready to defend him like it was instinct. He clung to those memories like a lifeline now, tugging each one forward before the dark could steal it back.

“Oh my god, ‘toru,” you’d announced, halfway through unpacking groceries like it was a timed challenge. “You’re never gonna believe what happened today.”

“Oh?” he grinned. “Do tell, baby. I’m all ears.”

He was stacking pantry goods with exaggerated care, and you paused at the fridge, smiling to yourself like it was a secret.

“Um… Megumi talked to me today,” you said, slipping the milk onto the shelf. “Like—not just a grumble. An actual full sentence. A whole conversation.”

And when you leaned your hip against the fridge door, letting it shut with a gentle thump, he remembered how your voice softened, like a confession.

“Did y’know… he said he’s scared the people he loves will disappear one day?”

It was a memory that ached, but in the best way. Because your strength was in how much you cared. How you saw through silence and soothed without trying. How you gently held Megumi’s fears — like they were precious, not problems to solve.

You were always really fuckin’ good with kids. And it wasn’t long after that moment that he saw a shift. With a deeper kind of softness blooming behind your eyes, wistful and warm.

“Sweetheart?” he’d asked, raising a brow. “What’s with that pout?”

You sat cross-legged on the couch, absently rubbing slow circles into your knee. Blinking up at him with faux innocence.

“Hm? Oh, nothiiiing,” you sighed, way too dramatically. “I just… saw the cutest baby boy at the store today. With these chubby cheeks and the sweetest little laugh and—”

Ah.

There it was. Code for:

I want a baby. You fuckin’ idiot.

And god, Satoru wanted to give you exactly that.

All these memories. All these moments. It’s hard not to imagine the filthy ones too.

“‘Toru,” you whined, eyes glossy. “Please.”

You were bent over the couch, with your panties shoved to the side, your skirt flipped up as he clamped your hips, pummeling into you soaked little cunt roughly.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he rasped, voice shredded, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. His belt was hanging open, clanking as he molded his cock against your hot, wet walls. “Take it baby. Mnh… look at that, my pretty little cock drunk girl.”

He was huffing, smacking his hips in lustful need as he watched your ass clap back, while you squirmed and wiggled, clawing at the cushions. Each quivering whimper that spilled from your lips, made him pound harder.

Sometimes he’d do that. Sneak off between missions for a quickie. And fuck, what he wouldn’t give to have that right now.

So, by day who-knows-what, Satoru decides: fuck it. He’s gonna rub one out. If he’s stuck in a cube, he might as well get to cum. He lays back on his throne of bones like a king descending into madness, one hand behind his head, the other slipping under his pants.

When his cock springs free, he hisses — hips twitching as it slaps against his stomach, flushed and pulsing, already smeared with thick, gooey strings of pre. He grips the base with a groan, and those vibrant blue eyes flicker, half lidded, cycling through every filthy image he could remember; like flipping through your nudes is his own personal VR porn.

First, it’s you sprawled across his lap in the backseat of the car, with your legs shaking, panties hooked on one ankle as he rolls your tight juicy cunt on his dick; panting, groaning.

“That’s it baby… be good f’me, hah, bounce on it,” he rubs down his flushed length, massaging his palm against the head, smearing his gooey pre everywhere. “Fuck, just like that —”

Then, it’s you with your mouth stretched wide, blinking with those beautiful glossy eyes, as you gag. Drool dribbles down your chin with filthy gurgles, and his ragged groans are shameless as his cock pummels the back of your throat.

“C’mon…” he croons, fucking up into the slick of his fist as he watches. “Just — mmnh — just a little more… lemme see you — gimme that look — yeah, that one — fuck, angel I’m—”

But the first time he’s ready to erupt, he realizes that the Prison Realm is a special kind of cruel.

Because the release never comes. He feels it, but it’s always teetering on the edge. No matter how long Satoru Gojo sits there, rubbing his dick raw, panting, groaning, hunched over in a fucking pocket dimension on a bed of bones, he stuck on the edge. Over and over. Like some cosmic joke that keeps repeating. He keeps trying but…

Nothing.

The realm doesn’t let him sleep. Doesn’t let him starve. Doesn’t let him die.

And apparently?

Doesn’t let him cum.

By now, Satoru’s burned through every memory of you he has.

Every filthy detail you’ve ever let him have — every quivering whimper, every slick glide of your cunt around his fingers, every sweeping circle of that cute little tongue. The first time you sucked him off in his office. That night you rode him while he filed his paperwork. The time he bent you over the sink after a mission, babbling through tears of pleasure as he pounded you.

He’s rewound them all. Played them back. Replayed the replays. But still… nothing. No matter how achingly close he gets. So, he’s decided he’d try to release his frustration in… other ways?

That’s when he started working out. Not to grow stronger. Not for discipline. Not even to pass the time. But to hurt. To punish his shitty ass body for its refusal for release. For its denial. Because splitting his muscles open and rebuilding them through the pain, felt better than this gnawing ache that won’t fade.

He did push-ups until his arms shook. Sit-ups until he saw stars. Threw punches until his skin cracked and his breath rasped like he’s was trying to exorcise that filthy desperation from his lungs.

It didn’t fucking work though. He still woke up, hard and aching, leaking over his waistband like a fucking teenager, with his hips grinding into the air like he’s chasing your phantom weight — like his cock remembers the rhythm even if his fist can’t bring him over the edge.

It’s maddening. But maybe… if he breaks his body enough. If he endures enough pain. Maybe he can break this curse.

Break free.

Or maybe — he thinks, as he shakes blood off his curled fist — maybe he just wants to break someone for putting him in here in the first place.

The day Satoru was released from the prison realm, was disorienting. He almost forgot what it felt like to be whole again. Because when Jacob’s Ladder cracked like God had finally blinked — in the first time since forever, Satoru Gojo breathed.

But honestly? The second he was confronted with his obligations for war, he didn’t give a shit. Call him selfish, maybe. He knew he should’ve cared about the state of the world that kept turning without him, or about the battle raging across the broken remains of his comrade’s devastation.

But you are his strength. And that’s all he needs. All he wants.

What did he miss? Were you safe? Were you whole? Were you still waiting, alone in that house?

He postponed his confrontation with Sukuna and Kenjaku, because quite honestly, he didn’t have the fucking patience. So, without another wasted moment, he folded the space around him and teleported directly home. And the moment his feet touched that familiar tile, his senses were flooded with a sweetness so thick, it was borderline suffocating.

A bomb made of confectionery detonated at ground fucking zero in your kitchen. Mixing bowls crusted with dried batter, cooling racks crowding the counters. Flour was dusted everywhere, like snowfall that had never been cleaned up.

His throat tightened as his six-eyes scanned the scene.

You must have been terrified. Burying yourself in all this sugar that you can’t even fucking eat.

“Baby?” he called, voice rough, almost disbelieving. “Where are you?”

When he was met with silence, he began moving through the hallway, slowly, like any sudden motion might shatter the fragile illusion that this was real. And the house felt painfully lived-in — with your favorite blanket draped over the couch, one of his hoodies thrown across a chair, a cup abandoned on the side table with a faint ring of dried tea at the bottom.

Proof that life had continued without him. Proof that he hadn’t been there for any of it.

His chest ached with a strange, quiet grief, and as he entered the living room, his gaze snagged on your desk, on the calendar pinned above it. There was scribbled notes in your handwriting — reminders, grocery lists, circled dates, little hearts drawn in the margins. The date read:

November 19th.

Nineteen days.

Only nineteen days had passed?!

Inside the Prison Realm, it had felt like centuries. Like he had been buried alive beneath the weight of his own mind for an eternity that had no edges. But… how long did it feel for you?

His eyes lowered to the desk itself — to the open journal resting beside a pen that had rolled onto its side, as if you’d left in a hurry. Your handwriting spilled across the page in looping lines, smudged in places where the ink had blurred. And before hesitating, his trembling fingers turned the page. To read.

November 3rd

Satoru, I don’t know if this is stupid. Shoko said writing might help. Whatever. You’re not dead. I need to start there. Because everyone keeps fucking talking around it like you’re gone, like you’re something we’re supposed to mourn instead of… wait for. And it pisses me off. So, I’m writing this like you’ll read it someday. Because you will. You have to. Um. Everything is chaotic without you around… people are acting like the world is on fire, and it kinda is. But I keep expecting you to walk through that door and say something stupid like… “Wow. You guys made a mess while I was gone, huh?” Anyways. Yuji is… worrying me. He keeps apologizing for things that aren’t his fault. And truthfully, it’s made me want to scream. At everyone. At the elders. At the universe. But… you know I’m not really good at that. I just… wish you were here. I don’t know how to do this without you. Please come home. I love you. xoxo

November 5th

Satoru, I didn’t write yesterday. I meant to. I just… didn’t have anything useful to say. Because everything feels loud and empty at the same time. Home is too quiet without you. A wrong kind of quiet. Like… I’m holding my breath. I mean, I thought I heard your footsteps in the hallway this morning. Stupid, right? You never walk quietly anyway, always stomping around like you own gravity. Or whatever. Anyways. I tried to clean today. But… it feels weird moving your things. Your sunglasses are still on the counter. I don’t want to move them for when you come back and look for them. Because you’re coming back. I know you are. Um. Megumi pretended not to notice when I burned dinner. He ate it anyway. Yuji said it was “smoky” and gave me a thumbs-up like that was supposed to help. They’re sweet boys. And they’re trying really hard. It makes me want to cry and hug them at the same time. But I’m trying not to let people see that I’m on the brink of a break down... especially with them. I’m trying to be strong. Like you. And everyone keeps saying we just need to hold on. So… Come home soon, okay? I love you xoxo

November 7th

Satoru, I baked today. Actually… I baked a lot. Like, an unreasonable amount. I ran out of counter space and had to start stacking things on the windowsill. They came out okay, I think. I wouldn’t know. I didn’t taste them. But I left most of them on the counter for you. Hopefully they’re not stale by the time you get home. I don’t know how long cookies are supposed to last when nobody eats them. You’re usually the one who prevents that problem. Shoko says my stress baking is “a coping mechanism.” And that I need to eat more. I wanted to tell her to mind her fucking business. Not that I’d ever actually say that but… It’s just. Why do people keep acting like you might not come back? Nobody gives a shit. People talk about you like you’re already gone. Or worse… like you were something that got misplaced. A weapon someone dropped in the middle of a battlefield and can’t retrieve. They say things like “losing Gojo was a huge strategic blow” or “we have to adapt without him” or “we can’t rely on that power anymore.” Like you were just… a tool that broke. And it makes me so fucking angry!! I feel sick. You’re not some fucking cursed object. You’re not a goddamn contingency plan. You’re not something they get to deploy and discard when it’s convenient. You’re Satoru. My Satoru. The idiot who leaves wet towels on the bed. The man who eats frosting straight out of the bowl like it’s a perfectly normal dinner. The one who complains about paperwork for forty minutes and then still does it perfectly (on almost no sleep, mind you). God I miss you. Please. Please come home. xoxo

November 19th

Satoru, I haven’t written for a while. And it’s not because I don’t have anything to say… it’s actually the opposite. There’s too much, and none of it feels like it fits inside words. It just sits in my chest like something heavy and wet that won’t dissolve. I’m going to try to convey it now. Hopefully it makes sense. My love. You make everything… lighter. Even when things are awful. Even when the world feels like it’s pressing down so fucking hard, that I can barely breathe. You just… exist. And suddenly breathing is easier. Suddenly, this shitty ass life feels easier. And… I’m realizing now how terrifying that is. Because if you don’t come back… I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to go back to a world where that kind of love doesn’t exist anymore. I worry about what you’re going through. I don’t know if you’re scared or furious or bored or alone. And somehow the not knowing is worse than any specific nightmare I could imagine. You hate being bored more than you hate pain. Hell, you once said boredom was “psychological warfare.” God. I hope you were exaggerating. And great. I’m fucking crying now. Which is extremely annoying, because I told myself I wasn’t going to cry today. Damnit Satoru. Damnit. You’ve saved me in ways you don’t even know. And I don’t care if that sounds dramatic. I don’t care if it sounds weak. Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Missing you is the hardest. But I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll wait. I’ll wait until my hair goes gray. I’ll wait until everyone else tells me I’m stupid for still believing you’re coming back. So please. Please don’t give up. Please come back to me. Not because the world needs you. But because I do. Call me fucking selfish. I don’t care. I am selfish when it comes to you. I want you here. I want my life back. And my life is you. … Anyway, I should probably go to the grocery store before it gets dark. I’m out of butter and flour and basically everything else because… surprise surprise, I keep baking like a lunatic. There was this recipe I found online yesterday that made me think of you. Something called Chocolate Lasagna? Honestly, reading it made my teeth hurt. You’d love it. You’d probably eat half the batter before it made it into the oven. I love you. xoxo

“Satoru…?”

Your voice echoes through the doorway just as Satoru finishes reading your last entry, and when he turns away, there you are. Framed in the kitchen light, eyes wide, grocery bags in hand.

Real.

His breath hitches. “Hey…” he manages, and the blues in his eyes are glossy with tears.

The bags slip from your hands.

And then? You break.

An ugly sob tears out of you, entirely raw as you slam into him, arms wrapping around his neck with bone-deep desperation. He catches you instantly, hauling you up against him so fast your feet barely brush the ground, crushing you to his chest like he plans to never let gravity have you again.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, voice shaking. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” And his lips are moving against your temple, your cheek, your hair — anywhere he can reach.

“You’re real?” you gasp, fingers knotting his hair, making him groan. “Yeah. M’right here, baby.”

Before you can take in another breath, he’s crashing his lips against yours. It’s messy, desperate. With fingers clutching you in a way that feels dizzying; clamping and pulling you in desperation while he molds his hands against your tits, your ass, your hips.

He makes a broken noise into your mouth. “Oh fuck—” And with stumbling steps, your back hits the couch before you realize he’s moving, forcing you down into the cushions as he follows, still kissing you.

“I should—” he pants against your lips, trembling in restrained lust. “I should probably—” he kisses you again, groaning. “Mnh… there’s so much I have to say,” he half-laughs, half-breaks, breath hot against your mouth. “But—”

You yelp as he’s frantically yanking your pants down your hips, along with your panties, before spreading your legs open on the couch.

“I really fucking need you right now.”

Pushing up on your elbows, your chest heaves, and for the first time since he shoved you down, you actually look at him. His build is… thicker. Has he been working out? And his fingers are dragging up and down your thighs reverently, in a shaky, absent motion, while he’s staring down at your cunt with heavy lidded eyes likes its fucking salvation.

“…you do?” you whisper. And his eyes flick up. He nods, throat bobbing.

Who are you to deny your husband?

“Okay…” you breathe. “I’m yours.”

“Fuck— yes. Okay.”

He fumbles with his pants, yanking them down, not bothering to fully undress as his cock slaps up, pulsating, flushed, oozing from the tip.

“Sorry baby, but—” leaning over, he spits — a warm, wet line landing between your legs before he grips his cock, dragging through your folds with a strangled groan. “—don’t have—ngh—time to prep, or be gentle today.”

When he shoves it in with eager force, you gasp out a moan. Your cunt clamps tightly around his swollen girth, and his body folds forward, heaving. The sound that tears out of him is part relief, part strained.

“Oh fuck yes,” he moans, pulling back only to pummel in again, prying your slick walls open, watching that tiny hole stretch so sweetly for him. “Fucking missed this perfect little pussy.”

You’re mewing as wet plaps begin to echo, the couch groaning beneath you. Each grind of his hips builds in urgency, while his hands firmly hold you steady at your hips. His breath fans your neck. And—

“M’not—ffuck, not gonna last…”

You blink. “W-What?!”

That’s when you realize just how fucking desperate your husband was, while he growls, biting down on your neck so hard you moan while his dick erupts. He whimpers against your skin, dick jerking wildly, spurting a thick creamy release, dumping a load so massive, the creampie floods you with full force.

Your thighs are sticky, warm and wet. And in all your years of being with Satoru, you’ve never, never seen him cum so fucking fast. But—

“Fuck. M’so backed up, that’ll probably get you pregnant,” he pants, shoving himself up only to grab your legs and fold you in half. “But let’s be sure of it, hm?”

It’s hard to register his words when he’s pinning you down, prodding your cum filled cunt in an animalistic movement, making the sticky seed bury deeper into your tiny hole, while you squirm beneath him helplessly.

“O-Oh my—” you cry, pussy fluttering as he drills you in loud, squelching motions, huffing and delirious with it. “S-Satoru—” you whimper, as he hovers over you, those thick forearms flexing, abs clenching. “Ahn—"

The blue in his eyes are wild, molten. He drops his forehead against yours, snowy hair falling into your gaze, warm breath fanning your lips as he snaps into you insistently.

“Gonna give you a baby,” he whispers breathlessly between smacks. “That’s what you wanted, yeah? So you’re gonna fuckin’ take it. Now be a good girl and cum on my cock, hm?”

He was insane. And take it, you did. His hand slides down to your puffy clit, rubbing quick little circles against the nub, making your back arch and hands scramble against his broad shoulders, nails digging into the skin, making him groan.

“Ohmygod,” you breathe, “S-Satoru, yes—I’m—”

And the moment your eyes squeeze shut, with that sweet little cunt gripping him tight as you gush your creamy release all over his rigid dick, Satoru’s head throws back in a breathless moan, breaking into a laugh.

“That’s my fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl,” he breathes, pounding you. He splays his hand on your tummy, palm flat as he continues to mix your cum together with his hips. His cock bumps it from underneath your skin, bulging your belly as it curves up.

“Haaa—here it comes again baby—” he warns, voice straining, body stiffening as he rails you faster.

It’s desperate. Each rough snap is met with his soft ahhs as he doubles down, his oversensitive cock expanding, twitching against your tight, hot walls until he moans. “Fuckfuckfuck, cumming—!"

And his balls tighten as the tip of his cock spills again, pulsing and spurting with each eager jerk, with hot gooey cum shooting inside your already overstuffed pussy. And your poor, overstimulated cunt can’t take it. This wild desperation, this domination. While he uses you like the relief he needs, dumping load after load into your tiny little hole, flooding you with his seed.

You were definitely getting your baby.

Satoru fucked you for hours.

On the couch. The floor. Against the hallway wall where your back bumped picture frames crooked. Halfway to the bedroom before he lost patience and dragged you down again, like distance itself was unbearable.

You were bent over the table, with his balls slapping against the plush of your ass when he groaned. “Hah… think I’ll give you more of my cum.” Whispering hotly in your ear. “Go on then. Say thank you, baby.”

He was fucking insane.

When his head dropped on your shoulder blades with you on your hands and knees, he broke into a breathless laugh, borderline manic. “Gonna have you waddling around the house,” he drawled, gripping your stomach, holding you firmly, pistoning into you like a toy. “All pretty and round… carrying my baby. Fuck.”

You’ve never seen him like that. Not to this extent, at least. And every time you thought he had finally burned himself out? Nope. He surged back with another wave of urgency. Rougher. Deeper. Like something inside him refused to settle.

“Everyone’s gonna know you’re mine,” he growled, pushing your head into the pillow that was covered in your drool; bullying your cervix with more creamy ropes of cum. “Haaa… thas’ it. My perfect little housewife… takin’ her husband’s cock so well.”

It was a hunger he couldn’t satiate. Like he was clawing back into existence though your warmth alone. And maybe, in his mind, if he stopped—even for a second? He worried you’d vanish. The way everything else had, in that cube of hell.

Because…

Beneath the bruising grip of his hands? Beneath all the breathless kisses, all the broken groans — there was something else. Something raw threaded through him, stripped down to the bone.

Fragile.

“God I love you,” he gasped, mixing his cum is slow rolling thrusts. “Fuck… I love you so much. I…” and with a shuddering breath, his eyes squeezed shut, pained. “I c-can’t lose you. Please don’t go. Don’t leave me. Don’t—”

There was a crack in his voice, while his fingers dug at your hips frantically like… he was afraid you might vanish. And it was acutely obvious to you that what this poor man needed, was relief. A relief so intense, it bordered on panic. The strongest man alive, reduced to something so incredibly human. So painfully…

Satoru.

His laughter had always been your sunlight. His strength, your shelter. But it’s your strength that brought him home.

You.

Soft where the world is cruel. Stubborn where it tries to grind you down. Foolish enough to keep loving him even when loving him means standing in the shadows of everything that wants to consume him.

Sweet, perfect you.

And despite it being a sweetness people mistake for fragility, it’s the one thing in this world Satoru would tear heaven and earth apart for, just to protect. The one thing he would crawl back from oblivion for, again and again, no matter the cost.

A sweetness baked into every corner of his life. Warm, and soft.

Worth the wait.

꒰ authors note꒱ @/strychnynegirl my love... i hope i was able to capture all the love you have for our pookie in this fic 💖 it makes me so sad to think about what was goin on in satoru's mind during the prison realm :') and with the new season out, his absence is heavily felt. thank you guys sm for reading. happy valentines day!

[yenayaps]

Missing Pieces

Pairing: childhood bestfriend!sukuna x f!reader

Content: As a kid, all Sukuna ever really wanted was to be around you. He did just that for 10 years, only to spend the next 7 years wondering why you just stopped picking up the phone one day [tw: MDNI, angst/comfort/smuț, porņ with plot, friends to enemies(?) to lovers, uncle!sukuna, mentions of depression and low self esteem, sukuna's tongue is pierced, so is his 🍆, nıpple sucking, humpıng, óral (f receiving), fıngering, squırtıng, dacryphılia, matıng press] word count: 15k

Sukuna isn’t the type to hold on to promises, especially one made in elementary school. But, he never would’ve thought that you’d break it like that. 

The promise? That you’d be each other's best friends until the day you died. Looking back, it might be a little dramatic, but you were eight years old— all eight year olds are dramatic. 

Exactly how did you break said promise? 

You ghosted him. 

You fucking ghosted him. 

You were friends for over a decade and the moment you went off to college, poof— gone! You stopped calling, stopped texting, deleted all your socials. It was as if you had never even existed and that you were just a figment of the man’s imagination. 

Now that’s dramatic.

He’s texted and called you multiple times, no response. He’s asked mutual friends, they never got a response either. It got to a point where he had finally had it and texted your mother. You could only imagine how hurt he was when she told him you were doing just fine, and not that you were missing or in a coma.

He’d never admit it, though. 

The years came and went. The hurt he once felt inevitably dulled. Yet, you always managed to linger around in the back of his mind, like a little ghost haunting him. 

To this day, he still has no idea what he did wrong. You may have ghosted everybody, but he wasn’t just anybody. If anyone deserved an explanation, it was him. 

He still cares for you, sorta, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure if he’d even want to reconnect with you. Not with how you just dropped him like that.

. . . . . . 

“Are you excited?”

“No,” you respond a little too flatly for Ieiri, who shoots you the look right after. “Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s just been forever since I’ve seen everyone.”

She sighs, redirecting her attention back on the road— there’s not much to look at. Most people stay home on gloomy Sunday afternoons. 

The GPS says you’re nine minutes away from your destination, making you remind yourself once more to relax. Though, you really wish you could be one of those people staying in right now. Cuddled up on the couch, watching a movie. 

Ieiri taps her finger on the steering wheel. “It’s like what I said—”

What didn’t she say? 

She held you hostage on the phone for over an hour last weekend, threatening and bribing, and then threatening you again if you didn’t go with her to Kento’s surprise birthday party. 

You thought you had a good argument at the time.

“Do you realize how annoying that sounds? Kento doesn’t even like surprises, could you imagine how irritated he’d be if I just randomly popped up, too?”

“If you were Satoru? Yes. You? Doubt it. If anything, he’d probably like the distraction from it.” 

“Yeah– probably,” you murmured. 

“Can you please get out of your fucking head for once?” she scoffed. “Yeah, it’s been years since you’ve seen everyone, but it’s not like it’s because of a falling out. I don’t know where you got this weird idea that they hate you now because of it. It was them who told me to bring you!” 

“Who’s them?” you stubbornly responded. 

“Suguru, Satoru, Yuki, Choso— even Toji said something about bringing Megumi so you could see him.” 

As much as you’d love to meet his kid, it would also be another reminder of all the years that’ve passed— how everyone moved on with their lives. Getting married, buying homes, having children, starting families. 

The most you’ve done is get the job. You’d include the condo if you actually got to enjoy it, but it’s been a year since you bought it and you haven’t even bothered furnishing the place despite all the money you've saved up for it. The last thing you want to do after work is look at a screen and make more decisions. Deciding between color palettes and aesthetics, deciding on what decor and accents you want— it all sounded exhausting. Hiring an interior designer was an option. Except, you barely want to talk to a stranger, let alone work with one. 

It’s too many decisions to be made for someone that didn’t want to make them. You often wonder if you’ve simply just become someone that couldn’t make them. 

You’re well aware of the things that are wrong with you, but it didn’t make it any less surprising. You, paralyzed by choices and options? 

The people who knew you professionally would laugh. Hard. Any sense of certainty that could be felt in the air almost always emanated from you. You were decisive. Sharp as hell— honed to perfection. Someone that was more than capable of a task as menial as filling a space full of items they liked. 

You know what you like, don’t you? 

No, not really.

You are sharp, there’s no doubt about it. It’s what your boss favors you for, and sure, one could say you’re valuable to the company, too. It’s a nice feeling for a while. 

Then you realize there is quite literally nothing more subjective than the value of something.

Luckily, you are very useful. It was simply a fact, and every single one of your quarterly reviews solidified it. A coworker, or god forbid a client, could spend an entire hour talking shit about you, and they’d eventually reach the point where they’d have to backtrack with a little ‘well’ or ‘however’, before giving credit where it was due. 

The devil works hard and you stole his pitchfork. Ripped it right out of his hands, because apparently, you needed it more than him to become the youngest portfolio manager the company’s ever seen. 

Who cares about the value of something when you need it? Mr. Yaga claims to hate black tea, but leave him out in the desert long enough and he’d easily drink gallons of it. 

Having you at the company isn’t a matter of life or death, there’s thousands of others out there that are more than qualified for your role. More than half probably had resumes twice as long as yours, too. 

But for Yaga, there is no guarantee that day to day operations would run this smoothly, ever again. 

You may be a little blunt. At times, impatient. But in a world full of sexual harassment allegations and sleezy managers abusing their power, not once has there ever been a formal complaint made against you. You’re not always like that either, you’re great with the clients and stakeholders. 

It’s a talent, really— remembering all the personal details people tell you, like childhood stories, the places they’ve vacationed to, a spouse's birthday month that was briefly mentioned months ago. It makes people feel special. 

It was very handy, too. Especially in the case where the company might deal with someone that isn’t likely to give them their hard-earned money or signature. Your job was to either sweet talk or gaslight. No arguing needed.

Yaga may have not preferred you at first. You were essentially a kid compared to the people that applied for the position. 

The plan was to let you down easily, tell you to keep working hard and you’ll eventually get there. You were already lucky enough to have your foot in the door as an employee. 

Yaga had a list of goals he wanted to reach before his retirement, though. Any of the other candidates would’ve helped with that, but none would've given him the opportunity to make a second list and cross that off as well. 

The decision took months. 

In that time, he realized a few things. 

One, he spent his entire adult life playing it safe, which is an obvious sign of fearing growth. You’re not sure who taught him that, but at least he realized it was okay to start over and try something new. It was like a rebrand for him and he embraced that the “new” him craved more profit and welcomed different approaches. 

The different approaches being, finding more aggressive people because they bring in the money quicker. 

He never saw you as aggressive, though. He never saw you at all, actually. It wasn’t personal, those under 30 usually come and go, so he didn’t see much of a point in remembering names. What he did see, when he finally opened his eyes, was efficiency. 

You were straight forward in a way that saved time, had an air about you that screamed “don’t ask me how my day’s going or what I have planned for after work”, yet approachable enough for work related questions. Stellar reports, received every quarterly and year-end bonus. Sharp. 

Making you one of the managers meant he could wield you like a weapon, now you are the one he uses the most. You had the salary to prove it, yet no time or energy to enjoy it. 

You’re respected. The young interns, the girls in particular, look up to you more often than not. Eyes bright and filled with ambition. Romanticizing everything, from how much coffee you drink, all the way to your style that they labeled as “effortless”. They’re not wrong, it is effortless— always some variant of trousers, a t-shirt, heels, and a long coat. They’re never planned, yet they somehow always manage to work thanks to the lack of color in your wardrobe. 

You overheard your lack of jewelry and unpainted nails being appreciated once for how “clean” you look. All you could think of was the girl that used to do her hair and paint her own nails at one point. Except for the ones on her right hand. She saved that job for her best friend who surprisingly had a steady hand, despite complaints flying out of his mouth the entire time. Even on the days he gave in and painted his own nails black, he’d find something to be grumpy and complain about. 

It was always you choosing whose house to hang out at, which movies to watch, what places to grab food from. He was a big brat whose favorite answer to most questions was an inaudible ‘I dunno’ from the way he’d mumble it. So, you always led the way. 

Now it’s you mumbling that same exact ‘I dunno’ when you’re all alone. 

You’re tired. Worn out. If you were a blade, you end each day dull and chipped. Nobody sees it, not even those young girls with all the time they’ve spent studying you, blinded by their own dreams and aspirations to be just as important, not knowing the difference between being valuable and useful. 

Maybe it’s better off that way. 

Who were you to try to burst their bubbles when you never had dreams or aspirations to begin with? Your eyes were never as bright as theirs— not as a student, not as an intern, and definitely not as a new hire. 

You never had a spark to begin with, what makes you think they’d eventually lose theirs? 

Maybe you were the unlucky one here. 

You were the one whose head went under water after one bad semester, after all. Even now, years later, it still feels like you’re stuck in the deep end while everyone else has moved on. 

Toji chose to get married and have a kid. 

You can’t even choose yourself on most days. 

“You have arrived at your destination.” 

Fuck. You have a hard time believing the GPS was that loud when it was telling Ieiri which exit to take and where to turn. 

Her lips thin into a reassuring smile as she makes the final turn into the apartment building’s parking garage, and you fail to return it as you take a deep breath. Ieiri doesn’t say anything this time, figuring you’ll probably just have to see everyone's excitement for yourself to realize this wasn’t a pity invite. It’ll settle half of your nerves. 

The other half should settle itself with time and a drink. Several drinks, honestly. She did the best she could with telling everyone that what you pulled during your second year of college was 100% a you thing and to not talk about it unless you brought it up. Which you probably won’t— everyone will understand. No one wants to talk about being in a dark place when they haven’t fully left it. 

One moment, you’re sitting in the passenger seat with your seat belt still buckled. Next, your chest is tightening as you watch her open the door to Satoru’s apartment. There’s already chattering, which stops once she announces your guys’ arrival. 

You barely get the chance to look around before Suguru’s peaking his head out of the kitchen to see if you really did show up and lets out a laugh once he sees that you did. It was light and airy, the kind that’s accompanied by the warm feeling that you should get in your chest when seeing an old friend. 

He’s obviously changed, it’s been 7 years. Yet, he never lost that quality that managed to make people a little more comfortable.

“Hey stranger.”

Your lips thin into a shy smile, “Hey.” 

“Well?” Suguru asks, holding his arms out. “I know it’s been ages but there’s no need to be shy.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, stepping forward and accepting the hug. 

He lets out another laugh. “Don’t be— it’s nice to see you.”

“Where’s mine?!” 

You easily recognize the offended, slightly childish tone. You slowly turn your head around to see a slightly less lanky Satoru. Aside from getting some much needed meat on his bones, he doesn’t seem to have changed much. He’s still as unserious as ever, still wears sunglasses indoors like an asshole. 

Ieiri stood back the entire time, sipping on a drink she had already managed to make, patting herself on the back as she watched her little plan run smoothly: Show up early and let you build some confidence from awkwardly greeting the old friends you shared together one by one. 

It’s funny, you told her that they’d eventually move on to talking to the friends they made after you, but they all seemed more interested in circling back to you, whether it be handing you a shot or introducing you to a new face. 

If there was one burden she wishes she could take from you, it’d be the burden that has you walking through the world as if you were everyone’s last choice. 

Today should be enough to prove that.

“Yeah, no— at this point, fuck Nanami and his birthday. This is a better surprise.” Satoru throws an arm over you, slightly swaying from the shots he’s already taken. “Pfft– he doesn’t even like his birthday. I’m sure he’d be happier to see her, too—”

“He’s coming up the elevator,” Suguru cuts him off. 

“SHIT! EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP AND HIDE,” Satoru suddenly yells, as if he weren’t just talking shit just seconds ago. 

No one would be surprised if Kento heard him yelling at everyone like that, and given how hesitant of a knock there was at the door. The blonde probably already knows there’s something up. 

Suguru goes to open the door, and the moment he opens his mouth to greet him, there’s a loud wave of people yelling ‘SURPRISE’ behind him, with Satoru saying it a split second sooner than anyone else did. 

Kento’s eye slightly twitches. Half surprised, half irritated. He fucking hates surprises and knows that’s the only reason why Satoru decided to throw him one. Before a complaint can leave his mouth, Ieiri hands him an old fashion. He tries to speak again, but gets interrupted once more when she tells him who’s here. 

At first he scoffs, already having enough of people of fucking with him today. 

“No, I’m serious!” she swears, looking around trying to see where you were at, eventually catching a glimpse of your head in the kitchen. “There she is— come say hi.”

Ieiri grabs his wrist and pulls him through the living room and into the kitchen, where you, Yuki, and Choso were talking. She turns back to look at Kento, who’s already surprised by her rare display of excitement, as she gestures towards you. 

“See? Surprise!”

“Yeah, surprise!!” Yuki says right after. 

“Holy shit.” Kento rarely curses, but finds himself unable to come up with better words. “It’s been ages!” 

“I know!” You try to sound more apologetic, but ultimately fail from the nice buzz you had going on. “Happy birthday!” 

And for once, he’s a little less uptight about it when he gives you a hug and says his thanks. It was a nice surprise, he had to admit. If only Satoru didn’t have to ruin the moment with the way he barged into the kitchen with some stupid, frilly party hat in hand, begging Kento to put it on. 

“I said no!”

“C’mon, Nanamin!” Satoru whines, taking a step forward each time the blonde takes a step back. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I don’t want to get any younger— I’m a grown man, and so are you. Maybe you should start acting like one.” 

“I do! I’m just fun,” he continues to pester him, ignoring everything Kento mumbles under his breath. 

You end up excusing yourself to use the restroom, somewhat bummed you couldn’t stick around longer to watch them bicker some more. You’re sure it went on for a while, though, unaware of how it was cut short when Shoko grabs Satoru by the arm. 

He hisses at how tight of a grip she has on him, fingers digging into his skin as she pulls him aside.

“What is your problem?!” he asks through a clenched jaw. 

“Sukuna’s here?!” 

“Yeah?” He tries and fails to free himself from her grip as he answers. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise!”

She looks at him like he’s stupid, nails continuing to dig into his flesh. “A nice surprise? He fucking hates her. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I knew he was coming!”

“Ow ow ow— No he doesn’t?! Do you actually believe that?!” he groans in between each sentence. 

“Yes! He says it every time someone brings her up!”

“Ow ffuck! You know how dramatic he can be sometimes— fuck, Shoko, please, you’re breaking skin.”

“You deserve it!” she responds in a clipped tone, despite finally letting go. 

“Jesus Christ— you can’t just assault people like that,” he pouts, rubbing his arm. “It’ll be fine! It’s been years, he can’t hold a grudge that long.”

. . . . . .

Sukuna can absolutely hold a grudge that long. 

Except, he was staring at said grudge like some fucking loser, and had to remind himself that it was still alive and well. 

At first he thought you were just one of Satoru’s new friends as you walked through the living room, shyly making your way around everyone, but then you just so conveniently looked up in his direction.

His eyes nearly widened. 

And yours actually did, looking as guilty as you should be.  

The longer you two stood there, looking at each other from across the room in shock, the guilt you had in your eyes started to fade. He was sure everyone else welcomed you back with open arms, and in turn got irritated because you probably thought he’d do the same. So before you could even think to take a step in his direction, he wiped the shock off his face and replaced it with a look that’s able to make even grown men turn around and walk the other way. 

Which is exactly what you did, stomach slowly twisting into a tight knot as you immediately began to replay the death glare he gave you over and over in your head. 

Sukuna didn’t stay long and left shortly after. Not without pretending like he didn’t know you when he said goodbye to everyone, including Kento, who he never even got the chance to say hi to in the first place. 

Shoko didn’t think that was enough to have a complete 180 in your mood. She then realized you were already quiet before that. You also decided to stay in the kitchen, where there was a wall in between you and him. 

So yeah, she blames Sukuna.

“Are you sure he didn’t say anything to you?” Ieiri asked one last time as she pulled up to your apartment building. 

“Nah— my stomach just started to hurt. I don’t drink alcohol that much.” 

She still didn’t believe you, not with how big of an asshole Sukuna can be, which is why a certain someone got an earful over the phone the moment you got out of the car. He barely got a word out while she threw nothing but insults and threats so specific his way, that he had begun to believe them.

Of course Satoru felt bad! He didn’t want you to disappear again for another seven years and have it be all of his fault. So, he gives Sukuna a call, continuing the cycle of abuse started by Shoko. 

The phone rings three times. Sukuna never finishes saying hello before Satoru tries to grill him. “Alright, what did you say to her?”

“Who the fuck are you even talking about right now?”

Sukuna knows exactly who he’s talking about, Satoru can just see his face crinkling in fake disgust over the accusation because he’s just a bullshiter at the end of the day. 

“Shoko thinks you said something to her— she said she was acting all weird and shit when she came back from the bathroom.” 

“She’s already fuckin’ weird,” Sukuna scoffs. 

“So you did see her before you walked into the kitchen to say bye?” 

“Yeah, I saw her. Doesn’t mean I said anything to her though, you fuckin’ moron.”

Satoru sighs and rubs his temple, knowing he probably looked at you like he wanted to skin you alive. 

“What? Is looking at her a crime now?” 

“With the way you look at people? It should be.” It’s clearly not the first time Sukuna’s managed to simply offend someone his face with the way it comes out as a complaint on Satoru’s end. 

“Why do you even care?” 

“Don’t turn this back around on me?!”

“Then quit trying to grill me over the way I look at people. Seriously— she comes back and you all are fuckin’ babying her like she’s some victim. It’s not that serious.”

“Well Shoko—”

“Shoko can fuck off.” Sukuna cuts him off. “Don’t bother me about something stupid like this again. If she can’t handle someone looking at her in a way that she doesn’t like, maybe she should stay home and lock herself in her fuckin’ room.” 

“I– she already did!” he tries to come to your defense. “Shoko won’t tell me much, but she was going through it for years. She probably still is! She doesn’t go out at all. I tried telling you before and you wouldn’t listen.”

There’s a long pause before a disappointed sigh could be heard. Satoru could tell it was directed towards himself instead of you. “She was going through it, so she locked herself in a room for years?”

“Not literally,” he scoffs. “Look, all I know is she was dealing with depression and now she’s all anti-social because of it.”

“She should’ve fuckin’ said something then.” 

“Well, she fuckin’ didn’t.” 

“That’s–”

“If that’s an opinion, it doesn’t matter,” he cuts the man off, starting to grow impatient. Satoru has adhd— the severe, annoying kind. There’s only so much he could handle before getting the violent urge to scream out random noises. “I’m just gonna give you her number so you can talk to her if you want. Who knows, she might even open up to you more since you were the one closest to her.”

“I don’t want her n—”

“YES YOU DO.” Satoru yells, leaving Sukuna more appalled than annoyed. “I just sent it. BYE.”

click.

Sukuna glares at his phone for a moment as if it were an extension of Satoru, convinced he was dropped as a child or something and just doesn’t know it. He knows he definitely wouldn’t tell his kid if he dropped them as a baby. 

He relaxes his tensed brows and shakes his head as he pulls up the number Satoru sent. For some reason, he expected it to be your old number that he still somehow knew by heart. 

He hates that he remembers it. 

He also hates that the actual reason why you disappeared isn’t as dumb and selfish as he wanted it to be. 

. . . . . .

In the three weeks he’s had your number, he hasn’t tried reaching out. He also hasn’t accepted any invitations to hang out with anyone as a group, despite being told that you were okay with him showing up. Part of it was spite, the rest being him genuinely tired from work. 

