scary dog privilege with husband!franken stein ꒰ ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ
Everyone tells you that you're husband is weird, maybe a little bit creepy in his own way. And in theory, you can understand why people say that. He's awkwardly tall, the scars all over his body might seem scary at some point and the reflection of his glasses combined with the look on his face makes him look out of a horror movie. Not to mention the screw he has piercing his head.
But in practice, you can't imagine your husband scaring people. Stein has always been a sweetheart with you since day one, treating you softly and tenderly. Even with his quirks, he's managed to make a pretty girl like you care for him, and now his own mission for the rest of his life is keeping you by his side.
He loves your company, he can't believe someone other than Spirit can handle him, and he can turn rather clingy sometimes.
You never have problem walking alone in the street, everyone knows you're Stein's precious wife. And still, he usually walks you everywhere. Separation anxiety or something. He walks beside you, arm immediately looping around your waist because it's muscle memory at this point. He's tall as a shadow, thinking about the minutes he'd lose without you if he didn't accompany you home. Even if he's coming there too a few hours later.
When you walk, his gaze is fixed on you, not in the people on the sidewalk giving you side eyes. You've always been filled with questions of why. Why choose him, someone in the verge of madness, someone who would put his experiments before you without thinking? But that's a lie. You know it, Stein has made it very clear to you that you are his priority and then, everything else. You're his world, his soul and his sanity.
One night, when he comes back later than ever and you are somehow still awake, waiting for him, he lays in the bed between your legs, chin pressed in your chest as he looks up at you. His glasses are crooked and his forehead sweaty because he definitely came to you faster than he should. You lift your hand, screwing the screw for him.
"I hate it when we're apart," he admits, almost shy about it. "I missed you so much in the lab today. I miss you everywhere, actually. Spirit says I'm obsessed. Maybe I am"
You giggle softly and his whole face lights up in this awkward way only you get to see. "You can be. I'm obsessed with you too."
You lean in to kiss the tip of his nose, but he moves faster and suddenly his giving you a big kiss on the lips, with his hands squeezing your cheeks together.
a/n: revive this fandom i just finished the show. idk if this is ooc or not I DON'T CARE. send me ideas for more stein shit
a/n 2: also this is for my girl @kamislop idk if you follow me here but i'm nora ok i'm not some random person tagging you i'm moviecritc's side blog
summary: You had always heard a weird, mocking voice in the back of your head telling you that the things were going to end just like that between you and Satoru. The Prince and the Pauper. You were destined to eventually drift apart.
Or not?
tags: AU, angst to fluff, breaking and making up, classical disparities, insecurities, gojo is a certified loverboy and a yearner as usual. mdni! eventual smut, p in v sex, soft emotional sex. nobamaki cameo!
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BLOG!
word count: 13.9k
author's note: hi everyone!! this is not the oneshot i wanted to finish in may, but i had some ideas brewing for quite a long time, though the concept is not really original. happy ending won, soooo enjoy and let me know your thoughts! art in the banner by @/yamada_souko. dividers are mine.
Looking back, you realised you had never got it easy for Satoru.
The tale as old as time: the Princess and the Pauper. Or, in your case, the Prince and the Pauper.
And you couldn't put it in a better way.
Satoru Gojo — the Prince of the campus, the heir to the Gojo Enterprises, the man who would get the business world in the palm of his hand, the captain of the university basketball team, whose face was plastered all across the campus, the president of the Alpha Delta Nu, so on and so forth. You got the gist. The crowd parted before him, the Universe shifted itself to accommodate his presence: he walked in every room as if he owned it, which he pretty much did — ruling every place with a charming grin and a quick wit. Guys were wishing to be like him. Girls were dying to be beside him. He barely granted anyone more attention than needed — keeping people at arm's length, except for a couple of his friends. Of course, you didn't belong to them. Not like you desperately wanted to. You were well aware of the hierarchy of the university: people like Satoru Gojo rested at the top, eyeing the crowd down. People like you? Scrambling to get to the middle. If you were lucky enough.
One spring day, you realised that either Satoru Gojo didn't know about those unspoken rules or couldn't care less about them. Because you couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for why he suddenly started pestering you. Or, in his eyes, flirting.
It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).
At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.
"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."
"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.
"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."
Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."
An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.
After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.
Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.
Or… didn't want to?
***
One basketball match changed everything.
"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.
"Geez, finally, where have you been?"
Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.
"There was a line!"
"Huh? What?"
"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"
She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."
Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.
"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.
"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.
"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"
Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.
Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.
Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.
"Who are you gawking at, huh?"
Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.
You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.
Your hand fell limply to your side.
"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"
The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."
Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.
The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.
But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.
Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.
"This is for you."
He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.
Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.
Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.
You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.
A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.
Gojo found you later, at the party.
You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.
"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"
Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."
"They both are, actually."
A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.
He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.
A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."
At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.
"You think so?"
"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.
Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.
No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.
His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.
"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.
Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.
"You are?"
"Yeah".
The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.
You already missed its warmth.
"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."
You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.
"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.
"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."
"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"
You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."
"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"
You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."
A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"
Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."
A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.
"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"
Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.
Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.
He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.
You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.
Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.
The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.
Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.
"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."
A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.
"Of course."
Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"
Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.
"I love you."
Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?
And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.
For you knew that night would be your last one.
Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.
A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.
"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.
The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.
"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."
A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.
"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"
Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."
"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"
You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.
"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."
He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."
His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.
And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.
"I love you. And I am so sorry."
***
You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.
"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."
"I think we should break up."
Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."
Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?
"I said we should break up."
That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."
"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."
The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.
"Care to explain why?"
A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."
All of them lie, of course.
So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.
"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."
The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.
"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."
You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.
The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.
"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"
"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."
His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."
Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."
You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.
He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.
And never would.
Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.
"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"
Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.
"What?"
A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."
"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"
"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"
"And as I said, I don't care — "
"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.
"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."
Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.
"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."
Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.
He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."
"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."
"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"
The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?
But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.
"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.
Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."
You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.
"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."
You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.
"Is that what you want?"
"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."
The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.
After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.
Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.
"Satoru."
His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?
"Yes?"
That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.
"I love you."
Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.
***
These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.
You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.
Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.
What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.
Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.
What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?
The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?
Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.
You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...
A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.
You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.
You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.
"Satoru? What are you doing here?"
Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.
But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.
"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."
The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.
"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.
"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.
"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.
You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.
"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."
That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."
His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"
Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.
Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."
"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."
He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.
But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted? To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.
Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.
"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."
That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.
Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.
Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.
After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.
"Get in."
Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.
"Yes, ma'am."
The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.
You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.
"Whoa, marshmallows."
"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."
Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.
Damn those puppy eyes.
Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"
He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.
Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.
"Not so good."
You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.
Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.
"I am sorry, but —"
Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.
That was all because of you, right?
Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.
You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?
"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."
You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"
He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.
"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"
You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.
" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."
Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.
Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.
"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."
A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.
"What have you done, Satoru?"
He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."
"Oh —"
"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."
You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.
"Have you fucking lost your mind?"
Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.
"What?"
Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.
"Are you an idiot?"
Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."
"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"All because of me!?"
Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.
"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"
"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"
"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"
Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.
You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.
He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."
You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"
Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.
"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."
Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"
Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?
Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.
"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."
You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.
"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."
"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"
"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."
A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.
"Where do you live now?"
"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "
Your smile slowly disappeared.
" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."
"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.
"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"
Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."
"Where?"
Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.
"Eh…France."
He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"
Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.
"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."
Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.
"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."
"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"
What about me?
"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."
"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."
"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."
As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.
Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.
"What about Nobara?"
Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.
"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."
"Huh?!"
"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."
Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.
The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.
He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…
He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"
Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."
Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?
Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"
"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?
Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."
"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."
Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?
One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.
"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."
You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.
"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?
It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.
So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.
You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.
Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"
Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.
"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."
"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."
As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."
"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."
A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.
"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.
"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.
"Oh, fuck."
Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.
"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."
Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.
Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.
After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.
You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.
You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.
You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."
Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.
"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."
"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.
"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.
"It's okay, you can laugh."
The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.
"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"
Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."
Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.
"Were you serious?"
He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"
The next words came in a hesitant whisper.
"Moving with me to France."
Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"
You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."
"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."
You couldn't fight with that argument.
"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."
And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.
"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"
You wordlessly glanced at him.
" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."
His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.
"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"
Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.
"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."
You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.
"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."
"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."
"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."
Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."
"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."
Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.
"So…we are really going to France."
Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.
"We really are."
***
The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.
A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.
"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."
Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"
Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.
"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.
"Ah, Satoru…"
When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.
Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.
Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.
"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"
A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.
"Satoru…"
"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.
"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."
You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.
"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."
With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"
Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.
Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.
"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."
You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.
"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."
Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.
"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"
With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.
"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.
Wrong move.
Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.
"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."
Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.
The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.
Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.
"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "
Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.
"I love you."
Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.
"I love you more."
You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.
"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"
"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."
Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.
"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"
"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."
"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.
"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."
Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.
Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.
"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."
She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.
"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."
You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…
"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.
"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"
"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."
"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.
"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"
In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"
So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.
"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.
And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.
Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.
You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.
girlfriend!momo ayase random and fluff headcanons 𓍯 .
girlfriend!momo ayase who blushes A LOT, all the time, it doesn't matter what you do, she's blushing even from hearing your voice. She's blushing at text messages, she's blushing when you buy her a drink. A blushing mess all the time.
girlfriend!momo ayase who helps you with your make up, she sits on your lap, applying your favorite blush with a fluffy brush, tickling your nose and giving you a kiss on each cheek after every step. She applies the glitter/eyeshadow on your eyelids? Kiss. She draws a sharp eyeliner wing? Kiss. She carefully puts mascara in your eyelashes? Kiss. And her favorite part, kissing your lips before doing your lip combo.
girlfriend!momo ayase who's CLINGYYY, more in private than in public. She loves to hold hands around school, rest her head on your shoulder between classes or just play with your hair. In private, she never NEVER leaves your side. She's a sucker for cuddling, resting her whole body on top of yours, napping there for hours.
girlfriend!momo ayase who waits for you outside of your classrooms when it's time to go home and insists that you go to her house to eat. It's been weeks since you don't eat at your own house, you don't care. Her grandma doesn't really care about you, but likes that her grandkid is in a happy relationship.
girlfriend!momo ayase who loves taking pics of you (with your own phone) and together. Tons of selfies with your cheeks pressed together, her biting yours, you pulling her closer to kiss her, etc. Then mirror selfies, her hands around your waist and chin on your shoulder, just hugging, kissing. All possible positions.
girlfriend!momo ayase who started printing those pics and keeping them on an album, so she can stare at them every time she wants. She also has one of them framed and in the table closer to her bed.
girlfriend!momo ayase who's very jealous and territorial. Not because she's insecure but because she's greedy. Why are you paying attention to that girl when you could be paying attention to her!! It doesn't make sense in her mind, so when she sees someone getting a little cozy with you, she snatches you, kissing you slow and sweet. She's never angry at you, she's angry at whoever flirted with you.
yuuji itadori and naruto uzumaki are too big and too clingy for your own good ˚.✦
You regret the moment you told your boyfriends that you run cold because now, every time you three cuddle together they just flop on top of you, four big ass arms wrapping around your body, their whole weight resting on yours and they fill your face with kisses and bites.
“I’m going to die,” you say, barely above a whisper because Naruto’s face is pressed right into your lungs as Yuuji is biting your cheek. “Please God, what did I do?” You look up, sighing while Naruto and Yuuji just burst out laughing. It’s so easy to make them laugh or blush with just a few words from you.
Naruto lifts his head just enough so his bright blue eyes can sparkle down at you, his grin spreading across his face like sunshine. His blond hair is all messy from rubbing against your shirt and he looks so stupidly happy it makes your heart do a little flip even while you’re being squished.
“Aw, c’mon babe, you’re not dying! You’re just getting the best heating system ever,” he says, he nuzzles back into your neck, leaving a trail of soft little kisses that tickle. “We’re just doing our boyfriend duty. Right, Yuu?”
Yuuji hums happily against your cheek, his teeth giving one last gentle nibble before he switches to peppering the spot with tiny kisses instead. His pink hair brushes your skin, and he smells like the strawberry candy he stole from your kitchen earlier. “Totally,” he mumbles, voice muffled because he refuses to pull away even an inch. “We’re keeping you warm. Super warm. The warmest. Can’t have our favorite person turning into an ice cube.”
You try to wiggle, but it’s hopeless. Two six-foot-something boyfriends are basically pressing you on the couch until you become one, and they’re way too strong for their own good. Or yours.
“You guys are too big,” you whine, but it comes out all soft and smiley because how can you stay mad when they’re looking at you like that? “I can’t even breathe properly. Naruto, your elbow is in my rib.”
Naruto gasps like you just told him the world is ending. He shifts immediately, but only so he can wrap that arm tighter around your waist instead. “Sorry, sorry! Better?” He plants a big, loud kiss on your forehead. “You’re so cute like this, it makes me wanna hug you forever.”
Yuuji nods so fast his hair flops into his eyes. He finally lifts his head, cheeks flushed pink and that bright grin of his making his whole face light up. “Yeah… you’re tiny compared to us. It’s the best.” He leans in and presses his lips to yours in a sweet peck, then immediately goes back to kissing your cheek like he’ll die if he stops. “I love you so much it’s kinda embarrassing. Like, I see you and my brain just goes ‘mine mine mine’ on repeat.”
Naruto laughs again, filling the whole room. He rests his chin on your shoulder so he can look at both of you. “Same! Every time you smile at me I feel like I’m gonna explode. You’re too perfect, you know that?” He sneaks in a little bite to your earlobe, gentle enough not to hurt but enough to make you squeak. “My cute little human heater. Wait, no, we’re the heaters. You’re the cute one.”
You can’t help it. A giggle bubbles up even as you’re still trapped under all that muscle and affection. “You two are so whipped,” you mutter, reaching up to thread your fingers through Naruto’s messy hair. He leans into your touch like a big puppy, eyes half-closing in pure bliss.
“Guilty,” Yuuji says without a single ounce of shame. He catches your other hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles one by one. “I’d carry you around all day if you let me. Just so I can keep you close.”
Naruto nods eagerly. “We could take turns. Or both carry you at the same time. Bet we could make it work.”
You groan, but you’re smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re impossible. Both of you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Naruto agrees, voice going all soft and fond as he presses another kiss to your temple. “But you love us anyway.”
Yuuji snuggles even closer, if that’s possible, his big hand rubbing slow circles on your side. “And we love you more than anything. So just let us squish you a little longer, okay? For warmth. And because you’re our favorite person in the whole world.”
You sigh again, but this time it’s happy. The weight of them is heavy, sure, but it’s also safe and warm and full of so much love it feels like your chest might burst. “Fine, fine.”
a/n: the target audience for this is me, literally just me
୨୧ in which your boyfriend, gojo satoru notices your restrictive eating habits
𝐖𝐂: 1.8k
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: tw; restrictive eating, eating disorders
Being a picky eater was more of a learned trait for you. Ever since you were young, you loved to eat. It was something that you didn’t think about.
Food was fuel. Nothing more and nothing less.
You didn’t have destructive eating habits at the time, and you didn’t think about your food intake until you did. Your family hosted potlucks for the neighborhood every two weeks. It was something you didn’t think about because it was a way to connect the community.
Your first memory of your relationship with food was when you and your older cousin always got food together and laughed under the trees while mindlessly playing. You two went up for seconds when your aunts made the comment, “[Insert name], isn’t this your third plate? You’re already growing, and we don’t want you to put on weight! Leave the food for your older brothers. They need it more than you.” The rest of your family laughed while loading up your cousin’s plate and giving you the minimum.
That stung. You gave the plate to your older brother with the excuse of “I’m full.” That was something that followed you through your teen years. After that day, despite your young age, you monitored your food intake. It wasn’t just making sure you ate healthy, but it was also deliberately making sure you didn’t overeat in front of your family.
This way a habit started young, so it soon slipped your mind in your teen years until puberty hit everyone around you and you began to gain weight. Your best friends were all just hitting 100 lbs while you were 131 lbs already. They swore they couldn’t tell, but you could.
The way your fat rolled over your jeans when you sat down, the way your stomach folded over your low rise, or even the way your thigh gap was nonexistent. It disgusted you. So much to the point where you went on multiple restrictive diets.
These diets followed you into adulthood, where you had blossomed into a healthy adult, or at least on the outside. You still filtered the foods you ate and worked out daily to avoid finding yourself in the same position you were in when you were a teen.
The only difference was you had a boyfriend now who couldn’t care less about your body, and that confused you. Gojo’s first comment to you was, “You’re the funniest person I’ve ever met.” Not “You’re gorgeous” or “Your body is beautiful.” It was different from what guys usually told you, which is what made you fall in love with him. He obviously admired your beauty, but it wasn’t his main reason for being with you.
Gojo noticed your eating habits when you two first got together. He deemed you a picky eater, which was okay. He didn’t like certain foods, and he was even particular about his foods touching, so it didn’t bother him. He just made a mental note of what you did and didn’t like, which turned out to be almost everything.
He took you out to a famous pizza bar once, and he insisted you get whatever you wanted, but as soon as the guy asked for your order, you looked to Gojo. “Should we split a pizza?” you asked quickly. “Baby, you can get your own. I don’t mind.” You looked up at the waiter for a second before saying, “Can you give us a minute?” Gojo was confused.
“We should split one because I’m not that hungry. I only want two slices max,” you said, forcing a smile for your boyfriend’s approval. He nodded. “I’m okay with that, but are you sure? We can always go somewhere else if you’re not up for this.”
You shook your head no before calling the waiter back over and ordering. When the pizza arrived, you took two slices and began to engage in conversation with your boyfriend.
Gojo didn’t think this was too weird. Maybe you weren’t hungry. Dinner was normal, but he did notice something. The way you took off every pepperoni, the cheese, and only ate the tomato sauce and the bread, but you made sure to leave the crust, which you offered to him. If it was your way of eating, then he didn’t care. It was just the way you ate so slowly and meticulously. Every time he glanced down at your plate, you took a bite. Odd.
He didn’t say anything about it and made a mental note that you didn’t like eating out and that cooking home meals would be better suited for you.
He made a note of the little things you did eat, and he made them into meals for you, which you appreciated. But you never finished them. It was almost as if you poked around at your plate for a while and only ate when he looked at it. He didn’t want to assume anything, and he believed you would come to him if something was going on, but he was wrong.
He didn’t start seriously thinking about it until your friends hosted a game night. There was food everywhere, and a few of your friends were there along with some of his. Upon arrival, he noticed your glance toward the kitchen, then to him. It was brief, and you wouldn’t have seen it unless you were focused on you.
The night was fun, and you spent it drinking fruit punch and always keeping a plate of food next to you. It was, of course, semi full. Enough to not be suspicious, but it was the perfect amount that no one would assume if you had eaten yet. Gojo noticed, and he worried.
He finally decided to say something a couple weeks later when he realized your meal prep had gone untouched.
“Sweets, why is your Monday and Tuesday meal prep still here?” he slightly shouted as his head was in the fridge.
It was now Thursday, and if he thought about it, you hadn’t eaten that much during the week.
Silence.
“[Insert name]?” he said, confused, as he made his way to the bedroom where you were focused on the TV.
“[Insert name]?” he said, concerned now. Your gaze was blank, and it looked like you were zoned out with the TV in your way.
“Hm?” you said, now facing your boyfriend. That’s when he saw it. The dark circles under your eyes. The way your face looked pale and the way your frame appeared smaller.
You were always pale, and you told him that dark eye circles were hereditary in your family, but now he was seeing that they were signs of what was going on.
“We need to talk,” he said. Your mind started racing. This could only be about one thing. How could he find out? Were you that obvious? What was wrong with you?
“Mhm,” you sounded. “About what?” you said as you attempted to concentrate on the TV. That was no help. It was almost like he could sense your nerves. He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed the remote and paused the show that served as background noise.
“Baby, have you been…” He didn’t know how to approach something like this. He could be wrong entirely, and eating could just be slipping your mind, but it was better safe than sorry. “What have you eaten this week?” he asked as his hand found your knee that was covered by many blankets.
Your whole body was engulfed in blankets despite it being summertime. You were always cold.
It took you a minute to answer. “I don’t know. How am I supposed to remember everything I ate this week?” you said in a slightly defensive tone. He was right. This confirmed his suspicion.
“Well, it wouldn’t be hard to remember since your meal prep is still in the fridge. [Insert name], you’ve barely eaten,” he said with a hint of sadness on his face.
“What the hell, Satoru, yes I have,” you quickly stated back as you nervously bit your bottom lip. “Why are you asking me these questions? It’s rude. I’ve eaten. This is like asking a woman how much she weighs. Are you trying to say I’ve put on weight?” you accused him while ranting.