His old man’s been taking more time off under the guise of letting him ‘take over for the day’. He acts so gracious with it, too, as if Sukuna should be thankful for the opportunity, when really, Wasuke should just fucking retire already so he can hire someone else to take his place as site manager. He’s essentially working two jobs now and when he asked for a raise, that old piece of shit laughed so hard that he damn near coughed up fifty years worth of cigarette tar.

You’d think watching his father nearly hack up an entire lung would be enough to make him quit smoking himself, but that shit pissed him off so bad that he smoked three cigarettes in a row just to calm down before going back to work. It still pisses him off. He doesn’t regret taking $50 out of that old man's wallet on his way out to cover his gas for the day. He honestly should’ve taken more. 

It’s been months since he’s gotten home at a decent time. Tonight was probably the worst thus far. 

He drags his feet into his apartment and kicks off his boots, heavy eyes landing on the clock that’s two minutes away from 10:00 pm. 

The next ten minutes are spent shoveling leftovers into his mouth, followed by a hot shower that was mainly spent just standing there, zoning out as the hot water hit his back. It’s been days since he’s jacked off, realizing it doesn’t even give him the urge, his sex drives plummeted all the way down to hell. He just wants to sleep at this point. 

Except when his head hits the pillow, he’s wide awake. It doesn’t help that he ends up scrolling through instagram— there was hardly a point for someone that barely followed anyone to begin with. 

There’s not much to scroll through. The most interesting thing being a recent post of Suguru’s night. He absentmindedly looks through them, then pauses at the 4th photo of you and Shoko with your little drinks in hand. 

You were barely smiling. 

Your lips curved just enough for the camera— nothing like the photos of you from before, grinning and laughing. That’s how he’s always remembered you.

Would it have even made a difference if he told you not to move so far away for school? It’s not like he could’ve known, you never said anything. He thought you were doing just fine and you deleted everything one day and changed your number. 

He taps the photo to see who’s tagged. Just Shoko. You still haven’t gotten back on social media, no profile to see what you’ve been up to. All he knows about you is that you moved back to the area after graduation and scored a cozy finance job without telling anyone. The only reason why you got in touch with Shoko again was because she ran into you at some bakery and made you give her your number. 

It didn’t even matter if you did have a new phone with no contacts by the time you moved back. You didn’t need to text him or call him, you could’ve just shown up. Sure, he might’ve been annoyed at first, but he wouldn’t have turned you away. 

You’ve known each other since 8 years old, you disappeared at 19. That’s his whole childhood right there. You played together, ate lunch together, walked to school together until he got a car, ditched school together. You had your own shampoo and toothbrush at his and would just use his clothes if you didn’t have a spare set with you.

It’s just dumb.

Still thinking about it, that is. It’s been years. It may have been fine to still be thinking about it at 21 or 22, but now it’s just ridiculous.

. . . . . .

You aren’t expecting Sukuna to warm up any time soon. At all, really. You couldn’t blame him for the reaction he had seeing you at Kento’s birthday. If there was one person that deserved an explanation, it was him, and you’re just about seven years too late for that. 

He wasn’t the same person you knew. You couldn’t just go up to him expecting that you’d get to have a conversation. A civil one, at least. 

It’s been years. 

And honesty, it might not even be about being several years too late. He’s a grown man, why would he care about a childhood friend that just up and left?

All there’s left to do now is to stay out of his way. You’re sure his temper’s the same and the last thing you want is to bug him. Hopefully being at a kids birthday party shields you from it in the case that you accidentally do. From what you heard, he seems close enough with Toji to know not to fuck with his sons special day. 

It’s not all bad. Toji couldn’t come to Kento’s birthday since his wife and son woke up sick that day, so you were more excited than nervous for today since you’d get to meet them. 

This time it was you that picked up Ieiri. You felt a little guilty for being the one that constantly got rides, despite having a running car of your own. Once you two got to the little park in their neighborhood, everyone was already there, including Sukuna, who was stuck having to watch his nephew that you’ve heard about through Choso. 

The biggest plot twist of all was probably learning that Jin is now technically Choso’s stepfather. You knew Choso had a teen mom, you didn’t know she was that young, though. You also had no idea how much of a milf hunter Jin was, either. 

Jin apparently didn’t know that was Choso’s mother. No one believes him, especially not Sukuna, who still looks at two like they’re a couple of fucking sickos for making him Choso’s step-uncle. 

The kid’s name is Yuji, and he looks just like Jin and Sukuna when they were kids. He’s the same age as Toji’s son, who’s turning 3 today. Yuji acts nothing like his father or his uncle. Jin was always quiet and sensitive. Sukuna was sensitive, too, but he was always very vocal about the things that annoyed him. The toddler was more like Gojo, hopped up on sugar and bouncing off the walls. 

Sukuna calls out to him like an angry mother at a grocery store, gritting his teeth as he tells the kid to, “get your ass over here, NOW,” all while Yuji pretends not to hear or see him…. up until Sukuna gets up from the bench, which is when the little boy decides to run back to him, whining about how he’s sorry and how he didn’t know. 

Megumi’s more quiet and follows Yuji around. He even ran back to Sukuna with the boy, worried that his friend's uncle was going to leave him at the park too, even though his father was at the grill just a few feet away. 

Watching the two boys play is adorable, but you try not to look too much in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the grumpy uncle, which ends up becoming more difficult than you’d imagined. The kid eventually wore him out to the point where he managed to slip out his view. 

Yuji didn't go very far. 

“...es’cuse me?”

You feel a little tug at your shorts and look down to find an incredibly worried Yuji, who should’ve gone to an adult he knew, but here he was after quickly deciding you were the trusted adult for whatever problem he had. 

“What’s wrong?” You crouch down, getting at eye level. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, pointing to his feet. “I donno how to tie my shoes.”

“You don’t?” you ask, sounding just as concerned. “Do you want me to tie them for you?” 

He pouts. “Yes, please.” 

Your heart melts at his little voice. “Aw, okay.”

Like any other kid, Yuji’s amazed at how fast adults can tie shoelaces, unable to keep up with the strings crossing and looping around each other to create the little bow at the end. 

“Yay!” He claps his hands, jumping in excitement. “We can play again, Gumi!”

Megumi thinks to celebrate with his friend, but closes his mouth right after opening it. 

Then you’re startled by a scoff made directly behind you. “You make a stranger tie your shoes and you can’t even say thank you?” 

The last to freeze is Yuji, who side-eyes him, rather than turning to face him. “Um.. ya I did..”

“No you didn’t?!” The toddler's ability to lie over something so simple amazes and offends the man at the same time. Does Yuji seriously think he’s that stupid? “I watched you lie about not knowing how to tie your shoes and then I watched you try to run off with even thanking her.” 

“I donno how to tie my shoe!” Yuji stomps a foot on the ground to prove whatever point he thought he was making. 

“Yes, you do— now thank her, before I take your shoes away.” 

“Oh no, not my shoes!”

“Yeah. Bye bye, shoes.” Sukuna snorts, clearly enjoying this. “You’re a big boy now, remember? You don’t need them.”

“Yes, I do!” Yuji whines.

“Then have some manners and say thank you.” Sukuna continues to glare at the kid while pointing at you.

“Thank you for tying my shoe,” Yuji tightly grabs the bottom of his t-shirt with both hands and bows at you, then turns to his uncle and starts whimpering. “Don’t eat my shoes, Unkakuna! I need them!” 

Sukuna’s even more annoyed now at how specific that was. “Who said I was gonna eat them?!” 

“I dunno! You eat everything!” Yuji claims, bottom lip quivering and all, making his uncle's eye twitch in disbelief. “It’s all stuck in your big belly.” 

Sukuna’s face drops, as if he didn’t see a 6-pack in the mirror this morning with his own eyes.

“I don't have a goddamn belly,” he scolds him through a clenched jaw, then lowers his tone as he begins to crouch down. “Do you want me to hit your Papa Jin?” 

“No!!!”

“Then quit acting like I eat everything in sight, you little shit.”

Yuji scratches the back of his head as he continues to whine, trying to force a couple tears out. Eventually he turns to you. “He’s gonna hit my papa with his big belly.” 

“Uh-oh. That's not nice,” you begin to laugh, all while Sukuna grumbles something about Jin being the one with love handles. 

“Papa gonna cry,” he claims, continuing to act distraught over the news, trying to get all the sympathy he can from you. “My poor papa.” 

You giggle. “I don’t think he’ll hit your papa, though.”

“He’s gonna EAT my papa!” Yuji stretches his arms out, emphasizing how big of a meal that would be for Sukuna. As if it couldn't get any worse, Yuji finds a random basketball and tries to stuff it under his shirt. “Then his belly will be big like THIS.”

“Stop it,” Sukuna snaps, pointing off into the distance behind the kid. “Get out of here before I barbecue you on that grill Mr. Toji’s using.” 

“Hey!” Yuji gasps. “You can’t do that!”

“You can barbecue anything when you have barbecue sauce, Yuji.” he informs the kid, then notices a mortified Megumi standing off to the side. “You’re next.”

“DAAAADDDDYYYYYYYY.” 

The boys run to Toji at full speed. Yuji thinks it’s a game, but Megumi’s genuinely scared, sobbing as his father picks him. His dad’s obviously confused as to why his son’s crying like someone threatened to kill him. Once Megumi’s able to actually get a full sentence out as he points right as Sukuna. 

If Megumi thought he was going to receive any sort of comfort from his father, he was dead wrong. Toji bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop, even when Megumi starts screaming and hitting him for not being more concerned over something so dire.

“Megumi says you’re not allowed to have any cake,” Toji yells out. 

“I’m taking Yuji home if I don’t get a slice.” 

Sukuna’s response has the two boys whining in the distance. 

“NO barbecue me.” Megumi glares as he tries to strike a deal with the most difficult person he’s encountered so far in his short, yet stressful life. 

“Give me three slices and I won’t barbecue you.”

“But Unkukuna, you’re belly!” Yuji rounds his arms out in front of him, emphasizing how detrimental those extra calories would be for his physique. 

Everyone grows quiet as Sukuna stares him down, wondering who the fuck even taught him that. Whoever it was better pray to god that he doesn’t find out. 

“I’m not gonna be your uncle anymore if you keep talking about my belly.”

Yuji reaches out in despair as he screams, “NOOO.”

“No? You don’t want that?” he asks, fighting back a smile. 

Yuji throws his back dramatically, shaking his head. “NO.”

“That’s what I thought,” he barks, not bothering to hide how proud breaking Yuji down with a singular sentence made him. “Now ZIP IT.”

“KAY’.” 

Yuji looks away for a moment to take a deep breath, trying to calm down, all while sneaking little peeks at Sukuna. 

He quickly looks away after seeing that his uncle’s staring at him, then peeks again. It happens several times, yet his uncle hasn’t moved a muscle once as he continues to just look at the boy like he’s better than him. 

What kind of a sick game is this? 

Naturally, he grows irritated knowing Sukuna is winning whatever game this is, which isn’t fair since he’s already going to have three slices of cake later. Even one slice was pushing it, to tell you the truth. He was too young to put into words why it pissed him off. All he knows is watching Sukuna enjoy good things, that are meant for good people, will never sit right with his spirit.

By the time Sukuna decided to stop staring at the kid as a form of psychological warfare, you had already been awkwardly standing there for quite some time, unsure if you should leave or not. It was either look rude or look too comfortable, neither of which you wanted to come off as.

Sukuna wasn’t mad at you anymore. At least not since Gojo called and told him you were and still are dealing with some mental health stuff. 

He wasn’t planning on talking to you today, either, purely because he didn’t believe he should have to apologize for giving someone a harmless look. But then he caught Yuji trying to get your attention and figured it would’ve been fine since 2 minutes with him would make anyone want to choose peace for the next hour.

You couldn’t tell what he was thinking when your eyes finally met his, but at least he wasn’t giving you that same disgusted look you got at Nanami’s birthday. 

You weren’t the best at starting conversations outside of work, though, and quickly embarrassed yourself with how bad you stuttered while trying to find something to say, which ended up being an apology for tying the kids' shoe. 

In turn, Sukuna looked at you like you were a fucking weirdo. 

“What? No, it’s— that’s fine,” he waves a hand, still thrown off by the apology. “He just goes around annoying anybody he can.”

“Oh– don’t worry, he didn’t annoy me. He's adorable.” 

You suppress a laugh as he shoots you a look saying he’s anything but that. 

“He’s a pain in the ass,” he grumbles, already rubbing his eyes from how tired he is. “We passed around a baseball for an hour before coming here and he’s still running around trying to convince people that I’m a fatass.”

He has to be at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and has the ass of a baseball player, so you neither confirm nor deny the words out of fear that you’d make yourself look stupid again. “He probably just likes your attention.”

“That’s the problem— he’s probably taken 10 years off my life already because of it,” he smiles a little, obviously more fond of the kid that he lets on. 

You avert your gaze as you find yourself smiling as well. “His poor parents.”

“They have good life insurance, he’ll be set.”

“Oh, I'm sure,” you laugh with him until it dies down into another awkward silence. You’ve barely looked at him and try not to think too much about it after the realization. Having a conversation with him was surprising enough. Difficult on your end, too, but you pushed yourself. “How’ve your dad and Jin been?”

“Jin’s been good, he’s—” he huffs out a laugh, “you know he went and made Choso his fuckin’ stepson right?” He openly points at Choso, not very worried about getting caught. 

“Yeah,” you nod, just as surprised by it, more so by the fact that Choso and Yuji and brothers. 

“Well. He’s still going strong with Kaori. Just bought a house,” he struggles to list things worth sharing— aside from the mommy kink, his brother’s pretty boring. Sukuna quickly moves on to Wasuke, who he has no issue talking about. “Old man’s driving me nuts. Says he wants to retire, instead he just takes a bunch of days off and pretends he’s doing me a favor by letting me play boss while he’s gone, so now I’m doing my job and his.” 

“You’re working for the company?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah.” 

It pains him to say, remembering all that talk about him wanting ‘something of his own’ when he was younger. Now here he is, set to take over daddy’s company. 

“I mean… it’s already there,” you try to offer some words of reassurance, being the one that heard most of the said talk. “All you have to do is maintain it once it’s yours.”  

“Exactly,” his tone changes, less ashamed of pulling the nepo baby card. “I’m not tryna work any harder than I should at this point.”

“Does he pay you extra on the days he’s off, at least?” 

“Fuck no.” He laughs, even though there is nothing funny about being exploited at his grown age. “Yeah— nope— he works me like a fuckin’ dog.” 

Hence why he’s been helping himself to whatever cash is in the old man’s wallet and whatever food he has in his pantry when he visits. He makes good money to begin with, so it’s not like he can’t afford any of it, it’s just the principal. 

He’ll take Wasuke’s toilet paper, too. 

That old man has one year to either give him a raise or retire completely before couches and T.V.s start to go missing. 

“Old man’s been good, though… still kickin’,” he mutters, then stops himself before saying something really fucked up, “What’ve you been up to?”

You shrug as you let out an indecisive hum, knowing you didn’t have much to share. “Nothing really— work usually has me pretty busy.”

He’s well aware of how boring of a life you have, but still tries to push for more details. “Yeah? Suguru says you’re in finance now.”

“Mhm,” you nod, growing shy, “portfolio manager.”

“You spend the day telling people what to do now?” he asks as if he were almost impressed. 

“Not really,” you laugh. “A lot of it’s research, reporting, meeting with clients, I— yeah, I mainly just take care of more of the sensitive stuff. If my manager hat’s on, it’s usually just collecting reports from the other managers or figuring out what’s going on with their teams if they’re not performing the way they need to.” 

He nearly barks out a laugh. 

You look at him with confusion. “What?” 

“So instead of managing a bunch of people, you just terrorize their managers?”

“I don’t terrorize them,” you murmur, shifting in place. “It’s their job to make sure that their teams are performing well and if they aren’t—”

“You ask them why they aren’t doing their jobs,” he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. “Then they sit there for the next hour, trying to come up with an answer for that.”

You pause for a moment, wondering if he has to do the same. “Well— kind of.”

You don’t have time to sit there and listen for an hour, nor do you want to. The longest one went just over twenty minutes before you had to stop her. 

“Listen, Linda— I,” you stopped to think twice about what you were going to say, “I’m just asking why there’s been a dip in the performance, I really don’t need an entire life story for that. Why don’t we take a few steps back— how has your team been?”

“Well… uhm… well… they…” You nodded, thinking it’d encourage her, and it did, but 5 minutes later she went off course to talk about her failing marriage, again. “And then Dave, he—”

“Is Dave a new hire?” 

Her eyes dried right up. “No… Dave is my husband.” 

You knew damn well who Dave was, but she was starting to get on your nerves.

“Okay, let’s talk about your team right now… this is about work— Dave doesn’t work here.” You tried your best to be patient with her, but it was like teaching a kindergartener how to self regulate. “I wanna know things like how everyone’s been mentally— are they eating, are they getting enough sleep, are they taking their breaks? Are they having to work through them?”

She didn’t know. She just wanted to give you a sob story so you’d let her off the hook. So, when she mentioned Dave a third time:

“This isn’t working,” you murmur to yourself as you turn to your computer and start typing. “I’m going to make a little worksheet for everyone, including you. Think of it as a peer review. You’ll have one for each team member and each team member will have one for you. I think that’ll be an easier way to get to the bottom of things.” 

Instead of excusing herself, she stares at you like a deer in headlights.

“There’s no need to wait on me by the way, I’ll have them emailed out to everyone within the next hour.”

On the rare occasion that you do have to ask performance related questions, you send them the same exact worksheet so they have an idea of what you wanted to talk about— which is the only part you mention to Sukuna. He’d probably accuse you of terrorizing Linda when you know you could’ve been ten times worse.

You’re just glad he didn’t ask about any of the other stuff you had to do.

Sometimes you wished you spent your days in Linda’s professional shoes— god forbid you ever had to deal with a man like Dave. Her job was less demanding than yours. More human. Working with others and collaborating with them must be great in terms of keeping you grounded— normal people, that is. 

You wouldn’t consider any of the people you answer to now as normal. The stakeholders, clients, the higher ups, Yaga— they’re all fucking crazy. You couldn’t just pretend like they were normal, you had to match their energy and in some cases, you had to be worse to finish whatever job you were tasked to do, which drove you closer to their territory with each day that passed.

“Do you like it there?” Sukuna looks at you and asks, tone fond and filled with warmth, as if he were proud of you. 

In the same moment you realize that you were only fooling yourself earlier when you tried to believe that he hated you. 

You wish you could turn back time by just a few seconds to change the subject. You didn’t want to answer a question that he clearly wanted a yes to— you’re sure it’d make him feel better about knowing you chose to spend all those years alone, when you had someone would’ve easily stayed by your side. 

You grew stiff, eyes glossing at the question because you hated the real answer to it. 

“Not really,” you murmur, almost ashamed to admit it. “That’s kinda how I feel about most things, though.” 

It was true. You don’t even know why you’re wishing for a job like Linda’s, you always came off as cold and hardly spoke to others before the big promotion. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, he wasn’t even sure if there were any words you could give to someone as apathetic as you sounded when answering. It’s not like he was the type to offer anything encouraging to begin with. Instead, he stayed quiet, comfortable in the silence as he let his own mind run free for a bit. 

Just as you were starting to think you made him uncomfortable—

“Did anyone have to drag you here today?” he asks. 

“No.”

“So you chose to come to soot sprites' birthday?” he asks, as judgmental as ever.

You smile. “I did.” 

He gently rests his hand on top of your head, leaving you with a familiar sense of comfort as he leaned in. “You’re not doing too bad then.” 

“Uncle-Kunaaaaaaa!” The man looks up to see his nephew sprinting towards him. “My tummy growling!!”

“This kid’s always coming up with the most extra ways to say things,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away. “So you’re hungry?”

Yuji slows down the closer he gets, until he’s skipping towards the man. “Yeah. Mr. Toji says he make chicken sticks.” 

Sukuna looks at Yuji the way he always does whenever the kid decides to rename something. “You mean skewers?”

“Yeah, chicken sticks,” Yuji nods, confidently repeating himself, because Sukuna was obviously wrong, even though Toji said skewers, too. Both men obviously don’t know what they’re talking about. 

The man actually looked to you for help, and given how it’s an issue between a 3 year old rage baiter and a grown man that will make time to argue with a child, you decide to stay out of it. 

“That sounds yummy,” you say to Yuji, and you could feel Sukuna glaring at you for not even bothering to call them skewers, too. “You guys should probably grab some before Suguru arrives, he loves chicken and leftovers.” 

Sukuna lets out a mixture of a scoff and a laugh since it’s true, but if anyone’s taking those skewers home, it’s him. 

Which is why he lets Yuji start to pull him away to get some. 

. . . 

Getting to talk to you more, after being pulled away from Yuji, hardly counted since it was with groups of other people. 

Luckily for Sukuna, your car’s parked right next to his and you’re leaving at the same time he’s trying to get the little brat in his car seat. He’s half asleep and won’t let go— each time he physically tries to pry Yuji off of him, he does this weird muted scream. 

He’s about 2.5 seconds away from wrestling this kid when he hears someone. 

“Bye.” 

It comes off as a little unnatural, but it’s in more of an awkward ‘I don’t know if I should say goodbye to you right now’ way. 

Sukuna turns around. “Oh, wait—” 

His hand slides into his pocket, only to find it empty, then realizes it’s in the pocket of his jacket. The side where Yuji’s on and won’t leave. You stay in the place the whole time, wondering if he’s aware of how funny he looks grumbling to himself as he checks all his other pockets. 

He eventually finds his business card, then rolls his eyes after realizing he’s about to give you a business card, because he’d rather not tell you he already has your number. To add salt to injury, he didn’t even need to pull his phone out, because the goal was to give you his number. 

“Here.” He hands the semi-decent card over for you to take, surprised it’s not more broken down since he’s always leaving them in his pockets, even when he’s throwing his clothes in the washer. “You don’t have to of course, but feel free to reach out if you’re interested in catching up sometime over lunch or something.” 

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You look at the card, flipping it over a couple times. “Um… I don’t actually… need this, though.”

He stares at you for a moment, wondering if it was just some pathetic, last minute excuse to turn him down. 

“I already have it,” you shyly admit, handing the card back to him as if it were better off going to someone else. “Satoru gave it to me a couple weeks ago. I just wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.” 

“Fair enough.” He shrugs, reluctant to say more— he might be down to catch up, but he’s still not apologizing for his face. “Shoot me a text sometime, then. I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Yeah, I will.” You smile a little, trying to hide a bit of the excitement that was starting to bubble up. “Alright, well— it was nice seeing you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

. . . . . . 

‘You’re not doing too bad.’

It took around 3 months after the words left Sukuna’s mouth to actually start believing them. 

It’s not like your life was crazy interesting now. It just slowly started to fill up with things you looked forward to over time. Whether it be hanging out with others or simply sitting in your living room with a latte you took your time making. Your apartment started to feel more like a home with each new addition you added to it. You were nowhere near done, but you found yourself enjoying the process of casually looking through items and randomly falling in love with different ones. 

The newest addition was a painting you saw a year ago and decided not to buy, despite how much you loved it. You stood in that gallery for over an hour, convincing yourself that it would never get that much attention from you again once you took it home. You were convinced that it’d find a way to collect dust in a space that felt as sterile as yours, and left it for someone that had a home where it wouldn’t. 

You found it again in a consignment store with a big coffee stain on the side of the canvas. The person who ended up buying it probably got rid of the moment it spilled. They didn’t even bother hanging it up, and most likely had it on some counter before the accident happened. By the time you got to it, it was collecting dust with dozens of other paintings leaned against the wall since they weren’t good enough to be hung up.

You paid less than a quarter of it was originally worth, but a part of you thinks you would’ve purchased it for its original price if it meant you got to take it home. You’ve thought about it nearly everyday since you stepped out of that pristine gallery, after all.  

Sukuna stared at it for a while before hanging it up. You can’t remember how the conversation started, but he came over and put it up for you after finding out you were going to do it yourself, claiming you didn’t have the right tools. You probably don’t. 

It wasn’t until the canvas was up on the wall when he finally asked the question you had been expecting to get after you caught him looking at it funny. 

“That brown stuff on the bottom corner is a part of the whole thing, right?”

“Nope.” 

He just stood there and continued staring at the damn thing with you, waiting silently for an explanation that he soon realized he’d never get on his own.  

“Are coffee stains some new trend I don’t know about?” 

He was dead serious. It was almost funny how he couldn’t believe that you’d just buy something that was stained like that. 

“Nope, not a trend.” 

He continued to stare at you, so utterly confused as to why you want that thing hung up on your wall when you could just walk into one of those art shops and buy a new one. It’s not like you couldn’t afford it, he’s seen some of the shit you own and you’re clearly not bothered by commas on a price tag. 

You eventually told him the story. He probably still didn’t get it, but that didn’t really matter. 

“How cute,” he says rather boredly, wondering why you couldn’t just tell him that in the first place. “You didn’t buy it for more than 50% of its price, right?” 

You shoot him an annoyed look. “I spent almost an entire year sulking over it, do you seriously think the price of it matters at this point? I wanted it.” 

“You probably ended up cursing the damn thing so no one else could have it. People don’t usually spill coffee on paintings.” he says, starting to laugh the longer he thought about it. 

You don’t laugh with him, but he does catch the proud look on your face as you walk away, just happy to have it. He walks after you with another question in mind, hoping now was an okay time since he always forgets. 

“Mind me asking why you’re just now starting to furnish the place?” 

You shrug. “I was just always too tired to get out of bed. If it wasn’t for work, I wasn’t getting up,” you remind him. “Too many choices to make, too. I’d get overwhelmed and stop looking for stuff.” 

“Yeah, there’s a lotta shit out there,” he murmurs, helping himself to one of the white claws in your fridge. 

The can cracks open and he takes a sip, looking over your living room that’s become a bit more filled in since the first time he came over to help you put your couch together. The place was so empty that he automatically assumed you had recently moved in. 

He’s been helpful since Megumi’s birthday— at least he tries to be. 

It never feels forced, most of the time it’s just him asking if you wanna come along to a place he was already going to, just to get you out of the house. 

He also asks how you’re actually doing, a lot— figuring you were just someone that needed some extra support, given how one lonely, difficult semester made you isolate yourself to the point where you started to believe you weren’t worth missing.

Once, he almost asked how you could’ve ever put him into that category. He loved you, both platonically and not platonically. But he never asked, the past is the past and that’s probably just how it is when someone’s spirit’s in the dumps.

He’s far from a therapist and never has any advice to give, but he was surprisingly good at getting you out of your head— pull you back to reality, without the reality check. You’ve obviously had more than enough of them. It’s why he doesn’t bother being harsh with you, at all. Even during the times he’s come off as more straightforward, you don’t feel any judgement or malice behind his words. The last thing he wanted was to say or do something that made you think you couldn’t give him a call. 

It’s probably why you’re so comfortable with having him come over and why you don’t mind telling him certain things, like the fact that you spent most of your free time sleeping at one point. He never bats an eye. He just wants to be around you, like he’s always had.

“Summers’ coming up. Getting anything for the balcony?” he asks, nodding in the direction of its doors. 

You turn your head, looking over at the empty space. “What would I even get?” 

He’s mid-sip when you ask, but hums in acknowledgment. “Some seating, a little table, maybe a fire pit if you’re feeling extra crazy.” 

You fight back a smile, “Oh? Thanks, asshole.”

“You might be a grandma, but I never said there’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I’m trying not to be, okay.” You give him the finger as you walk to the fridge, hoping he didn’t take the last seltzer. Seconds later you’re cracking one open yourself.

He chuckles at the little pout you get on your face when you’re offended. “I’m just fuckin’ with you— you’re fine.”

“I guess,” you murmur, leaving him in the kitchen to go take a seat on the couch. 

He trails behind you, leaving enough space between the two of you as he takes a seat on the couch he nearly lost his mind trying to put together. The instructions were in a language so uncommon that most people go about their lives without knowing about it.

“What do you mean you guess?” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “Kinda feel guilty for all the years I lost, I wish I could get them back.”

“I bet,” he leans back in his seat. “You ever considered making more time for yourself, now?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Taking some time off. Could be a week, could be a couple months. You could even try working part time for a little. You have a savings, I’m sure you could get away with taking a break.” 

“Oh— yeah, I have actually. The company has really good benefits, though. It’s kinda why I haven’t even tried to leave,” you turn towards him, leaning against the arm rest as you hug your knees. “I’ve been considering asking for a demotion, though.” 

You’re not quite sure how Yaga would handle that. You’ve been coming up with different ideas all month— a hybrid schedule, switching to a 4 day work week, maybe leaving early some days, a demotion. You’re sure taking on another role would have its own difficulties, but it’d be easy to handle compared to all you do now. The workload you have really should  be split between two people, maybe even three. 

“That’d definitely be a lot less work,” he remarks, still shocked at all the shit he has you do. 

“A lot less— I’m hoping Yaga agrees to one of them. If not, I might just find some place else. I could probably take a few months off then. Free time does sound nice.” 

“Yeah you could sleep in, hang out with anyone who’s free, find a hobby, go on a date—“

His last suggestion gets shut down with a laugh. “Yeah, right.” 

“What?” he smirks.

“I suck at dating,” you inform him. “I don’t even know how to anymore.” 

He snorts. “That’s a little dramatic, no?”

“It’s true— last time I went on one was three years ago.”

He raises his brows, then flatly asks, “Three?”

“Don’t judge me,” you grumble. 

“M’not. It’s just— 3 years of completely nothing?”

“God— obviously.” You hide your face in embarrassment. “You are judging me right now.”

“I’m not,” he laughs, taking another sip. “Just a long time to go without having someone take care of you.” 

"Well I slept through most of it anyway so I'm fine,” you roll your eyes, annoyed at how he’d even make a joke like that when he knows you can support yourself just fine without anyone’s help.

“You’re awake right now, though.” 

“So?” you scoff.

“I can take care of you, if you want,” he offers.

“Not funny,” you murmur, just about ready to kick his ass out. 

At first, he’s confused as to why his little offer had you that offended. Then after a minute, it clicks. Since you refuse to look at him, you miss the amused grin on his face after realizing you two are thinking about two entirely separate things in terms of ‘being taken care of’.

You only finally look at him when he gets up from where he’s sitting and there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, making you think he’s just being a dick and leaving.

Then he takes a seat right next to you, leg just barely brushing against yours.

“What are you d—”

“I think you’re a little confused here,” he says a little too calmly, throwing his arm over the backrest and leaning in way too close.

“Listen, I looked forward to hanging up that painting of yours all day, same goes for all the other stuff I’ve helped you out with.” You feel your cheeks start to warm as a result of the low, honeyed tone he’s using on you. “I really like helping you. It makes you a little happier, and with all the assholes I have to deal with everyday, it makes my day a lot better. So, why not just let me do a little more?”

“I don’t— what are you even talking about right now?” Your words come out all nervous and jumbled, failing to stay calm from how close this guy is. 

“I’m talking about all the times I’ve caught you looking at my dick print.”

Your eyes widen in horror and he laughs. 

“Yeah, you’re not slick,” he tucks some hair behind your ear and leans in closer. “C’mon— you’re not even at work right now and your mind’s still all over the place trying to find stuff to be stressed about. Aren’t you tired?”

Your heart pounds against your chest as you hesitate to answer. “I mean— yeah.” 

“Let me fuck you then,” he murmurs, tracing the backs of his fingers down your arm. “You won’t have to think about anything, won’t have to do anything— just gotta take it. Super easy. Sounds fun, huh?” 

“I… I don’t know,” you just barely whisper, shifting in your seat from all the nerves, looking like a deer in headlights.

“I think you do know.” He continues to toy with you as he waits for you to say anything else. Surprise: you never do. 

“I’ll stop if you tell me to.”

You look like you’re about to have a panic attack and it’s adorable. “Stop what?”

“This.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss right under your ear, humming against your skin, not missing the way it makes your breath hitch. Then he presses another one on your jaw, then another, getting closer to your lips and pulling back right before he does, meeting your glazed over, half lidded eyes. 

He snakes a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in, making your lips meet his. The first kiss is slow and gentle, letting you warm up to it. You put your legs down trying to get closer, not expecting for it to grow more heated, too. 

An arm wraps around your waist and you're being pulled in to straddle his lap. His big hands roam around your hips and ass as you start to full on make out, grinding you down against something long and hard until you’re desperately panting against each other. 

He gives your ass one last squeeze before finding the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up over your head, rushing to unclip your bra and tossing it in whichever direction the shirt went. A soft gasp slips through your lips once you feel the wet heat of his pierced tongue drag a slow stripe over your nipple, not thinking much about the way Sukuna smiled at you afterwards. 

You should’ve braced yourself for the level of greed you were about to experience. 

Many minutes later, your tits are covered in spit and you’re failing to bite back moans out of self preservation. 

And it’s fucking hard. 

Sukuna’s groaning and dragging a heavy tongue over each nipple 1, 2, 3, 4 times before wrapping his lips around them and starts sucking. He goes back and forth between each, pulling away with a wet, lewd pop before moving on to the next. At first, he’d replace his mouth with his fingers— rubbing, rolling, and pinching on the sensitive bud so it’s not completely neglected while he works on the other one. 

They’re now firmly planted on your hips, because apparently he needs the extra friction. So now your shorts are soaked through and you’re trying not to cum as he continues to push you down back and forth against his cock.

Your fingers are digging into his shoulders, the moans you’re struggling to bite back come out as whines and the one thing that actually pulls one out of you is when Sukuna’s palm cracks down on your ass. 

“Come here.”

He pulls you in by the back of your neck and swallows all the little sounds you try not to make with a kiss messier than the last. 

The air's hot and heavy once he breaks it. A small string of saliva hangs on and then breaks as you pull away, already looking like a mess while trying to catch your breath.  

“Bed?”

“Yeah,” you nod, sounding more desperate. 

“Thought so,” he stifles out a laugh as he suddenly gets up, easily taking you with him as he makes the short walk to your bedroom. 

He sets you down on the mattress before pulling his shirt over his head. The buckle of his belt lightly clinks as he undoes it to take his pants off, leaving just his boxers on that leave little room for imagination. He leans forward, hooking his fingers over the waistband of your soaked fucking shorts, taking them off along with your panties in one go. 

You don’t even get the opportunity to be shy around Sukuna because he's immediately grabbing the backs of your thighs and letting out a low whistle while pulling them apart to get a good look at how wet you already are. 

“Shit— look at you,” he groans. 

Without warning, he dips his head down in between your thighs, and he licks a long, fat stripe up your slit, not missing the extra friction from the metal ball on his tongue. There’s a shit eating smirk on his face when his head comes up, teasing you as he pushes you back further up the bed to make more room for himself. 

“Told you this was fun.”

“Shut up.” You giggle as you watch him get settled back in between your thighs, only for it to die out once he dips his head back down. 

He draws a long sigh out of you once he starts to slowly lap at your sensitive clit. He goes at an unhurried pace, just barely using any pressure and you’re sure he’s just doing it to fuck with you. With the way you are right now, the lazily licks are fucking torture, making you squirm around while you clench around nothing.

The more you move, the tighter his grip around the back of your thighs gets, until you find yourself pinned in place as he finally starts to pick up the pace, adding more pressure until that metal ball starts swiping across your clit like you need it to. You focus on it, until it gets ripped away once you finally feel his tongue press flat against your hole and begins dragging heavy stripes up to your clit. 

Your breathing grows sharp and uneven, hand moving down to his head, locking strands of hair in between your fingers as drawn out moans start spilling past your lips. He goes from pressing his tongue against your entrance to pushing past it, dipping further and further until deciding to just stay there and fuck you with it.

The shallow thrusts have you squeezing and clenching, back arching off the bed, desperate for more. You nearly let out a pathetic cry when he pulls away, but then he fills the empty space right back up with not one, but two of his fingers. They’re long and thick, and he’s curling them in. The pads of his fingers rub right up against that spot inside that has you seeing stars. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you watch as he starts to pump them in and out faster, until a light squelch can be heard. “Oh fuuuck.” 

“You like my fingers?” he asks with a low, amused hum. 

You nod. “Feels so good— oh my god.”

“I bet— look at how fuckin’ soaked they are from you.” He pulls them all the way out for you to see, then stuffs them back in. He starts curling faster, thumb pressing your clit and rubbing little circles until you’re clenching and whining. “Yeahh— that’s it, show me how good that feels.”

He keeps hitting your sweet spot until something in you shifts, making you close your legs out of instinct, only for him to keep them open so he can keep going. 

“Oh my god— fuck— wait!” you cry out. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Gonna cum?” Instead of letting up, he goes faster, letting the room continue to fill up with the filthy sounds of his fingers scissoring into your cunt, pushing you over the edge until you give him what he wants. 

And he gets it quick. You let out a sharp cry as you gush around him, finally cumming after holding it in from earlier.

“Fuuck yeah, there you go,” he rasps, fingers slowing down as he works you through it. 

He waits for you to catch your breath before leaning forward and kissing you a couple times, humming with each one. 

“Tired or you wanna keep goin’?” he asks. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath as you answer. “Yeah, keep going.”

“Atta girl.” 

He pushes himself off the bed to take the boxers off and your eyes widen at his cock that’s bigger than you originally thought it’d be. It springs out of his boxers with multiple piercings and precum smeared all over his darkened red tip. 

And of course, you stare for longer than you should.

“You alright?” he asks, sounding cocky as hell, and actually having the right to be. 

Taking your eyes off feels impossible— 3 rows of barbells on the underside of his shaft right below his tip, and another one on the underside of his tip. It almost feels wrong, he’s already long and thick. 

“Yeah— I just— holy shit.” 

“I know.” He says with full confidence as he gets back on the bed and situating himself in between your legs. “Gonna be fun watching you take it.”

He grabs the backs of your knees and spreads your legs further apart, getting a better look at how wet you still are, fighting back a smile knowing it’s from him.

He gives his cock a couple pumps, then looks at you, not sure whether you’re excited or nervous. “You ready?”

You look at him, then back down to the absolute monster he has in his hand, then back up at him. 

“Mhm.”

He stares at you for a few seconds, then casually shrugs. “Alright.”

You’ll get used to it.

He runs the head of his cock through your slick folds, tapping it over your clit a couple times, making you a bit more nervous after feeling the cold metal ball from his piercing nudging at your entrance. 

He pushes in, and you both have the same reaction to how easy it slides in despite how tight of a fit it was. You take in a sharp breath as he starts to sink in, inch by inch, with no resistance, all while feeling an immediate stretch and the added friction from each piercing. 

Once he’s halfway through, he slowly starts to rock his hips back and forth and you find yourself having to bite back on a moan, realizing those piercings were also rubbing back and forth against your walls. 

“You doin’ okay?” he raises a brow, clearly enjoying the sight. 

“You’re so fucking big,” it almost sounds like a complaint.

“I am,” he hums, leaning down and caging you in with his arms. “I’m gonna push the rest in.” 

“How much is there left?”

“You’ll be fine.” 

He thrusts right in and you're letting out a shattered gasp. At the same time, he’s humming in satisfaction since he got to watch the whole thing.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he murmurs, giving you a moment to get used to how stuffed you are, stealing a few kisses while he’s at it since he’s not entirely an asshole. “Remember what I said, all you gotta do is take it.” 

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s pulling out all the way and sliding back in, working up a pace as he stuffs you over and over again, dragging those small metal balls right over the spot that made your toes curl. 

It still took you a little bit of time getting used to him though, all words dying at your throat once he started to actually fuck you like it was nothing. Feeling betrayed by your body for letting him stretch you so easily like this. 

Each drive of his cock has you moaning and gasping, making you cover your mouth trying to hold them in— something he did not like since he pushed your hand away. 

Then without warning, he shoves two fingers in your mouth. 

“Mmmh— you look good with my fingers shoved in your mouth like this. Now suck.” 

You do as he says, swirling your tongue around his digit a few times before he presses them down it, making you softly moan as you sucked on them. He pulls them out with a wet pop and starts muttering in your ear. 

“Don’t cover that pretty little mouth again, alright?”

Thrust. 

“Fuck— okay,” you whine back. 

“Good girl.” He gives you another rough thrust, pulling another choked noise out of you. “Don’t try to hold out on me thinkin’ snot and tears are gonna turn me off, cry on it if you have to. I like it ugly.” 

At first you wanted to cry from how fucking mean that was, only to realize that urge to cry may have just been from that one spot he wouldn’t stop hitting, which eventually stopped being overwhelming once you finally get used to him.

“See? That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he asks, though it was more of a condescending remark rather than a question. “Bet this feels good now, huh?”