“I- No. I would ne-” He was cut off by you talking over him. “Why are you even worried about what I eat? I eat, Satoru.” Gojo doesn’t answer for a while. He allows you to continue. You’re now fully sitting up and alert.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you state, annoyed. “Like what?” Gojo retorted, his tone now firm.
“[Insert name], you’re pale in July, you’re always cold, your eye bags don’t disappear no matter how much you sleep, and that’s been often lately. You can talk to me. You have to talk to me. What’s going on?”
Tears fill your eyes. He’s never pressed you like this, and this wasn’t what you wanted your first serious argument to be over. The thought of anyone knowing about your situation made your stomach turn. It felt like you were begging for attention. You were devastated that you let yourself be seen this much by someone whose opinion you deeply valued.
Your throat tightens, and you shake your head, blinking hard like that might force the tears back where they belong. “Nothing’s going on,” you say, but your voice betrays you, thin and uneven. “You’re overthinking it.”
Gojo exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t push closer either. That somehow hurts more.
“Baby,” he says softly, “I don’t think I am.”
You laugh once, short and humorless, wiping at your eyes in frustration. “God, why are you doing this?” you mutter. “Why does everything have to be something?”
“Because it is something,” he replies, just as quietly. His hand squeezes your knee, just there. “And because I love you too much to pretend I don’t see it.”
Silence settles between you, thick and suffocating. Your chest feels tight, like you can’t quite get a full breath in. You stare at the wall, anywhere but him.
“I didn’t ask for you to notice,” you whisper.
“I know.”
“I didn’t want it to be a thing.” Your voice cracks on the last word, and that’s it. Tears spill over, hot and humiliating. “I didn’t want to be another problem. Another thing to worry about.”
Gojo’s expression softens immediately, all firmness melting away. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re not a problem.”
You shake your head again, harder this time. “It feels like one. It feels like I failed at something that should be easy.” You hug your knees to your chest, blankets tangling around you. “Eating is supposed to be easy.”
He swallows, jaw tightening, not in anger but restraint. “A lot of things are supposed to be easy,” he says. “That doesn’t mean they are.”
You finally look at him then, eyes glassy, exposed. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad.”
That’s all you can admit. For now.
And Gojo nods like that’s enough to start with. “Okay,” he says gently. “Then we start there.”
@califoreigner , 2026 —Unauthorized copying, reconstruction, reposting, or uploading to other platforms is prohibited.
Hey I know this is a sensitive topic please ignore if it makes you uncomfortable. Could you possibly do JJK men react to drinking/addiction. Thank you so much I love your work and can see how much effort you put into everything! 💝
jjk men reacting to your addictions... ⸝⸝⸝
headcanons | ...so i have to make this two parts because the wc was too long to fit into one post oml. thank ya'll sm for your patience. i hope did these justice. addiction is a deadly disease and my heart goes out to anyone struggling through it or watching loved ones battle it as well. stay strong, sending all my love!
cw, severely traumatic themes, reader has a seizure in hiromi's, mentions of addiction, depression / anxiety, heavy angst, difficult topics, childhood / sexual abuse, mentions of substances & drugs
a mission gone wrong. you'd overestimated your ability to take down such an immense spirit all on your own, with no back up and no hidden support. just you, your stubborn resolve, and a chance to prove yourself good enough to be compared with the very likes of the man you love.
satoru never understood your persistent need to challenge yourself with the most unnecessary foes and missions. he understands that you've long aimed to be special grade like him, having fought against your class as a grade one sorcerer for more years than he can count, but he can't grasp your full motivations.
sure, he gets wanting to be stronger. strength is all sorcerers have in this world, all they can cling to in order to survive, but the issue is that you act as though you are lacking so. in reality, you are one of the strongest people he has ever known in his life. mentally. physically.
yet somehow, you've never seen that strength within yourself. and the silent truth of the matter lies in your relationship with gojo satoru, how you excessively compare yourself to the likes of him and all the other special grades that hardly even begin to align with his level.
you would never say it out loud, how you long for what he has. you would never burden him with the insecurities that you bear, but satoru would have preferred you do so than harbor every inadequate feeling you have about yourself deep inside. he's seen how it has festered, how it has consumed you since high school. watching the people you love surpass you, leave you, fly above you to somewhere unreachable, or to some plane of existence far away from yours due to the tragedy of mania or unexpected weakness.
in a world where such devastation exists, you have no choice but to aim toward perfection, but to push yourself to the limits so that those limits are not weaponized against you in battle.
consequently, you seek danger willingly. you train until your legs give out, and you fight with every fiber of your being. you're too hard on yourself. satoru has told you time and time again, but your headstrong will is far too impenetrable for him to sway your mind, to convince you that you are perfect the way you are, that you don't need to do this to yourself in order to get better.
how can the strongest sorcerer of the modern age begin to assure you of such things? after all, he does not harbor the same concerns as you. he does not have to be weary of the same things. he does not operate at the same pace. satoru is in a league of his own, therefore, it is difficult for him to meet your eye, to ease your worries in a way that will keep you grounded - will make you feel okay.
the ivory haired man is useless in that aspect, and it tears him apart from the inside out every day, knowing that when push comes to shove, he can't help you in the way you need to be helped. not truly. even if you smile at him appreciatively, even if you wrap your arms tightly around him graciously, letting the silence swarm you as you ruminate on all the unsaid thoughts, the ones you dispel from speech for the sake of your boyfriend's nerves.
that day you went on that mission changed your life.
it had not even been yours to begin with. it was yuki's. she had mentioned it to you in passing one day, during a particularly grueling week for you at the school. your last mission hadn't gone so well, for nanami had to be called in on your behalf to take care of a particular curse that just would not die no matter what you threw its way. you managed to get away with a sprained ankle and a few scratches.
while satoru was both relieved that you were okay and horrified that you'd been hurt, you reveled in shame, for you had to be assisted by another sorcerer who is the same grade as you in order to walk away - and not even unscathed. how could you have managed to become so useless? after all the work you've done to be better, to make satoru proud?
desperate for a chance to redeem yourself, you took it up with the higher ups after having discussed it with the blonde special grade, and begged to be assigned to her slot instead. the first question gakuganji had asked you was: "does satoru gojo know about this?"
the question had soured you, for satoru's name is now all that you have as leverage in any case scenario. you're the love of his life, the woman he plans to marry, and curses either seek to manipulate, eradicate, or stay out of your way completely as a result. the only reputation you have, in your mind, is attached to satoru's name. and you want to be known and seen as more.
knowing that satoru practically has the higher ups wrapped around his finger, as, despite their power, there is not much they can do to surpass or sway the sapphire eyed sorcerer's emotions and strength if he ever decides to turn against them. consequently, you lie.
"yes," you nod. "and he supports it."
without further question, and with the illusion of independent choice, the higher ups allow it, for they agree that you need to be further challenged. you silently pray that word does not get back to yaga or gojo before you're able to return.
but you don't return.
instead, you are left to die on the roof of a mental facility, hand clutching your side as blood gurgles from a gaping wound freely, seeping through your clothes, pooling around you. you breathe laboriously as you stare up into the sky, drops of rain drizzling down around you. your leg is broken. your ankle swollen. an arm dislocated. and you think you're going to die there as that enormous curse chatters below, circling about the building with large claws sinking into the infrastructure, clambering its way back up to get to you, to finish the job.
tears dribble down the side of your face from the corner of your eye as you focus on your breath, into remaining conscious, into stopping the blood. you're alone, cold, drenched, and your state is no one's fault but your own. your muscles are sore, body aching, and pain shoots from every single point of movement as you try to twitch your fingers and wiggle your toes to keep some part of you alive and warm.
and while you try to concentrate solely on staying alive, the voice in your head repeats the same mantra. the same dreadful reminder.
you couldn't do it.
you could not take on a special grade job. you could not surpass your own strength, or yuki's, or even yuta's, the boy half your damn age. you could not press forward. you could not prove yourself worthy of a promotion, because you are not worthy of one.
you're plain, ordinary, and weak, everything that your boyfriend is not. and instead of serving as a pillar for his strength, instead of mirroring it, you shrink in his expanding shadow. adding nothing to his life but pity and worry.
you should just die here. perhaps he'd be better off. perhaps the whole of jujutsu society would.
instead, however, like the worldly savior your boyfriend is, he teleports to your very location the moment he learns that you've run off and taken on a job unfit for you all on your own. the twenty eight year old was ready to chew out yuki and eradicate the higher ups alike, despite them having been unaware of your secrecy with your significant other. he doesn't care. what he cares about is the sight of you, limp on the roof in the rain, losing blood, losing life.
alone.
while shoko could have been able to assist you with your injuries using her technique, the woman was abroad during the time of your incident, leading you to be treated in a hospital. like some throwaway patient. like an unremarkable human being.
satoru is there at your side every step of the way, from the moment you go into surgery until the moment you are settled into a sterile bed post op, with bandages and braces keeping you intact...
and an obscene amount of opiates to numb the pain.
oxycodone is what you're prescribed. fifteen milligrams.
in the tornado of shame that swallows you whole from the pit in your chest as satoru holds your hands tight over your lap, stroking your hair and kissing every open patch of skin graciously, thanking whatever being who stepped in on his behalf for keeping you alive when he was not around, it is not satoru who keeps you from sinking, but the buzzing, blurring effect of painkillers nipping away at your emotions. breaking down your ability to think, to feel. physically. emotionally.
your self hatred shrinks into a small dot in the back of your mind and your senses go quiet. you can hardly keep your eyes open as the world mellows and your head ducks underwater. for the first time, there is nothing nagging at you, clawing away as a reminder that you have never felt more miserable in your entire life, that you have never wanted to rid this world of your plague upon sorcery existence more than in the aftermath of your stupid, insatiable appetite for strength.
instead, the warmth of satoru's touch seeps into your skin, then spreads about your body like some internal fluid. your damp lashes brush against your cheek as you blink, attempting to seek some kind of grip on reality. you find, however, that when you allow the sensation to take over you, you don't have to worry about anything anymore. not how weak you are. not how you still shamefully cling to human life despite being undeserving. not how you wish satoru would stop pretending like he loves you, like he is not embarrassed by you.
no. here, under the blanket of hourly drug intake and the gentle, enhanced kiss of satoru's presence, you are finally at temporary peace.
and you cling to that blanket like it's your lifeline.
months down the line, after shoko has returned and managed to nurse you back to full health with rct, satoru keeps an impeccably sharp eye on you. mainly because he's worried. ever since that mission you foolishly took without telling him, you've been off. more reserved. hesitant to speak, to ask for things, to even touch.
he had been angry with you at first for going behind his back to take on a mission that was never meant for you to take. satoru doesn’t like lies or secrets, especially if they come from you, and he was honestly shocked that you had jumped through so many hoops to keep him in the dark.
but satoru learns everything when it comes to you. there's nothing you can keep from him without him first suspecting it beforehand or discovering it within a short amount of time. these revelations are always first founded by a suspicion, an inkling in satoru's mind that has yet to fail him.
his anger quickly subsided, however, as your wellbeing took precedence. it always does. satoru's greatest fear is losing you, letting you slip through his fingers, and that day, he almost did. he does not intend to let something like that happen again. ever.
he does not mean to, but in the following months, he suffocates you like a parent would their child. he doesn't let you go on missions alone after he's finally agreed to let you back in the field, having forced you on the bench for a good while as your body recovered.
you've never seen him reign upon you so strictly before.
he knew you were angry with him. angry at the world. angry at yourself. he took your anger without complaint, for it needed to go somewhere. after all, you'd lost a part of yourself that day to your wrecklessness, to the brutal smack of reality to the face. he does not blame you for the array of emotions you feel, nor how they target those who weren't even involved.
but anger, he expected. sadness, he expected. he's held you as you cried yourself to sleep, stood firm as you pushed hard against his chest, begging for an answer, for someone to tell you why you just aren't good enough. kissed affirmations and praises into ears unwilling to listen. he's been there with you. he's anticipated the negative, the influx of so before you got better mentally after healing physically.
it's the... other behaviors he's noticed in you that he hasn't expected. behaviors that are starting to scare him as more time goes by.
you don't show up to work anymore. you claim that it's the pain keeping you away, but it is clear that you don't want to be seen in the school environment. you don't want to be associated with the reminders of what you can not do or bring to the table, to the kids in need of proper mentorship. work brings about too many negative memories, too many thoughts of hopelessness and inferiority. you claim to be resting, but you disappear for hours while satoru is at work.
he covers for you, passionately arguing in favor of your health, but he can only protect you from the responsibilities of your occupation for so long.
after all, you're (y/n) (l/n). a grade one, well esteemed sorcerer of the jujutsu world, against your own opinions. after some time, satoru's words are not enough to substitute your frequent absences from work.
you swiftly become flaky outside of jujutsu high as well. you dodge satoru's calls, picking up later to tell him that you were too busy sleeping, that you hadn't seen his texts or heard his multiple calls.
satoru knows you're lying. but he doesn't know why.
still, he smiles through the phone and tells you not to worry as though everything is alright. as though you aren't unraveling before his eyes.
the ivory haired man would have first suspected cheating if he didn't know you so damn well. while your absences and dodginess is strange, satoru watches your every move like a damn hawk. close enough to know that you exhibit no signs of an unfaithful partner. no late nights out. no strange texts or calls from unknown numbers. no secret giddiness. just a woman attempting to piece herself back together after a traumatic experience.
after all, you don't possess the energy needed to juggle two lives. in fact, you've become sluggish. muddled. slow.
your speech is soft and mumbly when you talk to him. you often space out, forgetting where your train of jumbled thought was leading you.
and those eyes of yours, once hard with grit and passion, have gone dull and grey. you blink slowly, looking around and up at him like you are in some permanent daze. like you're constantly mere minutes away from falling asleep.
you're back on your feet by the time satoru notices these symptoms persist. you have long surpassed the amount of time needed to recover and heal. in other words, your body should be operating as normal. but it's not.
you've dropped a few pounds. your lips are always stretching to release long, drawled yawns that seem to never cease. you're jumpy, your anxiety heightened. satoru can no longer teleport within a few meters of you, for you will jolt with a fear and shock that should be reserved for more dangerous situations.
satoru can see it on you, can smell that something within you has chemically shifted, that something other than your trauma from your near death experience is wrong.
he feels at some point that he is living with a stranger, a shell of his love, and he does not understand the reason behind it. he’s begun to actively mourn you as he watches you swallow yourself in self inflicted darkness, letting some deep depression drag you further into your mind. satoru will watch you when he thinks you aren't looking - when you're taking your third nap of the day by noon or staring off into space from where you sit wobbly on the couch. a frown etches into his lips, his heart aching at the melancholy sight of you.
he feels guilty somehow, like he is responsible for this. for the vanish of your smile, the awkwardness of your bodily function - how you tend to sway and almost lose balance when you go to stand up. the emptiness in your gaze, your flatness, your loss of motivation to do anything.
where is his happy girl? the woman who always woke up before sunrise to get a head start on the day? the woman who wouldn't have dared to miss a single day at work, prioritizing the kids' safety and education above all else? the woman who always greeted satoru with a big hug and a loving kiss, the woman who never left the house or parted ways with her boyfriend without telling him that she loves him? the woman full of life, full of hope, bold and brave and impossibly headstrong?
he does not know the woman that stands in your place, idle and dim. and it kills him to know that something is wrong, but not what.
his six eyes capture the slowing pace of your heartbeat. when he asks you if you're okay, if you're feeling well, you roll your eyes or snap at him, telling him to stop asking the same question over and over.
it does not even feel like you love him anymore, unless you are asking him for money. and usually, he's so willing. showering you with his riches like it's nothing, as you are entitled to his worldly possessions as the woman he loves.
but now, it feels wrong. like you're using him. like you'll be taking his money and putting it toward something detrimental.
nevertheless, he still gives in. how can he not? he's never denied you before, so how could he begin to deny you now?
it isn't until one day, when he decides to trail you after you vaguely told him that you were going on a walk and did not want any company, that he decides to snoop around more than he already has. keeping his distance upon rooftops, he follows you from above, watching as you make your way into a part of town that he's explicitly told you to stay out of - a part of town that you, as well as the whole of the city, knows to steer clear from.
he surveys with lips pressed tightly together, steely eyes, angled brows, and a heart in his throat. his tripled vision catches the way you duck into an alley where a figure emerges from a barred side door to drop a bag into your hand as you exchange a good chunk of satoru's money in cash.
on your way out, hurriedly, you discard the bag to reveal what looks to be an orange prescription bottle.
satoru's blood runs cold. his body freezes, and his heart drops from his throat to his gut within a few seconds.
you twist the bottle open to pop a few pills into your mouth, eyes wildly surveying the area to ensure no one sees you, before twisting the cap back on and shoving the bottle into your pocket.
it all pieces together.
your fatigue, your quickness to irritation, your suspension from your role as a teacher, your faint pulse, your glossy, spacey eyes. though you healed months prior, you never stopped taking your pain medication.
the oxycodone, one of the most addictive substances on this planet, prescribed to you for pain.
it looks as though you have been abusing it beyond your prescription. when yours ran out, you sought more.
satoru gojo pales with the realization. he has been watching his girlfriend suffer the consequences of a rather severe blooming addiction.
this isn't a curse. this isn't demonic possession, the energy of the damned manifested into physical form. the work of a greater, supernatural power.
this is a disease. a tragic human condition. a phenomena that the greatest sorcerer of the modern age is, unfortunately, unfit to treat. in the face of addiction, his title wilts and falls flat, for there is nothing that satoru gojo can do to combat this.
a hollow purple can not eradicate this. infinite void can not trap this. infinity can not protect you from it.
it has already taken you, and satoru fears the worst. that he won't be able to stop it. that you're too far gone. that he's lost you to something he should have picked up on when it first started.
satoru teleports home and waits for you on the couch, legs sprawled with his elbows resting against them, his heart pounding and his mind running restlessly.
how could he have been so blind? how could he have allowed this to happen? how could he, the strongest, have been so useless regarding the one person he can not live without, can not breathe without?
what should he say? how is he meant to help you? he needs to monitor the situation, to see just how bad it's gotten. he needs to look you in the eye, press you close, feel you and analyze you properly. you probably need to be seen by someone... and go to rehab, right? but, hell, satoru doesn't even know where to begin. he's horrified, that he'll offend you, that he'll hurt you, that you'll hurt him and tell him things you don't mean when he confronts you. you've already been snippy. he can only imagine how you'll react when he reveals to you that he knows.
the blue eyed man realizes he is out of time when the front door to your apartment opens, his ears ringing upon detecting the sound.
satoru immediately rises to his feet as you emerge from the door, palming your sweats as if you have been sweating or just recently discovered a smudge on your palm.
you blink lethargically, and jump slightly when you see satoru standing in the living room, expression blank, posture rigid.
you look around, closing the door slowly behind you. "...hey," you drawl, tone already somewhat skeptical.
you step in cautiously, and as you get closer, you see the red rims of your boyfriend's eyes. his bright hues are glassy, and a dent creases the skin between his brows as he looks at you, shed of his blindfold, gaze open and intense.
you swallow hard, for something deep in your gut tells you that nothing good can come from this look. the air feels tense and almost suffocating, and you pick up on what this is likely about to happen rather quickly, your nerves spiking.
the pills are still in your pocket. your eyes dart past satoru and to your room. you need to hide them.
"i'm gonna go pee," you murmur. you hurry to brush past him, rounding the counter through the living space, but satoru moves with you and steps in your way. you pause, stumbling back slightly as you look up at him. he can see the defensiveness bubbling in your heavy eyes, and he takes a moment to look at you - really look at you.
your eyes flicker about anxiously, but his gaze does not relent. he watches you carefully, detailing the fidgets of your fingers, your inability to look him in the eye though you were never one to shy away from eye contact before your accident.
"what?" you snap, already growing irritated.
satoru's frown deepens, watery eyes scanning over you. he presses pink lips together before parting them, taking in a breath that he does not intend to sound shaky. he holds out a hand between you, palm open. "give them to me."
your nose scrunches, your heart plummeting. "give what?"
"please, baby," his voice is hardly above a whisper, as though he is afraid that it will crack if he raises it any higher. "just give them to me. i don't want to fight with you."
you blink at him, refusing to look down at his offering hand. your brows pull together and your mind jumps through its drug induced haze to come up with an excuse, to fight back, to escape this situation by any means possible. "i don't know what you're talking about. i have to pee."
"(y/n)," satoru stops you again when you try to move around him. the muscles in your face tighten as you exhale with annoyance. "why are you lying?"
"i'm not."
"you've been lying to me for months."
"what could i have possibly been lying to you about, satoru? honestly, y-you're not making any sense. i told you a million times i have to pee, so i'm going to pee."