“It’s been a while,” you say in an attempt to defend yourself. 

“Yeah, no kidding— pussy’s fuckin’ tight,” he says all smug, getting harder at just the thought. “Feels good like this.”

He brings your legs together and throws them over his broad shoulders. Moans start to spill out of your mouth the moment he starts hitting at an angle that manages to hit your clit too. His hips crack against your ass as he picks up the pace, slick spreading past your thighs as he pounds down deeper, bed steadily rocking from all the force behind each thrust.

“Shit— look at how much of a mess you made,” he groans once the wet squelch between you becomes unavoidably louder. “Did you squirt or somethin’? You’re fuckin’ soaked.” 

“No. I don’t— nghh— who cares, just keep going.”

He looks at you in amusement, keeping the same pace as he pushes further back against your legs to go deeper, making you nearly squeal. “Is this what’s got you lying about squirting?”

“I didn’t squirt,” you say with an airy laugh. “Fuuck— just feels good.”

“Right,” he mutters slowly as he pushes back against you even more, slowing down until he’s just grinding against you. “What about this?” 

It’s a full blown mating press at this point.

“Mhm— yeahh.” Your lips curl into a small smile. “Better, actually.”

“Good,” he hums. 

He leans down to press his lips against yours while slowly picking up the pace again, soaking up all the sighs and soft moans he pulls out of you from the deep strokes of his cock, letting the base of it rub against your clit while his tip mushes against that special little spot inside.

The slow, lazy kisses go on for as long as they can, and for you, it’s when your teeth threaten to clash against each other each time his hips snap against you. By then, Sukuna’s going harder. He pulls all the way back, then drives back in— the force behind each thrust growing greater than the last.

“F-fuck— Kuna, that’s—” 

“What? Too much?”

“No, no— keep going,” you damn near start pleading with him, feeling a little bit of pressure start build. “Don’t stop— please, I think I’m gonna—“

Your cunt stretches helplessly around him, feeling every inch and vein he stuffs into you over and over again as he fucks you with reckless abandon. The sight’s nothing but obscene as he fills the room with the sounds of him pounding you senseless. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, honeyed and condescending. “Can’t take it?”

“I don’t– fuck– I don’t know.” Your words are cut off by sharp sudden gasps, feeling something unfamiliar build up. It’s not until he gives you one particularly rough thrust when tears start streaming down your cheeks. 

“You poor thing.” If you hadn’t known any better, he sounded quite pleased with himself. He leans down to lick a fresh tear streaming down your cheek before going back to business. “Look at you, getting fucked so good that it’s making you cry. You’re probably close, aren’t ya?” 

You take in a sharp breath, wondering how bad it would be if you did. You already thought you came. Instead, Sukuna’s right and he’s letting one of your legs back down, leaning in close and cradling your head while he continues to absolutely ruin you. 

“Cum for me,” he murmurs. His fingers trail down to your clit and starts rubbing over it with just the perfect amount of pressure, making clenching like fucking crazy. “Thaaat’s it— c’mon. Give it to me.”

He drags his heavy cock all the way out with a wet schlick, then slams back in— again and again and again— pushing you over the edge until your nails are digging into his back and you’re breaking out into a cry. 

You’re gushing around his cock and he keeps drilling into you like he’s trying to work as much as he can out of you— just powering through it. This is the hardest you’ve ever cum in your life, you’re fucking sobbing and he’s just encouraging it with the way he licks a stripe up your cheek, groaning about how fucking hot you look crying on his cock. 

“Oh my g-god— I-I can’t— ffuck it’s too much—” your nails start to claw down his back as he drives you into overstimulation. 

“I know— I’m so fuckin’ close,” he husks out, and you can tell he’s not entirely all here anymore. “Shhiittt almost there— keep squeezing me like that, baby— yeahh just like that,” his hips desperately slam into you, deep groans start to rumble out of his chest as he chases his own relief. “Fuck— ffuuck.”

He lets out the most drawn out guttural groan once it hits him. He slams in, burying his cock deep inside of you and flooding your walls with so much cum that it starts to spill out while he grinds every last drop of it out. 

He pulls out but keeps you caged in underneath you, pressing lazy kisses against your lips with short uneven breaths in between, skin damp and glistening from sweat. It takes a moment to come back to reality, and for someone that doesn’t even know where to start, you’re surprisingly comfortable with the silence between you. 

It eventually ends, though. You’re the first to break it. 

“Did you still want me to go out on those dates you were talking about?” 

Immediately he lets out a breathy laugh. “If you don’t mind me trying to fight them, then sure.”

. . . . . . 

Six Months Later 

You walk step inside Sukuna’s office, giddier than usual with the small pink cake you bought after handing in your resignation letter to Yaga. His feet are kicked up on the cherry oak wood desk and you doubt he’s doing anything work related. But he’s the boss, who’s going to yell at him? He does sit up straight once he sees you, though, ready to hear the news. 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to hear it right away since you just had to look at the wall shelves and catch sight of something that wiped the smile off your face. 

“Why is Yuji’s face crossed off in that photo?”

He rolls his eyes, “don’t worry, it’s whiteboard marker.” 

“But why would you do that?” you continue to interrogate Sukuna, because unlucky for him, you two are the best of friends now. 

Jin visited him earlier today and brought Yuji along. He started off the visit strong by pointing to Sukuna and asking his father ‘Does Uncle have a reezding hairline, too?’ and eventually took a look at the protein snacks he had in the corner, which made him look Sukuna up and down, and go “you eat too much.”

Sukuna rubs his temple as he grows annoyed again. “He called me fat and bald, so I told him we weren’t family anymore and crossed his face out to prove it.”

Despite the words that come out of Yuji’s mouth, the kid loves him in all of his grumpiness. 

“So you made him cry?” 

Yuji cried so hard that started dry heaving and nearly threw up. “No,” he grimaces. “He just pouted and said sorry.” 

The apology being, ‘No, PLEASE! I’m sorry, I'm SORRY,’ and, ‘I LIED— huhuhuhu my tummy hurts, yuji gonna frow up— I’m sorry’.

You look at him rather suspiciously as you grab a couple forks from his little snack station in the corner, but let it go this time. 

He takes your silence as an opportunity to change the subject completely. “How’d your boss take the news?” 

“Oh my god, he was distraught,” you reveal, still surprised over how panicked he looked when you turned in your resignation letter. 

He waves a dismissive hand, believing it’s the least he deserved for not trying to meet you halfway when trying to cut some of your hours down and refusing to demote you. 

“You’ll forget all about it after sleeping in tomorrow,” he reassures you before taking his first bite of cake. 

“Yeah— I,” you give a nervous laugh, “okay, so about that.” 

He stops chewing and just stares at you. 

“I’m gonna stay with them.” 

“What?” he almost snaps. “We’re going on vacation in a few weeks. I— what the fuck? What did you get a fuckin’ cake for then?!”

“We’re still going! He’s giving me that time off.”

“How charitable of him.” He snorts out a bitter laugh, then goes back to be mad. “I thought you hated that fuckin’ place?!”

“I did! But he offered to shorten my hours and said I could work from home.” 

That piece of information does nothing for Sukuna, who is grumbling profanities under his breath, acting like he’s the one being forced to stay there. His words start going in one ear and out the other after telling yourself he’ll get it eventually, and take a bite out of the victory cake since you also got a small raise, despite the decrease in hours. 

“Are you listening?”

“What?” you look up and ask, still chewing on the food. 

“Tch– nothing.” Sukuna takes his aggression out on the cake by stabbing the damn thing when getting more. “He shoulda’ given you all that before you tried to quit if you were that important. Hell— he shouldn’t have dumped all that work on you in the first place.”

“He’s a greedy old man that’s hungry for money,” you remind him. “What else would you expect from him?” 

Sukuna’s delusional and does this thing where he just assumes the world sees you the same way he does, and then when it doesn’t, he gets offended. Last week at the grocery store, someone reached for the produce in front of you and he snapped at them for not saying excuse me. Then he snapped at them again for not having any patience, given how you would’ve eventually moved.

“Whatever,” he gets up from his seat to grab a water from the mini-fridge and takes a sip, but before sitting back down, he stops next to you and gets at eye level. “If Mr. Crabs calls you while we’re gone, I’m ripping that phone out of your hand and cussing him the fuck out, you hear me?”

You suppress a laugh. “Loud and clear.” 

“Good,” he says, stealing a quick kiss from you. “Proud of you.”

The sincerity in his tone pulls a smile out of you. “Thanks.”

He glances at the door, notices it’s locked, then places a hand on your thigh when he’s suddenly hit with the realization that there’s absolutely nobody that could fire him.

He gives it a squeeze. You already know what he’s thinking.

“Seriously? You can’t wait until we're at home?”

“I’ll make it quick.”

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[yenayaps]

controller | sukuna x f!reader

Summary: Working as Wasuke Itadori's personal assistant wasn't all that bad. You got paid well, the hours were reasonable, he wasn't a complete asshole like most CEO's were. But there was a catch, and it came in the form of his charismatic son that trouble always seemed to follow. Or maybe he was the problem? Just don't say you weren't warned about him.

genre: modern au, 18+, forbidden romance (?), smut, angst, fluff, crack & all that good stuff

warnings: explicit smut, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of drug and alcohol use, profanity, mentions of blood and violence, attempted violence towards reader, sukuna brought a knife to the function (non sexual), explicit smut, cunnilingus, marathon sex, rough sex, overstimulation, mentions of whipping, degradation, creampie, spit kink, a couple threats here and there, use of sex toys, narcissistic parental abuse, terminal illness, death/loss of a parent, slight mention of body obsession, toxic family dynamics, masochism, slightly toxic relationship

wc: 89.5k (on going)

Ko-fi link if you're feeling generous and wanted to show extra support ❤️

playlist

prologue

one: menace

two: attack dog

three: casino royale part one

four: casino royale part two

five: never again

six: i like the way you kiss me

seven: tamed

eight: failed attempts

nine: the only gift

ten: new year, same man

eleven: slow dancing in a burning room

twelve: make it work

thirteen: the sun part one

fourteen: the sun part two

fifteen: i can save us

sixteen: sweet little lies

seventeen: ceaseless

eighteen: that’s slander!

nineteen: surrender

twenty: passing the torch

head canons

mini dive on sukuna & readers relationship (ch. 16+)

notes: i will be doing a taglist for the first chapter of this cute lil romance story! so lmk if you'd like to be added to that <3 it should be coming out sometime within the next month

[yenayaps]

defiance masterlist | king!sukuna x servant!reader

summary: a psychic shares her vision with the king, saying that his soulmate would replace all 5 of his concubines one day. he had her banned from the premises for that absurd prediction. it wasn't until months later when he started believing the old bitch, after one cute yet disobedient servant started working at the shrine. TL;DR: sukuna's a sorcerer in this one, still ooc but not too much. mc pretty much ran away from home for being a hoe, and went to work at sukuna's shrine lol.

genre: female reader, heian era au, 18+, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, smut, crack, angst, no he wont have two sets of arms, and no he wont have two dicks, i'm really sorry

fic warnings: profanity, explicit smut, graphic depictions of violence, death, pregnancy, war

wc: 106k (complete)

side stories: delicate

Ko-fi link for those who are feeling generous and wanted to show extra support ❤️

One: Did I give you permission?

Two: Flower festival

Three: The King of Curses

Four: Temper

Five: Depraved

Six: My Little Dove

Seven: Counting the Rings Inside of the Willow Tree

Eight: White Silence

Nine: Say Yes to Heaven

Ten: Hidden Letters

Eleven: A True Blessing

Twelve: Energy Shift Part One

Thirteen: Energy Shift Part Two

Fourteen: Prelude

Fifteen: A Sharp Turn

Sixteen: Dream’s Over

Seventeen: Beneath The Lotus; A Devils Cleanse

Eighteen: I Can Clean Impurity

Nineteen: Climbing up the Walls

Twenty: Sumire

Twenty One: Sayomi

Epilogue

extras:

king!sukuna headcanons

dovey’s style

what ryuko looks like

the concubines

playlist

All rights reserved © 2024 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[spideyyeet]

⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ FIELD TRIP

[ SUM ] - toji agreeing to be a parent chaperone just so he can be with his son’s hot sixth grade teacher for three whole days.

[ PAIRING ] - mma!toji fushiguro x teacher!reader

[ CONTENT ] — MDNI. 18+ ONLY!! NSFW. dilf toji, unprotected, pet names, toji cums a lot, obsessed, age gap (37 + 24), fantasizing, spit play, biting, hickies, breeding kink, teasing, perverted toji, morally ambiguous toji, creampies, squirting, slight dub-con (both drunk), spanking, cute toji dad moments. wc: 24k

[ A/N ] - just a head ups half way through spelling and grammar have not been checked….anyways here’s a long ass fic — lets just say in honor of the s3 trailer!!

“aha!— don’t tap out on me, teach,” toji’s laugh was deep and husky as he pounded his throbbing hard cock into the squishy velvety walls of his son’s sixth grade teacher.

your eyes were crossed, senses focused on nothing but the lewd stretch that had drool running down your cheek. “y’r such a fuckin’ ngh— mess.” you try to sputter a reply, but only a moan comes out. desperate and slutty. “is this the same mouth you’re usin’ to talk to my son?”

toji is lifting you up, arm wrapping over your chest, and his cock sliding even deeper inside, your walls stretch as your eyes bulge. your back arches from his chest, nails sliding down his forearm and bicep as you feel him so deep in your tummy. “toji…angh!” your sweet moans turn even dirtier as you cry on his lap, trying to turn your head.

“aww you wanna stop?” he grunts driving his hips rougher, your tears looked like gems as they fall from your eyes. “thought ngh i said we—“

“no…no,” you’re gasping, head turned to glance at the sweaty fighter, his cheeks flushed, sweat clinging to his skin. “kiss me….please.”

his eyes widen.

“fuck.”

his hard abs clench and you cry as you feel his cock somehow grow inside you, his veins throbbing as he drops his head to your shoulder. his hips stutter as he feels your mixed arousal that rims his base, the lewd mixed juices slide down his balls and coat his thighs creating a sticky mess that only makes his arms flex. “you’re fuckin’ killing me.”

your mind isn’t even fully registering anything, but toji was on the verge of breaking. his head roughly turns, crashing his lips with yours.

how did he end up fucking his son’s sixth grade teacher on a school field trip?

toji didn’t know how mean it was, but he started paying attention to his son’s rants just recently, only because nine times out of ten, he’ll mention his homeroom teacher. the one that called him in earlier in this year after megumi got into a fight.

it was bothersome. kids fight. for heavens sake, that’s his job, however, when megumi came back with a note insisting that his parents come speak to her, and not an assistant or nanny, is when toji dragged his ass from the gym to his sons little middle school. toji never really bothered with megumi’s school life, occasionally asking if his grades were up and listening when the boy rants a couple times about his idiot friends.

toji wasn’t negligent, he obviously cares deeply about his son, hell, his son is the only thing he cares about. so of course as his only provider, he needs to take care of him, give him the best life he could ask for, especially knowing how toji grew up, he only ever wants the very best for his only child. in other words, he doesn’t have much time to visit his son’s school all that much because of his very demanding career.

anyways, megumi was waiting by the front of the school, as toji walked up. sitting beside him was the same pink-haired kid that was always over at his house. his eyes brightened when he saw the fighter.

“hi mr. toji!” yuuji was definitely toji’s biggest fan.

“kid.” the acknowledgment was enough for yuuji to smile even brighter. “where am i supposed to go?” toji’s hands were deep in his pockets. he didn’t even bother changing out of his sweaty gym clothes, and he still had some bandaids wrapped around his knuckles.

megumi glanced up, eyes narrow. “did you even shower?”

“you said 3:30.”

“it’s 4 now.”

toji stared blankly. “show me the way or I’m leaving.” megumi stood up, yuuji bouncing up to follow too.

“hey mr. toji, you should’ve showered,” yuuji says walking backwards, his hands behind his head. toji raises a brow at his smug attitude. yuuji shrugs, continuing on. “ms. l/n likes things that smell good,” he says raising a finger. “like flowers, and chocolates and candy and maybe the ocean, and she’s really pretty, so if you smell sweaty then she’ll probably be upset.”

idiots, toji rolls his eyes. “well it’s too late now.” yuuji shrugs, looking at megumi who shrugs as well. this peaks toji’s sudden suspicion. since when was megumi aware of things like that?

toji watches as megumi and yuuji skip up to the door labeled 6C. they peak through the door window before swinging it open.

“hi ms. l/n!” yuuji shouts.

there’s a distant laugh, as toji follows the kids inside. “what’re you still doing here?”

oh shit.

toji felt like time stopped, and a wave of pink and fuzzy flowers hit him.

you were sitting cross legged at the desk as yuuji leaned over the table, and megumi leaned against the board beside you. both boys so naturally in their element it almost felt like you knew them better than he did. which might be true.

his eyes rack up, not really knowing what to say. he’d met megumi’s teachers in elementary school, but none of them looked like this. he didn’t say anything for a moment, until your eyes perk up catching him standing by the door.

“oh, you must be megumi’s dad,” you quickly stand up, your dress naturally falling perfectly, as you extend a hand out for him. “it’s great to finally meet you.”

your eyes were as bright as your voice, looking directly into his dark emerald eyes, it threw him for a loop. he glanced down at your hand before gently grasping it, his hand easily dwarfing yours.

when he touched your hand, there were noticeable callouses on his palm and fingers. you knew who he was, but you also knew that it was your job to take care of these kids. he studied your skin for a moment, noticing how smooth it was. he tried to keep his touch light somehow hyper aware now of how clammy his hands are, and that he probably stinks.

“likewise.” he replies, his voice deep and a bit raspy, matching his appearance.

you turn to look at megumi and yuuji by your desk, it gave you a momentary chance to catch your breath as you feel how warm your cheeks are. “okay boys, go wait outside, I need to talk to your dad alone.”

yuuji sighs dramatically, but the two hum walking away, but megumi briefly stops beside you, his eyes saying just enough for you to understand. toji raises a brow, but megumi ignores him, disappearing outside. brat.

you motion toji to sit at one of the desks in front which he obliges. the material of his black sweats stretch over his thighs as he sits. why the hell are you even taking note of that! this is harder than you expected.

you sit at your chair, your dress rests right above your knees, it wasn’t the kind of dress he sees on the women at his matches. it was an adorable little sun dress that fit a middle school teacher, yet it was still tight around the waist and breasts, hugging you so well he so desperately wanted to press a hand right on your tummy to see how big his palm was compared to you and yet he found himself getting irked that he definitely smells bad. fucking brats were right, he should’ve showered.

“megumi is a sweet boy. he’s very smart and soft-spoken,” you praise, “however, he also doesn’t seem to understand that we should keep our hands to ourselves. especially at school.” toji nods along, thankful he can keep his mind distracted from his son’s surprisingly attractive school teacher, “I think I wrote on the note, but he got into a fight with the upperclassman boys during lunch and he gave them both black eyes. we’re lucky he didn’t break their noses.”

his arms are crossed over his chest, his black compression shirt stretching around his large biceps, your mind blanking for a moment as you see the thick veins. you should have dress codes for these meeting because his arms were so beautifully structured, definitely for fighting and for—

toji nods at your comment. he knew megumi had a habit of getting into fights with older kids, but maybe having him as a father was rubbing off on him in the wrong way.

“I can imagine gumi was defending himself. he usually gets into fights when they’re messing with him.”

“I understand defending yourself, but causing these upperclassmen to bleed from their mouths and noses and sending them to the hospital is highly unacceptable,” your brows pinch as you speak. you’ve heard comments from the other teachers about megumi’s father. his whole life is about fighting, but you had to get through to him about his eleven year old son. “I understand things may be different at home, but megumi should learn that this isn’t the right way to solve problems.”

your eyes were so big and adorable. he leans back in his seat slightly, he had a hard time thinking anything else other than the adorable expression on your face. you were determined to get your point across, and the way your brows scrunched slightly had him reeling.

“I’ll talk to him about it,” he hums, voice low. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially when it came to megumi, but he’ll concede. just this once.

your eyes seem to light up immediately. you definitely expected that to be much harder than it was. his other teachers have said they’ve tried tooth and nail to get meetings with megumi’s dad but failed.

“that’s great!” you laugh lightly. “I was expecting a little more of a fight.” you confess.

he raised a brow, tilting his head slightly — fuck that was hot. “and why would you think that?”

“most parents get defensive,” you stand up, fixing your dress again, his eyes glance over your figure again.

“well I’m glad I’m not like most parents,” he leans forward. he’s seen his fair share of women, but this time it felt wrong. ogling at your figure and seeing your slightly low neckline felt like it was forbidden territory. who was he kidding, you were his son’s teacher and you definitely look much younger than the other teachers around here. “how do you like teaching?”

you tilt your head in surprise, gaze slowly wandering around the classroom walls. “it’s nice.” you smile to yourself. “i never took myself seriously, and would’ve never thought I’d be teaching middle schoolers, but now that i am it’s nice.” your eyes find his again, blushing slightly when you realize he never took his eyes off you.

“I wouldn’t have expected a pretty young girl teaching a bunch of bratty middle schoolers though.”

your cheeks flush at the compliment, laughing lightly. “most of them are not so bad.”

“most of them,” he raises a brow, making you laugh a little louder. his heart souring at the sound.

“they can be pretty mean sometimes,” you confess with a laugh, almost like you’re talking to a friend now. he lets out a low chuckle, leaning back in the chair, stretching out his muscular legs as he relaxed. normally he hated parent-teacher meetings, but this was much more comfortable than he expected, especially since it was you in front of him and not some old lady nagging him about his son’s behavior.

“I don’t doubt that.” he said with a slight nod, “I’ve gotten my fair share of glares and insults from gumi.”

your eyes widen. “megumi? really?”

he quirks a brow, “is it that shocking?”

“yes!” you’re pressed against the front of the desk, leaning forward as you hold the edge of your desk now, shocked. “i mean he gets into fights with some of the kids, but he’s always so respectful to the teachers.”

he raises his brow, “he might be respectful, but that could just be because it’s you.” his eyes follow the way your expression softens, fixing yourself on the desk. every little move you make catches his attention. it was addicting just watching you be you. no wonder those two brats were all over you. it should be criminal for a woman like you to be stuck as a teacher. “I can’t imagine anyone being mean to you.”

it was so easy pulling a smile from you, and yet he felt like he was the only one that should see the way your eyes dart away from his, pretending like you weren’t affected by his compliments. you were trying to stay professional, which made the idea of getting you flustered more appealing.

“you’d think,” you manage to respond. “middle schoolers are moody kids. they’ve definitely made some other teachers cry.”

he chuckled again, making you flush a little hotter just by the sound. it was so low, and you hate to sound like a stupid girl, but it was manly. you’ve seen your fair share of attractive parents, but there was just something about this man in particular that set your heart racing, but he’s also a very well known athlete, even though you haven’t seen any of his matches. everyone probably reacts the same considering he’s basically a celebrity.

“and have they made you cry?”

his dark green eyes were intense, and you met them with a light hearted smile, resisting the urge to absolutely melt. “no.”

he let out an amused sound at your answer. “not even once?” he teased, his smirk widening slightly. “not a single kid has ever been able to make you cry?”

you lean back on the desk, absolutely letting every single guard down as your dress rises a couple inches up your thigh. it felt so natural speaking to him. maybe subconsciously knowing exactly how he’s looking at you right now gave you more confidence.

“maybe I’m lucky, or I’m just not sensitive.” you glance up at the ceiling for a moment. his jaw clenched slightly, his eyes taking in the fat of your thighs just imagining the thought of pushing his body between your legs, hands grabbing at the flesh as you lay flat on your desk. do school teachers wear shorts or only panties underneath…

your eyes suddenly light up. “one kid a couple weeks ago got mad at me for giving him detention and he said i only did that because I’m not married so I have no reason to go home. that hurt my pride a bit.” you laugh.

“damnn, that’s pretty cruel.” but he doesn’t miss a second to add. “not married, really?” he hums. “no husband waiting at home for you?”

you laugh shaking your head. “no, definitely not. I’m just a baby.”

and he couldn’t help but feel relieved hearing you say that, the idea of someone else coming home to you didn’t sit right with him. “boyfriend then?” he asked, eyes burning into you. he wanted to know that no one else was there. he honestly didn’t know why he needed to know so badly, it would’ve been better if you did have someone, that way he could control himself. and yet just the thought of that made him nauseous. if there was someone else hearing your laughs in private, making you smile, kissing your lips, touching your soft skin—

“nope, just me.”

thank god!

“that’s hard to believe.”

you roll your eyes at the flattery. “no seriously. maybe that’s why I’m okay with this job taking up all my time.” you laugh, trying to mask the slight embarrassment, because you don’t exactly know if you’re being judged right now. you’re still in your early twenties, it’s not that hard to believe that you’re single—

“if it was up to me, I wouldn’t let you teach all these kids if you were single,” he’s looking at you intently.

your cheeks feel warm as you watch him sit straight, but you egg him on. “why?”

he looks at you as if you’d just asked a stupid question. “nothing,” he stood up. you were beautiful, sweet, and speaking to you right now, he’d be an idiot if he didn’t think other students dads were thinking the same lewd thoughts he was having right now. the teacher their students love is an absolute catch and she doesn’t seem to like being a teacher that much anyways.

so many taboo lines could be crossed. “so your dream is to teach kids?”

your lips part in shock. you hesitate. “no. but it’s not bad.” you feel slightly offended, almost getting defensive right now. does it show that you’d rather have a different occupation? you love these kids but…

he raises a brow, stepping in front of the desk, hands deep in his pockets. even though you were leaning against the desk, having him standing in front of you just made the height difference even more obvious. “then what is your dream, sweetheart.”

you bite your cheek, heart beating a little quicker, not even fully processing what he called you. he smirked when you accepted it, too focused on his question—

“how much longer!?” the loud yell startled you both. you stand up straight as you look over at megumi and yuuji by the open door. toji nearly forgot they were waiting. almost wishing the brats were kidnapped. his eyes dart away from you, a scowl forming on his face.

“we have practice, dad”.

he let out a light huff, his eyes darting back over to you for a moment before focusing his gaze on the two kids.

“go wait in the hallway,” he huffs, he wanted to hear what you had to say.

“it’s fine. we’re finished.” you hop off the desk, smiling gently at toji as you resume your role as his son’s teacher. he resisted the urge to push back because the way you were looking at him immediately had him submitting. “it was great finally meeting you, and thank you for coming in today, mr. fushiguro.“

he gave a slight nod, the eye contact overwhelming, so much so that you had to look away.

“now i already spoke to you megumi, and you’re gonna listen, right?” your sweet voice was absolutely mouth watering.

megumi grimaced, biting his cheek as he avoided your gaze until a rough hand landed on his head. “he better, I’ll make sure of it, teach.”

toji’s wink sent a flustered swarm breaking inside you. your cheeks stinging as your eyes go wide. a glint sparked in his gaze at your reaction.

yuuji lunged as well, wrapping his arm around megumi’s shoulder. “don’t worry ms. l/n, I’ll keep megumi in check!” his loud boisterous laugh made you laugh, especially when megumi elbowed him, grumbling about how he always needs to take care of yuuji, not the other way around.

toji let out a scoff as the two boys playfully argued with each other, megumi always seemed annoyed by yuuji, but they both knew how much they cared about each other. so instead, toji grabbed them both by the collar, dragging them to the door. the two boys were kicking each other, but the weight of the two twelve year old boys was nothing to toji, and you couldn’t help but laugh as a small heat spread across your cheeks as his large form retreated away from you.

“till next time. and ya better have an answer then,” his eyes bore into yours, the sounds of the boys looking up and asking what answer repeatedly didn’t stop you from humming, a little more energetic than you should be. he somehow had a way of breaking past your walls in a single conversation. hopefully that doesn’t make you seem easy…

“that’s if I ever you come again,” the small tease had a smirk pulling at his lips. somehow the idea of not seeing you again actually bothered him more than he realized.

“we’ll see about that.”

and with that he left. dragging the two boys who continued bickering and grabbing at the man, asking what that whole exchange meant. especially megumi who was wondering if he was in trouble or not.

however the second he left your sight, you were covering your face. your face beyond hot as your mind spun. never before had a parent had this sort of affect on you.

the way he looked at you.

the way he spoke.

he was so attractive, he was so big, his biceps were the size of your face. so beyond different from every other parent you ever spoke to. he could probably pick you up with one arm.

his presence alone was enough to have you feeling dizzy. and when he shook your hand, the way his wrapped effortlessly around yours, the calloused palm rubbing against you, his scent invading your nose.

and if that wasn’t as bad as it already was, the way he called you sweetheart had you absolutely melting between your legs!

but you have to get over it. you do.

however, unlike you, toji sits on the bench on the soccer field, only thinking about how he’ll see you again. when is parent teacher conferences, do they still have parents night in middle school? is there a talent show megumi has that he can force him to do so he can come and see you??

—

the following week, megumi stands frozen by the door. “what’re you doing?”

toji looks up, shoes tied. “dropping you off.”

“why?”

“because.”

“because why?”

“because—because—“ toji’s stuttering was ticking him off as he meets megumi’s very skeptical expression. “you’re a kid, you don’t ask questions.”

“I only ask questions,” megumi grabs his bag, watching his father intently as he looks over his surprisingly clean dress pants, along with the casual lose buttons on his dress shirt and rolled up sleeves. “i thought you were gonna be at the gym all day?”

“i am.” toji pauses, megumi’s brow is raised high. “I have a meeting before.”

“since when?”

toji’s nerve throbs, grabbing megumi’s bag and pulling him out of the house. “you ask too many fucking questions.”

the moment toji pulls up in front of the school, his eyes scan the entire lot in seconds. his hands immediately turning.

“what? what’re you doing?! Im gonna be late,” megumi shouts as toji drives around the entire school again.

“zip it kid, i had an arm spasm.” megumi glares at his dad, slouching in the passenger seat. the loop around takes another five minutes until they pull up again.

and toji will definitely lie and say it’s fate and not him purposely driving slow, because walking up the pavement is the only person he’s been thinking about for the entire week.

“finally,” megumi grumbles as he yanks the door handle swinging it open. toji being the fein he is barks a loud.

“no fights alright!”

megumi flinches.

why did he yell that?! and why now?! all the kids around start snickering and staring as they walk past them, getting a look at his dad as well, which gets a few more murmurs out.

megumi slams the door shut, pissed as he glares at his father. but that’s when a certain young teacher comes along, toji’s eyes lighting up.

“good morning, megumi,” your sweet delicate voice had megumi flushing with embarrassment. you definitely came over because you heard his dad shouting like a crazy person, and not because all those little middle school girls were ogling at megumi’s father…

“good mornin, teach.”

the low rumble of his voice had you glancing up. there was no harm in coming to say good morning. you just met with him last week, it would be impolite if you ignored that.

“mr. fushiguro,” you acknowledge, and that definitely made the man’s entire day. megumi licks his teeth in annoyance. “it looks like you both talked.” you glance at megumi with a gentle smile causing the boy to smile up at you. toji snickers. practically leaning over the passenger seat to speak to you. he knew that he was being ridiculous, but he could care less.

his smile widened as you looked up at him, his eyes staring intently, fuck he missed those eyes. “we did. gave him a good talking to, he won’t get into any fights — unless they start them.”

he leaned over the wheel, his arms resting against it, causing his shirt to tighten around his biceps. he looked good, you felt your face heat up. you should leave, and yet you find yourself staying a little longer.

fantasizing about him was one thing, but seeing him again here was making your heart race.

“i hope you guys weren’t late to megumi’s practice the other week.”

megumi is about to answer until toji cuts him off, ignoring megumi’s annoyed glare. “we weren’t, don’t worry. megumi and the other kid—“

“yuuji.” megumi mutters.

“they’re always late on their own.”

you laugh under your breath, your hand falling gently on top of megumi’s head. “are you sure it’s not because you’re taking them there?”

he huffed leaning back, “positive, besides the meeting we had was important”.

you hum, “it was.” toji smiles, eyes lighting up as he draws you closer to the passenger window as you both continue speaking not even realizing megumi has slipped away and into the school.

toji loved the way you easily spoke, the way your sweet voice filled his ears. he somehow managed to have you walk around the car to his side, so he can show you something on his phone.

your smile lights up when he shows you a picture of a three year old megumi sitting on his shoulders after he won his first title in light-heavyweight.

“oh my god, is that megumi, he’s so cute.”

toji snickers. “ya it was before he turned into an annoying brat.”

“don’t say that,” you laugh. toji’s arm was propped on the windowsill, your scent flooding his senses as you leaned close, looking at the picture. he could practically feel your soft skin touch his arm, the heat radiating off your body. if he only knew his son’s teacher was a seductress. “you look so young too.”

he chuckled again, “this was probably around 10 years ago. do i look that old now?”

you shake your head, turning to look at him. “no, you don’t. I don’t see any grey hairs.”

“is that the only indicator?” he tilts his head, staring at you so intently that you can’t break eye contact either. the green eyes were so deep and overwhelming, you felt your stomach flutter with butterflies. you feel the heat crawling up your neck because you can see that he looks older and more mature here than in the picture. but he still has a youth about him that makes your skin hot.

his eyes are still as beautiful as they are in the picture.

“you think my eyes are beautiful?”

your eyes go wide. “wha—“ you feel like a schoolgirl now, your face feeling so unbelievably hot especially when he leans a little closer, still leaning his arm on the window. now staring right up at you with his face so close to yours.

“i just…” never before have you been so tongue tied. your eyes so big as they glance everywhere in the car, heat flooding your ears.

his laugh fills your ear as he leans back into his seat, his palm gently coming up to fix your hair, thumb brushing your cheekbone only to get your attention back to him. “don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t tease you too much.”

whaaaat?!

you were dumbstruck. did he just say that?

your skin feels so hot as you fiddle with your necklace trying to cool down. “how kind of you.” you sarcastically remark, trying to save some face as you feel his hand continue caressing your cheek.

if any parent or teacher saw what was happening you have no idea how you would explain yourself, but you didn’t even have time to think about it because toji’s phone suddenly went off.

you notice his jaw clenching, making you somehow swell with pride, but also relief because he turns his attention away from you to his phone, answering.

he stares up at you, hand not leaving your cheek as he listens to the shouting on the other end.

where the fuck are you! you were supposed to be here at six! you’re not on a bender right—

“I was dropping megumi at school—“

doesn’t he take the bus?!!!

“he asked. I’ll be there —“

NOW!!

“alright!” toji hangs up aggressively, and notices that you’ve stepped back, a smile pulling at your lips.

he tsks, upset he’s no longer feeling your warm skin. “our conversations are always interrupted.”

you don’t know why him looking dejected makes you dance inside. you’re definitely reading too much into it.

you hum, “they are.” you laugh lightly, which somehow makes him want to descend into the heavens. “I should also head inside, the bells about to ring.” toji is left speechless as you fix your bag on your shoulder, offering him the most precious smile ever. “I’ll see you later.”

he just sat there and nodded, watching you walk into the school. he let out a long breath when you disappeared through the doors. his heart was hammering in his chest and his ears were hot.

this woman was going to be the death of him.

what followed after was no surprise. toji was dropping megumi off and picking him up every. single. day.

megumi definitely grew to despise it because all anyone would talk about in school now was how they saw his dad this morning, or how he came an hour early to pick him up. what made things worse is that they told their parents, and some would drop their kids off just to catch a glimpse of the famous A-list athlete. some even having the gall to ask for a photo or autograph.

what toji didn’t realize though is that he’s not going to see you every time. sometimes he’d wait a little longer in the car line to see if you were coming up, but most of the time he’d get yelled at by another teacher to keep the line moving. megumi would often rush him after school to get him and yuuji to practice. it was frustrating. especially when toji was also getting an ear full when he’d come to the gym late.

but when he would see you, he’d flirt talk to you. and just learning more about you like these were little dates to him so that you occupied his mind every single second of every hour. he finally learned your age after pushing you to answer when you graduated high school. and then some more about your favorite food. but all these conversations would last less than five minutes because you’d have to run back inside and he’s have to head back to the gym to train.

that was all before his golden ticket came in with his son.

“a field trip?”

megumi hums sitting on the bench at the gym. “ya, just sign it for me. yuuji wants to find some turtles at the beach near there.”

“ya its gonna be so much fun!” yuuji jumps beside him. both kids not bothering to talk about the history behind the location of their school trip or any of the important stuff—

toji’s eyes widen. “it says they need chaperones for the boys.”

megumi looks up, brow raised. “ya so?”

“is your dad chaperoning yuuji?”

megumi feels a weird energy surround his dad, his eyes almost look manic as yuuji shakes his head still playing on megumi’s Nintendo. “nah he’s taking choso to look at colleges.”

toji feels jittery, and nothing is stopping him now.

—

your hand was struggling in your bag as you looked around for your keys. it was getting a little late and you didn’t like staying at the school after sundown. you push the doors open. a large figure comes at you making you scream.

“It’s just me!” toji laughs, you hit him with your bag. hard. “ow!” he laughs harder.

“what the fuck, that scared me to death.” you gasp, catching your breath. toji whistles, making you glance up, annoyed.

he has to hold in a laugh. “aw come on, it was an accident.” a smirk slowly forms on his lips as you huff out a sigh, reluctantly easing up. you were so damn cute right now.

“you should know not to sneak up on women at night,” you huff feeling how hot your cheeks are, slightly embarrassed about your reaction, but still annoyed.

he smirked, watching the way you tried to fix your hair.

“sorry sweetheart,” he said in a low mumble. he could see your flushed cheeks, it made you look just so adorable right now and he almost wanted to make you more flustered.

your body tensed as he knelt down in front of you. his shoulder brushed against your leg making your cheeks flood pink. his hair looked damp, and unkept, he probably took a shower before coming here. you got a whiff as he passed down. fuck he smelled so good, but you almost missed his raw scent the first time you met.

toji could practically feel the heat radiating off your body as he picked up your keys. you must’ve dropped them when he came outta nowhere. he stood back up, towering over you, his eyes never leaving your face. he felt his smirk widen, he leaned down, your faces now a few inches apart. he felt your hands shake as he placed it back into your small palm.

“thanks,” you mutter. It was like he was stealing each breath out of you. you weren’t even registering the questions you should be asking, because you couldn’t stop looking at his face. his deep green eyes, the hypnotizing scar on his lip. he was so addicting to look at. you wanted to know what it feels like to kiss him.

he liked the way you mumbled, your voice sounding so incredibly soft. he felt his body grow hot. something slowly building up inside him, because damnit you were so unbelievably cute right now. he had to resist the urge to pull you closer, to press your body against his, he wanted to—

the door suddenly clicked behind you, making you both jump back for a second. it was just one of the janitors, you smile politely bidding him goodnight as you turn back to toji.

“sorry um—“

cursing inwardly at the disruption, he took out the paper from his pocket and handed it to you.

“megumi’s field trip.”

“oh,” you take the paper, “you could’ve waited until tomorrow and megumi could’ve brought it in.”

he shrugged, his eyes practically burning into yours right now. “maybe I just wanted a reason to talk to you.”

you freeze momentarily, well that was blunt. you rub your cheek, laughing lightly. that’s when you notice the additional document attached to the note.

“wait this is just for…”

“chaperone’s.”

you look up.

oh fuck me.

the days following were absolute chaos. well only for you. every night you went to sleep all you thought about was the fact that toji fushiguro was coming on a school trip with you. when you were in the shower you thought about him, when you walked to the grocery store you thought about him. when you were packing your bag, you thought about him!

then it finally came.

DAY 1

the entire seventh grade was going on the trip. it was also your first time chaperoning on an overnight trip so you did your best to follow your superiors leads. every teacher was assigned one parent chaperone to help on the 4 hour bus ride and then…

“I’ll go with ms. l/n,” toji didn’t even wait for himself to be assigned. your eyes go wide. you don’t notice some of the other teachers were looking at you. one of the older teacher’s who was about to read the assigned list pauses…

“oh mr. fushiguro, we had you assigned with—“

“I’d rather stay with my son’s bus. is that a problem?”

you bite your cheek. it definitely would be a problem since the contract he signed stated that he’ll be assigned the group given to him, but that is also if you’re not a celebrity as big as him.

he knew damn well that he was breaking a rule, but he couldn’t have cared less. he wanted to sit with you, he wanted to be near you, he needed to be near you. and if that meant he had to be a bit of a dick, then that’s what he had to do. he sat down on the bus, a smirk forming on his lips as he watched you place your bag on the seat beside him across the aisle.

you stood at the front of the bus as you clapped your hands twice and the students mimicked you, well not all, but most.

“okay guys, I’m just gonna say one more time. We’re gonna have 4 stops for bathrooms, so please use them when you have the chance so we don’t have a delay. okay?”

he watched you intently as you spoke to the students, his eyes not once leaving your face. you looked beautiful and he had to force himself to stop staring at you. but he couldn’t, not when you were so close to him, he could also smell your flowery fragrance that made him slightly dizzy.

“I’m going to do roll call one more time, raise your hand and answer when I call you,” you start reading your list. once all the students respond, the bus starts up and you take your seat. you couldn’t ignore him either, so you turned to toji. “I’m sure you read the email, mr. fushiguro, but I’ll just go over some really quick things with you since we have the time—“

“toji.” he blurts. you pause for a moment but then nod. you begin going over procedures for the students in case of an emergency, also how he should keep his ringer on in case a student needs to get in contact.

however the more you speak the less and less he cares about these formalities and just wants to know more about you.

“so we’ll be together for most of the time?” he asks.

you pause, your lips part for a moment. before you hum, “yes, but that’s if the students have all successfully made an itinerary with their group, since the purpose of this trip is to give them responsibility and just complete the assignments throughout these 3 days.”

“then shouldn’t we make our own itinerary?”

you laugh shaking your head, “no I don’t think so. we’ll tag along with groups here and there.”

he pouts slightly, his smirk slowly disappearing from his face when you chuckle at his idea. and you find it slightly flustering to see him upset at your response. did he seriously come on this trip to be around you? there’s no way?

he hums, shifting in his seat once more. “but the students will be all broken up into groups, isn’t that right? I’ll find something to do.”

you didn’t know what he meant by that, but the bus ride continued. it was quite enjoyable, minus the screaming that you had to continuously go back to silence. megumi came up a couple times asking for chips from his dad, and Yuuji would always come up to the front, until they just decided to sit up with you and some of the other kids came and joined as you all laughed and played. it was funny playing mafia with a bunch of middle schoolers. toji never played it before so it was amusing hearing nobara, one of the other girls, and megumi explain it to him.

“let’s just start playing!” yuuji whines, growing impatient.

toji raises a confused brow in your direction and you stifle a laugh, shrugging.

it was funny hearing nobara narrate the story, and it was even more funny when toji and you opened your eyes. he gave you a confused look.

‘we are the killers’ you mouth trying not to make a sound to not give yourself away.

and still he managed to give himself away since the first person he killed in the game wasn’t his son and it was common knowledge among the students that you either make megumi a killer, or doctor, if not you kill him right away because he always manages to end the game in two rounds because he guesses who everyone is. which was exactly what happened. toji was voted off easily and you in the next. it was impressive.

the students continued playing, they had a lot of energy, toji was even more impressed how fast you were keeping up with all of them. you also were getting some work done of your own. answering texts from other teachers.

“Okay guys, last bathroom break!” the students all file out, pushing past you as they run to the bathrooms, some heading to the little convenience store. “calmly guys!” you shout after them. you put your hands on your hips, your eyes scanning the desolate rest stop.

toji comes up behind you, “are we first or last?”

you look over your shoulder, “last, mrs. tanaka said they were able to miss the traffic we hit.” you frown scrolling through your phone as you check the messages that most of the buses already arrived at the hotel.

toji leans down, his presence overwhelming as you feel him reading your messages.

“are you worried?”

“what? no,” you close your phone, forcing out a smile as you pat his arm. woah! your cheeks flush feeling his large biceps. your hand retracts when you realize your hand actually stayed on his arm.

his tongue pokes his cheek, trying hard not to smile, because he can already feel how hot his cheeks are. “you can keep your hands on me, I don’t mind.”

your face burns. “i—I’m gonna use the bathroom.” you quickly scurry off, glancing back watching toji lean back on his heels stuffing his big hands into his pocket as he smiles back at you. fuck!

the students bring you back to reality as they fool around in the rest stop. you call the ones in the store as they load up the bus. “toji?”

he looks up at you, his green eyes so attentive you wanted to pat his head. you flush at the thought, patting a grown man’s head, as if he isn’t older than you and has a child. “can you check the boys bathroom? we’re missing two.”

toji hums, his hands come out of his pockets as he walks to the bathroom. your eyes track his large figure as he walks away. the expanse of his shoulders made your cheeks flush, imagining what he’d look like shirtless, muscles moving under your palm as he rails into you.

ahh stop it! you cover your face.

“ms. l/n, are you okay?” nobara is staring at you with a weird look.

“wha-yea im fine, hope on the bus,” you gently push her towards the bus which she immediately skips onto. you follow suite doing another head count before two other boys run onto the bus followed by toji.

he sighs, “one of them was throwing up.” your eyes grow wide, “he’s fine, i think he’s just sick of the long ride.”

you immediately move to the back of the bus to speak to the student, he allows you to bring him to the front of the bus so the motion sickness isn’t as bad. eventually the bus continues, the students fall silent. the traffic horrendous, most of you end of falling asleep, and that includes you.

only a few students were awake, but as for the rest they were dead silent. the seats were slightly uncomfortable, but toji turned to look at you.

he notices the way your head bangs against the bus window, his eyes squinting as he grows more and more concerned you’ll get a concussion, that’s a little dramatic, but still, how could you blame him, you looked so delicate. he gently moves the bag in the seat beside you and sits down. he carefully lifts the arm rest and moves his hand to cup your head. he’s careful not to disturb your sleep when he puts his coat between the window and you.

well that is until you shift your body to rest your head on his shoulder.

toji feels your body relax, sleeping peacefully on his strong shoulder. your soft breaths like music to his ears, as he rests his head back. sleep not coming easy for him he stays awake, and watches over the bus in your stead.

another hour passes until the bus comes to halt. the day now night as the kids start to wake up. you’re still fast asleep, and toji couldn’t help the swell in his chest seeing how heavy of a sleeper you are. but he should probably wake you up, but he couldn’t bring himself to, not when he’s seeing your calm features resting so adorably.

“we’re here!” yuuji’s loud yell like a morning alarm.

toji flinched, suppressing an angry bark when you stirred awake from the call. you sigh softly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you wake up.

a low whistle has you blinking. the first thing you see is toji looking down at you with an expression you can’t quite read, and then standing around is some kids as they simultaneously ooo and laugh.

“teach was sleeping on mr. fushiguro!”

“teach and mister sitting on a treeee K I S—“

the taunting kids make you roll your eyes as you sit up.

“everyone back to your seats!” you huff, shooing them as you stand up, only to see the large coat slip down. he catches it, eyes boring up at you.

“sleep well?” he smiles, and it absolutely breaks your heart, this man!! you internally scream, his green eyes and the twitch of his scar, the dark black hair over his eyes had you meltinggg. and the way he’s looking up at you, an immediate blush takes over your entire body.

“mhm,” you reply softly, and his eyes glint with something you have to turn away from.

you do another roll call before getting off the bus. the kids flood into the hotel and luckily some other teachers waited for you and helped with rooms for the kids. everyone was sent on their way and you felt a relief once you unlocked the key to your room, closing it behind you—

“teach.”

you whip around to see toji standing at the doorway, holding the door open with his strong hand.

“yes?”

toji’s eyes fell to your lips, back to your eyes, pretending like you didn’t see that, but you did. “you left this on the table,” he says, extending your packet of the schedule. you really must be tired.

“oh! thank you, oh my god, that would’ve been sooo bad if I lost that,” you laugh, taking the packet. but he doesn’t let go. your brows crease adorably as you look up at him. and he’s looking at you with that look again. “mr. fus—“

“if you need anything else, let me know. okay?” his firm request sent flutters breaking inside you. you nod, and he lets go. “good night, sweetheart.”

“g-good night.”

you watch the door close, until you feel your hand reaching out and then your body is coming out as you call him. he barely took a few steps as he turns at your voice. “i uh…” what’re you doing? why did you even call him? but you’re hypnotized by his presence, you almost didn’t want him to go. what’re you talking about? you’ll see him in the morning—

“gonna finish your sentence, honey?”

you mentally slap yourself. “it slipped my mind. nevermind. goodnight.” you disappear back to your room, missing the smirk that splits the fighters face. fucking adorable. it was on the tip of your tongue.

the next morning was packed, the students came down for breakfast, they were placed in their groups and the entire class went to mandatory orientation, then to a museum as they filled out packets, before lunch came and it was finally free time. the students all splitting into their groups and exploring the small historical town. yuuji led megumi, nobara, and junpei to the beach he’s been waiting to see.

“how’re you holding up?” toji appears beside you. you slump, sighing heavily.

“I didn’t know school trips were this exhausting when I was in school,” you complain just a little. toji chuckles, his hand coming up, carefully fixing the hair from your cheek. his eyes glance down at your lips again, then back into your eyes. “it’s just day one,” he teases.

“yay,” you fake enthusiasm, as he laughs with you, still brushing your cheek with his thumb. “we should check with some of the kids.”

“shouldn’t they be figuring out that shit themselves?” toji doesn’t let you escape. “ya, but what else—“ toji’s hand slips down to yours and takes it as he leads you in a direction. “where are we going?”

“I don’t know, let’s explore,” he pulls you closer to him and if anyone looked over they would think you were a couple, and to be honest, you loved that thought. your hand didn’t even try to break away from his, embracing how he basically engulfs your small palm in his. you mindlessly follow him around until something catches your eye and you go there then there, pointing and explaining random facts.

“how do you know that?”

“oh i studied architecture and art history,” you explain as you’re standing at a shrine. toji has a hand on your lower back as he leans over looking at the statue you’re pointing at. you’ve gotten used to smelling his cologne, but with the long day his natural musk is mixed in making you dizzy. he’s gently stroking a thumb on your lower back, almost like he always wants you to be conscious of his touch.

ding ding ding

you check your phone. on the chat, yuuji sent multiple photos of his group by the water on the beach, along with the turtles they found. your eyes widen, “yuuji actually found them.”

“we’re close by them,” toji looks over, and he immediately takes your hand and you both head to the beach. when you arrive most of the groups came, everyone having the same idea. it wouldn’t be bad for toji, that is until you retract your hand. your eyes flicker over his, a silent apology.

you don’t necessarily know what you’re apologizing about, but still. the rest of the day was spent with the kids playing with the turtles. you and a few teachers explaining the wild life here, along with the turtles. then you conclude with a circle on the beach with each group presenting what they learned today and so on.

dinner came at a perfect time. the kids all filing into the hotel restaurant, taking their seats and of course toji sitting with you and a few other teachers.

honestly, looking at himself, toji thought he was a good sport. entertaining these other teachers and chaperons even after the kids went back to their rooms to sleep and you all stayed for a few light drinks. they asked him questions he definitely hated answering, but when your sole attention was on him, he made due with it.

“are ya thinkin of retiring anytime?” one of the other dads asked, fully invested in toji.

toji licked his teeth, clearly annoyed as the questions got a little more intrusive. “we’ll see,” his clipped reply almost only seemed to clock in on your part as you sensed his mood shift. especially as the questions got more intimidate asking if megumi takes after him, or if he’ll allow him to start fighting early.

that’s when you decided to stand up, covering your mouth with a fake yawn. “It’s getting pretty late. I’m gonna knock out.” you speak to the table, but give toji a brief glance, inviting him to take the out, which he immediately does.

“I’m knocking in too then,” he stands up, easily leading you both out of the restaurant, unbothered by the looks the adults give him.

“fuck, they’re nosy as shit,” he mutters to you as you both step out and into the elevators.

“yea, sorry,” you cringe, but he shakes it off.

“no need for you to apologize,” he shrugs, rubbing his nose. you glance over at him, smiling as you rest a hand on his forearm.

“thank you again for volunteering. honestly, it’s premature since we still have two more days, but you’ve been a big help so far,” you say, and toji can’t help cracking a smile.

“it’s my pleasure. spending time with you doesn’t feel like work,” he coolly replies, allowing you to look him over with your adorable eyes.

“of course that’s not what I meant,” you mutter, he can see you trying not to smile.

“don’t tell me the best part of the day wasn’t walking with me?” he leans closer to you. “do you hold hands with every student’s dad?”

“no.”

“so am I special?” he pushes, hand gently playing with your hand.

the elevator stops on your floor. you sigh as you bring a hand up to his chest.

“our floor.”

“our room?”

“no,” you brush him as he follows you with a smirk. hands deep in his pockets as he looks at you from behind.

“you can have the extra key to my room,” he waves it to you as he walks you to your room.

“and why would I take it?” your smirk widens, glancing up at him.

“of course for safety. in case you feel like you need a strong man to protect the model teacher who’s all alone at night in an unknown town,” he smiles, hand against your door caging you in.

“yeah?” your tone was low and breathy, only luring him down to your eye level, humming deep in his chest. “but then I won’t be comfortable sleepin’,” you pull him in with your words.

his voice drops, taking the bait, “and why’s that?”

“well because I sleep with a t-shirt,” you pause, “only.”

Toji’s smile cracks, heat flooding his ears as he drops his gaze to your lips. “that’s not a problem for me.”

you can’t believe you’re actually flirting with a student’s dad. you didn’t feel like a teacher, no, you really felt like a girl in her twenties (which you well are) easily teasing a man into bed.

“having a stranger so close to me in bed?” you whisper, smiling when his lips hovers so close to you. “that’s scary.”

“nah, it’s for safety,” he leans in, breath fanning against your face.

unfortunately, when his lips hovered over yours, the booming footsteps and shouting immediately pulled you apart. toji pulled away as you both looked over to your right seeing four boys racing through the hotel floor.

“hey, boys!” you whisper shout, sliding by toji as you speed walk to the boys. all but leaving the six foot-five fighter pressing his face into the door.

after sending the boys back to their rooms with a heavy lecture, you walk back to your room slightly disappointed when toji wasn’t there. it was a long day, you didn’t blame him for going to bed early. but when you saw his room card in front of your door when you stepped inside you couldn’t contain you the heat that spread across your cheeks.

… DAY 2 …

most women found toji attractive. hell even men were jealous of his physique and face card. but does any of that excuse the slight annoyance you felt going through the aquarium and seeing the workers near the starfish flirt with toji as the kids in your group stuck their hands in the tank to pet the starfish and other aquatic creatures. probably not, but fuck it.

the small disgusting twist in your gut that came up when you saw toji smile and let out a laugh almost had you rolling your eyes. so being the pity twenty-four year old, you decided to open your mouth.

“toji,” you call his name before you can think twice about it. you force a smile when he turns to look at you. “can you come help me over here,” you call out from across the tank.

“oh, I can help you miss,” another worker at aquarium pops next to you making you jump from the surprise.

toji continues looking at you and he notices the way you shake your head. “oh sorry, it’s has to do with the students…paperwork…I mean,” you clear your throat nodding your head as the worker gives you an odd look that you can immediately note was a ‘she’s weird’. but at least you don’t catch the way toji is biting back a smirk as you call him again.

he easily struts over, his black t-shirt and black cargos, hugging his frame so when he stood beside you you were almost thankful that he blocked your view from the workers.

“yes, teach?” you can hear the smug smile in his voice before you even look at him.

“well,” you start, subtly glancing around for some lie you can make up, but toji crossing his big muscular arms showing off his veins and giving you a look you don’t even want to begin to decipher, wasn’t fucking helping. “just stay here. I forgot what I needed, but if I need something…just be near me,” you clear your throat looking up at him with confidence. “that’s your job…as a parent chaperon, okay?”

“okay,” he says with the biggest smile.

maybe you should’ve just let him talk to the workers, but you’d never admit that it made you jealous that this thirty-something year old man was focused on something that isn’t you. even when you both were walking behind the students on a hike to some shrines in the mountains, you were glad as fuck that he stayed right beside you and not upfront with the guides.

“you could’ve just said you didn’t want me talking to other girls and I would’ve listened,” Toji’s voice slips on the air as he walks beside you.

you scoff, “well that’d be ridiculous to say, especially because that wasn’t why I said it. if you remember, it said on the parent slip it that chaperons are the teachers assistants, basically.” you glance confidently at toji and he’s kissing his teeth as he holds back a smirk. you were a fucking brat. he definitely would’ve lost that bet. “so just stay near me.”

“I was near you at the aquarium,” he pushes, because shit, he’ll always tease the bait.

“you were distracted, that’s not being present, and it’s against the rules,” you roll your eyes, moving to tie your hair up the longer up the mountain you’re going. you loved a good hike, but the heat was a death sentence, so was this windbreaker.

“i was just asking the sweet worker about the starfish…to educate the kids of course,” his choice of words was definitely on purpose.

the group makes it to the shrine as they all scramble to look around.

you turn on your heel looking up at toji. “it didn’t look like that.” you try to hold back your criticism, not realizing that he’s trying to get a rise out of you because this revelation he’s discovered is definitely not something he’s gonna let go of.

“what did it look like then, hm?” he leans in, crossing his arms as he pushes his hair back, the sweat from the heat making his hair shine and his muscles constrict in his tight shirt. “did it look like i was flirting with her?”

you deadpan, “yeah, it did.”

“is that an issue?” he pushes.

“if it’s when you’re working, then yes it is,” your words are clipped, he was almost getting a hard-on with your attitude.

“so if it’s not in front of you or the kids?” he muses.

“yes.”

“because you’ll get jealous then,” his words once again make a vein unironically bulge from your forehead. you cup your cheeks.

“that’s not why—I just said why,” you exhale, and he finds it hilarious how well you control your emotions with your students but when it’s with him, you have to take some deep breaths. “I’m not jealous.” you state. “it’s professionalism.”

“so us holding hands is?—“

your eyes narrow.

“I’m not complaining, I just don’t know if I should also be holding Mrs. Takada’s hand too?” he doesn’t loose eye contact as you stare into his soul. “tell me what I can and can’t do, teach, I’m a good listener, I just need to be told what do to.” you were frustrated because you couldn’t tell if his choice of words were purposely submissive, especially with that smug look on his face as you tried hard to read him.

“you can’t hold anyone else’s hand,” you finally mutter, not before rubbing your cheek as you turn to look at the other students circling the guide as the other teachers tell them to quiet up and listen. “you’re my assistant, so that’s the reason.”

“understood,” his reply is punctuated by a step towards you, his lips ghosting you ear as his other hand sneaks around your waist. “I’ll keep my hands on you, so I don’t get you all mad at me again.” his cool voice went straight into your core as you felt your face burn red.

“I wasn’t mad,” you push his hand off you; finally distancing yourself from the shameless man.

however, toji listened. he was polite with the other teachers, curt and short with the female guide that tried to talk to him more when the students were roaming around the shrine, but it was pretty easy for him to side-step her and follow megumi and his friends as the huddled around a lizard they found.

“woahh is he gonna shapeshift?” Yuuji reaches out for the lizard only for it to run away. toji stays around the kids especially when they continue their hike up to another shrine at the top of the mountain. of course, it was fun hanging out with his son and his friends. but it also made your attitude more obvious the longer the hike went on.

especially when there was a broken step and toji was helping the kids up, only for your turn to come and you telling him you can go up yourself.

he had to bite back a scoff, he almost forgot you were basically straight out of college, and definitely stubborn as shit. but still his hand hovered behind you as you climbed up and you didn’t look back once. it was almost making him want to rub himself because of how fucking bratty you’re being. but still he continued to flirt with you, because why else did he come on this trip.

“dad?“

toji looks behind him to see megumi and yuuji still by the shrine while the rest of the group is already heading back down the mountain.

“yeah?” tojj raises a brow for megumi to continue. that’s when yuuji interrupts with your name.

“she went looking for nobara, but they’re not back yet,” yuuji shakes his head like a dramatic eleven year old. “I told nobara there’s no bathrooms behind the shrine, but she just went anyways.”

toji concerned now glances behind him to see the group now fully gone and the sun setting. now that he thinks back, he hasn’t seen you since they entered the shrine for a tour. “when did the girl leave?”

“like awhile ago,” yuuji sighs again dramatically, not fully grasping that that’s not a very helpful answer.

toji looks at megumi.

“it was around twenty minutes ago, when teacher followed after her,” megumi answers.

“you’re just repeating what I said,” yuuji narrows his eyes at megumi who brushes him off as he looks up at his dad who’s glancing around the empty shrine. the stand was already closed and it was getting dark.

“stay with me, kay, hold my hand,” toji extends his left hand for megumi to take, while yuuji held onto megumi’s hand. toji quickly pulled out his phone to text the WhatsApp chat with the other chaperons and teachers letting them know he was with two other students and will be down. right after he called you. with one ring it immediately went to voicemail. “are you fuckin’ with me right now?”

he walks around the shrine with megumi and yuuji in tow as he called again and same thing. your phone was definitely dead because you always answered your phone. that or—

now with the sun completely set, toji pulled out the flashlight from megumi’s bag as he went deeper into the woods behind the shrine. yuuji was clutching megumi’s arm as megumi held on his dad’s shirt. toji called your name, a little louder the deeper they went in.

“dad?” megumi glances up to, but toji ignores his worries as he continues shouting your name and yuuji easily mimics toji’s concern as he shouts for nobara.

“nobara!!”

after another fifteen minutes in the woods, toji receives a call from one of the teachers and immediately answers.

“hello, just checking if you guys are still up there?” she asks, and includes if you and nobara are with him because your phone had died the moment you arrived at the shrine.

“I have megumi and yuuji, but we’re looking for the other two,” toji’s voice was strained. he really should’ve listened to you and stayed by your side then this wouldn’t have happened. it makes it worse when the teacher on the line starts panicking. toji can overhear the tour guide speaking to the teacher saying they’ll send someone back up, but it’ll take them thirty minutes to walk back up.

“mr. fushiguro you should come back down the mountain so you and the boys don’t get lost-“

toji hangs up.

“mr. tojj i heard something,” yuuji yelps, suddenly clutching toji’s other arm and going on a rant from the nerves. “megumi was talking about the spirits and how they’re hiding in places where no one lives anymore and-and we passed by those broken shacks on the way up.”

toji’s jaw clenches, eye shutting as he exhales. “I told you not to watch that shit horror movie ‘gumi.”

megumi cringes, “I didn’t—“

“we did last night—AH!” the sudden crack behind them sends yuuji flying ten feet in the air and megumi clutching his dad even tighter almost pissing his pants.

toji turns abruptly at the noise, holding onto yuuji who’s basically on top of his shoulders and megumi wrapped under his arm, face smushed into his side clutching his shirt.

“toji?”

the familiar voice sends a flood of relief rushing through toji as he immediately moves forward as two black blobs turn into you and megumi’s friend. yuuji and megumi’s are still holding onto toji like they might die, but he’s still able to make it over to you, his hand coming up to cheek as he shines his flashlight on your face making you hiss pushing it away.

“shut up, I’m seein’ if you’re hurt,” he grunts pushing your hand away.

“I’m fine, just forgot my phone died when I went after nobara,” you say, but still letting toji examine your face before he kneels down to check on the girl.

“you still don’t fucking go off by yourself,” he grunts brushing the girls cheek as she crosses her arms.

“why can megumi’s dad say fuck, but I get in trouble, miss?” nobara snaps, making you frown down at her,

“because I’m not a little girl that ran off into the woods by herself and almost got lost,” toji clips back, having a harsh stare off with the girl who frowns even more, but eventually averts her gaze.

“I had to use the bathroom,” she mutters.

“I told you there was no bathroom!” yuuji points at nobara suddenly interrupting as he still holds on toji,

“you’ve never been here, how the heck would you know??” nobara scoffs.

“because I know everything, I told you that,” yuuji tsks.

“you’re an idiot,” nobara frowns, annoyed and already embarrassed about getting lost.

you sigh stepping in, “okay, enough guys. we don’t call each other names, we’re not in elementary school.” you gently tap toji’s shoulder and he stands up. the flashlight was pointed at the ground, but the shadows that contrasted his face made him look even more handsome. “let’s head down,” you look away, “you remember the way?”

“course.”

maybe toji should’ve called the teachers the second he found you and nobara, but it slipped his mind since he had to lead you and the three kids back down the mountain. especially with how scared yuuji and megumi were after watching that horror movie in the hotel room last night. nobara on the other hand was picking on them to make herself feel better about causing this whole mess. and you, you did your best to keep them close to toji, because even you were holding onto him to keep yourself from tripping on the unbalanced steps made over six centuries ago. but at least all that masked the underlying tension between you and your students father, especially when you held onto his arm a little longer after his arm wrapped around your waist before you tripped on a large tree root.

“thanks,” you sigh, catching your breath.

“I can pick you up if you’re tired,” he leans close, and you would say he’s teasing, but the way he’s looking at you even in the dark, you knew it wasn’t a joke.

“funny,” you say, but still hold his arm as you continue walking. the three kids right in front of you both.

“oh I see the gate!” yuuji jumps, grasping onto both nobara and megumi.

easy to say, once you arrived back at the hotel and the kids all filed into the hotel restaurant for dinner, you received an ear full privately from two of the teachers. you couldn’t really pinpoint what you’d done wrong, you went after Nobara the second you counted your kids again to see she wasn’t there then to hear from yuuji and megumi that she went off alone. maybe you should’ve told another teacher, hell toji first, and had a charged phone before going, that would’ve been smart.

okay, you deserved the lecture.

afterwards, you decided to head to your room. you weren’t that hungry anymore, and the other teachers would send the kids off to bed.

the second day was brutal. the early morning walk, then the aquarium, and then the shrine visits, then getting lost in the woods—

“fuck,” you groan, growing exhausted from just thinking about the day as you crawl into the covers after a much needed shower. unfortunately for you a loud knock hits your hotel door.

you want to ignore it, give an excuse in the morning that you’d already fallen asleep, but there’s another knock and it’s followed by a deep voice calling your name. it almost sent shivers down your spine as you stood up and walked to open the door.

“you didn’t eat?” his eyes fixate on your cute face, eyes half blinking with exhaustion, but then he lets his eyes roam further down. shamelessly checking you out.

“I wasn’t hungry,” you answer, leaning against the door as you hold it partially open, aware of any other teacher or parent that could pass by and see you in your old university shirt and skims boy shorts. “is everyone else heading back up?”

“most of the kids finished eating and went to bed. gonna check on megs and yuu to make sure they’re not watching another r rated movie,” toji says, still looking at you like you’re made of sin, though it’s not far off from the truth. “you normally let parents see ya like this?”

you try not to let the heat in your core take over, especially with the way that he’s eyeing your lips and leaning against the doorframe. his hand reaches out, holding the hem of your shirt, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. he says the name of your university. “when did you graduate?”

you’re desperately trying not to show how flustered his casual demeanor is making you, but feeling his knuckles skim over your exposed skin. he was towering over you, still in his cargo and tshirt from earlier. his shoulders were even more sculpted and because you showered, you can smell his musk even clearer. you’ve always had a sensitive nose, but something about how manly he smelled, the mix of his worn cologne and natural woody smell made you blush.

“you’re exhausted,” he interrupts, making you blink up at him. he chuckles lightly, and you’re beyond thankful that he didn’t realize you were thinking about something completely different. especially when his hand lets go of your shirt to take a step back. you’re almost surprised he’s the one putting space between you both, and you almost feel like you’re being rejected right now. you didn’t even stop to think if he was bothered with your attitude today. were you crossing a line? “goodnight, sweetheart.” he gives you one last smile, turning around.

“toji?” you stop him.

“hmm?” he turns. his undivided attention on you.

“thank you for today. with me and Nobara in the woods, we definitely would’ve been lost if you didn’t come looking for us,” your voice was light, and soft. he almost found it amusing how you’re a sweet girl one second and the other you’re giving him attitude. but still he lets a smile take over his face and you almost have to look away because the dimples that appear on his cheeks was too hypnotizing you could feel your face catch on fire.

“stop thanking me. plus I should’ve stayed by you like you said, then you wouldn’t have gotten lost.”

you frown, “it was my fault.”

toji smiles, “goodnight, ma.”

you flush at the new nickname. fuck, why are you so easy to please. especially when he’s walking away and waves his room key over his shoulder.

“Room 322, no need to knock.”

Unfortunately for you. you immediately crashed into bed once you closed your door. the exhausting day easily luring you into a deep sleep.

…DAY 3…

the multiple meetings you had with the teachers this month leading up to the trip all warned about day 3. it was going to be the longest day. not only were you guys going to an interactive zoo, you also had another hike near the lake with kayaking, and a final nighttime hike from a short astronomy lesson.

“everyone head down for breakfast,” you knock on all the hotel doors. some kids luckily already awake as they immediately popped out and started heading down with their backpacks.

you hesitated, but eventually knocked on toji’s door. no reply. biting your lip, you knock again, and that’s when the door wings open, and you’re met with a bare naked toji—

well he had a towel wrapped very loosely around his waist, he was basically naked. especially with your reaction that you had no way of controlling. your eyes couldn’t not follow the multiple water droplets that ran down his huge pecs, down to his very sculpted and ripped torso, and even further down his pelvis. his happy trail glistened from the water as the hairs grew thicker the lower—

a low whistle suddenly had your eyes snapping up. staring back at you was the very handsome man with the most shit eating smirk as his looked down at you.

“you wanna come in?” he teases, but his own ears turn red when you just stare into his eyes like you were actually considering what he’d just said.

“y-“ you clear your throat, coming back to your senses as you cover your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes still scanning down his body, especially with the way his body filled the entire door frame. his huge veiny hand lazily holding the front of the towel so it doesn’t fall…it was so loose, he hurried out of the shower when he heard the door. “were you on a run again?” you could’ve easily ended this heated interaction by getting straight to the point, but the dumb twenty four year old part of your brain couldn’t help, but talk to the hot parent that’s basically been flirting with you non-stop for the last few months. especially when he looked like this right now.

“ya, can’t loose myself on this trip or my team will have my fuckin’ head,” toji thinks about how much arguing and convincing he had to do with his best friend/coach sukuna to let him chaperone this trip.

“pretty strict, do you not get any vacations?” your curious, and you lean against the doorframe, pretending like you don’t notice the way toji is holding back a smile.

“no I get vacations, but if there’s a match in a few months then it’s training 24/7. even during trips,” he answers, “you ever been to a match?”

your lips part, “no. I’ve watched some on tv. mainly in high school since my dad is a huge fan.”

“and you’re not a fan?” his teasing is intrusive, maybe because he wants you to admit to liking him, even if it’s just his image first—

“I’d have to see a match first before saying anything,” the light shrugged you had only made him even more attracted to you.

he raises a brow, “you can just tell me you want to come to my game. no need to tip toe around it.”

your cheeks flush, “that’s not—“ your cheeks blow up as toji breaks out laughing, leaning forward to meet you at the level. his huge body towering over you, his eyes scanning over your face.

“I’ll get you vip seats, but I have’ta get somethin’ in return.”

your chin tips out just a little so you can lock eyes, raising a brow, telling him to go on then.

you were killing him, without even realizing it, his fist clenched around his towel, feeling his blood filling up his dick, he had to refrain from making it show.

“a date.”

oh.

your lips part. you didn’t know why you were shocked. maybe because he’s been flirting with you for months, you probably thought deep down inside he wasn’t the type to take women out on dates. maybe it was just a bar and a fuck, not that you were complaining if that was the case. but still, his answer seemed to make your face even hotter than before, and you felt little stupid.

“i don’t know if that’s appropriate…” you mutter, almost defeated, his eyes glanced over yours as you looked away.

“you’re not gonna be megumi’s teacher forever. just another two months until school’s out,” his voice was deep, you hadn’t realized he’d been bending closer. your back pressed against the doorframe as his hand came up, firmly caressing your waist. “one date when we get back. let me treat you, you’d like that?”

you bite your cheek, back arched against the doorframe as you glance back at him. his hooded eyes and deep face, his handsome features practically seducing you.

“one date,” you repeat.

“and more if you like me so much,” he smirks, face inches from yours.

your voice is breathy, heart racing because he smells so good, so clean, “f-fine,” your cheeks flush at the stutter but he only smiles. his hand travels up to cup your cheek.

“you flustered?” his canines are hard to hide when he’s smiling like that.

“no-“ you push his hand away, pressing a hand to his chest to push him back. “g-get changed or you won’t have time for breakfast,” you huff, stepping away and speed walking away from him.

toji licks his teeth, shutting the door once you disappear. he’ll just grab an apple before leaving, because now he has to handle this mess. he clenches his jaw as he drops his towel, firm hand grabbing the base of his hard cock. “fuck.”

—

similar to the aquarium, at the zoo you had to keep an eye on your students while the zoo workers gave the lessons to the groups. they lead you to different sections, giving brief lessons on the different species so the kids can fill out their packets.

on the other hand, you were enjoying how close toji was. always an arms length away. the only time you separated is when one of the zookeepers asked if you wanted to feed the giraffe to give a demonstration to the students before it was their turn.

your face lit up as you stepped up.

“Up here, sweeetheart,” the zookeeper easily flirts as he helps you up on the platform, a hand resting on your lower back as he places your palm over his putting some food in it. “Now you’re just gonna extend it out, and he’ll come right to you,” he smiles as you hum.

little did you know that toji was practically seething. his jaw set tight, muscles tensing at the way this shitkeeper was drooling over you. anyone would fucking drool over a hot school teacher, especially if they looked like you.

“here he comes,” the zookeeper points, all the students ooo as the giraffe leans down, then eats from your hand. you gasp at the odd feeling, backing into the zookeeper on accident, pressing yourself against him.

“sorry—“ you chirp, still afraid of the giraffe as he tries to lean in for more.

the zookeeper laughs, “it’s alright,” his arm holds your waist, and toji is rolling his eyes so hard.

“give me a break,” he mutters.

megumi standing in front of him looks up. “what?”

toji doesn’t spare him a glance, his eyes zeroed in on you feeding the giraffe again, totally fine with the zookeeper all over you, literally.

“what the fuck,” his nails dig into his bicep, the expression on his face was not subtle at all that even yuuji is cackling.

“mr. toji are you jealous? do you wanna feed the giraffe too?” yuuji blurts, making nobara beside him turn and cackle too, pointing at megumi’s dad. a few of the other students in your group laugh at toji.

toji glares down at the children, not catching the subtle way you’re shifting on the platform. you place a hand over the zookeepers wrist as you step away. “okay, I think that’s it,” you say, the hairs on your body standing up the second the zookeeper kept himself pressed against you when you bumped into him.

“you can feed him so more-“-

“no I’m good—Toji!” you blurt, cutting the conversation off quick because toji’s head snaps back up to you. “i need some help getting down.”

any command that slips past your lips is so easily executed. toji was standing in front of you in seconds as you kneel down on the platform. toji easily grabs your waist as you place yours on his shoulders and he carries you. his brow quirks up at you.

“fucking keeper is a freak,” you mutter to him as he places you on the ground. and though internally toji is ecstatic about that, another part is seething at the fact that the keeper puts his hands all over you and made you very uncomfortable that you had to call toji to pick you up even though the latter was right beside you.

you stood beside toji, arms crossed as two students went up the platform, one at a time to feed the giraffes.

“I can have a word with him,” toji leans down, his hand on your lower back, rubbing gentle circles.

you barely give a laugh, “I’d rather not cause a scene.”

“it would be a word.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine.” toji licks his teeth nodding.

but when you went to the next section. and the zookeeper wasn’t following you or toji, you already knew what must’ve happened when another keeper came to your group.

“I said it was fine,” you tell him.

“well I wasn’t fine,” he shrugs easily, his eyes glancing down at you, ready to brush your cheek before realizing where the fuck he is.

the rest of the day was hell.

pure hell.

the zoo was long, lunch only energized the kids for the two hour hike. it was a great view, but there was another bathroom problem and the kids had to take turns going in the woods. then the last thing before lunch was kayaking.

everyone was excited, a few kids sat out with another teacher since they were too scared even if they were given a life vest. but everyone else was way to excited to head into the water. maybe that’s why most, if not all the kids ended up tipping into the water.

“everyone grab onto your kayaks,” the tour guide exclamined, but the kids were laughing and splashing. some bopping up and down in their life vests.

you were almost thankful for yours not tipping until it did. the students were laughing their asses off even more.

“miss.l/n fell into the water!!” they all laugh.

everyone but toji, because when everyone makes it back to shore. they’re drenched head to toe. including toji who jumped in after a student who said they knew how to swim but didn’t.

but what wasn’t funny was seeing your t-shirt stuck to your chest, showcasing your figure for all the parent chaperones to see. specifically some other dads on this trip. fuck.

“I hate wet jeans,” you grumble, as you squeeze the ends of your baggy jeans as the water pools down. you clip your wet hair up as you hold onto toji’s arm. “thanks for getting tyler, he should’ve taken a life vest.”

toji hums.

“is everything okay?” you stand up straight now. and that’s when you notice toji eyeing your chest. you flush, but also scoff.

“there’s other people looking,” he huffs.

“jus’ you.”

“not jus’ me, others,” he eyes the other parents helping the kids dry off before loading back on the bus to get dinner then go on the night hike back at the hotel.

“yeah yeah,” you wave him off, walking away. but toji remains close, guarding you. he didn’t calm down until you got changed before dinner. your modest skirt, tight cleavage covering top, and cardigan. it was adorable.

“mrs. jackson and mr. white said they’re getting us drinks after the hike,” one of the other teachers, ally, cheers to you as you’re on the night hike. Mrs. jackson and mr. white are the oldest of the teachers and usually offer up drinks to celebrate a successful hard working field trip.

“oh really?” your eyes are wide.

Ally nods enthusiastic, “this was such a fun field trip, but I’ve been dying for a drink.” she’s practically buzzing, even though she’s very happily married and in her mid thirties, you don’t fully regret what you’re about to say until you do.

“I think I’ll pass,” you say.

“what?”

“I’ve never been a fan of drinking,” you admit, toji overhearing a few paces behind you with another parent chaperon.

“what?! you’re the youngest here, though!” Ally is unbelievably put off by your response that you have to salvage it, until she adds. “well at least have one drink with us. it was your first field trip as one of the teachers here, and we just want to celebrate. you don’t even need to get another drink. okay? Okay.”

you bite your cheek nodding.

“yay!!”

and that’s how you ended up here. sitting at the center of the ten seat table with all the young teachers and parent chaperons. completely fucking wasted.

“this w-was such a fuuun trip,” you hiccup as the table is laughing and drinking. you were all laughing. “I’m like so happy—“

the table is cackling and toji seated beside you is realizing in seconds. “you’re a fuckin’ light weight,” he clocks. the other teachers laugh noting that as well.

“nuh-uh, I-i can drink another,” you hiccup again, taking his drink and gulping another few sips until he’s clicking his tongue.

“Christ,” he slides a water to you, “drink.”

and the night went on with you tipsy and the others getting unbelievably drunk into the night. even toji was getting tipsy. he had too, with all the parents asking too many fucking questions about his life that he needed something to take the edge off before his fist collided with one of their faces. but when you went to grab the drinks from the bar for the table, and tripping on your way back, toji realized maybe it was time to call it night.

“what? but we’re still having fun,” you whine as toji lifts you up, arm wrapped around your waist, your cardigan slipping off your shoulder.

“fun until you’re puking all over yourself, if ya drink more,” toji stumbles himself. not realizing he’s just as drunk until he’s tapping your key into door, easily dragging you to your bed. “get some rest,” he sighs, lips coming to plant a kiss on your forehead. your eyes are bright, almost too bright as you watch him trudge out.

fuck he’s glad he can at least walk back to his room.

which left you peeling your clothes off and pressing your face into the bed as you rolled around in your pajamas. you weren’t tired. not at all. today was long and exhausting, you were completely exhausted during dinner, but now. now you’re feeling alone…

you turned your head on the pillow, when you caught something on your nightstand.

toji’s room key.

he laid back on his bed, hand pressed to his face, he felt good, but he knew in the morning the headache will come and his moves will be lazy. fuck, he really should’ve cut it after his third drink, but the only reason he kept going was because you were still there.

even though he’d got what he wanted. you agreed on a date. he still couldn’t bare to rip himself away from you. especially when he saw how adorable and talkative you get when you’re drunk. you already had the sweet teacher thing going, plus the bratty attitude underneath, but you drunk was all of that plus a little more unfiltered shit that he just couldn’t miss. and he couldn’t leave you alone with those creeps gawking at you again.

and when you leaned against him because you were laughing. fuck he almost flipped a table when one of the parents kept eyeing your chest. even though you couldn’t see any skin on the shirt, it was so tight hugging your breasts—

that’s when he heard his hotel door click.

his brow rose, leaning up.

the light poured in from the hallway, but the wall still covered who was at the door.

the door slowly creaked shut, and toji was about to sit up even more when—

“toji?”

shit.