"i see you. i know you don't have to pee right now," he emphasizes, subtly alluding to his six eyes. "and i know you're hiding pills in your pocket."
the color drains from your body. in this moment, you don't see the man you love. you don't see the man who wailed upon finding your body, who clung to you so tight that it felt as though he was attempting to pour his own force of life into you through his chest. you don't see the snowy lashes that blink prettily at you past love dazed eyes, or the man who always rubs your back when you don't feel well, who always showers you with the assurances and affections that you never bestow upon yourself. you don't see the man you've been completely enamoured with since high school, who tugged you out of your dorm late at night to take you on walks around the campus, shoulders brushing and teases fluttering from his lips to poorly cover for the way his heart pounded in your presence.
no, instead, you see an obstacle. you see an enemy attempting to take away your only source of solace. an accusor. a reminder of all the things you want to forget.
you click your tongue and shake your head, a cynical laugh escaping you. "what pills," you scoff. "i don't take pills, satoru. not since i almost died, remember?"
"don't do this," he pleads softly, combating your bubbling aggression with meekness. "i'm begging you, pretty. work with me. talk to me. stop lying and just - just tell me why you've been doing this to yourself."
"i'm not doing anything to myself!" your voice goes high pitched.
"i can see the bottle, (y/n). i saw you."
"you saw-" you pause. "were you following me?"
"i-"
"wow," you drawl. "i shouldn't be surprised, should i? what, you think i'm some kind of fuck up that needs to be watched all the time?"
"no - stop saying stuff like that," gojo urges, stepping closer to you to brace our shoulders with his hands, those warm hands - the same hands that kept you alive in the rain. you grimace, stepping back and brushing him off, leaving him reaching for you, desperate. "you know that's not true. i'd never think of you that way. those are all things you think about yourself, and you're throwing them back at me."
"oh, please.
"you know i'm right."
"you're not. you had no right to follow me."
"what else was i supposed to do, (y/n)?" he stresses, craning his neck, eyes wincing. "you haven't been the same since that day, and i'm so fucking worried. when i touch you, you don't react. when i talk to you, it's like you're not there. you don't look me in the eye anymore, you don't go to work anymore, you disappear randomly throughout the day while i'm at work thinking that i won't know or notice, but i do. i notice everything. that's how i know something isn't right. that you aren't okay, and a part of it is because of that incident, but i know now that the real reason behind it is what you're keeping from me!"
he gestures to the lump in your pocket, and you are swift to turn and pace about the living room, head proceeding to shake as though satoru's words are so absurd. as if he couldn't possibly be anywhere near the truth.
satoru's nose flares and cheeks warm as he regards you, sadness swallowing him whole. "baby, you're sick."
you laugh out, whipping your head back to face him now as the coffee table before the couch separates the two of you. "sick? really? i'm sick?"
"why are you still taking those pills?" his voice mellows out.
"i'm not fucking sick, and i'm not taking pills, satoru! what pills are you even talking about?" you throw your arms up, pacing frantically back and forth. "you're just making up shit-"
"you're six months post-op. your prescription was supposed to run out indefinitely four and a half months ago. why are you still taking them?"
"i'm fucking not."
"who the hell is giving them to you?"
"no one!"
"then what's in your pocket?"
"nothing!"
"show me."
you laugh again, eyes widening. "what?"
"you heard me," he says flatly, eyes hard. "empty your pockets and show me. if there's nothing there. if you aren't lying."
silence swallows you as you struggle to process his words, to come up with a counter argument, to find a way out of this. but how can you? your boyfriend sees everything, and now that he's discovered the truth, he's not going to let you run away from it.
still, you try. you'd rather die than face this reality, this grief, what you've been doing to satoru subconsciously through your heavy opioid dependence.
"fuck you, satoru."
he ignores the sting, the way your words penetrate his heart like a knife sheathing through flesh. "show me what's in your pocket," he repeats.
"no," you hiss. "if you can't trust me and my word, then we need to be having a completely different conversation about our relationship."
"i don't trust you," he confesses. "how can i when you're still blatantly lying?"
"great. after ten years, you don't trust your girlfriend. real nice, satoru. perfect. you might as well just tell me you don't want to be with me."
"do you hear yourself? do you hear the way you're talking? in those ten years, (y/n), never once have you acted like this. why do you think i don't trust you now? i know you. i know that this isn't you."
"if you really knew me you'd know that i can't fucking stand it here anymore. and it's not because of fake fucking pills, it's because of this entire place - because of you."
his breath stutters. "you don't mean that."
"oh, i do mean it," you smile widely, almost manically. you inch back toward him with an accusing finger pointed, and he stands and watches. taking it. "you ever wonder why i always put myself in reckless situations when i was a sorcerer?"
"you are a sorcerer-"
"it's because i couldn't stand the thought of living another second with the fucking strongest sorcerer of the modern age. because i hate waking up every morning next to a daily reminder of everything i could never be - i'd have much rather died and put myself in harm's way than see your stupid, perfect fucking face taunting me every minute of every day. telling me i'm weak. telling me i'm a fucking joke."
transparent pearls glimmer in satoru's icy eyes. he fights the urge to blink, to let weakness reveal itself in the trail of a tear down his cheek, for you'd only use those tears as leverage in this state.
he knows what you're doing. satoru may not know much about addiction, but he understands enough to determine that you are trying to hurt him in order to turn attention away from yourself, from the lifeline you latch onto.
he can see it in your eyes. you're not there. not really. you're scared, you're grieving, you're protecting yourself in the only way the drugs in your system know how to. there's a chemical imbalance within you, pinning you against satoru, painting him as the villain when he just wants to help you.
it hurts. it hurts more than hell to see you like this, to hear your pretty voice antagonize him so.
"i should have died that day," you stretch out your arms, laughter bubbling in your voice. "i fucking wish i died that day."
"don't say that," satoru murmurs. "please."
"but i do! and you kept that from happening. you pulled me back into this permanent fucking reminder that i'm not shit. that i can't do shit. that i will never be shit. if you really knew me, if you really loved me, you would have left me to die there," you chuckle. "but you didn't. you selfishly clung to me. again. just like you always do."
satoru gazes down at you as you approach him, now inches away with heat radiating from your body. your breathing is heavier, as if you are out of breath, and your pupils are blown.
his pretty girl. what have these pills done to you? what has this life - your mind - done to you?
through the blurry haze of tears, satoru stands tall before you, serving as the strength that you so clearly need to the very best of his ability. your words hurt, but what hurts more is to listen to how you've longed for death, seeing how these pills have enhanced the bad thoughts.
he understands now.
they were the only thing numbing your depression. what you don't realize, however, is that the pills are only making it worse.
completely out of his element, satoru resorts to the only thing he knows.
"i love you," he breathes.
he sees the brief twitch, the flicker of emotion that bleeds through your cruelty as you roll your eyes. "sure you do."
"i love you more than anything, (y/n)."
"stop fucking lying to me."
"i'd never lie to you," he says softly, voice thick with sadness. "i know you're hurting. i know that you've been beating yourself up since that day. you were always hard on yourself before, but that incident made it so much worse. i know."
"you don't know shit, satoru."
"i know that you're the most incredible woman i've ever met. i know that you challenge yourself to get better, even though you're already damn good. i know that's the real reason why you put yourself in dangerous situations. you hate yourself, but you want to prove yourself-"
"-could you just shut up please? -"
"i know that you're the kind of woman who would do whatever it takes to help the people she loves. i know that you love me because i've seen and felt your love for years. i know i don't make everything you feel easier, and i'm sorry, but i know that past that, you care. you're mine and i'm yours and not even this will change that."
"you're wrong. i hate you."
"i know you're saying that because you don't want to face the truth. because you don't want me to see this part of you. you wanna push me away, but i won't let you," he urges. "yell at me. fight. hit. scream. i don't care. i will always be here to tell you who you are, and to bring you back from whatever darkness is taking over you. because i love you. because you'd do the same for me."
"i mean it, satoru. stop fucking talking."
"be mad at me all you want. i'm not moving an inch or letting you go anywhere until i see what's in your pocket. until you can tell me. until you let me help you. there's nowhere you can run. nowhere you can hide. not from me. i see it now. i'm sorry i didn't before, but i see it, and i won't let you slip away. i'm gonna help you. i'm going to be there for you through every single moment. i won't let you go. not over this. not over anything. i know who you are, baby. you may have forgotten, but i'm here to remind you."
overwhelmed, you go to push past him again, but it's no use. satoru is a formidable wall with expert reflexes and unbridled power that he still subdues for your sake.
god, you can't stand it. you can't stand how he won't turn the other way and let you go.
"get the fuck off me," you push against him as his arms graze your middle to kept you in front of him, to keep you from running away. he doesn't move, and you grow panicked. "get off!"
"i don't want to take them from you by force. please, just work with me. please."
"i don't have anything - get off, get off!"
"you're breaking my heart, (y/n), please. i love you."
the situation escalates. your light pushes transition into firm punches to his abdomen as you writhe around in his hold, thrashing to get away though he keeps you steady and still by your hips. you grunt and pant, pushing and pushing, and satoru can not take it anymore.
he ducks down and wraps you up tight, clinging to your body firmly with his nose tucked into your neck. his embrace is desperate, his body trembling against you as you continue to struggle. his eyes scrunch tightly, tears finally rushing past his lashes, and he presses you closer.
"i love you," he whimpers into your skin, a broken plea for you to return to him, to stop fighting. "i love you, please let me help you. please."
as you fight against him, the longer satoru holds you to him, you are further forced to face the reality of your circumstances. how long has it been since you last hugged satoru like this? you honestly can't remember.
the only source of comfort you recall derives from those pills, and this contrasting, authentic contact disrupts your flow of dopamine. face pressed against his chest, you can smell his clean scent. the whisps of his white hair tickle your nose. his muscles flex around your body, tightening and tightening in that snug, secure way satoru always holds you.
you don't feel the tears that sting your eyes as satoru murmurs his affections like a mantra, over and over again into your ear so that he is sure you can hear. "i hate you," you croak repeatedly in an attempt to overpower his love and honesty, but you can't. his voice is louder. his hold is stronger.
his love seeks to ground you while you continue to try to fly away.
"i don't want you to die, baby," he huffs into you. "i don't want to come that close to losing you. not again. i can't do it again. i need you. i need you to be okay. i'll do anything. just please. please, please, please."
"toru, let go of me," you huff, lips wrinkling into a trembling frown. you don't want to feel this. your hand itches to reach for the bottle - the bottle you're not supposed to have, but satoru just holds you tighter, hoping, praying. "please, just let go," you snivel.