“teach?” toji responds.

that’s when your face peaks out as you step further into the room so the wall couldn’t hide you. toji’s eyes immediately scan your figure, eyes locking in on your bare thighs in those skims boyshorts and university tee.

“I thought you were crashing for the night?” toji rubs his face because he’s unsure now. unsure if you or him are sober enough for this. even when you slowly kneel at the foot of the bed.

you hum, “wasn’t tired. and I got lonely and…scared,” you exhale crawling up, until you stopped right at his bent feet, his back reclined against the stack of pillow, arm behind his head as he watched you. “I used your key.”

“I can see that,” toji stretched out his legs only dressed in loose black sweats, he pats his lap. “come’ere.”

and you fucking do.

you slowly crawl up his lap, until you’re straddling him and pressing your hands on his stomach, cautious at first.

“scared?” he starts, hand hesitating, before easing it onto your bare thigh. and just that contact with your smooth skin, made his cock start to ache. “i thought you said you don’t get scared sleeping alone.”

you shrug, cute soft hands still feeling the ridges of his abs, your cheeks flush as you hum. “does it matter why i came?”

“not really. I’d just like to know, would you mind telling me?”

your lips purse as you glance at him and his cheeky smile, “i was lonely…and i saw your key and i thought of you so I came to see you. there, full truth.”

he raised a brow, hand easing up under your shirt to hold your waist, thumb caressing absentmindedly. “there’s something else.”

you lean down shaking your head. breath hot against his face.

“we can’t,” toji speaks lowly, your faces so close he has to stop his hips from adjusting underneath you.

“why not?”

“you’re drunk, sweetheart,” he continues to feel your body. definitely not listening to himself especially when your arching your back to press your chest against his, hands all over his shoulders.

you shake your head, “I’m not.”

“you are, because if you weren’t, you definitely wouldn’t be here,” he gives your side a squeeze, desperately holding back. “crawlin’ on one of your students’ parents’ lap, in thin shorts and a tee…”

“they’re my pajamas,” you sigh flawlessly with a delicate tilt to your head and your lashes half lidded as you gazed at him.

his son’s teacher was a natural slut.

you were definitely acting like your age now. the back talk, the way you’re trying to seduce him, it all came like second nature to you, even if you didn’t fully notice it, toji definitely does. he’s been the victim to many women batting their lashes and flaunting themselves, but you stood out. easily.

toji bites back a groan.

“you’re drunk too, toji,” you lean in, eyes heavy.

he hums, struggling to conceal his smile as your lips hover over his.

“do you not wanna kiss me anymore?” you whisper, feigning rejection.

he exhales laughing, “anymore?”

you hum, sliding just a little further up his lap, so your face was hovering over his. your hair slides gently to one side, concealing this taboo interaction with a private curtain so the only thing toji was seeing was you.

his skin was hot, and his big hands holding your torso wasn’t stabilizing him at all when you were looking at him like that.

“you’ve been wanting to kiss me every night…and this morning,” you reveal, because of course you caught his hints. you were playing with him. “it was inappropriate.”

“and this isn’t?” he cautiously puts one hand back on your thigh, massaging the bare flesh. your skin was so smooth, so soft, he’d been craving you, thinking about you in the most inappropriate ways, so to have you so easily throwing yourself onto him.

you shake your head. “ it is…but…” your lips skim over his again, breathing heavily. “tonight…I can’t go to sleep without a reward.”

toji snorts, “reward?”

you nod, letting a small whine escape before swallowing it. “I’ve been holding myself back, taking the high road, being responsible, n-now…now I want a kiss, that’s it.” fuck, this is exactly why toji was a fucking whore when he was younger. the age group you’re in right now switched from bratty attitude to spoiled brat in seconds. never choosing between dominant or submissive and it’s so fucking hot.

“you want me to praise you?” toji leans up, his hand squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh electing the softest whine from the back of your throat. you nod, desperate. “want me to tell you how much of a good girl you’ve been not caving in?” he smiles, you nod again.

“please.”

fuck.

“you’re so spoiled,” he licks his scar, and you feel his tongue skim yours briefly, you’re so close.

“mmm!” toji grunts as you finally crash your lips against his.

he holds back a vicious laugh, because you’re so unbelievably desperate with this kiss he has to hold the back of your head to guide you. your whine came automatic, feeling his tongue push your lips open, allowing it to slip in your mouth.

he dominated the kiss, his grip on the back of your head tightened ever so slightly. in this moment, he had you completely at his mercy. and you let him.

he almost couldn't believe that this was the same woman who taught his son. the one who kept avoiding his very obvious advances and would get flustered whenever he insinuated something vulgar. but now here she was, sitting on his lap and whimpering for more. it almost made his head spin.

you pull away briefly, catching your breath, your spit collects on your lip as toji glances over your flushed face.

this is wrong. you’re drunk.

but your arms lazily wrap around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him again. this time longer, messier. your back arches, hips grinding down against his bulge, electing a moan from you. your tongue was selfish as you fought with his, the alcohol on his breath mixed with yours. finger tangling in his dark locks as you scratch his nape making him shiver.

“taste good,” you sigh with a lazy smile, and he can’t help but chuckle. low and deep, chest shaking making you flush. he’s so hot. his scent overflows and overwhelms. you kiss his scar, tongue running over it. “how’d you get this?” you kiss it again and again, moaning so gently, sending shivers down his spine.

“it’ll ruin the mood,” he says, hands grounding your hips down, grunting just a bit when you really start rocking on his fat bulge. his fingers digging into your flesh, sighing once your lips continue to trail down his neck, hands exploring his chest again.

“i’s okay,” you mutter, sucking gentle kisses on his nape, moving to his Adam’s apple, as he snorts.

there’s a beat before— “my old man did it.”

your eyes flick up. you pull away. your eyes suddenly less hazy and he can tell, because his lip curls into a smirk. “told ya it’d ruin the mood—“

his breath hitched.

your thumb gently touching his scar, eyes swimming with something he can’t recognize.

“how old were you?”

his grip on your hips tighten, subconsciously grounding himself.

“twelve,” he answers. eyes falling to your lips then back up to your doe eyes and the way your brows gently knit together was something he’ll never forget. “it was a long time ago.” he tries to ease your concerns because he was not passing up on this opportunity because the mood was ruined by his shitty childhood.

“i’m sorry,” your words are soft, not an apology he’s heard before, or at least when it came from you, it felt genuine. even if it was a long time ago and he’s long put that behind, he can’t help the sudden flutter deep in his chest.

you lean down, pecking his scar. not like before more gentle, “i thought it was because of a fight or training or somethin’,” you admit.

toji cracks a smile, “ya, that’s what everyone thinks,” he easily strokes your hips. “how ‘bout I get another kiss from ya’. make me feel better.”

unlike his previous flirtatious remarks that earn him a flustered look on your face. you embrace it, gently holding his jaw, maintaining eye contact that he doesn’t break from, his deep green orbs syncing with yours as you control the kiss. tilting his head and meeting his lips with yours meet. tongues colliding, back arching as you dominate and lead the kiss.

the room fills with sounds of your lips smacking. your spit connecting with his as your tongue runs across his bottom lip. you tongue his scar again, making his grip tighten on your waist, heat crawling up his neck. this was a much more passionate kiss than before. your heart was pounding as you continued with the deep sensual make-out.

you started rocking back against his bulge feeling it grow bigger between your legs. your heart was pounding as you pressed down, not fully grasping the consequences of said action because toji pulled away briefly as a deep husky groan escaped his lips.

you weren’t wearing any panties. the shorts clung to your wet folds like thin cloth.

“you’re killin’ me,” he grunts, hands sliding down from your waist to your full ass. his touch once cautious, easily turns desperate as he grabs a handful of your ass, grunting even more when the pads of his fingers spreads your cheeks up, feeling your folds spread behind your shorts, his hips bucking to grind you back down.

you whine, eyes fluttering as you grip his shoulder, nails digging in, rocking against him.

“I should stop…,” your voice was slightly hoarse from the kissing and toji had to contain the sudden urge to lose every ounce of self-control he’s been holding. your concern was mixed with your own hazy and needy twenties side. your lips hover over his, and he can feel the heat coming from you, because he also doesn’t want to lose this proximity to you.

“your call, sweetheart,” toji licks his lips, large hands grounded on your ass permanently. your eyes flick over his face, landing on his swollen lip-bitten lips, and you know you couldn’t stop. you didn’t want to.

your tongues clashed once again, and that bratty side of you came out again, but slightly more dominating as you pressed your fingers into his jaw, so your lips can trail down his neck.

“shit—“ toji grunts, hips bucking in surprise when you palm his bulge.

“more,” you whisper against his lips, the need just itching out.

toji slides his hand up to grab your face. a deep husky chuckle escapes him as he glances your flushed features. you were far from a respectable adorable middle school teacher. your lust filled expression was everything and more.

“you want a parent’s cock in y’r pussy?” his vulgar question sent a unknown heat break deep in your chest.

you glance away, embarrassed.

“don’t put it like that.”

“am i wrong?” his loud boisterous chuckle has you flushing beyond belief.

“shut up! I’m—I just,” you break into a whine, burying your face in his shoulder.

“am i embarrassing you?” he teases further.

you grunt in response.

“is this the brattiude again? aren’t’chu a teacher, use your big girl words, or did we forget how?” his teasing was infinite.

“brattiude? I don’t have whatever that is,” you scoff.

“you do, it comes out when you get like this,” he eyes you up and down, and finds it even more amusing when you quirk a questioning, albeit annoyed, look. so he elaborates. “when you don’t get what you want…you get all snappy, and self-centered…just like a spoiled little brat.”

“I’ve never caught an attitude,” you gasp, staring incredulously at him.

he hums, sarcastically, “sure.”

you frown, but he could tell easily that it was just your brattiude, because you were still all up on his lap, squirming even more because even he could feel the puddle you’re making on his lap.

his hand finds your jaw again, turning your face back to him. his pupils dilate at the flushed look on your face. would you cry if he teases you further? what if he bullies his fat cock in over and over—

“did i hurt your feelings, teach?” he coos so softly it was obvious he was teasing but you tsk, like an annoyed brat. “would you feel better if i touch you down here?”

the gasp was enough of a reaction for him to see just how much you wanted him. the simple touch of his hand cupping you over your shorts and pressing his palm against your clit had your eyes fluttering.

toji curses under his breath, letting another exhale, as he continues rubbing you, “these shorts are all ruined, and you looked so fuckin’ cute in ‘em,” he chuckles when you bite a whimper back.

but your patience for your students isn’t something that extends beyond that, because now your pawing his waistband eager for more, and impatience making you shaky.

he tsks, grabbing your wrist and pulling it up to his face.

“what’re ya thinking?”

“i want it…” the frown plus the whine isn’t a sight for any man that would easily buckle and fuck you stupid could handle.

his jaw clenches, holding back. “let me take a look first.”

your brows pinch, “what do you mean—wha!” you squeak, your world tipping over in seconds, now laying on your back with your legs pushed up. toji swiftly and skillfully pulls your shorts off in one go. your heart is racing, preparing yourself, until toji pushes your thighs up and apart, kneeling his face close to your heated puckering core, eyes staring like saucers.

“what’re you doing?!” you immediately cover yourself, face bright and hot.

“taking a look,” he pushes your hand out of the way, his thumbs slipping into your folds before pulling them apart, “you’re soaked.” his pupils dilate at the sight of your sticky arousal, slipping out.

“toji—“ you push his shoulder, trying to get his face away, but he only leans his face closer, like your pussy was some hypnosis, and his tongue falls right on the mess, licking a bold wet strip up. your juices collect on his tongue as you flood his taste buds. “angh—“ you whine out, head tipping back and back arching, because fuck, you really did miss getting your pussy eaten.

“fuck, you’re so sweet,” toji groans, lapping the mess you made before tonguing the source. your eyes were on him the entire time, his back muscles moving as he wrapped his arms around your thighs, dipping his head again to suck and clean all your juices, before sucking your little bundle of nerves.

your eyes bulge once he starts giving your clit some attention, hand curling in his raven hair as your thighs twitching as he sucks.

his own body reacting to every mewl and whimper you let out, eyes flicking up to see the way you were gasping. his free hand came up, pushing your university tee up, hand flat on your stomach before your tits came into view, and he nearly came.

your eyelids flutter as you stare at him, chest heaving, you can feel how hot you’re body is getting as he feels your stomach.

“fuck me,” his body sits ups slowly, hovering over you, your legs slip around his torso as he dips his head to your tits. you wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is beating when his tongue lulls out and takes a wet lap of your nipple. his rough palm gropes your boob, squeezing the flesh making you react just the way he’d imagine.

your back arching and a stifled moan coming out.

“i don’t think teachers should be this slutty,” he licks his lips, tonguing your nipple again before he admittedly starts sucking.

“toji,” you moan, hand pressing into his nape as he hums around you. his fingers pinch and twist your other nipple making you gasp, letting out a higher pitched moan. you can feel his smirk, but you don’t have time to comment because he presses a finger against your hole.

“let’s see how much i needa stretch y’out,” his face is flushed, your reactions were enough to get him off.

your eyes glance down as he slips two thick veiny fingers into your core.

“shit,” toji exhales.

you whine, gasping when he pumps his fingers in to get them deep.

“you’re unbelievable,” his comment leaves you feeling bright pink. “when was the last time you had sex, baby?”

his question was confusing to you until he adds on.

“or are you still a virgin?”

“I’m not a virgin!” you gasp, offended, even though it wouldn’t have been embarrassing if it was a true. but still. you were flustered, especially when he leans his face close to yours.

“you sure?” he snarks, “because this pussy—“ he puts emphasis with a sharp thrust of his fingers making your head fall back. “is too fuckin’ tight,” he groans as you squeeze around him.

“I’ve had sex, like—five months ago,” you confess.

“five months,” he repeats, eyes narrowing when you glance away, and that’s when the light bulb goes off and he has to hold back a snort, because it was sweet. “and why five months?” he teases.

you hold back, too stubborn to expose your reasons, but he doesn’t make it easy when he starts sucking your neck, taking his time learning your body, until he finds the spot that makes you moan just a bit more uncontrolled and his fingers pick up speed. “does it have to do with me?”

his fingers piston into you and an unrelenting pace that he slips in another finger, groaning at the squelching that fills the air, your face pressing into his arm that rests beside your head. “cmon,” he slows his pace, electing a cute whine from you. “you’re really actin’ spoiled. expecting me to please you without anything in return.”

the guilt trip had your dumb brain glancing widely at him.

“I’m not—we’re gonna have sex now,” your face is bright with heat, eyes just a bit glassy from the pleasure.

“you think an old man like me gets off on just pussy?” though that was a big chunk of it, it still elected a cute reaction from you. “you needa to talk to me.”

your eyes are wide, almost like this was inconceivable to you, but nonetheless your lips part. “you’re not that old,” you comment with a slight snark.

he snorts, “you being cute?”

you shrug, squirming when he rubs his palm against your clit. “just a little,” you maintain eye contact. and he has to hold back a snort. his lips hover over yours, his hot breath fanning against your face, you instinctively lean up to kiss him but he easily dodges it, tucking his face into your side, lips ghosting over your ear.

“just tell me you didn’t let anyone near this pussy after our meeting,” his words sent a shiver running down your spine. “admit it.”

“it was coincidental,” you admit, whining when he curls his fingers inside, your legs closing around his hand but he only pushes both legs up, you squeal when he starts fingering you at an unrelenting pace, your face pressed to the side, gasping as you feel your orgasm taking over your body.

“coincident my fuckin’ ass,” he tsks, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he slips them out and puts them up to his mouth sucking them dry. your chest is uneven as you stare up at him. he moves to pull your shirt off, leaving you completely naked while he’s still in his sweats. “you’re gonna have’ta make it up to me.”

“why?” you snap back. his brows rise, it was intimidating. the look of an annoyed adult, but it had your core clenching around nothing.

“you’ve got a fuckin’ mouth on ya,” he chides, his palm cups your pussy, making you shiver. “I should shut you up for good,” he palms himself.

you nod, the blush and smile giving yourself away.

he can’t help but snort, “you wanna be punished?”

you flush, “I didn’t say that,” you mutter.

he leans over you again, hand caressing your face, it was slightly rough, thumb playing with your lips, eyes honed in on how wet and kiss bitten they are. “you said you wanted your mouth to be shut,” he smirks. “this little pussy would make you pass out if I put my dick in it .”

your brows furrow as you frown, “you don’t know that,” you argue.

“you could barely take three fingers,” he coos, but that only seems to make your dumb cock filled head more upset.

“but I did, you don’t know anything,” you scoff, “you don’t know what I can handle.”

“you telling me you a slut?”

“that’s not what I said,” you flush, “I can take you, that’s what I’m telling you,” you huff, but it turns into a pout, one that has him chuckling. especially when he moves off the bed. you watch him standing beside the bed as you sit up.

his fingers hook around his sweats and easily slips them down, letting them pool on the floor before kicking it aside.

to say you felt your heart drop to your ass was an understatement. your entire body burned red and goosebumps broke out everywhere.

the dark happy trail that led down to his base was not enough of a warning for the sight of his large and thick cock, hanging between his legs. the tip was already shiny from the pre that spread everywhere. his hand came down, squeezing the base, groaning lowly at the sight of you sitting up on the bed staring wide-eyed. he could fuck your pretty face and have no complaints. your lips were parted in frozen terror.

toji put a knee on the mattress, biting his lip in calculated self-control. he couldn’t react yet, not when his son’s poor little teacher was still grappling with the fact that she said she could take his fat cock not knowing what she got herself into.

“I—“ your voice cracks, lips parting at the sight of his weighty length in his palm. he lazily grips the base. the veins looked like they would pop if he squeezed any more.

“you’re acting real fuckin’ cute,” toji groans, leaning down and kissing your lips. not realizing that that comment sent you spiraling. he was still standing, so you were leaning slightly up. your head tilted, eyes fluttering up. “it’s okay, I won’t tease ya’ about your comments earlier,” he chuckles, taking your hand in his gently. “just be a good girl, and I’ll be gentle,” he sighs, guiding your hand to wrap around his cock. “fuck.”

his head tipped to rest on your shoulder, his hand rubbed your thigh. your grip on his cock grew tighter as you continued jerking him off, you couldn’t believe how big it was in your palm. your mind was overheating just thinking about how this thing could fit in you. that’s until you felt your back hit the mattress, again. your body immediately pulled to the edge of the bed as he hoisted your legs around his waist.

“can’t wait any longer,” he grunts, laying his fat cock on your stomach. his eyes dilating at the sight of how far he’d reach you.

“w-wait—“ you press a hand to his sweaty pec, eyes slightly wide as you swallow thickly. “I don’t think—I know what I said—“

however, toji breaks out into a loud laugh. one that has your skin heating up again, and your lips parting in shock. “t-toji!” you scold.

“sorry, sorry,” he laughs, leaning over as he kisses a cute gentle kiss to your cheek that once again leaves you speechless. you would’ve never expected him to be so gentle in the bedroom. “I can teach you how to take a big dick like this,” he starts moving his hips, sliding his length through your folds, a low grunt escaping as your juices squelch around and coat him.

“you’re getting cocky,” you mutter, the confidence you once had, just hanging by a thread now.

he snorts, “just a little. haveta make sure I’m just as good of a teacher as you are,” he angles his tip to press against your clit, smiling when your body jolts. your fingers lazily digging into his biceps. “plus, it’s not everyday i get to take a teachers virginity.”

you flush, “I’m not a virgin!”

toji smirks, “you are when it comes to me,” he rubs his cock head against your puckering hole, “gonna stretch you out real good, every other dick that’s been in ‘ere will be gone from your memory.”

you tense up as you feel the first push in. your eyes flying open as your jaw goes slack. the stretch was filthy, delicious, your chest felt hot—

“easy, baby,” he coos, all cocky, and it only seems to make you even more turned on as you clench around him. “shit.”

his grip on the sheets tighten, jaw clenched. “don’t squeeze me like that.”

“not my fault,” you whimper, his hand pushing your thigh higher as he sinks himself deeper. your breath catches, nails digging into his shoulder. “too much—angh!”

your whining and moaning, fails to deter toji from the task at hand. his cheeks are flushed, muscles tense as he controls his strength. unlike you, he really hasn’t had sex with anyone in awhile. it seemed to only be a yearly ritual for him. so having someone he’s been chasing for months now, someone he definitely developed a strong attraction for squeezing him to absolute heaven definitely wasn’t making it any easier for him.

“you’re so—fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, pulling out and thrusting back in. your back arched, hips rising off the bed as he places a knee on the bed , groaning as he pushes more of himself in. your eyes bulge even more, tears squeezing at the corner of your eyes. “still got more.”

“what?!” you shriek, eyes bulging as he snaps more of his chubby girth inside your gummy walls. your pussy weeping, gasping for air as he starts picking up the pace.

“don’t be so dumb,” toji coos, “you saw how much i was gonna shove in,” he emphasis it with a hand pressed to your belly button. “you’ll know you’re full when you feel it right here.”

to say you get dumb on dick is an understatement.

by the time he’s fucking his full length inside you, you’re a completely different person.

“angh, you’re so fuckin’ good,” toji grunts, his hips snapping, he has one foot planted on the mattress, drilling his cock inside you hitting your cervix until your crying out. “good fuckin’ pussy,” his hand comes down your ass.

“toji—gun’ gunna come—ahh-!”

“again?” he snorts, but his own composure breaks when you’re drooling, his thumb collecting it and putting it back in your mouth as you suck. your back arches as his cock slides against your gummy walls pressing against your sweet spot making you see stars. his veins bulge from his arms, watching your eyes rolls back and moan around his thumb.

fuck, he wasn’t gonna cum just yet.

once you’d come undone, you pressed a hand to his chest.

“tapping out.”

you shake your head. “I’m on top.”

you sit up, pushing him back until he’s slipping out a shiver runs down your spine at the emptiness. but you immediately flush when you glance at toji. it was a sight.

his chest covered in a layer of sweat, your juices coated his heavy hanging cock and dark hair at his base. toji chuckled darkly as you grabbed his wrist pulling him back on the bed, laying him against the headboard. his hand lifted up, you easily took it as you stood up and slowly lowered yourself on his abs. pussy easily settling on the hard ridges making him groan.

“gonna teach me a lesson?” he bites his lip, watching you closely.

you laugh lightly, almost like he couldn’t feel the way your pussy clenched when he said that. your lips hovering over his. “teasing me every second and now you wanna learn something,” you kiss his jaw, a low hum escaping his lips. finding himself back in the same position you both started in, but this time you definitely weren’t holding back. his hands easily came to your ass, until you sat up. “no touching.”

his brow raised.

“I thought you wanted a lesson,” you test, his eyes boring into yours.

with an amused exhale, he raises both his hands in defeat, easily tucking them behind his head, muscles flexing casually. you ignore the flush that runs through you at the sight of his biceps flexing and the layer of sweat on his slightly hairy chest.

“now,” you start, turning around so your ass was on full display facing him, a low whistle slips past his lips. your feet press over his pelvis while one hand was positioned on the mattress for balance, your hair sliding to one side, you look over your shoulder and it was fucking beautiful.

toji flushed as he saw the arch of your spine, his eyes traveling down your deep line of you back until he noticed it. toji swears under his breath.

“because you called me a virgin,” you raise your hips, your free hand coming to press his wet cock against your twitching hole, slapping it over your clit a few times making you both hum and groan. “I’ll give you a little show,” you slide back down on his dick. his breath hitching as you take him in one go, no whining or crying like the rounds before. even though you clenched around him when he bottomed out, his jaw ticking, you still persevered.

you lean forward, arching your back as you raise your hips, only his tip still inside as you slam down again. the bulging ridges of his fat cock sliding against your walls had you drooling.

“christ,” he grunts. abs clenching, staring at the sticky cum from earlier start to create little wet cobwebs that attach to his pelvis and your ass.

“angh fuck, toji,” your moans are breathier and needier. It was the fact that you weren’t facing a him that made it easier for you to let go and enjoy the sex all the more, especially when you’re putting on a show for him with the way you’re riding his dick.

“shit—ngh, i take back what i said,” he grunts, biting another groan because he was desperately trying to see how this plays out by keeping his hands behind him. but you were really riding him like a cock drunken slut. “wanted to shake y’r ass for me—mmm this whole time.”

he subtly slides his muscular thighs apart, angling his hips just a bit knowing that this angle was much better for you. and of course your dumb little brain didn’t even notice but your eyes flutter back as does your pussy. “angh toji—“ it was quite endearing the way your actions and voice didn’t line up, the sluttiest thing he’s received and yet he’s hearing the sweetest voice chanting his name over and over.

“taking me so well, ya like riding this cock, hmm?” he bites his cheek, preventing a pathetic noise from slipping out when he watches the way your pussy stretches around him. he was so close.

“so big, toji—fuck—angh fee’—good, hngh ahh—“

“Mmm, shit just like that, dirty fuckin’ pussy,” the messy squelching and breathy moans you were letting out was messing with his head.

and he couldn’t help it when you leaned forward even more, grasping the sheets and getting more air to bounce faster. picking up the pace which immediately had him exhaling loudly and reaching out a hand, unable to stop himself, because you definitely would make him cum. “should’ve told me how desperate this pussy was for a big cock to stuff her,” he groans as you let out a loud whine. a snort escaping, “fuck.”

his palm slid across your ass, all the way to the fucking tramp stamp he hadn’t noticed until you’d turned around for him. his cock twitched when your back arched on instinct when he pressed a finger against the tattoo.

“fuck fuh—angh i said no touchin—“ you whine, it felt so good bouncing on such a big cock. you’d never had something so big inside you, and you couldn’t hold back.

“wanted to tell ya how much I’m lovin’ this fuckin’ lesson from you teach,” he groans, the low rumble from his chest has you angling your hips so you were only taking his tip. “shiit—“ his jaw went slack.

“it’s ah—a punishment,” you pant as you bounce only on the few inches of his tip, letting your juices drizzle down his creamy messy base. his eyes were like saucers seeing your hole take him and he could feel himself getting closer, his grip tightening on your waist.

“cmon baby,” he lets out a noise that you could only think was a whine, if it wasn’t for your own moans and loud squelching.

god why did it feel good being tortured like this. his cock was going to burst, but you were edging him like crazy like this.

“d-don’t baby me—“ you bite your lip, but he clearly hears your whimper. your shoulders shaking. you were close. “I’m—I’m in charge.”

his neck rolled back, lashes fluttering. your pussy felt so good, riding his cock until he bursts inside you, and yet, “is that usually how it is?” he slides both hands to hold your torso.

“what do you m—angh!! toji!”

his hands grasp your waist, and with no hesitation, he plants both feet on the mattress and thrusts up. your eyes bulge, finding yourself laying against his chest, head thrown back against his shoulder as he bites at your neck, thrusting up at an unrelenting pace.

“I’m not gonna let a pretty girl like you do all the work,” he grunts, hand falling to your clit, rubbing tight circles, making your legs shake as tears form immediately. “there we go—ngh squeeze my dick like a good girl.”

you were definitely going to loose consciousness, the pleasure overwhelming. “toji,” your moans were getting loud.

“are ya only gonna moan my name?” he teased, mimicking your gasps as if he wasn’t desperately controlling the pace fighting your own bucks to pick up the pace because he refused to cum right now. “shiit—baby,” he presses his face to your side, his instincts couldn’t stop him from absolutely wrecking you.

maybe that’s why when he had you back on your hands and knees, shaking and whining that he didn’t stop thrusting until he felt you cum again, but this time with a messier gush.

“shit—“ he groans, being forced out as you squirt on his cock. “you’re full of surprises, princess.”

you were absolutely delirious, tilting your head, arms stretching out grasping the sheets. “cu-cum in me.”

his jaw clenches, his brain frying as you look at him with those big glassy eyes. all pleading and fucked out.

“don’t,” he thrusts into you, it was getting sloppy, your hand was stretching back for him.

“want y-you to—ah ha—cum in me—please ngh please—“ you desperately match him, thrusting back against him, making him groan.

“don’t say that,” he brings a hand down on your ass, it was as hard, but enough to make you whine even more.

“want you to make me feel full, toji,” you plead, hand rubbing your tummy feeling the bulge he was creating. his cock threatening to burst with the way you’re acting. he leans forward, hands planted beside your head, as he drives his cock harder and faster.

“fuck, should’ve known you’d be a fuckin’ slut,” he grunts with each thrust, you were whining, face pressed against the mattress as you reached back to hold his head, his face coming close to yours.

“want it—I’m—I’m good,” you slur, the gasps and moans coming out. his muscles flexing as he felt his legs begin to shake and your own body squeezing him, clearly on the edge yourself.

“want me to breed this pussy on our first fuck,” he clearly already made his choice as his thrusts grew sloppier. his breathing getting uneven and louder as he drilled his pulsing cock into your warm gooey walls.

“yes-want it all—“ you gasp, his lips crash onto yours. and the deep rumble of him moaning into your mouth immediately sent you over the edge again and him following after.

he hissed, his balls clenching as he shot ropes of warm cum into your walls. you were clenching him nails digging into his nape, as he continued thrusting deep and holding as more cum shot into his son’s hot middle school teacher.

you were whining, especially when his hand wouldn’t leave your clit, making you squirt more. he pulled out, biting his lip as he saw the mess he created, and selfishly, he pulled you back on your knees, spreading your pussy apart to get a better look. and you were too fucked out to feel embarrassed.

“should’ve gotten a warning that you were this dirty,” he teases, slipping a middle finger into the mess and his cum oozing out of your puffy overstimulated pussy hole. he slowly thrusts his fingers in, and your hips reluctantly try to move away. “Look at’cha,” he sighs, mesmerized when you start crying and shaking as you squirt some more, his cock aching at the sight.

he didn’t stop, until you were rolling to your side, pushing his hands away. “c-angh toji,” your cheek is pressed against the mattress, eyes glossy and pleading.

“had enough, pretty girl?” he coos.

you nod, completely exhausted.

“you sure you don’t wanna give me more,” he gently soothes a hand across your ass as he leans down to press a kiss to your lower back. “is that enough for my bratty girl?”

you nod again. eyes doting up at him as if that wasn’t both the cutest and filthiest sight he’s ever seen. he trails soft kissed up your spine, gently rolling you to your back, brushing the messy hair from your beautiful face.

your body weak, but still responsive, brushes a hand across his jaw. eyeing his scarred lips, he leans forward, hovering over yours as you sigh blissfully.

“my dream…” you whisper. “is dumb.”

his emerald eyes widen slightly before settling. hand caressing the top of your head, thumb rubbing your forehead as he remains close, the intimacy was unlike anything you’d ever felt. fucks absolutely stupid that this closeness has dropped all your walls.

especially when this man who’s been following you for three days and stopped to talk to you almost every morning after dropping off his son. you felt it was okay to be a little insecure.

“I’m definitely not someone to judge if something’s dumb or not, pretty,” his voice was just above a whisper, matching your tone. a gentle smirk pulling at his lips as he reassures you.

and for once, you don’t look away. you maintain eye contact, voicing your dumb dreams to the man that asked you a few months ago.

“I wanted to write…for awhile,” you hesitate for a moment. “still do…but I—don’t tell people.”

“like books?”

you shake your head. finger lazily stroking his jaw tracing his features mindlessly. “no,” you whisper, “shows…I went to school for that…film and tv, graduated with a BFA,” you glance at his lips, touching his scar again.

toji remains silent, but his caresses don’t stop. gently reassuring you to continue talking, it was similar to the way he talks to megumi, giving him gentle reminders that’s it’s safe space. it took him awhile to understand what it means to sit and listen, but he likes to think he’s gotten better, especially when you sigh gently.

“but it’s been two years since I graduated…and writing jobs are difficult,” your thumb trails back to his neck, “like really hard,” you mutter.

“you still apply to things?” his tone was identical to yours, not wanting to think he’s pushing. and you nod, licking your glossy bitten lips.

“ya, applied for a few writing programs a few weeks ago for the summer…” you trail off. “…it’s…just embarrassing,” your voice is much lower. you take a deep breath, your exhale is slightly shaky and your little smile was almost heartbreaking as his brows furrow.

“teaching isn’t bad…still gives me time to write, and make my portfolio more appealing,” you confess. you sigh, glancing back into his inviting eyes. a small smile appears on your face. “that’s it.”

toji couldn’t describe the way his chest tightened up. It made him feel like he couldn’t say the right thing but his lips parted.

“when I had megumi,” he starts, speaking just as soft. “i wasn’t in a good place. i was young,” he clears his throat. “i can’t even remember his mom…i was pretty sleazy back then,” he confesses, making you crack an amused smile. “but i had no goals or a job or money, so when megumi was thrown at my doorstep I couldn’t throw him out.” he itches his jaw, you could tell it was difficult for him to speak about this. but he quickly gets to the point. “it took me awhile to get my shit together, and I made a fuck ton of mistakes, but eventually thing began to work. I forced myself to believe they’ll work out because of gumi.”

toji exhales as he brushes your forehead again. it felt like he could see through you.

“you’re a baby,” he whispers. “two years isn’t a long time, you have a goal, and you haven’t given up, right?”

you nod which he makes him crack a wider smirk.

“don’t be embarrassed,” he soothes, “most people would be jealous, I certainly am.” you scoff, and he raises a brow. “you think I’m lyin’?”

“no,” you mutter. “but like—“

“but nothing,” he grabs your jaw, angling your head up, eyes meeting. “it’ll happen. that’s it, okay?”

you bite your cheek, and his heart clenched even more when your eyes filled with tears. your bottom lip pouting just a bit, trying to hold them back from slipping.

“okay?” his voice more gentle.

and your response is just as sweet as you are, with a gentle tilt forward, your lips pressing against his. eyes closing with exhaustion and some slight ounce of comfort for your worries you hum against his lips. “okay.”

toji caresses your jaw as your worries slip into the night, letting this man kiss you to sleep.

—

the nights events afterwards was a blur, all you could feel when you woke the next morning was the full body ache and slight weight off your chest. you had almost thought it was all a dream, because your body that was covered in the post-sex mess was completely clean, and as were the sheets. but the bruises and bite marks that littered your body was a tell sign and the fact that you, along with the large man sleeping peacefully beside you were still fully naked.

his back rose and fell evenly, he looked peaceful as he slept beside you. the early morning sunrise casting a gentle orange glow across his features, softening him.

you were in awe.

he was so beautiful, it was hard to believe he’s a total sadist in bed, but even that mind blowing sex couldn’t make you forget how gentle he was afterwards. his teasing was something you doubt you’ve ever come across, and maybe it was because he was older, but his words made you feel more reassured.

your eyes followed the deep scratches that littered his biceps, nape and shoulders that your own face began to burn slightly. “ow,” you mutter.

“taking in the view?” his rasp voice had your eyes snapping back to his face. his eyes now half lidded gazing tiredly at you.

“I didn’t mean too,” you gently rub over the scratches on his shoulder, your own voice slightly hoarse from the crying and moaning from last night. toji glances at his biceps not even reacting to the marks, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“I doubt that,” he scoffs.

your eyes widen, “honest! I don’t—leave marks like this,” you flush, glancing at him with pleading eyes.

he chuckles, rolling to his side inviting you to come closer, but he doesn’t give you a chance as he pulls you with his strong arm. pressing his face into your shoulder as he exhales. “it’s hot, so shut up.”

“they look like they hurt though,” you mutter into his shoulder.

“they do sting.”

you pull away with even wider eyes full of concern now that he can’t help but break out into a boisterous full body laugh. his chest shaking making you roll your eyes. “you’re joking.”

“nope, they do sting.”

“toji,” your cute brows are pinched together making him laugh even more.

“do you always scrunch that face when y’r worried,” he squishes your cheek. “it’s cute, feels like ya do it on purpose.”

“I’m literally just upset,” you pout because he was squishing your cheeks where it was slightly hard to talk. “does it actually sting—like a lot?” your eyes have a little mischief.

“Mmm, makes me hard thinkin’ bout how they got there,” he cracks a smirk as you stutter, hand coming to his face.

“shut up,” you roll your eyes.

“does anyone else know about this slutty tattoo?” he puts emphasis with his hand splayed on your lower back, rubbing the spot. “that their teacher actually rides cock like a certified slut.”

“you can’t say that,” you huff, more embarrassed than you’d like to admit because he was pulling your closer to him as his hand grabbed a handful of your ass.

“just did—am i gonna get punished again,” he throws your words back at, and it only helped to get you even more speechless. “i confess, i would love to get punished again,” he spreads your ass making you arch into his chest. his lips hovering over your ear. “you were moaning like a little slut.” his lips part as he mimics your moans, “toji angh—“ you slap his chest, making him laugh.

you sit up holding the blanket to your chest as you glare down at him. clearly getting embarrassed, which serves to entertain the older man. he smirks up at you, hand caressing your smaller wrist.

“stop talking about last night,” you deadpan.

“how can i not, you surprised me,” he confesses making you glare at him.

“what did you expect?” you raise a skeptical brow. that attitude of yours was definitely something that had him holding back a whimper. god, your immaturity coming out around him made him hard.

“expected you to be a little vanilla. not that I would’ve minded, I’d get you to do other stuff, but the way you wanted to take me yourself, just to show me your pussy stretching nice a big—“ toji had no shame being vulgar with his words. Especially when you pressed a hand to his mouth, flushed beyond belief.

“stop talking!” you press your face to his shoulder. he doesn’t though, instead he pulls your hand away easily and looks up.

“and your messy pussy gushing everywhere, were ya’ always a squirter?” he chuckles because he’d successfully fried your brain where your jaw was slack. your hands came to yours cheeks because you needed to cool down. the blanket slipping to reveal your breasts just a bit.

“you can’t ask me that,” you whine softly, head down.

he leans up, hand pressed on the mattress beside your thigh, his face popping up in front of you, tilting his head with a knowing smirk. “show me some confidence, pretty girl,” he teases, and earns a hand on his face pushing him away.

“you’re making fun of me!” you huff, face burning.

“I’m complimenting you,” he laughs.

“well stop laughing, then,” you snap.

he snorts, laughing still, “can’t help it. just like you can’t help spraying on my dick.”

“toji!”

he laughs again, as you shove his shoulder back making him fall back on the mattress. he pulls your wrist so you’re falling over him. his hand holding your nape. it took less than five seconds for you both to start making out. his gruff voice coming into small grunts as you hum in pleasure.

“I haveta get back to my room before everyone wakes up,” you say between kisses.

“Mmm,” toji continues kissing, “in a few.” he’s seating against the headboard, holding your face as you continue making out. it was messy and sloppy, but that’s all you would do, your hand holding his wrist that attempted to sneak into your pussy from behind. “a pretty girl should cum every morning.”

“not when she’s working,” you mutter, licking his tongue, salvia mixing with his as he groans. his cock straining against the fabric of his boxers.

his hands continued to wander, allowing him to grope your boobs, twisting your nipple as you sigh in pleasure—

THUMP THUMP THUMP

the loud thumping at the door has you jolting,

“who’s that?” you whisper, glancing at the clock. it was still two hours before everyone needed to wake up.

toji shrugs, unsure too as he pulls you back to his lips. “keep kissing me, pretty.” you follow his pull, lips coming together again until the knocks get louder followed by—

“dad! are you awake?!” megumi’s little voice yells on the other side. now both you and toji are frozen, you more panicky than him, as he keeps you on his lap when you try to get off. “dad!”

“mr. toji!” yuuji’s voice chimes in only adding to your confusion and slight corner you’re stuck in now.

but that’s when the light bulb goes off in toji’s head, “oh.”

“what?” you whisper.

“promised them I’d take them on my run in the morning,” he glances at the clock, “didn’t think gumi would actually get up though.”

you get a little more panicky, but toji easily chuckles. “get in the bathroom, I’ll tell them I just needa change first.”

you nod, sliding off his lap. he slips his sweats on fixing himself in his boxers as you slip on his tshirt and rush into the bathroom earning a gentle tap on the ass by toji as he tries to squeeze it when he walks past you to the door. “stop,” you squeal, running away and finally closing the bathroom shut.

he licks his lips, biting a groan before swinging the door open, mind you the knocking didn’t stop.

“what took you so long?” megumi frowns up at him. both boys wearing their shorts, megumi opting for a navy t shirt and yuuji with his bright red tank top.

“it took forever to wake megumi up! but you were the one that woke up late so we get the ten dollars, you promised, you promised!” Yuuji blurts.

toji scratches his hair. “yeah yeah, let me change quickly and I’ll meet you boys in your room—“

“we’ll just wait with you,” megumi easily slips inside his dad’s room followed by yuuji who skips to the large windows.

“woahhh your view is better than ours,” he presses his face to the glass. “and it’s ten dollars each, not together!”

toji licks his teeth, glancing at the bathroom.

“okay stay put, im gonna take piss and come out,” toji subtly picks up your clothes from the floor along with his own change of clothes before slipping into the bathroom.

his brows raise when he sees an empty room. he quietly whispers your name, walking up the shower and pulling the curtains back to see you sitting. “they’re still here?” you mouth. he chuckles, nodding.

“I’ll leave with them and then you can slip back to your room after,” he pets your head all cocky, making you slap his hand away with a huff, to which he laughs and walks to the toilet.

you patiently wait in the bathroom until he finishes changing and grabs your jaw, planting a wet kiss against your lips. you hum in shock, whining when he skillfully plays with your tongue groaning. “we’re still going on that date when we get back,” he says licking his lips and you can just nod.

he gives you one last wink before slipping out.

fuck.

unfortunately for you, sleeping with a student’s parent is exactly how you’d picture it going. him teasing you every chance he gets under his breath. subtle touches when no one is looking, and of course, gentle reminders of last nights events when you’re sitting on the buses back to the school.

“you need to behave yourself,” you scold him, getting up and sitting on the other side of the aisle. he frowns rolling his eyes.

however things weren’t fully realized until you got to the last rest stop. and all the kids flooded out all needing to use the bathroom. toji and you being the first to finish, when toji decided to corner you against the bus.

his hand gently caressing your waist over your top, while the other tilted your chin to the side.

“you did a good job covering this up,” he rubs the spot where he remembers leaving a pretty dark hickey. “I can leave another one down here,” he drops his hand to the front of your top, pulling the fabric down just a bit.

“toji,” you say sternly, as if you aren’t beyond flustered.

he cracks a smile, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to you, “kidding…so give me a kiss,” he whispers against your lips. “before the kids comes.”

you flush. he’s so needy. it was a pleasant surprise, but also messed with your head.

“just a kiss,” he softly coos, eyes half lidded, hands caressing you like you were all he needed to continue another two hours on this god forsaken bus with a bunch of middle schoolers. so you grant him it.

the kiss was soft, innocent, his hand pulling you flush against his body, “so sweet,” he sighs, slipping his tongue in, as he does, you’ve come to realize—

“WHAT!” a loud shout has you and toji flinching and whipping to look at the source and of course it’s the mischievous little nobara. “you were kissing Miss. L/N!!” she shouts so loudly as more of the kids flooded out of the bathrooms.

yuuji who was standing behind her the whole time has his jaw permanently nailed to the ground.

“nobara,” you laugh nervously, trying to defuse the situation, but she’s already chanting you and mr.toji sitting in a tree K.I—. and the other kids follow suite.

yuuji is still sat on the bus with his jaw slack, megumi in a similar state but more of a glare as they surround you both on the seats. toji raises a brow at his kid, almost testing his glare. “have somethin’ to say—“

but yuuji immediately stands up, pointing at you. “why would mr. toji kiss you! you don’t like stinky things and mr. toji is SO STINKY!” yuuji’s cry has you flushing eyes wide.

“yuuji,” you start, but nobara is laughing.

“they’re in loveeee so it doesn’t matter,” she chuckles and this leaves you and toji stunned.

“in love?!” Megumi now shouts. “miss is super super sweet and my dad is—“ he looks back at his dad frowning. toji puzzled raises a brow.

“your dad is what?” he tests him.

your sweating, laughing, “okay guys, this isn’t the time—“

“my dad is grumpy and not sweet,” megumi frowns, not scared at standing up to his dad.

the sixth graders all listening and enjoying the show, ooo at the same time. some were on nobara’s side of gushing over their sweet lovely teacher with a strong man like toji who they’ve spent most of the trip with. and the other side was on yuuji and megumi’s who are in disbelief that their sweet lovely teacher like you could be with a grumpy fighter like toji.

“I’m not sweet?” toji cocks his head.

megumi hums and yuuji agrees along with a few other boys.

“so when I drive you to school? or take care of ya when y’r sick and whining, or drive you both to practice, or go on runs with you slow-pokes, or buy ya sweets, or take care of you—what’s all that then?” toji has the entire bus silent.

megumi and yuuji frown, embarrassed.

“ya that’s what I thought,” toji rubs more salt on the wound and your chest clenches as you look at the boys.

“toji was a big help with all of you guys, and he’s very sweet for volunteering to come along,” you try to reason with your class who all pout while others gush. “and uh—“ you look at the boys who are all upset. “you kids are obviously the sweetest,” a few of them blink up at you. kids love praise. “you all made this year amazing and toji agrees with me too. you all brought us all together and definitely were better than the other classes,” you put a finger to your lips. “but don’t tell them I said that.”

the kids all laugh together nodding.

“I told you we were the better class,” yuuji cheers, stunning his tongue out. “it’s because of your class president,” he slaps his chest. megumi laughs, especially when Nobara starts arguing with him.

“no it’s because I’m CO-President!” she huffs and the two go back n forth immediately changing the subject for the rest of the bus ride.

and once you settle back into your seat toji gives you smirk. you raise a brow.

he shrugs.

you tilt your head. weird.

but all toji was doing was admiring you. simple.

a/n: this was longer than I intended, but hopefully you guys enjoyed it. I definitely spent months coming in and out of this story, haven’t written smut in a few months so I had to find my style again lol!

I may write a much shorter pt2 of this, not sure yet,—but anywaysss I hope you all liked it and I’m sorry this wasn’t very mma centered 😭

[spideyyeet]

NOT SO SECRET ADMIRER — T.F.

[ SUM ] — college soccer coach toji has a secret admirer. but how secret is it when most of the highlights in the school paper are photos of him, instead of the players scoring goals?

[ TAGS ] — MDNI 18+ ONLY. nsfw. piv. raw. unprotected. age gap (mid 30s x early 20s). slight exhibitionism. HEAVY CREAMPIE. FAT BULGE. spanking. CUNNILINGUS. oral f!recieving. dacryphilia. reader kinda freaky. thick dark sexy HAPPY TRAIL. nudity. SHOWER SEX. SCENT KINK. pet names. spitting. wc: 19.1k

[ A/N ] — inspired by coach!toji from my fratkuna series. I was gooning too much whenever I’d mention him soooo

photo-journalism can mean many things. at its core though is documentation and being present. it’s about recording what happens so it doesn’t vanish into the noise of the world. and that’s what you’ve been doing since you started uni.

working for the school newspaper means covering everything that matters to the university. big events, games, and when you attend a school with a division 1 soccer team, that’s ranked the top of the country, it means your weekends are spent on the sidelines of the pitch. floodlights humming overhead, cleats tearing into the turf, and the air sharp with anticipation.

everyone’s eyes are on the match, on the players, the scoreline, and the inevitable victory. everyone’s, except yours.

your lens has a habit of drifting. and it always finds him on the sidelines, the head coach.

standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.

it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….

he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.

and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.

he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.

and you keep clicking the shutter button—

“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”

“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.

“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“

“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.

he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—

you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.

“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.

“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.

“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”

your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.

even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.

“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.

your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”

the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.

while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.

“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger

“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.

“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.

sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.

geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”

gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.

“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.

sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”

gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”

toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.

but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.

“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”

geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.

gojo clears his throat.

“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.

“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.

however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”

oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.

your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.

yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.

“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.

toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”

once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.

your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.

it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.

your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.

it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.

in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”

geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.

gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.

the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.

you.

the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.

“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”

you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.

“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”

“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”

you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.

“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“

“I liked that shot you got of me when—“

“can you get my good side next time—“

“why did you—“

“can you—“

“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.

“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”

“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.

gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”

you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.

you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.

“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”

“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”

you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.

“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.

they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—

“cut it out.”

the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.

“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.

your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.

gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.

they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!

you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—

“ten more laps!”

the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.

“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“

“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.

with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.

coach toji doesn’t move.

instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.

then he looks over his shoulder.

it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.

your heart stutters.

you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.

heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.

and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.

and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.

from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.

you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.

“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”

you were gone.

s-s-s-sweetheart!?

your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.

and he finds it adorable.

college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?

at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?

but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.

“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”

he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.

“she’s too young for ya, coach!”

“get someone y’er own age!”

“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”

the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!

shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—

“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”

fuck.

your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.

the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”

your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.

a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.

b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!

your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.

“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”

you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”

well fuck me.

toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.

his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”

you nod, enthusiastically.

god, you were a cutie.

“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.

you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”

your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.

his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.

“can I try takin’ a pic?”

your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.

“good?” he asks.

you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!

you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.

you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.

“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….

you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.

you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.

well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.

his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.

he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”

this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.

“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.

“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”

you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.

your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.

your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”

toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”

a model?!

toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”

your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.

the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.

you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.

your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.

he’s definitely checking you out.

you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.

“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.

you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.

your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—

“oh.”

you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.

“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”

your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.

this can’t be happening!

you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.

staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.

your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“

the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.

“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”

the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.

your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.

“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”

he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”

you nod frantically.

his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…

“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.

“no, sir.”

toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”

your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.

“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.

you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.

you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.

you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.

you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.

you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.

it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.

with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.

“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.

it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.

“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.

geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“

“you’ve gotten some photos man—“

“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.

once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—

“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?

geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“

“don’t call me that.”

his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“

“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.

“let me fucking finish will you—“

“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.

“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”

you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”

geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”

you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”

that also means you can see….coach toji.

gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.

“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”

you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”

geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”

your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—

“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.

your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”

“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.

nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.

then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.

“the fuck are you guys doing?”

the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.

“coach always showers before or after our games.”

and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”

—

you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.

so this isn’t new territory.

the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.

familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.

you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.

every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.

you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.

then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.

the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.

coach toji, in a suit.

your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.

your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.

the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.

many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!

journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.

“photographers only, please.”

the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.

toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.

the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”

cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.

coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.

your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.

“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.

toji steps forward.

you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.

“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.

toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.

toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.

why does he keep doing that?!

it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.

you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.

“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.

the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.

you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.

not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”

your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.

“right, sweetheart?”

your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.

“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.

you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.

all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.

geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.

you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.

“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.

“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.

and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.

your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.

you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.

your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.

ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.

“how wet are you right now?”

the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.

“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.

gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”

you roll your eyes.

“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.

the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…

his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.

and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!

he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…

“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.

your face heats up, “you were….changing.”

“so?”

you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.

he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.

your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.

how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.

and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.

his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—

“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.

he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.

you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.

he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.

gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.

“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.

though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.

not just on the field…but off it.

the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.

your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...

sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.

you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.

everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.

the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.

“no locker room access.”

your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.

“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.

“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.

your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.

seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?

by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.

the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….

gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.

it’s almost satisfying. almost.

the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.

“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.

“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.

“what’re you talking about?”

“deal’s off.”

huh?!????

gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.

baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???

they do care.

especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!

“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.

“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.

geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”

“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.

“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.

“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”

“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.

gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”

toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.

“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”

gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”

the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.

“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”

the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”

“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.

it doesn’t matter…

it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.

“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.

“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.

for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.

“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.

you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.

“agreed.”

your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.

“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.

“I know…”

“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”

“I know…”

“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”

“I know.”

“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”

your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”

shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”

“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…

“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”

you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”

shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”

you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”

shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”

your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”

you don’t want to make eye contact.

“how?!!”

even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”

“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.

you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”

shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”

“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.

shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”

“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”

“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“

“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.

you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.

geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”

“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”

gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”

“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.

that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.

shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”

“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”

“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.

gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”

you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”

“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.

frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.

“hey—“

“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.

“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.

“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.

“it literally does though!”

“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.

“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.

your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“

“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—

“is this your first time being threatened—“

“the fuck.”

the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.

your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.

“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!

“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.

toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.

“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“

“she was shouting at me!”

“so what!?”

the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.

“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.

how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!

but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…

“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”

gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.

toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…

“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”

your heart drops.

“including you.”

oh shit.

the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.

toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”

your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.

shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.

“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.

your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.

“don’t be upset.”

you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.

you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.

“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”

you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”

he does.

you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…

toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?

“we can talk.”

his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.

your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.

pull yourself together…

you nod. cute.

you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.

“sure.”

gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.

“what…”

“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.

gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”

geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”

gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”

geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“

“hey!”

“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”

“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.

gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”

“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”

“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.

“WHAT?!”

“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.

shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”

“cute?” geto frowns.

gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.

the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.

not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.

toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.

“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”

toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”

you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”

“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”

“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—

“I feel bad.”

your heart stops.

toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.

his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”

your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.

“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”

your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.

what?!

your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”

you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.

“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.

then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”

shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?

toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.

“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”

oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—

“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”

what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.

“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.

“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.

your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.

ding.

your eyes widen as toji pays instead.

“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.

“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.

your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.

“how come?”

the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.

“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”

“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”

your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.

“….next time.”

toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.

“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.

your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”

toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”

“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”

toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.

you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—

your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.

he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.

“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.

“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.

“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“

his words cut the minute your lips press against his.

shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—

you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—

“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”

you do.

this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.

“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.

then, his lips part.

his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.

you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?

your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.

“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”

your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.

“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.

toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.

“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”

toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.

your freeze.

your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.

even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.

“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.

toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”

you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”

“ten.”

your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.

“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”

you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”

“I’m an easy target.”

you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”

brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”

“three older brothers,” you nod.

damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…

“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.

but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.

your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”

you nod.

“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”

and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.

—

it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.

luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.

which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.

“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.

“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.

gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.

geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”

your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”

geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.

“they still bothering you?”

your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?

“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.

you smile, “okay.”

god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.

you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.

“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.

you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.

toji….toji toji toji—

you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—

you snap a shot.

sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.

but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!

toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.

you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.

halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.

the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.

your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??

the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!

managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.

you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.

“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.

“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”

geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.

“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”

his eyes narrow again, “no.”

he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”

you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.

your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.

a single curtain is closed. shower running.

“coach toji?” your voice echos.

there a beat of silence, then…

“that you, sweetheart?”

you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”

the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.

“sweetheart?”

you jump. “yeah?”

“you gonna come in?”

you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”

your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—

“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…

your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.

what’re you doing, seriously?

one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—

your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—

“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.

the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.

you’re so close.

your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.

your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.

his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.

“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.

“hi.”

shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.

you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.

it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.

“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.

“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”

the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.

your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.

his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”

you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”

you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”

“because I kept ya out during halftime.”

you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”

his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”

“that one time.”

“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”

this time you kiss me.

you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.

“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”

“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.

his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.

“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“

it really is too much for your obsessed brain.

coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—

“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.

the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.

“you want a good fucking princess?”

you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.

“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”

you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.

“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.

“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”

you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.

“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“

“I won’t!”

he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”

you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”

the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…

but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.

so he’s all in right now.

“deep breath, sweetheart.”

you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—

“shit!—“

your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.

“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.

you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.

“angh!—“

your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.

“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”

you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.

toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.

“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”

you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.

it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.

“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”

his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.

“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.

he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!

“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.

toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!

you were fucked dumb.

your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.

“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”

your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…

“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”

anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.

toji is at a loss.

his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—

your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.

you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.

you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.

and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.

your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.

“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”

toji blinks.

then he does the worst thing ever.

he laughs.

your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.

toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.

god, you’re fucking hot.

he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.

toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”

you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”

“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”

your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”

toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”

“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.

but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”

you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…

you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”

water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.

but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”

your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”

he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.

that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.

“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”

you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”

“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”

your face burns hotter. weeks?!

toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.

even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.

“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.

“like what?”

“like you know things.”

his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”

what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.

but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.

afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.

“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.

“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”

he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.

eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.

that was the start of all of it.

three months later….

you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.

“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.

and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.

and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.

“toji!”

it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.

“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.

geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”

shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“

“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”

“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.

but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”

shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”

but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.

it was clear as day.

you’re his.

a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm

anyways, the next oneshot will def be the frat gojo fic! possibly thinking of frat geto after this oneshot too bc i put in some little easter eggs about how they both kinda lean into mean girls so stay tuned! — (divider by @/strangergraphics)

[yenayaps]

if u think i’m pretty

pairing: frat boy!gojo x mean!reader

content: the notorious fuckboy suddenly stopped sleeping around and nobody knows why. its totally not because he’s been secretly running around with someone that’s almost a decade older and is embarrassed to be seen with him in public || MDNI, fem!reader, age gap (gojo’s 20-21 readers late 20s), smut, porn w/ plot, fuck buddies, secret relationship(?), gojo plays rugby 🫦, readers lw so embarrassed to be seen with him LMAO, date crashing, he also calls her drunk to tell her he misses her, he's an unhinged little shit

notes: hiiii im so sorry to the ones that asked to be tagged, ive been swamped with schoolwork and im exhausted 😭 11.9k words today, enjoy the read 🙂‍↕️❤️

Satoru has lived his life quite simply these past few months— just school, training, and games. 

Everyone’s gotten on his case about it— mainly just questioning him, but there are moments like yesterday, when he got accused of going through a crisis of some sort over his sexuality. Or last month, when the entire frathouse got together in the living room and tried to have some intervention, thinking he had depression or some other shit. 

He doesn't. He’s also not very worried about his sexuality. 

It’s crazy because he really hasn’t changed that much. He just hasn’t brought anyone over. Or gone out on dates. Or made out with anyone at parties. Anything related to girls, he hasn’t taken much part in. 

But that’s it! That’s all!

He still goes to parties, still has good grades, still goes to practice, and still wins games. He’s just as present— he’s just not fucking anybody, and now everyone thinks he’s dying because of it. 

Assholes. 

He’s fucked half the school, for all they knew, he could’ve just been giving his dick a break! He wasn’t— but he could be, and that wouldn’t be anybody else's business but his own. He’s a grown man, despite many individuals begging to differ.

Whatever, fuck them.

Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions. 

Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret. 

That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place— except for when he’s around.

The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it. 

There’s a view, but it’s not the city. 

“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”

He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing. 

If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you. 

He wears you out. 

Yet still, at the end of every night—

“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.” 

You are so fucking mean.

The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know. 

Now he’s a little less emotional and more… 

“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”

You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”

“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?” 

“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it. 

Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.

“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.” 

He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door. 

“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”

“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out. 

“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two. 

You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”

“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”

“Yup! Bye Gojo.”

He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face. 

Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21. 

You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better. 

Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life. 

He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.

It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of. 

You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids. 

Spoiler: It didn’t work. 

He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.

Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.

He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself. 

It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth. 

Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process. 

You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.

He still opened his mouth.

“Great sauna, isn’t it?”

Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.

The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh. 

“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it. 

It wasn’t. 

“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.

You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks. 

“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile. 

You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame. 

“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”

He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up. 

“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”

You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”

“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”

Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does. 

You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”

“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?

“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.” 

“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.” 

Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16. 

“Oh wow.” 

You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless. 

From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once. 

Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??

You: typing…

You: 

You: typing…

You: turn 21

Unknown Number: bet

You read that response and immediately regretted it. 

He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in. 

And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position. 

You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you. 

And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less. 

He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again. 

He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past. 

It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public. 

It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up. 

He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public. 

Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.

You: Do not fucking embarrass me.

You: Don’t even come near me.  

S. Gojo: fine .

It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.

The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty. 

He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.

Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours. 

That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit. 

He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head. 

“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”

“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”

“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.

“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”

“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious. 

To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.

“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”

“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”

“Stop. Talking.”

He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.

You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.

With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.  

On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there. 

Truly.

Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home. 

You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.

It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him. 

There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though. 

There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.

Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on. 

—

S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:

You: what do u want

S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔

You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it

S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please

S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today

You: im not even home

S. Gojo: ik i have a key

You: you took my spare key?

You: give it back

S. Gojo: today? (:

You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess

S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess

You: what do you even wanna come over for

S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later

You: why

S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me

You: why

S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years

S. Gojo: they’re not over it

You: pig

S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!

You: please don’t

You: but ya, no. go to the library or something

S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE

S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs

S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE

You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with

S. Gojo: BRO???

You: kiddinggg

You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed 

S. Gojo: i got u

S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want

You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak

S. Gojo: ):

You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway. 

Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone. 

You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”

“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen. 

“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place. 

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”

“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”

He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”

You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”

“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?” 

“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”

“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted. 

Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him. 

You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look. 

“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists. 

“Hungry enough.”

“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks. 

You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?” 

“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”

“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.” 

“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.” 

“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck. 

“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”

Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.” 

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.” 

He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display. 

“No?”

“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”

And distracted you were. 

Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.  

He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”

“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?

He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up. 

“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. 

“Were you thinking at all?”

“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”

“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”

“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him. 

He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck. 

It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?

The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself. 

He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach. 

“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear. 

“What are you–” 

He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.

“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.

He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them. 

You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him. 

He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.

“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you. 

“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.” 

“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again. 

You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.

“I know— M’sorry, baby.”

He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear. 

“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced. 

“T-too much,” you sputter out.

“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”

“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”

He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles. 

His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock. 

And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it. 

“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?” 

You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”

“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”

“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”

“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”

“Get me my fucking food.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face. 

. . .

He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine. 

“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.

“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one. 

You crack it open as you turn to look at him. 

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”

“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”

“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink. 

You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”

“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself. 

The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”

The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”

“No— appreciate you asking, though.”

“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”

He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next. 

You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.

“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”

“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”

“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment. 

He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”

“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”

“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time. 

You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.” 

He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”

There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”

“I am,” he scoffs. 

“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.

You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you. 

“I am your friend, right?” he asks. 

You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer. 

“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”

“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?” 

“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”

There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.

He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”

You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”

You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”

. . .

Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight. 

For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong. 

The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.

It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.

Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth. 

“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.” 

Mind you, they were in the same year. 

She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”

He shortens it. “M’not interested.”

“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull. 

And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you. 

“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”

You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face. 

Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).

“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”

The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.

“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.

Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”

“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”

Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”

Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go. 

“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair. 

Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”

Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face. 

The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit. 

It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night. 

He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight. 

After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.

“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything. 

He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”

“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”

“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.

“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”

“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly. 

“No.”

He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer. 

“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”

He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”

“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”

Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face. 

“Maybe.” 

He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”

At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.” 

“So you can fuck with my sleep?”

“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”

“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”

“I don’t have any!” 

“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”

“No, wait—”

“Good night~”

Click.

Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up. 

The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh. 

“Fuck this.”

. . .

Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off. 

Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality. 

“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.  

You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever. 

“What are you doing here?!”

Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”

He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.

Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”

“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”

“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.

“Thank you.”

Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy. 

The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him. 

“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”

“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers. 

You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.

But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice. 

“Good night.” 

. . .

Satoru wakes up twice. 

Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep. 

Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him. 

He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?” 

You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.” 

“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.

There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”

“That’s mean as fuck.”

“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.” 

“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”

“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”

“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view. 

As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone. 

Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the  pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever. 

It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”

“M’not,” Satoru mumbles. 

Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.

“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all. 

“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”

He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”

At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”

“I will.”

Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you. 

Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect. 

One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek. 

. . . 

It’s been several. 

Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes. 

His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful. 

Boring as fuck. 

He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations. 

It's like he just expects you to talk to him. 

He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date. 

And also your last.

. . . 

Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper. 

He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved. 

He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.

Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you. 

After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you. 

You’re not sure, honestly. 

It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion. 

You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels. 

At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex. 

You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him. 

. . .

Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.

And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head. 

At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him. 

As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him. 

He’s still a safe choice.

You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future. 

You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.

Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better. 

You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there. 

You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?” 

He slowly shakes his head, humming  indecisively. “Not yet.” 

You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?” 

He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.” 

It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch. 

“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?” 

You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard. 

“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.” 

Why the fuck would he take you here?

“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade.  “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?” 

“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest. 

“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.” 

It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop. 

You can absolutely check other places out.

Does this guy not understand free will exists? 

“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?” 

“Exactly,” he proudly nods. 

“There you two are!” 

…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is. 

At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine. 

He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze. 

You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection. 

“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.” 

Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction. 

Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand. 

“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?” 

Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru. 

“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.” 

“Wait— really?” 

Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere. 

He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet. 

“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.

“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur. 

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.” 

“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.” 

His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring. 

“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.” 

Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”

“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.” 

Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy. 

And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.

He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him. 

Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too. 

Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him. 

Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?” 

“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.

“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.” 

“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!” 

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”

“Not everything is about looks—“

He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”

Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.” 

“Yet?!” his voice broke. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.

“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”

Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?” 

“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says. 

“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”

“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath. 

“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”

You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”

“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”

You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has. 

“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”

He gets up.

There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet. 

“Where’s your car?” you ask. 

“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it. 

“Ow—”

“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder. 

“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”

You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go. 

“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”

“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”

“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”

“Because you—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”

gojo when reader said she hasn’t seen it “yet”:

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[veejiez]

HIS BABYSITTER FANTASY COME TRUE!

𝖘𝖚𝖒.ㅤ★ Dilf!Gojo fantasizing about taking his babysitter's virginity 'till it becomes a reality and oops... now he's fucking you off the bed 'n taking this to the floor like a wrestler!

𝖜𝖈ㅤ★ 6.7k (beefy like his di-)

𝖈𝖜ㅤ★ strictly NO under 18s, smut, virginity loss, plot, fucking the babysitter trope, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms/creampies, cunnilingus, aftercare 🫶, age gap (Gojo in his 30s, reader in her 20s), solo masturbation, pet names (good girl, slut, etc.), breast play, subtle breeding kink, daddy kink, big d!ck Gojo, he um... fucks a pillow while you give him an innocent massage

"I've always liked older men. Boys my age just don't get me, you know? Neither do they know how to fuck me."

That was one of the first things you said to Gojo Satoru.

And he nearly had a heart attack. Choked on his drink so hard that he had to spit half of it back into the glass.

How could you say something like that with such an angelic voice? It didn't match up, your words were nasty but your face was innocent.

Wiping his mouth, Satoru tried to recompose himself.

"Is that so...?" is all that he could manage to reply with.

He tugged at his baby blue shirt's collar, unbuttoned one button 'cause he couldn't breathe. His blood was pumping. His heart was thumping.

"How old did you say you were again?" you asked softly.

"Thirty-two." he replied. "And way too old for you."

"Perfect." you smiled.

"Huh?"

Mmm... now what did his best friend say about you? "Oh Satoru, I know a babysitter that you and the kids will just adore. She's a real sweetheart."

A sweetheart... uh, yeah, well Suguru didn't warn him about the fact you had a thing for dads. Didn't warn him that you might be crazy. Touch-starved. A way too horny and provocative twenty-something year old virgin.

Maybe Suguru didn't even see this side of you... maybe it was just Satoru that you were throwing yourself at. Surely Suguru would have told him all about a heated affair that he had with a babysitter... right? Or was he the only daddy that you fantasized about fucking your pretty brains out?

Just the thought of that being true made his ego swell and his blood rush down to his heavy cock. He loved thinking about the obvious fact that you laid in bed touching your pussy to the thought of him.

He endured your flirting. Held his hands behind his back. Bit his tongue. Told himself that he can't make out with his hot babysitter on a random Sunday afternoon, as much as he wanted to, because that was diabolical.

You were sitting on the couch alone some nights, ensuring his kids were entertained and fed and happy, while he was at work. You watched their favorite cartoons until they felt drowsy and then you had to tuck 'em into bed and read three separate bed time stories for each of them because Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara all liked different stories.

It was exhausting, but such a joy to babysit such sweethearts.

After they fell asleep, you'd wander a lonely path back downstairs and look at the time — 8:45 PM — then yawn big and snuggle up on the couch and... wait. And wait. Anddd... wait.

Satoru would always come home late from work.

You'd hear the click of the front door and have an almost Pavlovian reaction. Oh, daddy's home.

You'd strain your ears to hear his footsteps as he walked down the hall, hear the satin hiss of his loosening tie, the sound sparking your over-active imagination. And, pushing a stressed-out sigh past his lips, Satoru would walk into the living room to see you looking drowsy and messy after a long day of taking care of his three kids.

And it's that messy sight of you which made something click in Satoru's mind. That's what really sold him on you. Sure, you were a crazy hot mess... but you had this undeniable motherly quality about you that just made him wonder.

What if he gave you his babies?

Shit. Sorry. Random Friday night thoughts. Forgive him. He's been working at a desk all day and now he's feelin' a bit woozy.

He looked at you, mumbled a sweet but gruff "Hey." and then took a seat right next to you on the TV-lit couch. He sat a respectable distance away from you at first... but then, uh, the next second you had already scooched over to his side until you two were almost pressing thigh against thigh.

Exhausted. Apprehensive at how close his flirty babysitter liked to sit next to him, while at the same time getting half-hard at the thought of tearing off your tiny clothes and showing you just how frustrated a tease like you makes him. Satoru sat and endured.

Underneath all that teenage-like sexual tension, he was feeling welcomed home by you. He almost forgot how nice it felt to have someone waiting up for him.

"So, how was work?" you asked.

He grumbled. He sighed. He was half-hard and full-frustrated. No one had asked him that question in a long time in such a caring voice that it actually tugged at his heartstrings a bit. Just a bit.

"It was... um, yeah... like any other day. Long and hard."

"Long and hard..." you nodded, trailing off and letting the innuendo fill the air.

He gave you a look.

"Exactly how long and hard?" you asked.

He couldn't believe that your stupid jokes like that made him chuckle. And what a sight his smile was; his dimples, the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners, making the slightest age lines appear on his pale face.

"Ah, finally I got a smile out of you."

"And that's the only one you're getting." he shook his head.

Satoru brought his big hand to massage his shoulder, letting out a tense groan from his thought.

Oh, the pitiful look that you gave him made him wanna crawl onto your lap and weep. He'd worked so hard all week with scarce breaks, and all he wanted was a sweet, soft woman to lay upon, to be loved by, to fuck stupid, to use like a good stress-relieving fleshlight — ya know? Just a nice way to wrap up a hard week.

"You..." you began, pressing one long decorated nail into his firm pecs, "... look like you're in desperate need of a massage."

"Ahah... no, no..."

He stuttered, smiled a big toothy smile that made you wanna bite him. God, he really looked like that old photo of himself right then — that one you stole, remember? His graduation photo. He just looked too hot and you had to have a memento of him for your memory box.

Shit. You were crazy.

Satoru had no fucking idea whether you were making a dirty suggestion or just genuinely offering him a massage.

Either way, the thought of your hands on him got the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.

Though the rational side of his brain was telling him to refuse your offer, the ghost of the crazed fuckboy that he used to be forced him to accept — like, fuck, what kind of idiot would you be if you refused a pretty girl to work her hands on you, Satoru? Don't put your past self to shame, he thought, you're only gonna get older one day and then that thing ain't even gonna sit up like a good boy without some treats... yeah... that's right... you're gonna be real fucking old one day, Satoru... think about it...

"You know what, actually...? Yeah, I'd love one... but you better be good." he said in a low rasp.

"Oh, don't worry — I'm the best." you grinned like a sweet little devil.

I'll fucking bet you are, cheeky slut, he thought.

He looked like he was holding back all his raw lust. Like if you said just one more thing like that then he would tear your clothes right off your slutty little body and fuck you until every thought flew out of your head except for thoughts of him.

****

Yeah, that martial artist discipline of his really came in handy once you started massaging his shoulders and back. If he hadn't been so strict on himself, he would have...

"Gosh, you're sooo tense, Mr. Gojo... relax."

... I need to fuck her brains out. That's the first thought that he had to push out of his head.

"... let me take the weight of your shoulders..." you nearly whispered, working your hands into his meaty muscle.

Ooh he slipped, he totally gave in.

"Mmm..." he let out a purring moan, feeling the pressure of your fingertips sink into his sore muscles. "That feels good... keep going."

You were trying to keep it cool and professional... er, as professional as you could with your hands exploring Gojo Satoru's muscular back.

Having the lights down low didn't help much. Everything was turning you on. Your clit was already buzzing and begging for attention from behind your thin panties.

This was babymaking atmosphere.

You were going insane, soaking your panties and twitching 'cause you've got a hot dad groaning under your touch.

"Y' can go a little harder..." he muttered in a rough voice.

"M'kay..."

"Mmm..." he let out that purring moan again, this time stretching it out.

Something was so erotic about giving him a massage, even though it wasn't supposed to be — uh, it really wasn't supposed to be, right? Right? It's not like you planned this out all night, not like you were scheming while watching cartoons and waiting for Gojo Satoru to come home.

Ah c'mon... he's an overworked man in need of a massage. Just listen to him, he's moaning like he's — oh, he's closing his eyes, too? He must be really feeling it. His breath is becoming choppy, too.

"Just a bit more..."

"Like this?"

"Yeahhh... just like that."

His mouth hung open in bliss. He squirmed a little. Shit... he could feel himself throbbing. Even slightest friction of his pants shifting along his painfully hard cock was already intense enough to make him clench his jaw.

You smirked, catching a delicious glimpse of the prominent outline of his bulging cock right before he instinctively covered it up with a pillow.

Damn, how does he keep such a monster hidden under such thin dress pants?

Sticking your tongue out in focus as you deliberately massage a spot on his back that makes him moan out the most, Satoru rolls his eyes back and dies a little orgasmic death.

"Yeah... th-that's it... right there... right there... you can go harder."

"Like this?"

"Yeahhh... good g- uhhh, th-that's good." he purred, holding back his tongue just in time because oops, he almost called you a good girl without even thinking.

Oh, that pillow coverage sure helped to keep his boner out of sight but then he had a new problem... the pleasurable friction of the pillow and the fact his stubborn hips liked to move on their own.

Without trying to make it obvious, he was getting off with the pillow, shifting it as inconspicuously as he could but he just couldn't get enough friction — shit, when was the last time that he was so horny he could even enjoy fucking a pillow? It was insane how hard he was, how much his cock oozed sticky precum, how every inch stood at attention asking politely to stretch out some good babysitter pussy.

He shut his pretty blue eyes when started feeling reaaally good. Like, god, he needed this more than he needed air. It was such a shit day at work, but now all the stress that he had built up throughout the day just melted away with each subtle thrust of his bulge into the pillow, and your soft hands digging into his muscular back.

I wanna fuck her so bad.

"Uhhh, fuckkkkkkk...!" he let out a broken moan.

You stopped massaging his back, eyes blown wide open, trying to hold back your shock and snickering. He had worked up a subtle sweat. His muscles were twitching. He was gasping. It was so obvious to you what had just happened.

"Mister?"

"Huh?" he blinked the stars out of his eyes, coming-to as if his orgasm knocked him out for a second.

"Are you okay...?"

He opened his eyes and... oh, there was a wet patch on his dress pants where he just came. Oops. A little massaging and pillow-fucking and he came all over his thigh? Well, that had never happened before. Guess his cock was just super sensitive after not having sex for so long — but you didn't hear that from me...

Satoru gulped. He abruptly stood up, acting as nervous as a bird, "Um, uh... it's late, isn't it? I've gotta drive you home..."

"Aw, okay." you frowned at him, wiggling your hips like you were expecting more.

And he looked at your wiggling hips, your slightly spread apart legs, and then he let a nasty thought pass his mind, and nearly caved and asked you if you wanted to...

****

God, you had your legs apart and he could smell your ovulation. No no, don't call him crazy. He could smell it.

And as he went upstairs to wipe the cum off his inner thighs and change into new pants, he couldn't stop thinking about the fact that you must have been soaked. You must have had the prettiest pussy ever.

Oh, he threw his head back and groaned when he met you back downstairs because while he tried acting professional, now you were all worked up and in an outrageously flirty mood.

You were about to say something outrageous again but he stopped you dead on your tracks.

"Shut up, I don't want to hear it. Let's go." he said, grabbing his keys.

You saluted him playfully, "Yes, daddy."

He did a double take. "What?"

"Nothing." you smiled innocently.

His eyes caught yours, then he rubbed his cheek like he was stressed out.

It was really obvious why he liked you, but Satoru was aching to ask why on earth you like him so much.

Didn't you think he was an egotistical asshole? That's how his ex-wife described him, anyways.

*****

"So you're a Sagittarius, huh?" you ask, little voice dripping in sultriness and setting off alarm bells in the fuckboy side of his mind. "That's hot."

"Uh-huh."

He's driving you home. 60 mph. Switching lanes. Bright blue eyes blind-spotting to the left. Next they're side-eyeing you. Catching on your pretty baby angel face. Trying to keep it together, but his cock is starting to make a bulge in his pants again. Something you've discovered is that the poor man doesn't even change out of his suit most days; when he comes home he just faceplants into bed and falls asleep.

"A december baby?"

"Yup. December seventh." he replies curtly.

Relax, Satoru. It's just conversation. Just innocent, professional conversation with the babysitter who just witnessed you fucking a pillow and cumming in your pants.

After a steadying inhale, he politely returns the question, "What about you? When's your birthday?"

Satoru pays you a brief glance before bringing his gaze back to the speedometer. 50 mph.

Just that one question turns into a deep exploration of your psyche.

"... I just don't like guys my age... like, god, they don't even turn me on anymore."

You give a dramatic pause before looking at him with a nympho fire in your eyes.

"Hey, you're an old man — got any sage advice for me?"

"Hey, who you callin' an old man?"

"Sorryyy, I'm just being cheeky."

"I can tell."

"Sooo... what's your advice?"

Satoru furrows his brows. "For what?"

"For getting older guys to pay one small glance to a sweet girl like me?"

He tenses up and doesn't reply.

You're insane. Worse, you're even more insane than he was when he was your age.

His cock is throbbing against his inner thigh. Again. Precum. Everywhere. How dare you? He's in-between throttling you and stopping off on the side of the highway to bend you over his car's hood to show you he ain't no old man. What a cheek...

"This is your turnoff, isn't it?"

"... yeah."

You watch him flick on the turn signal. You catch his eyes just before he blind-spots again.

As he's pulling off the highway, you pull a dumb joke out of your brain, eager to get a response from him.

"It's my turnoff. But ya wanna know my turn-on?"

"..." he doesn't reply, just gives you a look, then tears his eyes off you and rubs his fingers over his mouth.

"C'mon." you encourage, "You're so uptight; let me humor you a little."

"I'm pretty sure I can guess your turn-on."

You tilt your head at him expectantly. He purses his lips. Drives down your street. Pulls into your driveway. Parks. Unbuckles his seatbelt with a tantalizing slowness that sparks your imagination — d'you wonder if he unbuckles his belt that slowly, too?

Satoru offers one lazy guess. "Older men?"

"Bingo!"

He stifles a smile, shakes his head, thinks you're crazy, and then opens his car door and steps out, leaving you to giggle and unbuckle your seatbelt alone.

He swerves 'round the hood of the car over to your side, and reappears at your window to open your door for you.

"Wow. Handsome and chivalrous? Why'd your wife let a gem like you go?"

"... that's not really any of your business."

"Aw, c'mon... I'm just dripping with curiosity."

He doesn't reply again, just walks you silently to your front door. His heart is beating faster as he eyes out the curve of your ass. That tight sundress shows just the faintest hint of a thong underneath.

Just a thin sundress? A tiny thong underneath? God you're so fuckable, he thinks. So, so fuckable. And the worst part is that you're one of the girls who knows you're hot. That's why you bounce around in front of men like him like you're a reckless bunny.

He's trying so hard to block out wild fantasies of ripping the fabric off your tight body and fucking you into a dumb, slutty mess.

Block it out, Satoru, block it out.

Finally, he replies to the question you posed earlier.

"I'm full of myself, apparently." he says bitterly.

"You're full of yourself?" you tilt your head, a light confusion glossing over your features.

He's so patient and fatherly to his kids; a jovial and wholesome man. I mean, he takes his kids to every place they wanna go, makes gingerbread houses with them in the festive season, plays pretend with them, sets up outdoor adventures in his backyard, gets dressed up in a ridiculous costume for Halloween and takes them out trick-or-treating every year without fail. For god's sake, he bought a hot pink set of baking cookware just because Nobara fancied herself a chef.