"i never will," he grits into your skin. "never. i love you."
you cringe. "i-"
"i love you."
you don't like this discomfort, this pain that bleeds through your high. you want it all to go away. you want it to stop. you can't think about how much you love satoru. you can't think about how you've abandoned your life purpose.
not about how worthless you feel.
not about how you yearn for eternal quiet. for those voices to go away.
these pills are the only things that substitute death, that keep you alive.
satoru could never understand that, but against your best wishes, he won't stop until he does.
so he holds onto you as your body goes limp in his embrace. tears dribble down your skin as you stare off emptily past his shoulder. you let him cling to you, let his hand inch toward your pocket, for you know that when this is all over, you'll just go back. you'll just buy more.
satoru knows you will. but he doesn't care how much it takes, if you have to hate him in order to get better, if he has to chase you down to the very ends of the earth to save you.
you will not succumb to this addiction. he just won't let you.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
hiromi higuruma: caffeine addiction!
hiromi does not remember the last time he's seen you without a damn can of redbull in your hand, or propped up on your desk, or crushed in a little pile on the floor at your bedside.
the dark haired attorney surely is not one to judge, for he has no room to. he starts every day with a cup of pitch black coffee, the only thing that revives him from a sleepless night and keeps him running throughout the day.
even so, he drinks it out of necessity. he is not a particular fan of the bitter taste, nor the way it lingers on his tongue, but it's a small price to pay for a long shift of alertness, in which he is expected to balance a million and one tasks simultaneously.
he does so with ease, by the way. that aspect of his job has never posed an issue to the efficient thirty something year old.
still, on his off days, which are few, or days where he is able to rise just a few hours later from bed after a rather successful trial, he doesn't touch coffee. in fact, the very sight and smell of it reminds him of the misery that the earlier part of the week has dragged him through. the computer screen that blares in his eyes through darkness. the twitch in his brow as his eyes cross over the same photographic evidence for the umpteenth time in the row, sweeping over the photos to ensure that he has not left a trace unaddressed, unseen, unnoted. it reminds him of long shifts spent away from you, out of your reach, deprived of your warmth, your touch, your scent.
it reminds him of how he'd daydream of you just to get through the day, returning home to you set as the seemingly impossible goal to be achieved only when he has finished all of his tasks.
oh, and coming home to you truly is a reward.
hiromi shuffles in at some ungodly hour, shoulders tense with the weight of the day's burdens, eyes heavy and neck stuff. he tugs angrily at his tie for encircling his neck so tightly, as if he hadn't asked you to adjust it as so that very morning.
his only saving grace is the sound of excited steps that grow louder. despite the late hour, you always carry such a pep in your step when hiromi returns home. and at first, your chocolate eyed boyfriend would brush aside your energy at such a strange hour and drop his briefcase to the floor to open his arms lethargically to you.
clad in cotton pajamas, you skip over to him and jump, throwing your arms tightly around his neck as he catches you by your waist, unfazed but content.
he turns his nose into your hair and lets his eyes fall closed as all the stress from the day melts away, dissipates into thin air the very moment your bodies touch. he breathes you in, veiny hands firm to the small of your back, and a low hum floats into his exhale.
he savors these moments of calm, where his mind can fall quiet for just a second as the love of his life pulls back press eager kisses over his face. the corner of his mouth pulls upward lazily, and he finally manages to catch you gently by your chin to guide your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss.
and that's when he tastes the remnants of artificial peach on your mouth. when you part, his mind activates once more to look over you. you're beaming with bright eyes, bouncing on the balls of your feet in that jittery way that always results in your excessive consumption of caffeine.
he pulls away from you with that knowing, chastising look on his face as you feign obliviousness. you elect instead to start helping him out of his jacket, jumping to move behind him and shed the stiff fabric from his shoulders. his eyes, against your poor attempts to escape, follow you. his trained mind details the signs again: the frequent twitch of your fingers, the buzzing air about you, the quickness with which you move as if you are in a hurry.
you don't even notice it anymore yourself, the way caffeine has been affecting you as of late.
it's not as though your job demands the same things that hiromi's does of him, as he is expected to be ready to jump to his office at all times of the day, rain or shine, dawn or dusk. that is the responsibility he knowingly signed up for, amongst a hundred others he can not begin to name without getting a headache.
he swears he loves what he does. he really swears it, but that passion does not negate the explicit hardships of his labor, the frustrations that come with the ebbs and flows of what should be guaranteed justice.
nevertheless, you know that his job's expectations surpass yours by a landslide. after all, you're dating hiromi higuruma, one of the top most well-esteemed defense attorneys in the country. you know what he sacrifices just to show up at work every day, and you are always there to support him and catch him when he damn near collapses through your front door.
even so, hiromi's world does not overshadow yours. you have your own individual motivations, your own responsibilities, your own occupation, your own money that hiromi absolutely abhors you using. and in truth, while you may not need to be up before the sun or remain at work long after it has gone down, caffeine has truthfully always been a prominent part of your diet.
solely because around fifteen years ago, you discovered that it gives you the boost of energy needed to accomplish as many tasks as you possibly can within a very short period of time.
hiromi found, long ago, that you are an over achiever just like him. that trait of yours is one of the many, many reasons why his heart dragged him back to you, longed for you, cast him under a spell of love that he can not and will not break free from.
on top of work, you nurture your hobbies routinely. paintings you commission for the joy of it, constructed in that spare room in the basement hiromi helped you turn into a small studio. you keep a strict exercising routine, keeping up with your physical health at least four times a week. you cook almost every meal that you share with your boyfriend, seeking to experiment with new recipes whenever you can. you have a blog, you occasionally watch the neighbors dogs, you challenge yourself to read a new book every other week and -
you have so many goals and interests that have been a part of your life for so long, for the sake of bettering yourself and keeping up with your creativity, that you need something to keep you motivated and alert so that you don't fall behind on your own deadlines.
you're a bit manic in that way, much like hiromi. he figures that is why you make such a perfect pair, why he's already got the ring you want picked out for the day he inevitably proposes.
and with those similarities come the shared bad habits. the excessive ambition, the perfectionism, the lacking sleep.
while hiromi copes with so through practice and familiarity, you do with caffeine. you always have. and though hiromi could accept it to an extent, he's beginning to worry for your health.
in a day, you drink at least five cans. five. over 500 milligrams of caffeine a day.
what's worse is the fact that hiromi isn't around enough to monitor your caffeine intake. he can give you a warning in the morning before he leaves, text you reminders throughout the day to take it easy, interrogate you when he gets back home - for you should not still be awake, and so lively, in the middle of the damn night, but none of those things are enough.
he can't see you. he can't watch you. he can't physically restrict you. you would have to do so yourself, and you're so deep into your addiction, that self realization is not going to occur any time soon.
which means it is, undeniably, hiromi's responsibility to put his foot down.
"sweetness," he starts slowly. you know that tone, and you swallow nervously.
"hm?" you hum innocently, freeing hiromi of his sleeves and folding his jacket over your arm. he turns to face you, hand reaching for yours. you extend it, and he clasps it softly, stabilizing the soft tremble in your limb.
"you're shaking again," he says under his breath, an observation he makes to both you and himself. tired eyes wander you, catching the way you try to suppress your body's habitual, hyper movement. you manage to focus your attention into stilling your arms, but you quickly swift to shifting back and forth on your feet, completely unable to keep still.
hiromi sighs, meeting your eyes knowingly. you flash him a bashful smile, only registering that he is waiting for your body to calm down a few seconds into his staring. you look down at your own feet, then back up at him. "oh, sorry. didn't realize," you breathe out, a giggle slipping into your words.
"(y/n)," he starts.
"yes?" you squeak.
he squeezes your hand gently. "how many did you drink today?"
"how many what?' you raise your brows. it only takes one look from those sharp chocolate eyes to make you yield. "okay, okay. sorry. um - " you shrug awkwardly, looking to the ceiling with a squint. "not that many."
"i'm asking for a number."
"just one."
"try again."
"fine. three."
"one more time."
you groan. hiromi can not help but to smile lightly at your, knowingly, very poor attempts to deceive him. he's a lawyer after all, and he's madly in love with you. it's cute of you to think that he, of all people, would let you off the hook so easily.
but that's what makes it funny. you don't think you can get away at all. so why you even tried it, he's not entirely sure.
after a bit more shifting, hiromi's other hand moving to hold your waist, you yield bashfully. "...don't get mad."
"i won't get mad," he says, earnestly. "frustrated, yes. but never mad. not at you."
you whine. "hiro..."
"go on. tell me. it's okay."
"it's not okay, you're gonna be upset."
"honey, you're stalling. just tell me so we can both go to sleep, alright? you shouldn't be up at this hour anyway."
you frown, and with a long exhale, you finally give in. "i had... six."
the pale skinned man isn't surprised. instead, he just sighs something exasperated, closing his eyes momentarily to bow his head in thought. your leg bounces with anticipation, arm anxiously clutching his suit jacket as he releases your hand.
"i'm sorry," you say hastily.
"i'm not sure why you're apologizing to me," he frowns, lifting his gaze again. "it's your health that's of concern, here. not mine."
"i mean... i'm sorry for not listening," you say softly. "i know you tell me all the time to slow down, and i usually do, but i couldn't help it today. i really really needed to get this one piece done for a client."
"and that had to be done in a rush?"
"well, i wanted it done on time."
"on time, to you, means something entirely different from anyone else's understanding of it," he lectures. "that's too much, (y/n). i've told you this."
"but, hiromi, i promise you i'm okay. seriously, my body is used to it."
he lifts a brow, then proceeds to grab your wrist and lift it back into the air, beholding your shaky fingers. "just because your body is used to it does not mean it isn't reacting to or fighting it. i've told you over and over this isn't healthy."
"i know, but-"
he brings the back of his hands to your face, feeling over your forehead. "and you're warm."
"it's just warm in here."
"you're warmer," he argues. you slump as he proceeds to feel over your neck, searching for your pulse as if he's a doctor and not a damn lawyer. "high blood pressure - hypertension, which leads to stroke and heart attack-"
"that stuff isn't gonna happen to me, baby," you try to console, gently brushing his hands away. they only round back, finding your cheeks as his palms hold your face.
"you don't know that," he urges, sternly, eyes staring directly into yours. "you don't know what could happen. underestimating the risks is what always leads to some kind of danger."
"i've made it this far," you tell him. "it's been, like, fifteen years since i started drinking energy drinks, and i'm fine."
"you're not fine. you're shaking and talking a mile a minute in the middle of the night. i've found you like this almost every day when i've come home this past month. it's gotten worse. you need to slow it down with the caffeine, if not cut it all out completely."
you chuckle as if this is a joke, taking this all far too lightly for his taste. "hiromi, i wouldn't get anything done."
"maybe that wouldn't be a bad thing for you for a little while."
"okay," you laugh softly again, stepping out of your boyfriend's hold. his hands drop to his sides as he kicks off his shoes, eyes glued to you through every moment of motion. "really funny. that's rich coming from you - mr. do-it-all himself."
"that's different."
"different how?" you quirk a brow, propping a hand up on your hip. hiromi bends over to arrange his shoes against the door, next to your work heels, before rising to turn back to you. "i know i'm not a big time lawyer or anything, but we work just the same."
"yes, but you shouldn't have to," he sighs, rubbing the space between his brows. "it's different because you have a choice. i don't."
"you chose this occupation just like i chose mine."
"and yours allows you time to breathe. time for yourself, which you should have."
"then why don't you?"
"this-" he pauses, reaching to unbutton his shirt with a sigh. "this isn't about me. i'm concerned about you. i think you need a break."
"from what? the caffeine or my personal stuff?"
"if you say you can't accomplish anything without the former, then perhaps you should step away from all of it for a bit."
your smile fades. "hiromi, i love everything i do outside of work."
"i know you do. but if you love it all so much, you shouldn't treat it all like a competition against yourself. you can do the things you love without rushing through it all. and you should learn to enjoy it without having to drink six hundred milligrams of caffeine."
"well when you put it like that, it sounds crazy."
"...it is a bit crazy, (y/n)."
"i'm not gonna have a stroke, okay? i don't even have hypertension."
"have you been to the doctor as of late?"
"no... but-"
"then how would you know?" you can hear hiromi growing more concerned, his mind actively discovering more possible consequences of excessive caffeine intake the longer he looks at you. "maybe we should schedule you an appointment."
"hiromi," you lift your hand to his shoulder, brows lifted. "i'm fine. i promise."
"you're still shaking. you're not fine."
"i'm done with the redbulls for the day. i swear."
"of course you are. it's two in the morning."
"hiro, look," your hand lifts to the side of his face. he looks down at you, frustration and worry swarming in his dark eyes, a firm pinch between his brows and a curve in his bowed lips. "i'm sorry i've made you worry. i know you've had a long day, and this is something extra on top of everything you already have on your mind."
"you're the only thing that matters when it comes to all of those things.”
guilt nips at you in that moment as you take in his expression, and you sigh. "i'm sorry," you say again, more earnestly this time. "i'll give it a break. i won't drink any more for a week. how's that?"
he turns to kiss the inside of your palm, blinking slowly. "a week isn't long enough. you've been drinking those things every day since you were in high school."
"two weeks then." he throws an exasperated look at you. "and i will take it slow with all my other work."
"(y/n), you've said this before."
"but this time i mean it," you pout. "i don't like stressing you out more than work already does. really, for your sake, i'll work on it."
and that's where hiromi knows that you're already going about this incorrectly. that you're choosing him as a motivation, and not yourself. not your health.
"come on, honey," your hand traces down his arm to grab his hand and lead him to your staircase. "let's head to bed."
hiromi wants to argue about this matter more, for he knows that you're taking advantage of his exhaustion, but he is ashamed to admit that his sock-padded feet shuffle across the floor along with you, allowing you to lead him to the comfort and sanctuary of your bedroom.
he swears, this is how you always get him. with gentle kisses and limbs entangled beneath your sheets, soft fingers massaging his temples, lulling him to sleep with his face to yours and head sunken into your pillows.
"i'm scheduling a doctor's appointment for you at the end of the week," you hear him murmur in the midst of your fingers threading through his hair. you stiffen momentarily, and hiromi notices despite the lies you tell yourself.
"i don't need to go to the doctor," you whisper.
"you do," he responds plainly after a long moment of silence, his eyes closed as he drifts between consciousness and dreaming. "you're going."
that is the last thing your boyfriend says before he succumbs to slumber, leaving you to reel in your anxiety.
you don't want to go to the doctor. you've purposefully avoided the doctor for years, fearing the worst. refusing to bear witness to the potential dangers you've been pushing your body into.
you don’t want to think about it.
but you know hiromi. he does not play about about two things in his life: his work and you.
and you always come first, no matter how many hours he spends in his office. no matter how busy he gets. you’re his main priority.
therefore, you know he won’t let you get out of this easily. hell, he won't let you get out of this at all.
the following morning, hiromi rises before you as usual. in the haze of light sleep, as you've been significantly struggling to get a good night's rest lately, you hear him approach from behind, the stiff shuffle of his suit resonating throughout the otherwise silent space.
he cranes down over you, pressing his lips soundly to your temple, his hand resting on your thigh. "i love you. be good," he mutters.
your eyes shoot open the second he loves, and you sigh as the restlessness to accomplish something immediately takes over.
when you open the door to your pantry about half an hour later, having traveled down to the kitchen, your heart drops when you find that your stash of redbulls and celsiuses, every single flavor you'd managed to get your hands on, any further remnants of coffee that you don't even drink, have mysteriously vanished.
you groan, knocking your head against the doorframe.
you should have known that he'd get rid of it all. but so quickly? hell, it hasn't even been a full five hours since the previous night's conversation.
you thrum your fingers against the door frame and blow air loudly through your lips, contemplating. you know what you told hiromi. you said you'd reel it in, but what you really meant was that you'd reduce five to six redbulls a day to one to three.
how are you meant to just stop after caffeine has been a part of your daily routine for half of your life? how are you supposed to just go to work without that pick-me-up to get you through the first half of the day?
your heart jolts with the anxiety, the weight of your horrible sleep already sagging over your body like sacks of sand upon your back.
you can't possibly be expected to go through the day like this, right? let alone two weeks.
you don't think about the way hiromi looked at you and pleaded with you to prioritize your health as you rummage through other cabinets and drawers, searching for the remnants of something - anything. just one drink to wake you up, to make you feel less like a damn zombie rising from the dead.
you suddenly recall that you have a mini fridge in the basement, stocked in the corner of your studio. you rush down the stairs and around the corner with hope fluttering in your chest, only to find a bottle of water with a post-it note stuck to it instead of your extra stash of redbulls.
you slump back, shakily reaching through your tremors to clasp the bottle and bring the note closer to read.
stay hydrated <3
"motherfucker," you grumble.
your morning is horrible. you develop a rather bad headache that you feel straining in your eyes and in the back of your neck. you're lethargic, weak and void of any energy, trudging about your office with a permanent scowl over your face. in contrast to your ordinarily bubbly presence, a cloud follows in your wake, dampening your aura, leading others to steer clear from your path.
by noon, you feel sick. chills wrack your body, sweat beads your forehead, your stomach turns with the urge to throw up, but nothing is on your stomach. you haven't had an appetite for breakfast, and now that lunch has come around, the thought of consuming anything other than a crisp watermelon redbull makes you want to hurl over the toilet.
water isn't helping. nor is gatorade. you feel like you want to curl up into a ball and let emptiness sweep over you, for you're convinced that any gust of wind would be strong enough to blow you away in this state. you're a trembling, chattering, irritated mess, and you realize that if you feel like this going into only twelve hours without caffeine, you wouldn't last another day. certainly not seven.
perhaps this is a problem. perhaps your body has become too dependent. perhaps hiromi is right.
hell, do you have hypertension? is that way your head pounds every second your eyes meet bright lights? why your neck is so stiff when you sit upon your stool before a blank canvas, a phenomena you've continuously blamed on your posture? is that why you have to press your non-dominant palm flat to a surface while you're writing, to keep your calligraphy stable through the tremors of your hands?
you groan to yourself, burrowing your head in your hands at your desk as your coworkers disperse for lunch.
the scent of coffee stains the stale air and you sincerely consider getting up and grabbing yourself a cup, but coffee isn’t what you want. it isn’t what your body is wrongfully telling you that you need.
your knee bounces restlessly under your desk as you lift your head to glare at the clock. twenty five minutes for lunch left.
you swipe up your keys, forgetting your phone on your desk the very moment it lights up with hiromi’s contact as he calls, his lunch break having just started.
you’re already in your car, driving across the street to the nearest drug store to get your fix. you brush through the automatic doors and stomp straight to the drink fridge in the back.
you almost weep with relief when your hand clutches that cool, tall can. you don’t even wait to pay before your popping the can open, tossing your head back, and chugging the sugary energy drink.
immediately, you think you feel your brain rewire. your shoulders sag and you hum, downing half off the can before you decide to go pay - not before grabbing just one more can for emergencies.
with a newfound spring in your step, you strut out of the store with chest puffed and a soft smile gracing your features, renewed.
it isn’t until you’re driving back to work, entering the parking lot when you feel something… wrong.
your foot slams into the break just before the parking space you are about to back into, your body startled by the sudden clench of your heart. your face scrunches together in discomfort, your hand sliding to palm over your chest where it feels as though your primary organ is straining to pump blood, tightening your chest and leading you to gasp awkwardly. the inhale itself even brings pain.
the headache that you had believed to momentarily subside comes back with a vengeance, pounding angrily like a fist punching concrete. discombobulated, you duck your head over the steering wheel with a series of groans, your vision slowly blurring over and your skin growing excessively hot.
your hand flies to turn on the air conditioning, blasting it at the highest setting. the air roars loudly into your face, but it doesn't help. nothing helps. your heartbeat stutters over itself as if trying to remain in function, and your fingers dig into your blouse over your heart, your breaths suddenly hasty and pitched.
your head tosses back, whimpers of pain flooding from parted lips. in the haze of this strange reaction, your foot slips from the brake, and your car idles back down the slight slant it rests upon, swerving its rear almost carefully into the headlight of another van. you feel yourself jolt with the sudden, startling contact, the other car's alarm triggered on impact.
you hastily fumble to shift into park, but you can not think to do anything else as dark spots pepper into your vision. laborious breathing wheezes over the air conditioning, and you feel the breath dissipate from your lungs as you sink into a strange sleep.
little did you know, your dear boyfriend had taken the sliver of free time he had in his day to visit you during the remainder of your break, bearing gifts of more electrolytes and take out from your favorite place. he had called to check in on you as he made his way over, but your silence had sparked another concern within his mind.
his gut told him that something was off.
you're not there when he arrives, but he finds your phone carelessly left beside the mess of papers littering your work space. his brows draw together as he studies your desk, noting the clutter and the sloppy angle of your chair as if you threw yourself out of it.
then, comes the sound of a car alarm just outside.
hiromi tries to tell himself that he's only being paranoid when he rushes back out the double doors, that the sound is in no way correlated with you.
his fears, however, are unfortunately proven right as he rounds the corner to the back of your car kissing the front of another's, the alarm having been set off by you.
he drops the plastic back he's been carrying in his hand and sprints over to the scene, rushing to the driver's side with shrunken eyes and your name falling terrified from his lips.
his eyes go wide in horror when he discovers the vision of you convulsing behind the steering wheel. your eyes roll into the back of your head, lashes fluttering frantically over white glassiness. choked, strangled breaths crumple in your throat as you twitch, your jaw dangerously tight.
chills coat the entirety of the dark haired attorney's body, sheer terror striking him upon discovering such a sight.
you're seizing.