He gives his all to his kids, how could anyone think he's full of himself?

"... seems like your wife was wrong about you." you reply.

"Ex-wife. And nah, you'll probably agree with her if ya stick around me long enough — " he speaks self-deprecatingly of himself, but then you interrupt him.

"— mmm, if I stick around ya for to long... y'think I'll end up being full of you, too?"

He stutters. Blood rushes to his cock.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Satoru blinks at you in total disbelief. Again, an innocent face like you saying such outrageous shit is just insane to him.

"You've got a nasty conscience, you know that?"

"N'aw, don't mind me. I'm just having fun, being a little silly." you giggle, eyes all over him and his pretty, rideable face.

"Well, I wouldn't call flirting with older men being 'silly'..."

"And I wouldn't call pillow-fucking being 'professional'..."

Oh god. Oh my fucking god. He's breaking in two like a kitkat.

Satoru is rendered fucking silent. He's stunned. He's red.

"Goodnight." is all he replies with. And then he leaves. What the hell else is he supposed to say to that? You're crazy.

Now you got him all worked up and he doesn't know what to do. If younger Satoru knew that one day in his thirties he'd meet a slutty babysitter... oh, god. Younger Satoru would be pumping his fist in the air.

But he's gotta keep playing it cool, 'cause there's no way he can fuck his babysitter... there's NO way...

... so there he is that very night tucked in his black satin sheets, leaky cock in his fist and jaw slacked, face sweaty, fucking himself to supposedly real "I fucked my babysitter" erotica stories. No, he's not one for porn videos. He just wants to lay back and picture your pretty face with no disturbances. He just wants to lay wayyy back on his king-sized bed, fisting his cock with soft fwupfwupfwups while picturing his babysitter's pussy sitting pretty on him.

He groans at his dirty little fantasies as he slides his hand up and down his shaft, getting so lost in the idea of taking your virginity that he forgets all about the erotica story he's reading and jus' closes his eyes, head thunking back against the headboard in bliss and cock dripping like a leaky faucet, practically drooling all over his lower abdomen.

"Good girl; take it all, just like that..." he mutters.

He slides his thumb over his leaky tip and holds it over the hole, smearing precum everywhere as it oozes out, getting his cock wetter before going back to stroking it at a steady speed. His breath gets ragged as he lures his orgasm out.

He's never met a virgin as slutty as you before, that's for sure.

Shit, he really shouldn't be thinking about fucking his babysitter. He really shouldn't tease his cock to thoughts of taking your virginity. It shouldn't bring on his orgasm to picture you trapped underneath his heavy muscles, cumming all over his mature cock.

"... ugh!" he moans out, shifting down the headboard and curling his toes. "Fuck! Fuck... oh, shit, baby..."

Just like that, his jaw slacks in pleasure 'n his cock shoots out thick ribbons of cum and he's creaming all inside you — oh, sorry. That was just in his fantasies.

In reality, he's just cum all over his abs and chest. It shot up so high that it almost reached his neck.

He pants and looks down at the wasted seed that he coulda pumped inside you.

Groaning as he comes down from his high, Satoru lays with his long legs spread out on his bed for a while and curses himself for thinking of fucking his babysitter.

And then he starts weighing the pros and cons of actually doing it.

Yeah, he stares up at the ceiling after jerking off for like thirty minutes, cum splattered on his abs, thinking about how bad of an idea it would be to actually fuck his slutty babysitter.

No, Satoru. You can't. Absolutely no — no fucking the babysitter. Satoru? Bad boy. Don't do it. I know she's fuckable but you cannot fuck your —

****

— so like a week later, he's spreading your legs and crawling inbetween them.

He's placing rough kisses against your lips like he's almost angry about being this horny.

"Nn!" you whine, feeling his fingertips press against your clothed pussy, pushing against your entrance.

"Aw, you're soakin' your panties just from a little bit of kissing? Aren't you cute." he murmurs on your skin.

"Sh-shut up and fuck me... I can't take this teasing." you spit back, pulling him back into a rough kiss.

He chuckles into your mouth, tongue slithering over yours and tangling up with it for a few seconds before he pipes up;

"I'm just getting back at you for all the teasing I endured from your slutty ass."

Biting your lip. Pulling away. Letting out a purely erotic noise. Sliding his big hands down your sides and gripping you like you're his woman.

Oh now your breath gets caught in your throat.

"Let's get you nice and ready for me, hm?" he husks, lips dangerously close to your clothed pussy.

Oh now your heart rate spikes to an alarming rate. Fuck. You're actually doing it. You're actually gonna fuck an older guy.

He plants a rough kiss on top of your pussy, chin pressing against your buzzy clit.

"Mm...!" you press your lips together, trying to keep some sort of composure but you can't 'cause you've got Gojo Satoru between your legs — who the hell would be able to stay composed in your position?

Damn, it drives him crazy when your inner thighs graze the sides of his cheeks. You're ruffling up his hair. He's going down on you.

A moment later, he's pushing your panties aside and lapping at your pussy. Another moment later, he's curling his tongue up inside you.

"Oh my god th-that feels good..." you gasp, feeling his slippery tongue writhe inside.

"Mmm, I know it does."

He feels smug hearing this, pressing an open-mouthed smile against your pussy lips as he sticks his tongue as deep into you as he can possibly go, eyeing your blissed-out expressions. Sliding his tongue out, spitting on your pussy, rubbing sloppy frantic circles on your clit, Satoru's acting like a total show off.

It makes you hide your face between your palms.

"Ah-ah-ah... I want you to watch." he growls, "Don't you dare take your eyes off me, m'kay? That's a good girl."

Tip of his nose nudging your clit as he tongue-fucks you into hazy bliss, you're moaning like you never knew you could.

And he's just in heaven, 'cause he's got your juices dribbling down his chin and glossing his lips better than his favorite lip gloss — uh-huh.

"Mister! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck — nnn! G-gojooo!" you start mewling his name and he goes faster, trying to chase your orgasm out with full intent to leave you hanging.

Your breath is staggering, pussy pulsing with that edge of pleasure and oh, suddenly he's retracting his tongue from your weeping, spasming hole before you can cum all over his face.

Yep. He leaves you hanging.

"Wait — ! Nn, I was gonna c—"

"— y'know, princess" he interrupts, wiping your slick off his cheek with his fingers and licking it off right before your wide eyes, "I really think we're past the formalities; call me Satoru."

Half-dazed and ditzy on the pleasure of a missed orgasm, you watch as Satoru pulls away from you, his knees digging into the mattress and weighing it down.

Veiny hands find his belt and smoothly undo it, whipping off with a loud crack.

"O-oh?" you breathe excitedly.

He smirks, seeing how your eyes are glued to his bulge, "Aw, ya gonna perv on me while I strip for ya?" he teases, then clicks his tongue in regret when you reply with a lamb-like look, "Hahaha, don't get shy on me now. I'm just teasing."

Absolutely drooling over his physique as he strips his clothes off tantalizingly slowly, Satoru's been so composed up until now; as he unbuttons and unzips his long zipper, you notice how ragged his breathing actually is. Like he needs it bad. Like his cock is getting strangled by his clothes.

After hastily taking his pants off, Satoru quickly frees his eager cock from his boxer briefs.

And your eyes go wiiide.

"Oh."

Pale. Pink. Stiff. Leaky. Bit of an upper curve. Thick veins. What's that, like maybe a nine? No, no, there's no way. Actually, on second look, maybe?

"C'mere, let me have you." he rasps, one hand gripping his dummy big cock.

"That is not gonna fit inside me."

His ego swells. Ah, how many girls have said that to him in his life? And it never gets old.

"Nah, it'll fit."

You twitch excitedly, breath catching in your throat as Satoru comes closer to you and snuggles his slim waist between your legs which you just keep spreading wider and wider, so ready to take him even though you're nervous as hell.

"Ready to get ya cherry popped, cutie?" he asks.

He taps his cock against your entrance, coats it in your slippery juices, teases that hot tip in 'n out.

"Yeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhfuck! Holy shit! Um! Uh!"

"What is it?" he throws a smug smile your way.

He watches intently as your pouty lips move, "'Big, 's really fucking big...! Ooh, god! Nn! Nnn!"

"You're so cute." he arches over you, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

His head starts to spin as he slides inside you.

Fuck. He's actually doing it. Sure, he fucked that flight attendant once. Yeah, he had a couple flings. He was a nasty, sex-crazed fuckboy in his youth. And yet... nothing felt as nasty as this.

This is everything he ever fucking needed. This is the sweet and nasty girl that he's craved for all his life. The rest were too nasty, some too sweet, but you? A perfect slut.

Satoru's curving up into you and teasing your sweet spots with his tip like he's letting 'em know that soon they're gonna get bullied with his hard-hitting strokes.

And your pussy's happily getting stretched out, walls clinging to every inch he pushes in like she's so thankful that you finally gave her something besides your fingers or toys to clench around.

"Ah, fuck, that's tight."

"I'm sorry!"

"No, no, it's a good thing... just relax a little more, 'm gonna push it deeper, is that okay?"

"Yes, please... oh please, fuck, yes give me everything!"

He grins, "No need to ask twice." he murmurs, right before he's sinking another few of his inches into your struggling pussy.

Satoru just comes undone at the feeling of being inside you.

His big hands come to squeeze your breasts, jiggling them around with a playful tongue poking out his mouth like he's just tempted to put his mouth on them.

So he does, y'know he's already lost enough self-restraint to the point where he's fucking his babysitter, so of course he's gonna give into his urge to suck on your breasts.

His hot, wet mouth envelopes your sensitive nipple, tongue flicking against it 'till he draws out cute whimpers from you.

He's pulling his mouth off, kissing the curve of your cleavage, groping a handful of your breasts, looking down at you like he knows damn well no boys your age are gonna fuck you as good as him — shit, scratch that, ain't fuckin' nobody in your whole life gonna fuck you as good as he will.

When your walls permit him to go deeper, Satoru stutters out like he's the virgin here, "F-f-fuck, there you go, baby, jus' take my cock like you're meant to, yeah?"

He moves his hips, relishing that sloppy sound of your pussy gushing around him — oh god you're bucking your hips to meet his hips 'n you're driving him crazy makin' him think for a split second about remarrying.

Like, he's going insane, he's actually going insane.

Hardly ten minutes later and he's fucking you into your first orgasm, loving how you can't even control how hard you cum on his cock. He's ruthlessly rubbing your clit throughout your orgasm, eager to make your eyes roll back completely. And it's making you freak the fuck out, 'cuz no one else has done this to you. No one has brought you to a real orgasm before.

And he can tell.

It makes him twitch and dive deeper into your sopping hole, eager to lure out as much juice as he can 'cause there's nothing he loves more than a creamy mess on his cock.

He's bending and pushing you into the positions he loves, thrusting at a steady pace that you can keep up with at first but sometimes he'll go harder, harder, harder until you're sobbing and wailing out so loudly that he needs to clamp a hand over your mouth.

He chuckles, "Quiet down, princess. You're gonna wake up my kids at this rate."

" 'm shorry!" you mumble into the palm of his hand, feeling his cock drill into your sweet spots and pressure your walls like crazy.

"No, no. Don't be sorry. It's cute. You're taking me so well," he praises, "Doing so so well for me, princess."

Those soft coos don't match his nasty strokes. He's railing you like he's trying to fuck every last bit of virginity out of your pussy, 'till it remembers the shape of his cock, 'till it clings to him, 'till it knows who's ya daddy.

Especially while prone-boning you. Damn, who forgot to give this guy the handbook on How to Fuck a Virgin? He's pounding into you and grunting like he's gone psycho... ohhhhehasn'thaddpussyinlikeayear. Okay. Makes sense.

"Ah, fuck — fuckin' look at me while I fuck you," he commands, sweaty cheek pressing against yours. Satoru grabs your jaw and makes you look at him, loving your lewd expressions. "Haha, such a fucked-out face... cute."

He thrusts faster into you, not even letting much of his cock in 'cause he knows form experience that virgin pussy just can't handle all of that. So he's easing out each time he accidentally dives in too deep.

And when he pounds up into you like that, it makes sense why the phrase "fucking your brains out" came about. His cock has got you in a crazy back arch, got you seeing stars. No thoughts. Just pussy spasms.

"Harder!! 'want it harder! Please! Fuck me harderrr!!" you plead, totally cockdrunk on Gojo Satoru.

"Are you sure 'bout that, sweetheart? 'Cause I don't think you can handle it..."

"Please!!" you beg.

"Aw... 'can't say no to that fuckable face, can i?" he throws your leg over his shoulder, repositioning himself, grinning, "Take a deep breath. You tell me if it's too much, m'kay? Y'can tap out at any time."

"Yeah, yeah! I know!!" you respond so eagerly it makes him giggle.

As instructed, you take a deep breath. But honestly, did it really prepare you for getting fucked this hard? Um, no.

"Fuck, fuck!! Nnn... god, fuck me! Yesyesyes, just like that please!!"

"Ah, shit, baby..."

"God, you're gonna — you're gonna break the bed, 'Toruuu!"

"I'm gonna break you first." he moans, pounding every last inch of his cock into your happy little pussy, gives your g-spot a beating that has your whole body on the brink of insanity.

"Ughhh... fuck!" you choke up, you hiccup, you sob and wail — and he has to kiss you quiet.

My god did you need this. You needed to indulge in this nastiness, 'cuz who the hell else is ever gonna give you the fucking of a lifetime? Uh, yeah, that's right...

"Yeah, keep enjoying my fucking cock. You know nobody else is gonna fuck you as good as this, little slut." he whispers into your ear, cheek sticky with sweat 'n pressing against yours.

What kind of man did his ex-wife think he was? Full of himself? Nah... he wasn't that full of himself. C'mon now...

"... fuck you look so good cumming on my cock like that. Aw, you shaking? Can't handle it? Am I just too good at fucking you, huh? Wanna cum again? Come on, use your words, you're a big girl. You wanna cum again, don't you? I know you want it. I know you love my cock, 'course you do... 'm fucking perfect, baby. 'N you're gonna take every perfect fucking inch of me."

Oh. Okay. Maybe he is full of himself.

Well, he's full of himself and now you're full of him, too.

Satoru isn't shy about pumping a thick, gooey cumload inside you. He isn't shy about frothing up his creampie during round two, either. And he isn't shy about flipping you into missionary and pushing your trembling legs back and sliding his cock in again.

"Can ya do one more for me, baby?"

"Y-yeah!"

"Aw, but you look exhausted..." he grins. "I wouldn't wanna break my favorite babysitter on accident."

"I'm okay, I swear! I can take it!" you start babbling.

Sweat is dripping off your bodies and soaking the bed. The room smells like sex. His muscles are pressing into you. He's diving into you like a swimmer and grunting and making a dent in the wall 'cause that headboard is banging into the wall just as hard as he's banging into you. Neither of you even notice the dent in the wall. You're just stuck together, connected in that one place, fucking like bunnies.

You palm at his abs, pressing flat against them and melting at the feeling of his mmmaturemusclestwitchingohgodbless, you're so gone after feeling his sweat gather on your hand and catching a glimpse of the bulge his cock makes inside you.

Satoru blanks when your small hand feels up his muscles. Now his thrusts got your lower tummy shuddering and you just wonder what he's thinking when his brows furrow together in such serious focus at your fertile pussy.

"Ohmygodohmygodyou'regonnafuckingbreakme!!" you squeal, fisting the pillow and nearly crying into it.

He giggles, slowing his thrusts to a pace your poor, abused pussy can handle better, "Sorry, doll, you jus' got me too excited when you touched me like that."

"Nn!!" you fist the sheets in your hand, realizing just how far he fucked you to the edge of the bed — the two of you were nearly falling off the bed until uh, oops, you were on the floor?

"Ahh-ahhh! Ah! AH! Wh-what kinda... wrestling move is this, Satoru! Fuck, go easy on me!! 'M gonna cum again!!"

He's too into it to bother getting the two of you back on the bed. Now he's just pinning you down on the plush carpeted floor, railing your tight cunt from behind like he owns it. He may as well, honestly.

"Oh yeah?" he grunts, "Cum again on my cock. Lemme see you work it out on my cock. C'mon, isn't this the cock you wanted so badly? Put on a show for me, baby."

"Ahh!!" you sluttily cry out, bouncing your hips up and down and working your pussy on just six of his nine inches.

"Fuuuck... look at that back arch... haha, you already runnin' outta stamina? Yeah, tell me about it. It's hard work fuckin' a big cock, isn't it? Okay, okay, spoiled princess..." he mutters, hearing your exhausted pleas, "Perk that ass up, lemme show you how it's done."

"But this position is so — AH!" you kick your legs as he slides deeper with each quick stroke.

His tip's prodding at a spot you don't even recognize; a sweet gummy spot that's like your off button. You can't keep your mouth shut and now you're getting so loud that he's gotta clamp a hand on your mouth again, pushing you into the carpeted floor and not stopping his hard-hitting thrusts for a looong few seconds, driving it deep.

He picks up his pace, balls slapping into your clit so loudly that he can't even complain about the loudness of your moans. That skin-slapping 'n squelching could wake up the neighborhood.

"Fuck," he grunts, "Ah, ah... stay right there, 'gonna make you a mama..."

You thrash your legs around, "Nn! Please!" you squeal, feeling his warm seed pour into you again without warning. Just that feeling makes you cum. Hard. Satoru's cock freaks out at the feeling of your pussy's milking contractions along his length, making his tender tip spurt out a little bit more cum against your cervix.

It's so bad. You really shouldn't love getting creampied by an older man this much, let alone your... uh, boss?

Worse. He shouldn't have such a big fucking smile on his sweaty face. He shouldn't be rolling his eyes back in satisfaction like that, like he finds it so funny that he actually did it.

"God, you sure loved milking me, huh?" he smiles wide, bangs soaked and sticking to his sweaty forehead.

"Nnn..." you nod, totally exhausted.

He watches you trying to catch your breath, gulping and gasping. He slides his softening cock out of your over-creampied pussy, earning a small whimper from you. Oh, you feel so empty now, it's crazy. Just how did he pack all of that cock inside you? He can't figure it out, either.

"You okay, sugarplum?" he asks sensitively, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand.

"Yahhh..." you weakly whimper back, wiggling your foot cutely, "Need t' cleanup... need help w-walking..."

All his creampies bubble out your pussy.

He stifles a laugh, feeling a bit guilty. Satoru presses a kiss to your back, peeling you off the floor and practically carrying you to the bathroom — floor and walls black tiles, every corner spelling 'rich boy' in bold letters.

Carefully and slowly, Satoru helps to clean you up, massaging your sore parts with his big hands, peppering your neck in the sweetest little kisses as if he didn't just rearrange your guts and ruin your pussy for other men.

"So... how's it feel, not being a virgin anymore?" he asks with a dirty big bad fuckboy smile.

You simply blush and smile shyly in response. It makes him laugh.

"Aw, are you all shy now, pookums? Shit, I think I fucked tha nasty outta you..."

You nuzzle him, looking about ready to sleep, and it just melts his heart.

"Mm, y'know... Suguru was right about you; you're a real sweetheart. I think I might just have 'ta keep you around for a long time."

ㅤ🍒 x 🐇 x 💗@𝖆𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖎

ㅤ𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

@screampied (I KNOW IT'S BEEN LIKE A YEAR SINCE I LAST MENTIONED THIS FIC SORRY LOL) 💗 @pickledballer 💗 @wakashudou 💗@miseryyouth-99 💗 @ilovelokism 💗 @yuji-baby 💗 @natsuw181 💗 @madamechrissy 💗@magical-girl-bunny 💗@arminswifee 💗 @msheds0519 💗@nariminsstuff 💗@strychnynegirl 💗@satorupi 💗 @lvstru 💗@buniibloom 💗@tojijibaby 💗@peach-olic 💗 @mandistromboli 💗 @bwunniibell 💗 @nezukochaaann 💗 @valentine4738 💗 @katthekat1234 💗 @aryanaaa 💗 @astxrismstar 💗 @delusionalandabnormal 💗 @shadykittyperfection 💗 @pettypinkprincessblog 💗 @chososgf04 💗 @eliengoddes 💗 @peachmangoe 💗 @dollyschii 💗 @palegardenrebel

[sazustarz]

pervert roommie!choso who waits until your shower steam is thick enough to hide the sound of his palm slapping against his cock. door cracked just enough. he’s got your worn sleep shirt balled up over his nose, inhaling the spot right under your armpit where your scent clings strongest, groaning low when the cotton drags over his leaking tip

pervert roommie!choso who “accidentally” forgets to lock the bathroom after he jerks off so you walk in on the mess he left. pearlescent ropes still dripping down the shower tile, his boxers kicked into the corner like evidence. he stands there towel low on his hips, pretending to be surprised, voice cracking when he mumbles “shit… didn’t hear you come in”

pervert roommie!choso who steals your dirty panties from the hamper and stuffs them in his pocket before you do laundry. later that night he’s thrusting into his fist with the lace crushed against his tongue, tasting the damp cotton where you were wet earlier that day. he cums so hard his thighs shake and he has to bite his own arm to keep quiet

pervert roommie!choso who starts leaving the living room tv on porn channels at 3 a.m. knowing you’ll stumble out sleepy and confused in nothing but that tiny tank top. he’s sprawled on the couch, sweats tented obscenely, eyes half-lidded when you freeze in the doorway. “couldn’t sleep,” he rasps, hand already palming himself through the fabric, “wanna watch with me?”

pervert roommie!choso who corners you in the kitchen at midnight while you’re reaching for a glass. presses his whole front to your back, fat cock already rock-hard against your ass. he doesn’t even pretend it’s an accident anymore. instead just grinds slow and heavy while his mouth finds your ear. “been smellin’ you all day… fuck, you’re soaked through these shorts, aren’t ya?”

pervert roommie!choso who finally snaps after weeks of teasing. pins both your wrists above your head with one massive hand, other yanking your panties to the side. he’s shaking, pupils blown, throat dry. “m’ sorry— m’ so fucking sorry b-but i can’t— need inside— been dreaming a-about this pussy every night—” then he’s bullying his way in with one desperate thrust, choking on a sob the second your walls flutter around him.

pervert roommie!choso who turns into a babbling mess the moment he bottoms out. hips stuttering, forehead pressed to your shoulder, whimpering against your neck. “s’ too tight— fuck— gonna cum already— d-don’t move— please don’t move or m’ gonna lose it—” but he’s already fucking you stupid, sloppy and frantic, drooling down your collarbone while he chants your name like a prayer.

pervert roommie!choso who keeps going even after he fills you up once. pulls out just to watch his cum leak out, then pushes back in with a broken moan. “look— look how much i gave you… still not enough— need to breed it deeper— fuck— m’ gonna keep going til you’re dripping for days”

| home | index | a/n: i know its shorttt js got over being sick but i hope u like our lil perv choso

[kthologue]

operation: get over your childhood crush! — gojo satoru

synopsis. in an attempt to move on from your childhood best friend—who definitely doesn’t see you the way you want—you hatch a series of plans to help you get over him. it doesn't go as planned.

contents. hurt/comfort, fluff, nerd!gojo, college au, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, unreliable narrator, miscommunication, insecurity, dorky references bc u make him go dumb and digimon inaccuracies probably

notes. i did not proofread this monster!! enjoy :P

The hum of the air conditioning fills the room as night settles in, the light from Satoru’s bedside lamp casting a soft glow over his mess of a room. You’re both sprawled out across his bed, limbs entangled like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Because, for the two of you, it is.

Satoru’s Nintendo Switch is balanced on his stomach, hands lazily tapping away as his little Digimon charges into battle on screen. You’re curled into his side, one leg hooked around his and a blanket thrown haphazardly across you both. The half-abandoned textbooks sit at the edge of the mattress, tragically ignored. Another study session: failed. Not that Satoru needed it. He passed everything with flying colors. It was more of an excuse for you to come over.

“Your room still smells like that cheap vanilla air freshener,” you mumble, nose scrunching.

“That’s because you bought it,” he replies without looking up, thumb expertly guiding his character through an attack.

“Because your room would end up stinking with sweat and whatever freaky stuff you do in here.”

“Hey!” He whines. “I shower everyday and you know it. The stink is all you. Have you ever sniffed yourself, princess?”

You swat at his stomach, and he lets out a dramatic grunt. “Rude. I brought that candle to add ambiance.”

“Ah yes,” he deadpans, “nothing like artificial sugar scent.’”

You snort, settling your head back down on his shoulder, the fabric of his hoodie soft beneath your cheek. There’s a long pause before you say, “You know, if we fail our exams, I’m blaming your Digimon addiction.”

He grins. “I’m raising digital warriors, thank you very much. And I’ve never failed an exam, don’t wound me now!”

“They look like mutant toddlers with attitude problems.”

He gasps, clutching his heart. “They’re champions, you monster.”

You laugh, letting the sound dissolve into something quieter as your fingers absentmindedly trace a pattern into the blanket. His hand rests near yours. Not holding it. Not not holding it.

His glasses are tilted again. Of course.

You reach up and straighten them with a sigh. “Honestly, you’d be lost without me.”

“Not true.” He says it reflexively, then pauses. His voice softens. “Okay, maybe. I’d probably just let them slide down until I walked into a wall.”

You smile faintly. “And there’d be no one there to patch you up.”

“Tragic,” he agrees. “Would bleed out on the floor, probably.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re so bossy,” he counters, shooting you a sideways look. 

“Admit it,” he says, voice full of faux-smugness, “you’d miss me if I died tragically and left you all alone.”

You hesitate for a second too long before mumbling, “Don’t joke about that.”

It’s quiet. The game music loops in the background as his Digimon wins the battle with a triumphant fanfare.

He doesn’t say anything.

You suddenly feel too warm under the blanket. The joke had been harmless, stupid even.

But something inside you twists, the same something that’s been unraveling lately every time he mentions another girl.

Another type. That’s not you.

“You know,” you say slowly, eyes peeling from the screen to his phone, which lights up with a notification, revealing one of his favorite gravure model’s latest issues as its wallpaper. “You could probably date any girl you wanted. Why do you partake in freak stuff like this? It’s anti-girl repellent.”

He makes a noncommittal sound. “Doubt it.”

“I don’t. You’ve got that whole genius-who-doesn’t-realize-he’s-hot thing going on.”

He glances at you, skeptical. “Is that a thing?”

“It is. Annoying, but effective. Girls love it.”

He hums, clearly amused, cheeks slightly flushed. “Well, good to know I have options.”

You try to laugh, but it catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t ask. You really shouldn’t.

But you’re lying in his bed. Wrapped up in him like you belong here. And some part of you aches to know the answer.

So you pretend it’s a joke. You tilt your head against his shoulder, voice airy, teasing. “Hey, be honest—do you think I’m cute?”

He goes still.

His hand tightens slightly on the Switch. You think you’ve pushed too far, so you try to backpedal before he can respond.

“Not like… like that,” you say quickly. “I just meant, like, in general. Compared to those girls you’re into. Say, Waka Inoue. You know, long legs, shiny hair, cute face?”

His jaw tightens.

You’re still trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m not fishing for compliments. I just—was wondering.”

He finally turns to look at you.

His gaze lingers. And for the first time all night, he’s not smiling.

You feel your breath stutter in your throat underneath his gaze.

Then he shrugs.

“…Nah.”

It slices through the air with quiet finality.

Your heart drops. You don’t let it show. Not fully. But it must flicker in your face, because he quickly looks away.

You laugh. It sounds forced.

“Yeah, that’s fair. I mean, I wasn’t expecting a yes or anything.”

He’s silent.

You shift away from him slightly, giving him space. “I should head home soon. We didn’t really get any studying done, anyway.”

“It’s late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Usually, you’d accept his offer with a smile, but you really wanted to go home and wallow in your own self pity.

“It’s fine, I have something to do anyway,” the lie slips out of your mouth easily as you begin to pack your things.

And you miss the way he watches you—guilt in his eyes, frustration on his tongue. 

You knew it was time. Twenty years of hopeless, fruitless pining had done enough damage to your heart.

It had started the day your parents moved next door. Satoru had been the loud, obnoxious, too-pretty-for-his-own-good boy on the playground who shoved candy in your hand and asked if you wanted to be friends.

You’d been doomed since day one.

And to make things worse, you’d both gotten into Japan’s most competitive university—together. Same neighborhood. Same school. Same train route. You weren’t just stuck with him. You were haunted.

But you were young and hot. And allegedly in your prime. You couldn’t keep orbiting around a guy who still thought microwave gyoza was a food group and used your shampoo because it “smelled like you, so why not?”

You were sipping coffee with your two closest friends, and today’s topic was—unfortunately—your love life.

“Honestly, I can’t believe you’ve been stuck on Gojo for this long,” Utahime said, disgusted, as she stirred her latte like it personally offended her. “You could do so much better.”

“It was kind of cute in high school,” Shoko added “but now it’s just sad.”

You sighed, blowing on your drink. “I know, okay? It’s not like I haven’t tried. But he’s literally the only guy I’ve ever been close to. I don’t even talk to guys besides him.”

“That’s because he’s been gatekeeping you since the two of you met,” Utahime said flatly. “I swear, every time someone so much as glanced at you, he pulled that overprotective act.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That doesn’t sound like ’Toru…”

Shoko and Utahime exchanged a look. One of those knowing glances.

Utahime cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter! What matters is you are hot. You’ve got the face, the body, the grades, the personality. You just need the confidence.”

You peeked up at her, unsure. “You really think so?”

Utahime leaned forward, smirking like she’d just won a war. “I know so. And that’s why I’ve come up with a plan.”

You narrowed your eyes. “A plan?”

She slammed her hands down on the table, eyes alight. “Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru.”

You blinked. “That’s… a long title.”

Shoko blew a slow stream of smoke. “It’s either this or pine until you die and haunt him as a love-sick ghost.”

You stared into your cup, sighing. “Fine. I’m in. What’s step one?”

Utahime grinned.

“Whatcha doing?” 

Gojo’s voice drifts lazily over your shoulder, followed by the soft rustle of his hoodie as he leans in. He’s far too close, obnoxiously so, his breath tickling your ear and his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder.

You don’t even glance up. “Studying.”

The two of you are supposed to be studying— finals loom overhead like a guillotine, but as usual, very little academic progress has been made. Mostly because your study partner is a six-foot-something genius who insists on sitting sideways in the booth, long legs tangled in yours under the table like it’s second nature.

He hums, skeptical. “Liar.”

You hum noncommittally, thumbing through the dating app Utahime suggested with vague disinterest. The guys blur together: not tall enough, too cocky, too bland, too not Satoru. One makes a joke suspiciously close to a Gojo classic, and you immediately hit unmatch with a scowl.

“Wait,” Satoru says slowly. “Are you on a dating app?!” He practically yells the last part. Half the cafe turns to glare at the source of the disruption.

You hiss under your breath, mortified, swatting at him. “Keep your voice down, idiot!”

His eyes widen dramatically, hands thrown up like you’ve stabbed him. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you’re already planning a life with someone named ‘Keita, aspiring poet and spiritual healer’? I’m wounded.”

“You weren’t supposed to read that far.”

“I’m a speed-reader,” he says with a smug grin. “It’s part of the whole ‘genius’ thing.”

Before you can argue, he snatches your phone with a level of ease that tells you this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He grins like he’s won a prize.

“Satoru!”

“Relax, I’m not texting anyone,” he says, fingers flying across the screen. “Just optimizing.”

Your heart drops. “What are you typing?”

“Nothing~”

You make a grab for your phone, but he effortlessly leans back, holding it above his head with those ridiculously long limbs. You glare at him from across the table, arm outstretched like a furious cat trying to swat at the moon.

“Give it back!”

“Patience.”

“Gojo Satoru—”

“Okay, okay!” he relents with a dramatic sigh, finally placing your phone face-down on the table like he’s done you a huge favor.

You snatch it up immediately, eyes scanning for damage. No weird messages. No unsolicited likes. No new matches.

“…What did you do?”

“I didn’t message anyone,” he assures, too innocent to be trusted. “I’m not that cruel.”

You narrow your eyes, suspicious.

“But,” he adds with a grin, “I didn’t know you were dating.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, clicking your phone off. “Just considering it. Trying. It’s not going well.”

“Good.”

The word comes out too fast. Too sharp. And his face doesn’t match the light tone he’s trying to play off.

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shifts, leaning back in his seat, suddenly very interested in stirring the foam in his overpriced coffee. “I mean, it’s good you’re not settling. You should be picky. Guys are the worst.”

You snort. “You are a guy.”

“Exactly. I know what we’re like.”

You smile despite yourself, rolling your eyes. “I’m sure you think you’re the exception.”

“I know I am,” he says, winking. Then he sobers slightly, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m just… looking out for you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest ache. You wish it was more than just him being protective in that big-brotherly, annoyingly loyal kind of way.

You take a sip of your coffee to cool your nerves. It doesn’t help. The words come out before you can stop them.

“You know with the way things are going… maybe you should just date me at this point.”

Silence.

It’s a joke. Supposed to be. But the second it leaves your lips, it tastes real.

Gojo freezes.

You panic. “I didn’t mean—like, I was just joking—”

But he turns toward you, eyes unreadable behind the fringe of snowy white hair. “Maybe I should.”

You blink.

And then, with infuriating ease, he grins.

“Anyway,” he says quickly, swiping your phone from the table again before you can stop him, “Yuto here looks like the type to ghost you after three dates and a karaoke duet. You can do better.”

You gape at him, completely thrown off, your heart slamming in your chest.

You don’t even notice what he’s done until later—until you get home and open your app to find that your bio has been changed.

Taken. Mentally married to a nerd since birth.

You want to scream.

Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru?

Yeah. Not going great.

Not at all.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to it.

Maybe it was the look in Utahime’s eyes, so determined and hopeful. Maybe it was Shoko promising she would help you find true love. Maybe it was the quiet part of you that wanted to see yourself through someone else’s eyes. Someone who wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Today,” Utahime had declared, curling the last strand of your hair like she was threading a spell, “is the first day of your Gojo-less future”

You laughed nervously, tugging at the hem of your skirt. It wasn’t your usual style—not the dewy makeup you weren’t used to seeing in the mirror, not the new haircut that made your eyes look almost too bright, not the blouse that left your shoulders bare in a way that made you feel strangely noticed.

But when you caught your reflection, your heart fluttered. You looked beautiful.

When you stepped onto campus, the sun was out, the wind teasing your hair. You spotted him immediately—Gojo, slouched against the wall outside your lecture hall, nose buried in his Switch as he muttered something under his breath about evolving stats and attack modifiers.

He didn’t notice you at first.

Then he looked up.

His game froze mid-battle. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, like someone had unplugged his brain.

“Wha—” he said eloquently. “Wh—what did you do.”

You blinked. “Hi to you too.”

He stared, unabashed. His glasses were slightly crooked, his ears glowing scarlet. He looked like someone had just told him Digimon was real and living in your shoes.

He blinked. “You look like… like you skipped two evolution stages overnight. Straight to Mega. Like if Angewomon fused with… I don’t know, some kind of rare, limited-release goddess-type Digimon that only spawns on a lunar eclipse.”

You blinked.

Utahime’s voice in your head: You’re hot. Unstoppable. He’s going to be speechless.

And Gojo was. But not in the way you wanted.

You tried to laugh. “So I look like a cartoon?”

“A beautiful cartoon,” he said, serious now. “Like the kind of boss character they only show for two frames because animating her costs too much.”

Your heart stuttered. It was the sort of compliment only Gojo could give: clumsy and dorky, yet brilliant in its own way.

But the moment passed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, sunglasses slipping slightly as he muttered, “You just… you look different. That’s all.”

Different.

Not better. Not prettier.

Just different.

You swallowed. “Yeah, well. Thought I’d try something new.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” he added quickly, but the words felt unsure. Flimsy.

“I should… use the restroom,” you mumbled, turning before he could say anything else.

In the bathroom, you stared at your reflection. Your lipstick looked too bold now. Your lashes too heavy. Despite the change, you were still painfully you— the you Gojo teased during study sessions, the one he let borrow his hoodie when it rained, the one who sat next to him during endless all-nighters. And maybe that was the problem. You weren’t like those girls on the magazines. 

What you didn’t see, what you couldn’t see, was Gojo still standing outside the lecture hall, staring after you, Switch forgotten, game over screen blinking on the screen.

He didn’t even notice.

“You good, Satoru?” Shoko asked, walking by.

He blinked. “I think I just saw my best friend… and my final boss… and my future wife… all at once.”

Shoko snorted. “You’re a dork.”

Gojo just sighed, shoulders slumping as he muttered, “I’m so doomed.”

It’s a mild Friday evening when you meet him—Kazuya, the guy from your psychology class. He’s polite, articulate, and kind of cute. The kind of guy who asks if you prefer cats or dogs before ordering his drink, and actually listens when you answer.

Utahime and Shoko had insisted you say yes. “A change of pace,” they called it. “You need a baseline. Not every guy is going to be Gojo Satoru.”

Exactly. That was the point.

You’re sipping a matcha latte and nodding along as Kazuya explains his thesis on cognitive development when a very familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Well, well, well. Fancy seeing you here.”

Your stomach drops. You look up, and sure enough—

Satoru.

In all his tall, obnoxiously eye-catching glory, wearing a white t-shirt that was inside out and a grin like he just won the lottery. He's holding a bottle of ramune and standing directly next to your table, like he’s been there the whole time.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Thirsty. Wanted a drink.”

“At this café? On this side of campus?”

“Yeah,” he says, tone innocent. “Weird coincidence, huh?”

Kazuya offers a polite smile. “You’re her friend, right? Gojo?”

“Oh, best friend. Lifelong. Practically her shadow.” He plops into the empty seat beside you without asking, casually tossing his ramune onto the table. “What’s your name again? Kaname?”

“…Kazuya.”

“Right, right. I always mix those up. You look like a Kaname, though. Or maybe a Yusuke.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “Satoru—”

But he’s already leaning over, squinting at the book tucked under Kazuya’s arm. “Ooh, Piaget. Bold move. Love that for you.”

Kazuya blinks. “Do you… like developmental theory?”

“I like being correct,” Gojo says with a cheeky smile. “Also, [Name] hates Piaget. She called him ‘the Freud of toddlers’ last semester.”

Kazuya turns to you in mild surprise. “Really?”

“I—I mean, yeah,” you mumble. “Sort of.”

Gojo beams. “Told you.”

Kazuya makes a valiant effort to steer the conversation back to safe, neutral ground.

“So, you mentioned you're interested in behaviorism, right?” he says, offering a gentle smile. “I thought Dr. Takeda's lecture on conditioned responses was kind of fascinating—”

“Oh, riveting,” Satoru cuts in, lounging back in his chair like he owns the café. “Nothing like bonding over Pavlov’s dogs to spark romance. Did she tell you she cried during Inside Out because the depiction of core memories was ‘psychologically resonant’? Real charmer, this one.”

You shoot Satoru a look. “I was twelve!”

Kazuya blinks, trying not to smile. “I actually thought that was pretty moving, too.”

“Wow,” Satoru deadpans. “A match made in neuroscience.”

Kazuya laughs politely and continues, undeterred. “So, uh, any research plans after graduation?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Satoru beats you to it again.

“She used to want to be a vet. Cried when she had to dissect a frog in middle school. Tragic day.”

“Is that true?” Kazuya turns to you, amused now.

“Technically, yes,” you mutter into your drink.

By the time your cup is empty, you realize you’ve laughed more at Satoru’s interjections than you have at anything Kazuya’s said. Not because Kazuya wasn’t interesting—he was. He was calm, thoughtful, well-read, and clearly trying. But next to Satoru, whose entire presence seemed impossible to ignore, Kazuya didn’t stand a chance.

Still, to his credit, Kazuya maintains a steady, if slightly strained, expression as he sets down his cup and finally says, carefully,

“So… is Gojo your boyfriend?”

The question hangs awkwardly.

You and Satoru answer at the same time.

“No,” you say quickly.

“Yes,” he says with a smile.

You both turn to stare at each other.

“I mean—no,” he corrects, waving his hands. “Just a joke. Hah. Obviously.”

Kazuya blinks. “Right.”

You can’t meet either of their eyes. Your drink is finished, your palms are damp, and the café is suddenly too warm, too small. You push back your chair and stand.

“I should go. Early lab meeting tomorrow.” It’s the weakest excuse, but neither of them calls you on it.

Kazuya stands too, polite as ever. “Thanks for meeting up. You seem like a really cool person.” He hesitates, then adds, gently, “I just think maybe you’ve already got someone.”

You freeze. You open your mouth, then close it again. There’s nothing to say.

Outside, the cold air kisses your cheeks like a reminder. It stings a little, or maybe that’s just the confusion burning in your chest.

Satoru’s already waiting for you. Of course he is. He’s leaning against the lamppost, silver hair catching in the wind. But his eyes are downcast, trained on the sidewalk.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do you.

You exhale, watching your breath curl white in the air. “You didn’t have to crash it, y’know.”

“I didn’t crash,” he replies without looking at you. “I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fate. Karma. The gods of poor decision-making.” He shrugs.

You roll your eyes, but it tugs a laugh from you anyway. Stupid, annoying, charming Gojo.

“So,” he says after a beat, nudging your arm gently with his elbow, “how’d it go?”

You glance at him. He still won’t meet your gaze. His lips are pursed like he’s holding back a hundred words and none of them are funny.

“He was nice,” you admit. Despite being rudely interrupted by the white haired idiot beside you.

“Nice is boring,” he mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the pavement.

You laugh, soft and tired. “You’re the worst.”

He finally looks at you then, lips quirking into that smug, too-knowing smile. “But you like me anyway.”

You look away, cheeks burning, heart thudding like a traitor in your chest.

You don’t answer.

You don’t have to.

Despite Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru failing in every imaginable way, things were starting to feel bearable.

Almost good, even.

Satoru still hovered a little too close, always with that same half-smile like he knew something you didn’t. And maybe, just maybe— his constant sabotage, the teasing, the jealousy, the way he looked at you like he was about to say something important but never did. Maybe it all meant something.

You let yourself believe it, just a little.

And that was your first mistake.

It happens quietly, without fanfare or warning. Just a throwaway line between sips of lukewarm coffee and the soft shuffle of paper. You’re both at your usual spot in the library, surrounded by open notebooks and highlighted packets, pretending to study more than you actually are.

You’re halfway through underlining a term in your psychology notes when Satoru leans back in his chair, stretches like a cat, and says far too casually:

“So, guess who asked me out?”

You hum absentmindedly. “Who?”

“Ayane.”

The name hits you like a slap.

You freeze, highlighter paused mid-sentence. “…Ayane? From the biochem track?”

“Yeah,” he says, practically glowing. “You know her, right? She's in your study group sometimes.”

You do know her. Of course you do. Everyone knows her.

She’s beautiful, with this effortless, clean kind of elegance—long legs, perfect posture, and that quiet, poised confidence that makes professors adore her and guys fall over themselves. The kind of girl who posts one blurry bookshelf photo and still racks up a thousand likes. The kind of girl Gojo always jokes about marrying.

But he’s not joking now. He’s beaming.

“She asked me out to dinner this Friday. She’s so smart, too. I didn’t even have to pretend to know what quantum entanglement was. It’s wild.” He laughs, brushing a hand through his hair. “I thought she’d never go for a guy like me, y’know?”

You force a laugh. “A guy like you?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Too much, I guess? But she said I was ‘refreshing.’” He grins. 

Your stomach sinks.

This is what you thought you wanted—for him to move on, so you could finally do the same. For Operation: Get Over Gojo Satoru to succeed, for real this time.

But now that it’s happening, it feels like someone’s slowly pulling your ribs apart.

“Oh,” you manage, smiling like you’ve practiced it. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

He doesn’t notice the way your voice cracks on happy. He just keeps talking, rambling about restaurant reservations and how she likes contemporary poetry and used to live in France. You nod in all the right places, but your thoughts are already slipping away.

Because it isn’t just that he’s going out with someone else.

It’s that he chose her.

Her with her flawless skin and quiet charm and the kind of beauty that doesn’t need to try. Her, with everything you’re not. And more than that, it’s that he made you believe you could have meant more to him, when really, he’d been searching for someone else all along.

You excuse yourself early, mumbling something about laundry.

He doesn’t follow.

You don’t cry until you’re halfway home, the cold air biting at your cheeks as your vision blurs.

For the first time in years, you don’t text him goodnight.

You don’t wait for a meme. Or a dumb joke. Or his usual, “Hey, genius. Sleep.”

You go silent.

And when he texts the next day, you don’t reply.

You skip your library meet-up. You don’t sit next to him in class. You even duck into the stairwell when you see his ridiculous white hair from across campus.

It’s not because you’re mad. It’s because you’re heartbroken.

And you can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter—that he doesn’t matter.

You weren’t just losing your best friend.

You were losing the love of your life.

And he didn’t even notice.

It takes him three days to notice you’re gone.

Well—no. That’s a lie.

He notices immediately. The moment your usual seat in the library stays empty. When your laugh doesn’t echo in the café line. When your name doesn’t pop up on his screen at 2AM with some stupid meme captioned, “this reminded me of you, idiot.”

But he tells himself you’re busy.

Midterms, right? Stress. Coffee. You get like this sometimes, and he gets it. He really does.

So he waits. Tells himself not to be clingy.

But then Friday comes.

And he's sitting across from Ayane in some expensive, quiet restaurant where the napkins are folded like origami cranes and the water tastes filtered. She’s telling him about her research internship in Osaka, about enzymes and international grants, and all he can think is—

You’d be making fun of me right now.

You’d be kicking him under the table. Whispering some dumb pun about digimon. You’d be pulling faces every time he tried to pronounce the items on the menu. You’d be you.

Ayane is lovely.

But she doesn’t laugh when he says something stupid. She just smiles politely.

She doesn’t ask about why his glasses are always crooked (it’s so you could fix them). Doesn’t tease him for double-knotting his laces like a paranoid grandma. Doesn’t call him “Sato” like it’s some private joke only the two of you get.

He walks her home. Thanks her for a nice evening.

Then he goes to the convenience store. Alone.

And he sees your favorite snack on the shelf and buys two out of habit.

He stares at his phone the entire train ride back.

No new messages.

Just the last one you sent days ago:

“Laundry. Rain check?”

And nothing since.

He waits. Another day. Then two.

You don’t show up to class again.

You don’t like his latest meme.

You don’t comment on the Digimon pun he texted you out of desperation.

You are silent.

And Satoru Gojo—brilliant, blind-sighted, the golden boy of theoretical physics, always five steps ahead realizes, too late, that he’s been a fool.

That he didn’t just lose a study partner.

He lost the one person who knew him better than he knew himself.

The one person he couldn’t replace with rare Digimon pulls, half-solved physics equations, or overly sweet desserts.

And for the first time since he was a kid—

He’s afraid.

It’s been a little over a week.

A little over a week since Gojo Satoru has heard your voice. Since you shoved your coffee at him without asking, muttering “too sweet for me” when you really meant “I got this for you.” Since you poked fun at his stupid sock choices, or knocked your foot against his under the table like it was nothing.

And Satoru is suffering.

He's tried everything. Showed up to your house with excuses too weak to be called plans (“Hey, I brought your favorite snacks. I just... figured maybe you forgot you liked them?”). Waited outside your lecture hall until a security guard asked if he was lost. Took detours between classes hoping to catch a glimpse of your ponytail, your laugh, anything.

But you were always one step ahead.

You stopped answering his texts. Blocked him on that stupid dating app (which—ouch, even though you hadn’t used it seriously). You didn’t even show up to the library anymore. And even Shoko started looking at him with thinly veiled pity and a you really fumbled the bag look in her eyes.

Gojo Satoru is just tired.

Miserable.

So when he finally finds you—not because he’s chasing you down this time, but because he’s walking the long way home, and there you are, sitting on the old swings at the park where you first met—it knocks the wind out of him.

You don’t look surprised to see him. Just tired too.

“I figured you’d find me eventually,” you say quietly.

He swallows. His hands curl at his sides like he’s preparing for a fight.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “Why?”

You look away. “You’re smart. Figure it out.”

Gojo looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Silence stretches between you, heavy and stinging. The playground is empty except for the wind dragging a soda can down the sidewalk and the faint creak of the swing chain.

Then he exhales, ragged and unsure. “Look, I can’t—I can’t take this anymore.”

You glance up.

“I can’t either.”

Hope flares too fast, too naive in his chest. His shoulders drop like he’s been holding up the world. “That’s good,” he breathes, stepping forward. “Because the silent treatment— God, I thought I was going to—”

“I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

The words stop him cold.

“What?” he breathes.

You laugh, but it’s hollow. Like something already broken. “Don’t you get it? I can’t be friends with you and pretend that nothing’s changed. That I’m okay just being your best friend. I’ve been in love with you for years, Satoru.”

His heart stutters. You don’t stop.

“And I love myself too much to keep hurting for someone who doesn’t even look at me that way.” Your voice cracks, but you push through. “Do you know how humiliating it feels? To love someone so much it aches, and still feel like you’ll never be enough?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

You wipe your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You never even thought I was cute.”

He looks like he’s been hit.

“I’ve been chasing scraps. Leftovers. Mixed signals and stupid inside jokes. I—I can’t do it anymore.”

You finally meet his eyes, and that’s when he sees it: the hurt you’ve been hiding behind every smile, every brush-off, every joke you cracked to keep the silence from swallowing you.

And for once, Gojo Satoru can’t find a single thing to say.

Not yet.

Not until he stops you from walking away.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” His cerulean eyes search yours desperately. “I-I don’t think you’re just cute, are you kidding?” he blurts, eyes wild.

“Y-you’re breathtaking! Everything I’ve dreamt of and more! That night when you asked me if I thought you were cute, I only said no because it would be a divine crime to reduce to such. All of my fantasies have been centered around you since we first met on that playground—since you tripped over your shoelaces trying to race me to the monkey bars!”

Your breath catches.

He continues, desperate now, like every second of silence might kill him.

“I love you! And not like a brother. Like—I want to marry you. Like, small wedding in Okinawa, barefoot on the beach, you wearing that soft blue dress you like. I already planned it. Our firstborn would be a daughter, with your eyes, my hair. She’d be the boss of the house.”

You gape.

“Wait—”

“I’m not done!” he says, hands thrown up. “Then we’d have twins. Boys. Chaos gremlins. One would look like my twin and the other yours, and they’d absolutely terrorize us—but their sister keeps them in check, she’s fierce like you.”

You blink. A tear slides down your cheek.

“I want to move to Kyoto,” he says, softer now. “Buy a house with a dumb little garden. Grow tomatoes we’ll never eat. Live out the rest of our lives where it’s quiet.”

You cover your mouth, stunned. “You… really thought all that out?”

“It’s easy,” he breathes, “when all I can think about is you.”

He steps closer. The wind tugs his white hair into his eyes, but he doesn’t blink.

“I go to study nonlinear quantum field theory and all I see is your face. I try to cool off and play Digimon, and even that’s ruined—my lineup is garbage now! I only keep the ones you said were cute!”

A laugh bubbles out of you, fragile and watery.

“You idiot,” you murmur.

“I am,” he nods solemnly. “I’m the world’s biggest idiot. And I’m in love with you.”

Another tear slips down. He wipes it away before you can.

“Is it too late?” he asks, voice cracking slightly. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

You stare at him, this man, this brilliant, ridiculous boy who had held your heart long before you ever admitted it.

“It’s not too late,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just steps closer. Gently and carefully, like he's handling something sacred, he cups your cheek in his hand.

Your nose bumps his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

“I’ve been waiting to do this for years,” he whispers.

And then, finally, he kisses you.

It’s not perfect, your cheeks are still wet, his nose bumps yours again, and his hand trembles just a little, but it’s warm and sweet and soft. It tastes like home..

When he pulls away, his smile is sheepish. “So… are we still doing the whole ‘Operation: Get Over Gojo’ thing, or?”

You laugh, heart full, forehead pressed to his.

“Mission failed,” you whisper.

He grins. “Good.”

And then he kisses you again.

art by leimiruu on x!

[kthologue]

the end times — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo satoru thinks he’s going to die because you’re giving him the silent treatment. (aka your first big fight with gojo).

contents. hurt/comfort, ooc, lovesick!gojo, you give him the silent treatment and he goes crazy, he is so pathetic in this one, tw obsessive behavior (he makes it EVERYONE’S problem), gojo’s pov

notes. loosely inspired by that one scene from yakuza fiance. not proofread whats new

Gojo knows he’s screwed up the second he steps into the common area of Jujutsu Tech’s dormitory. The air feels thick, wrong. And then there’s you, curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, but your eyes aren’t moving.

His grin falters for half a second before he masks it with his usual bravado. “I always knew you had a little freak in you, but reading your erotic books out in the open? Who knew my girl was such a perv.”

The joke usually earns him a laugh, a shove, maybe even a teasing retort. But tonight, the silence that follows is deafening.

The pit in his stomach grows.

“Sweetheart?” He tries again, waving a hand obnoxiously close to your face.

You finally react, swatting his hand away, but there’s no playfulness in the motion. Your eyes don't even meet his.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, still staring at your book. “Again.”

Gojo scoffs, irritation bubbling. Not at you, never at you, but at the damn book that’s getting more attention than him.

“Ah, you know how it is. Got held up in Kyoto,” he says with a shrug.

The words leave his mouth too easily. He doesn’t realize his mistake until you finally, finally look at him.

And it’s nothing like usual.

There’s no warmth in your gaze, no sparkle of amusement or exasperation. Instead, you pin him with a look so sharp it strips him bare, leaving nothing but the hollow weight in his chest.

“You missed our date.”

His breath catches. His throat goes dry. “I–”

“I’m not mad about that.”

Relief floods him too fast, too soon. His shoulders sag as he leans down, tilting his head for a well-earned kiss. “You’re the best. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

You pull away before he can touch you.

Gojo freezes.

“[Name]?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You know, it’s funny.”

There’s nothing funny about this moment.

His pulse thrums as you continue, voice eerily steady. “That your mission was in Kyoto. I mean, we have a whole sister school there, full of sorcerers ready to handle a first-grade threat. So why would they need you, specifically?”

His stomach drops.

He’s never been good at guilt, not when he’s spent his whole life believing he’s untouchable. But now, standing before you, unable to meet your eyes, it sits heavy in his gut.

And you don’t let up.

“Of course, I asked around. Thought maybe I was overthinking it.” A humorless scoff escapes you. “Imagine my surprise when I found out my boyfriend was too busy meeting with his future bride.”

Gojo’s mouth opens, but for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s–” he starts, then stops because, shit, you’re staring at him like he’s a stranger. Like he’s someone you can’t trust. The realization makes his stomach churn.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” you say bitterly, arms crossing as you lean back into the couch. “I mean, I’d love to hear how you were going to explain this one, Gojo Satoru.”

Full name. That’s how he knows he’s really fucked up.

“It’s not–It’s not what you think,” he says quickly, voice unusually hoarse. His usual bravado, his charm, none of it is coming to him. He doesn’t even know where to start. “I wasn’t–I wasn’t hiding it. I just–”

“You just forgot to tell me that your clan is arranging a marriage for you?” you cut in sharply. “That slipped your mind?”

“No! Yes—Fuck, that’s not what I mean,” he groans, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s never felt like this before. Like he’s scrambling for footing on uneven ground. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter, sweetheart. I wasn’t ever going to go through with it. You know that, right?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Do I? I mean, Suguru seemed shocked when I didn’t know that these were recurring dates set by your clan.”

Gojo falters.

“You didn’t even think to tell me, Satoru,” you say, voice quieter now, but somehow even more devastating. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

His heart clenches. That’s not–God, that’s not what this is.

“Of course you deserve to know! But I—” he exhales sharply, trying to gather his words. “I just—Fuck, I thought it was stupid. I thought it wasn’t worth mentioning.”

You shake your head, looking almost tired now. “Right. Because I’m just supposed to assume you’d never go through with it. After your multiple dates with her. Because I’m supposed to read your mind, just like always.”

The weight of your words crashes into him, and Gojo suddenly realizes that this isn’t just about Kyoto. This isn’t just about one lie, one mistake. This is about every time he’s brushed things off, every time he’s let silence speak for him, every time he’s sat through those excruciating meetings, knowing he would never go through with it, but never once thinking about how it would feel for you to find out this way. This is about every time he’s expected you to just get him without him ever having to say a word.

This is about how, even after everything, you still don’t know how much he loves you.

And now, looking at you, Gojo is terrified that he’s already lost his chance to prove it.

“I’m going to sleep,” you stand up from your place on the couch. 

Gojo tries to follow you, “Listen, baby–”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I need some space.” you turn around to send him a teary glare and that stops him in his tracks. He had never seen you cry. And it tore him apart knowing that he was the cause. 

The sound of your door slamming echoes in Gojo’s mind. 

Gojo Satoru is the first one in class the next day.

He drums his fingers against the desk, restless in a way he can't explain, but he knows it has everything to do with the fact that he spent the entire night not sleeping. His mind was too busy replaying the way you had looked at him, no, the way you hadn’t looked at him.

He had left you alone and upset. He had made you feel like you were second to someone else. And worst of all, he hadn’t even realized it until it was too late.

“This must be a first.”

Gojo glances up as Suguru enters, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Gojo Satoru, on time? It must be the end times.”

He knows it’s a joke, but it might as well be the end times. Gojo doesn’t respond, just presses his lips into a thin line as he goes back to mentally reciting the apology speech he’s been revising in his head all night.

Then the shoji door slides open again.

You walk in with Shoko, your head tilted slightly as you whisper something to her, something he’ll never get to hear because you don’t so much as glance in his direction. Instead, you take a seat at the farthest desk, as if he isn’t even there.

A part of him withers away.

But Gojo Satoru isn’t one to give up.

If words won’t get your attention, he’ll just have to be Gojo Satoru about it. He leans back in his chair and stretches obnoxiously, before loudly exclaiming, “Yaga-sensei! Are those grey hairs from your recent divorce?”

He grins, waiting for the familiar sound of your laugh, for that little shake of your head, for you to scold him like always.

But you don’t even look at him.

Instead, he’s met with Geto and Shoko’s twin expressions of abject horror, and before he has a chance to register what’s happening–

BAM!

Yaga’s palm collides with his head, sending him face-first into his desk.

Even through the throbbing pain, he can only think about one thing.

You didn’t even react.

“And how exactly is she ignoring you?”

Shoko’s grumpy voice echoes through the morgue, where she’s been attempting to practice her technique. She’s clearly unimpressed that Gojo Satoru has decided to spam-call her instead of dealing with his own problems.

“She’s ignoring me, Shoko,” Gojo groans dramatically from the other side of the Jujutsu Tech campus, rubbing the fresh bump on his head as he stands in front of your door. “I’ve been knocking for an hour. She’s in there. I know she’s in there, but she won’t answer.”

“Maybe she finally got tired of your bullshit,” Shoko says dryly. “Honestly, I don’t know why it took her this long to hold you accountable. She’s let your bad behavior slide for way too long.”

“Why are we talking about me like I’m some kind of dog?!”

Shoko ignores him.

“From the sound of it, you really messed up. I mean, who keeps a marriage a secret from their girlfriend?” She pauses, then adds with a smirk in her voice, “Oh, right. You.”

Gojo groans, pressing his forehead against your door. “You and I both know that’s not what happened. But she doesn’t. And she won’t even give me the time of day to explain.”

Shoko sighs. “Give her time to cool down.”

“And what, let her decide she wants to run off and marry some other guy? Move to a cute little beach town in Enoshima, start a family, have three kids, and leave all Jujutsu sorcery behind?”

There’s a long pause before Shoko makes a disgusted sound. “O-oi. Keep your weirdly detailed fantasies to yourself.”

“I’m just being realistic,” he insists, clutching his flip phone dramatically.

Shoko promptly hangs up on him.

Gojo stares at the device for a moment before slowly lowering it, exhaling hard.

Then he rests his head against your door again, defeated.

But Gojo Satoru was never one to admit defeat, so he tries again. He returns to your door the very next morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“[Name]!” he chirps. “I bought us some parfait! Let’s talk things over, yeah?”

Silence.

Not even the sound of movement.

But Gojo Satoru is not easily discouraged.

So Gojo Satoru comes again the next morning.

“[Name]!” he knocks again, this time balancing a slice of strawberry cake in one hand. “This is all my fault, so come out and let me apologize properly!”

Nothing.

Gojo sighs, leaning against the doorframe, about to knock again when—

Your phone rings.

His breath catches as he presses his ear to the wood.

“Hi, Suguru?”

His heart stops.

“Yeah, we’re still on for the movie. I’m just about to leave right now.”

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru understands what people mean when they say they feel like they’ve been punched in the gut.

Because you’re going to Suguru.

You’re not just ignoring him, you’re choosing someone else.

His fingers twitch at his sides as a feeling he doesn’t like at all creeps into his chest. It’s something ugly, something unfamiliar. Something that feels a lot like jealousy. Was that how you felt?

He wants to knock again, wants to demand that you open the door, look at him, let him fix this before you walk away from him any further.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he presses his lips into a thin line, shoves his hands into his pockets, and forces himself to step away from your door.

Forces himself to give you the space you deserved.

You don’t know why you relent so easily.

You shouldn’t. Not after the way he lied, the way he kept something so important from you.

And yet, when you hear him pacing outside your door, his nervous energy practically seeping through the walls, you feel something crack.

He’s been outside your room for the nth time this week. Every day, like clockwork, he’s knocked. Brought your favorite snacks. Talked to you through the door, filling the silence with his ridiculous banter, even when you refused to answer.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your blanket a little tighter. You should stay angry. But you can't.

You sigh, pressing your forehead to your knee.

Maybe it’s time to stop punishing the both of you.

With a deep breath, you stand, crossing the room to the door. When you open it, Gojo nearly stumbles forward, mid-step in his pacing.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and filled with so much desperate hope it makes your chest ache.

And the way his face lights up like you’ve just handed him the entire world tells you that, maybe, you were never going to be able to stay mad at him forever.

But you’re here, leaning on your door frame with your arms crossed, your nails digging into your skin as you glare at the man who has spent the last ten minutes tripping over his words, looking wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. His hair is messier than usual, lips are parted like he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know where to start.

Finally, you scoff, breaking the silence. “If you don’t have anything to say, I’m going back into my room.”

“No!,” Gojo steps forward instinctively, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. And after everything, he is. “I screwed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Oh, really?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, I really fucked up.”

Silence.

You should say something. You should demand an explanation, yell, maybe even cry, but you’re so tired. You’ve spent days twisting yourself into knots over this, convincing yourself you never meant as much to him as he did to you.

And then Gojo says it.

“I should’ve told you.” His voice is hoarse. “I should have told you after the first meeting. After the first second they brought it up.” He swallows hard. “But I was stupid. I thought if I ignored it, if I went through the motions, if I waited for the right moment… then it wouldn’t matter. That it would be over before you ever had to know.”

You shake your head, letting out a hollow laugh. “Satoru, do you even hear yourself? Do you get what it was like for me to find out from someone else? To hear that the person I–” you cut yourself off, but the damage is done. You see it in the way his breath hitches, in the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you.

“The person you what?” he asks softly, pleading.

You clench your jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

Your shake your head. “You lied to me.”

“I know,” he says, and the sheer brokenness in his voice makes your throat tighten. “I know, sweetheart. And I swear to you that I never meant to. I never wanted to hurt you.” he exhales shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear on everything, I was never going to go through with it. I never even showed up to any of the dates, so they kept ambushing me under the guise of missions! I sat through every single one of those goddamn meetings thinking about how ridiculous it was, how there was only ever one person I wanted.”

He stops himself, inhaling sharply.

And then, quieter, almost afraid:

“How there’s only ever you.”

The words hit you like a fist to the chest.

Gojo watches you carefully, breathless, waiting. Hoping. He’s given you the truth, raw and unfiltered, and now it’s up to you.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in his world that makes you believe him.

For the first time in a week, your lips find his, and Gojo swears he can finally breathe again. The warmth of your palm against his cheek, the way your fingers curl slightly as if grounding yourself in him. It’s enough to make him melt.

"You’re so insufferably cheesy, Satoru," you murmur against his lips, your breath warm, teasing. "It makes me so angry that I love it." A pause, a soft exhale. "But I forgive you."

His grin is instant, smug and shameless. "That was good, huh?" He tilts his head, cerulean eyes twinkling. "I’m willing to bet your heart skipped a beat."

You roll your eyes, but you kiss him again, slower this time, because, damn it, he’s right.

extra!

“I demand some extra loving!” Satoru sprawls dramatically across your bed, limbs hanging off the edge like a defeated king.

You barely spare him a glance, flipping a page in your book as you lie comfortably on your stomach. “And why, exactly, do you deserve that?”

He lifts his head, pouting. “I deserve it after a week’s worth of psychological trauma. Don’t think I forgot that you ditched me for Suguru.”

“Oh… that.”

“Yeah. That.” His voice is thick with exaggerated betrayal.

You finally look at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “It was a fake phone call, Satoru. You were just so insufferable camping outside my door that I had to make up an excuse.”

His jaw drops. “Huh?!”

[kthologue]

honeymoon phase — gojo satoru

synopsis. the elders have always warned you that men lose interest over time. that they’re bound to find a younger, prettier toy years down into the marriage. you think your day has come. 

contents. hurt/comfort, established relationship, husband!gojo, pining (so much of it), insecurity, miscommunication, mentions of pregnancy, gojo is a freak for his wife, shoko is the voice of reason as always

notes. im back n this is not proofread. what’s new!!! anyways, enjoy yet another self indulgent piece!

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

The walls of the Gojo compound were made of wood and paper, thin enough for you to hear secrets that weren’t made for your ears. You had grown up used to tuning out the constant noise from footsteps on tatami and shuffling robes to muttered curses from sorcerers-in-training. But today, the voices were just close enough, just loud enough for you to hear. 

 “Still no heir after five years?”

 “What a shame. All that potential, and she retires to become a housewife.”

 “They marry young these days, but if a woman can’t carry on the clan, then what’s the point?”

 “She’s not a wife. She’s a waste.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the screen door. You forced yourself not to make a sound, not to breathe too loudly in fear of revealing your hiding spot. It was foolish to care—foolish to let the words of the elders dig into your skin. You knew better than to let the words cut you, but they did anyway, like each syllable was barbed.

You weren’t stupid. You knew that in the world of jujutsu sorcery, women were rarely praised for their power. They were expected to surrender it and retire gracefully—to raise heirs. Instead of bearing blades, they were expected to bear babies. You’ve seen it through countless of women. Satoru’s mother. Your own. And so many others. It was a quiet, lifelong obligation to the clan’s legacy.

You have been married to Gojo Satoru for five years now. Five long, loving years. And still, there were no children.

To be fair, the two of you had married young—too young, perhaps—but he had insisted. He couldn't wait, he’d said, pulling you to the altar like a man starved. He had kissed you with feverish devotion in front of the shrine, promised you the world, the stars, and everything in between.

But somewhere along the way, you felt like those promises had gone quiet. The talk of children, of anything beyond “next week” or “next mission,” had never come. The topic had never once left his lips.

Maybe he was too busy. Your Satoru wasn’t just yours, after all. He was a teacher. A leader. The head of the Gojo clan. A living symbol of power.

He spent his days shaping the next generation, mentoring students who looked at him like he was invincible. Perhaps he already had too many children who weren’t truly his. Too many young eyes to protect, young graves to prevent.

Or maybe… maybe he just didn’t want them with you.

You stirred the soup with absent hands, the wooden spoon swirling through the broth like it might uncover something at the bottom. The scent of miso filled the kitchen, but it felt hollow. Your expansive kitchen felt too quiet and it was slowly driving you mad.

Satoru was late. Again.

And when you hear the front door finally open, you don’t bother moving. You listened to the familiar sound of shoes slipping off and a coat sliding from his shoulders and landing in a heap by the door. His footsteps were slower these days. Even the great Gojo Satoru—your indestructible, overpowered husband was starting to sound… tired.

Tired of what, you’re not sure.

You, perhaps.

He appeared in the kitchen, the ever-present blindfold slung loosely around his neck. His cerulean eyes looked exhausted.

But he still smiled. Still leaned down and kissed your cheek like you were the one thing anchoring him to the world.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Sorry I’m late.”

And without another word, he dragged himself toward the bedroom and collapsed face-first into the sheets, asleep before you even turned off the stove.

You stood there for a moment, spoon still in hand, watching the soft ripple of the soup.

This had become a pattern. 

He used to be insatiable—always touching you, reaching for you, teasing you like the mere idea of being apart from you made him physically ill. There had been times where he couldn’t keep his hands to himself even in public. Where he used to whisper sweet nothings into your skin that he couldn’t wait to fulfill.

But now he barely looked at you.

He said he was tired. That the curse rate had skyrocketed. That the weight of the world was getting heavier.

You believed him. Of course you did.

But the belief didn’t make the cold side of the bed any warmer. It didn’t make the silent distance between you any less unbearable.

It happened in a moment of weakness.

The bathroom door closed behind him, and the sound of the shower was on. It was one of his regular short, cold showers. You sat on the edge of the bed, glancing at the phone he left on the nightstand.

It was face down and silent, yet all the more inviting.

You hesitated, telling yourself not to look. You try to convince yourself that you trusted the man that you married. The one that had been in love with you far longer than you had even known. That after everything, you had no reason to doubt.

Your fingers moved anyway as if you were a woman possessed. The lock was no match for your memory. His passcode hadn’t changed—it was still your birthday. You’re not sure if that fact made you feel worse for the act that you were committing.

But the messages were right there.

And what you saw made your stomach drop.

Gojo: Shio, I need your help.

Shio: Gojo-kun, I thought we agreed that calling me just “Shio” was improper. It is not right.

Gojo: You know we’re past that stage, Shioooo.

Shio: I should like to have a word with your wife about your behavior.

Gojo: Ha! You and my wife? Over my dead body would I let you two meet. She’d kill me~~~

Shio: That would be a tragedy indeed.

You blinked.

No.

No, no, no.

The bile that rose in your throat was immediate. The evidence was damning: the banter, the flirtation, their familiarity—it was something you had once shared with him.The way he spoke to her mirrored so perfectly the way he used to speak to you. It was the same cadence, the same wry humor, the same intimacy that had once made your heart leap.

You didn’t even know who this woman was. But she had something you no longer did: his attention. 

And it made you sick.

Before you could scroll further, the sound of water stopped. You dropped the phone like it had burned you and threw yourself beneath the covers, forcing your body to still, your breathing to slow.

He came in moments later, humming faintly, smelling like the clean soap he had insisted on the both of you sharing. It is only right that we smell like each other, he had once told you. You wanted to scoff at the memory. Satoru pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before settling in beside you.

You didn’t move. You don’t end up sleeping that night. You don't even think you let the breath you were holding in for the rest of the night.

Just like clockwork, Satoru was late again.

The table was set. The food that was once warm had grown cold. You sat alone for an hour before you gave up and placed plastic wrap over everything, sliding the dishes into the fridge.

When the door finally opened, he walked in with a bounce in his step. A cloth bag hung from his fingers.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he called out brightly. “I brought dinner!”

You turned slowly, eyeing the contents. You didn’t need to open the bag. One glance told you everything.

It wasn’t takeout. Rather, the meal appeared to be homemade and carefully prepared. It must be a subtle message from his mistress to you. 

Inside was Kyoto-style soup—vegetables simmered in dashi, hints of seaweed and root. You had watched the compound servants make it a hundred times growing up. There was even yamaimo, shredded fine and folded in.

“Where were you?” you asked softly, hoping it would mask the edge in your words.

Satoru grinned.

“Kyoto. Had a mission there. Thought I’d bring something special back.”

Your stomach dropped.

Kyoto. 

Of course it would be there. In the house where you were both born. In the same halls where those whispers about your empty womb had first begun. You imagined him surrounded by a dozen younger women, all wide-eyed and obedient who were excited to please the clanhead. The thought alone made you dizzy.

“I’m not hungry.”

You stood before he could stop you, the chair screeching against the wood.

He looked up, his smile flickering, a confused wrinkle forming between his brows.

But you didn’t look back. You didn’t want him to see your face. If he did, he might see the cracks forming. And you weren’t sure you’d survive long enough to be pieced back together.

“I miss you, [Name]. Come work here,” Shoko says on the phone, her voice in its casual cadence. “You’re an excellent sorceress. You were born for this. Plus, I miss you. Satoru’s been keeping you away for far too long.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, the phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder as your fingers trace a wrinkle in the blanket.

“Yes, but… Satoru and I agreed I’d stay out of the field. I’m retired now, remember?”

“You’d only be teaching,” she replies gently. “Nothing too intense. And besides… Gojo’s an idiot. What does he know?”

You laugh quietly, but it’s thin and brittle.

A silence stretches between you.

Shoko picks up on it. She always does.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. 

Vocalizing the thought seemed so shameful.

When you do summon the courage, it comes out in a hushed whisper: “I think Satoru is cheating on me.”

There’s a pause.

“Is this a joke?”

“No.” Your voice is flat. “I went through his phone.”

Another silence. This one lands heavier.

“[Name]…” Shoko says slowly, “I don’t think that’s possible. I mean—he worships you. He annoys everyone at Jujutsu Tech talking about you like you’re the second coming of the sun. We get it, he married up.”

You close your eyes. You can almost hear his voice echoing in Shoko’s. How you missed that version of your husband.

“He pulled you from the field not because he wanted to chain you down, but because he was terrified. I’ve never seen him scared until you came back bleeding that day. He looked like someone tore the world from under his feet.”

“Shoko… you don’t get it.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No. Not yet, but—”

“Then you don’t get to spiral like this until you do.”

You sigh and lean back.

 “I just feel so... stuck. I’m tired of this house and how quiet it is all of the time. The growing distance in between us. It used to feel like home, but now it feels like— I don’t even know.”

Her voice softens again. “Consider coming back to Jujutsu Tech. At least for a while. Let yourself breathe again.”

You’re quiet. 

“I’ll consider it. Domestic life’s been… suffocating lately.”

“There she is,” Shoko says warmly. “There’s the [Name] I know.”

You smile, and this time it’s real—even if it is just a little. But it doesn’t last long after the phone call.

The moment you step out of the bedroom you walk directly into a solid chest. You freeze and your heart sinks.

Standing in front of you was your husband. But he looked more like Gojo Satoru than your Satoru. He was home early and he did not look happy. Once bright eyes were now shadowed and unreadable.

“You’re returning to Jujutsu Tech?” he asks, voice calm in the way a man trying to keep his emotions at bay would. “After we decided you were done risking your life?”

You blink, startled.  “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear my wife thinks staying home with me is ‘suffocating.’” His jaw tightens. “Is that really what you think?”

Something in you snaps.

“Don’t you dare make this about you.”

He stares, stunned.

“You decided I’d retire, Satoru. You didn’t ask. You didn’t even give me a choice.” You lightly push his chest to make space. He doesn’t move but his hand reaches for yours automatically, gently, like he can’t help but hold onto you even when you’re furious.

You don’t pull away. His grip was firm enough for you to know better.

“I thought it was for my safety,” you whisper. “But now I see it was just to make room for your little affair behind my back.” The words were meant to shame Satoru, but it felt more like a double edged sword with the way your heart ache at the reminder of his infidelity.

He flinches.

“What?”

“I read your messages,” you hiss. “With Shio. You don’t even delete them, Satoru. Are you that arrogant? Or did you just stop caring?”

“[Name], it’s not what you think—”

“Then explain it!”  Your voice breaks.

 “Explain the messages. The dinners. The way you’ve been avoiding me like touching me might burn you alive. I can feel the distance growing every night, Satoru, don’t you?”

You yank your hand back.

“Tell me. Is she prettier? Younger? Is she too naive to see through your bullshit? Does she—” You laugh, but it’s sharp and bitter. “—does she even know you hate bitter vegetables? Or did you choke it down for her anyway when you brought the yamaimo home?”

Gojo looks like he’s been hollowed out.

You see it. The tremble in his fingers. The way his mouth opens and shuts, like he wants to speak but can’t breathe through the guilt.

You step back.

“Forget it,” you whisper. “I want a divorce—"

“Don’t.” His voice is quiet. Desperate. “Don’t finish that sentence. P-please.”

“Why not?” you whisper. “Give me one reason not to walk away when you’ve already left me in every way that matters.”

He shakes his head. “You think I left you? [Name]… I was trying to building a life for us.”

You stare at him, your heart in your throat.

“Shio’s not a mistress. She’s not even close to being my type—unless I suddenly go for women in their late eighties.”

You blink.

“She’s my great-aunt. She’s half-senile with hands like prunes! I—that day, when we visited the compound, she asked me why we didn’t have any kids yet. I told her… I told her I wanted them.” His voice falters. “So badly. With you. Only with you.”

You suck in a breath.

He steps closer, eyes pleading. “I know you’re scared of pregnancy. I know what it means for sorcerers. I’ve seen it, [Name]. So I never brought it up. I didn’t want to pressure you, not ever.”

His hands hover near yours. Not touching. Not yet.

“Shio said she’d help. That she’d cook meals, ones she thought would bring good fortune or increase fertility. The traditional route. And I let her. Because I thought… if I just waited long enough, maybe you’d bring it up on your own.”

You’re frozen. Tears sting your eyes, unspilled.

“I never wanted to lie to you. I just—” He lets out a broken laugh. “I was embarrassed that I wanted a dozen tiny monsters who’d take after you. That I wanted to hold your hand through every contraction and cry harder than the baby when it was born.”

You collapse into his chest, allowing your tears to stain his uniform. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Takes one to marry one.”

“You should’ve just told me.”

“I know.” He holds you up, cupping your face gently now, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I was trying to protect you from everything. I—I never realized I was hurting you in the process.”

You close your eyes and press your forehead against his.

“I was so scared you didn’t love me anymore.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “I love you so much it hurts. It always has.”

You breathe him in, your voice shaky. 

 “So… you want kids?”

“Only if they’re bossy and brilliant like their mother. Every night, I imagine that they’d know at least ten ways to manipulate me by the age of five.”

You snort. “That sounds like a nightmare.”

“That sounds like heaven.”

 He kisses you again, except it is long and slow this time. It’s unlike the desperation from earlier, rather, apologetic and full of everything he’s been too much of a coward to say in the past few months.

When you part, breathless, your voice is softer.

“We’ll take it slow. I’m not saying yes to ten—”

“Nine.”

“—but we’ll talk. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

His grin is smug, but his eyes are misty.

“You mean I’m finally allowed to touch you again without you pretending I’m a curse?”

You smile. “I’ll think about it.”

“Can I bribe the jury?”

“With what?”

“My undying love. And, I’ll do the dishes for a month.”

You lean in close, breath brushing his ear.

“Hmm, two months… and a foot rub every night.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

[peevishpants]

Haikyuu idiot squad shenanigans again

[reignpage]

would you wet your fingers for me?... would you place a bookmark in me?

LIBRARY (n.) a playground for books and readers, but also for occasional debauchery

Synopsis: your plan is to avoid your rival, now that you’ve both been hired as assistant librarians, to minimise the chances of getting into hours long debates and committing murder. the problem is that he's everywhere — helping you carry heavy boxes, scoffing at your choice of literature, eating you out in the back corner between the We Shouldn't Do This and the We'll Never Speak of This Again shelves. in all the bickering and orgasms, you're left with one question:

is the smell of books an aphrodisiac?

Warnings: plot with porn, a romcom vibe series, college au, nerd!nanami x nerd!reader, both classical lit students, f!reader, rivals to lovers, forced proximity, they're mean to each other, specific warnings have been added to the relevant chapters, Nanami art by @/thatsallitchief, will eventually be available on AO3, not proofread Word Count: tbc

Canto I - The Hopeless Gate

℘ you wanted the librarian job. unfortunately so did he. and the world hates you so you both got the job. now you have to learn how to tolerate his existence with much closer proximity than before. it's doable, isn't it?

Canto II - The Second Circle

℘ this job's not as stimulating as you thought it would be. people are predictable, unadventurous, and too serious. he looks bored too. stoking some harmless competition wouldn't be so bad, right?

Canto III - The Dark Descent

℘ stakes have been added to the pot. you should stop letting him part your legs, should stop allowing him to light your fire, but no harm no foul if you guys just continue as you have been, no?

Canto IV - The Emerging Stars

℘ this was a mistake. all of it was. from the very beginning, it was doomed. you're too similar, too ambitious, too cutthroat. at the end of the day, you're only ever meant to be rivals...aren't you?

EPILOGUE

Do not copy, remake, repost, feed my work into AI, or translate any of my works © 2026 ReignPage on Tumblr, all rights reserved

[kcokaine]

at some point in their life