"(y/n)!" he bangs on the window, the only barrier keeping him from getting to you.
hiromi rips his jacket from his body and tosses it onto the pavement before pulling hysterically at the car door. it won't budge.
"fuck," he spits, instantly retorting to punching his fist into the glass. ignoring the strike of pain that greets his knuckles, he punches again, over and over as the window slowly begins to give way under the pressure of his merciless fist. first, a crack, then it spreads, and after the seventh punch, it finally shatters in a shower of shards at his feet and over your twitching limbs.
he works fast, reaching in to unlock and throw the door open. he brushes the glass from your body and unbuckles you. his eyes flicker to catch the sight of redbull in your cup holder, and his jaw clenches with a series of unidentifiable emotions.
but that redbull doesn't matter now. you matter.
he lifts you carefully out of the seat, supporting your head with the inside of his arm, tucking his other arm under your knees. your seizing progresses, and with trembling lips and shaken eyes, he eases you down before your car, resting your head atop of his suit jacket. he lies you flat first, then quickly remembers to manuever you to your side as you writhe and twitch rhythmically.
hiromi's eyes redden as he kneels beside you, resting a hand over your head as he fishes blindly for his phone from his pocket to call medical officials.
he hears his heart thrumming wildly in his throat and feels it clenching as he watches you with tormented, teary eyes. he swipes his other hand over his face, phone set beside him, as he tries his best to give you air, but stays close to murmur to you, speaking you softly through it all as he tells you that he's there. that you aren't alone.
he's not sure if you can even hear him or not, but he doesn't care. he keeps talking. to console you through unconsciousness, and himself through his panic.
the sound of distant sirens grows closer in proximity after a minute or two. hiromi gazes at you sorrowfully, stroking your hair as your seizing gradually slows down. your body transitions from violent twitching to stability, your limbs dropping to the ground limply, your jaw subtly relaxing.
your eyes blink open as an ambulance turns into your work parking lot, and the first thing that you see when your vision finally refocuses is the face of your boyfriend outlined by the glow of the sun behind him. it takes a moment for you to make out the features of his face, for your vision to fully capture the details.
hiromi breathes out shortly, heavily when he sees you wake up, an indescribable kind of relief taking over. a kind that he's never quite experienced until this moment. the kind that doesn't compare to the relief that floods him when he wins a particularly gruesome case, but the kind that brings his quivering soul back to life.
you're okay. you're alive. you made it through.
your mind is muddled. the invasion of a whooping siren just behind you, the blare of a car alarm, and the soft touch of your boyfriend's warm hands over your forehead work together to further discombobulate you. you don't know where you are. you can't seem to quite grasp the meaning of consciousness next, of what just happened.
muffled strangers' voices surround you, bleeding into the sound of your boyfriend's just above you. the direct clarity of his tone slowly opens your earshot, your hearing returning to you after a few moments of ringing.
but he's not talking to the first responders. he's talking to you. "my heart," you register his soft voice, the way he shudders through speech. you blink, staring up at him blankly. "a-are you alright? can you hear me?"
you don't answer verbally. you just look at him silently, unable to find the words. unable to think anything. he breathes out, ducking to kiss your forehead. "that's okay. just rest."
you hum a faint sound, one of approval or confusion, neither of you are sure. a blur of paramedics with stethoscopes, water, and blankets sweep around you, and before you can think, you're in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital, hiromi at your side clutching your hand in both of his tight, the notion of time completely meaningless.
hiromi doesn't even realize that his hand has been bleeding until he is approached with gauze and disinfectant, his knuckles raw, trailing blood down his veins.
when you arrive at the hospital, tests are run. hiromi makes sure of it, that nothing is skipped or brushed over. blood is sampled. you're poked and prodded and given liquids and iv. hiromi gets up and comes back frequently, calling to tell clients and coworkers that he's had an emergency, and for the foreseeable future, his assistant will oversee his responsibilities.
hours go by, and the diagnoses come. severely high blood pressure. 210/122. hypertension. a resulting seizure at just thirty two years old.
you've had far too much caffeine intake. enough for your life to have potentially been stolen.
you’re lucky it didn’t last any longer than three and a half minutes.
you can’t look at hiromi when the doctors speak to you. your trembling hand dampens in his hold, tears welling in your vision from the scare.
that was the very first seizure you'd ever had in your entire life, and it had felt like you were dying. you thought you were going to die. and all because you couldn't go a single day without a damn redbull.
hiromi watches nurses depart from your room after quite some time passes. his tired eyes turn back to you, expecting to find you asleep, but instead he's greeted with eyes sparkling with tears and a reddening nose. your head sinks into the plush pillows of your hospital bed, palms lying flat beside you as hiromi still holds your right hand. you stare ahead with knitted brows as your eyes silently glass over, and soon the sound of your sniffling comes.
the dark haired attorney melts with anguish, for you finally appear coherent enough to register the events of the day. he scoots his chair closer to your side, cups your hand with his other one and kisses it gently. he ducks next to kiss your cheek, resting his forehead against yours as you stifle whimpers and cries, shaking with emotion.
"i'm s-so sorry," you hiccup between his gentle, forgiving caresses. you shudder. "i'm sorry, hiromi. y-you did everything to - to prevent this, a-and i still just- just-"
"shh," he hushes you. "none of that now. we'll talk about that all later," he says soothingly.
you shake your head against his, squeezing your eyes tight as tears flow freely from your lashes. hiromi lifts himself to kiss the bridge of your nose, then pulls back to look at you up close, bringing one hand around your head to stroke your hair with his thumb, caging you in the comfort of his scent.
"you were right. i'm sorry," you blubber. "i just f-felt like shit, this morning, hiro. i couldn't do it."
"that was withdrawal, sweetness," he says. "you were going through withdrawal."
"fuck," you whimper through a breath, nose flaring. "i thought-"
"i know. it's alright. don't talk about that now," he interjects gently.
"i scared you," you look down at his bandaged hand over yours. "look at what i did to your hand..."
"you didn't do this. i did," he looks you in the eye.
"but if i wasn't in the car... if i hadn't gone, you wouldn't have had to do that."
"i would do a hundred times worse to make sure you're okay, (y/n). i would give my life for you."
"no. you shouldn't have to. i've been so fucking stupid."
"(y/n)," he says your name again. "i don't care about any of it."
"h-how are you not mad?"
"how could i be mad at you in this state? in any state?" he exhales. "i'm so happy you're okay. i'm happy you didn't have to go through that alone. i know it was scary, my love. i'm so sorry."
your nose wrinkles as you look at him, wrecked, confused. "why are you...? what are you a-apologizing to me for?"
"you shouldn't have had to go through that," the chocolate eyed man whispers. "i don't care what caused it. you should never have to suffer like that. i'm sorry."
you stare at him for a second more before bursting into tears. your shoulders jerk as you sob, and hiromi swiftly wraps you up, bringing you consciously into him to cry in his chest. your fingers cling to his shirt as he presses you into him, resting his lips against your head and closing his eyes as you cry away the shock, the horror that pairs with reality and humiliation.
"th-thought i was dead," he hears your muffled voice quiver into him. his heart cracks, and he holds you tighter. "i-i didn't know if i'd- i'd see you again."
"of course you would," he urges into you, eyes beginning to sting all over again. "i'll always be with you. i'll always be the first face you see when you're in any trouble. i'm here."
you cling to him tighter, a shaky mess. "i won't drink any more ever again," you wail. "i swear. i won't. i won't do it again."
for the first time, hiromi believes you.
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
choso kamo: weed addiction!
you were high when you met choso.
high when you went on your first date together, high when you shared your first kiss, high when you had sex for the first time, high when he officially asks you to be his.
no one truly bats an eye at it anymore, the foggy redness of your eyes when you walk into work with a dopey smile gracing your features. you've managed to master powering through the haze, functioning at a rather exceptional level despite being inebriated practically every second of every day.
perhaps that's why your coworkers don't bat an eye, why they willingly cover for you if the higher ups or yaga suspect that you are under some kind of influence. you accomplish your tasks so efficiently, so perfectly that it almost doesn't matter that you choose to do so after you've taken an edible or hit a pen or smoked just half of a blunt that you shower away before exiting your building.
you swear it doesn't negatively impact you in any way. you swear it makes you better, more grounded, more calm, more happy.
choso can vouch for you, technically. you have this pleasant air about you that is elevated whenever you get high. it took some explaining for choso to first understand what exactly marijuana is, as well as how and why you use it so often, but he believes you when you tell him that it's nothing crazy. that he shouldn't worry about something as harmless as weed.
at first, he believes you.
nevertheless, you are more bubbly when you're high. you're always grinning, wishing everyone you see a wonderful day, looking to the sky like it's some kind of miracle to be given the gift of sight to gaze upon that sheet of blue above you. you take interest in little, miniscule things, like the shower of sunlight through trees' leaves, how they shimmer and shade one another within the calm sway of the summer breeze.
you always remark about how beautiful the world is. even when you're mid battle, manipulating your cursed technique to eradicate the curses before you without so much as sparing a second glance, your eyes heavy and lidded and red, your cheeks rosy, your smile content.
you're sweet when you're high. you're a sweet person as is, but that quality is amplified tenfold. you become more affectionate, wrapping your arms tight around your brunette boyfriend's middle from behind, pressing your cheek to the curve of his spine and humming happily, nuzzling into him.
you'll kiss his cheek more casually throughout the day like it's nothing, hands bracing his arm or sliding around him to press your lips to his skin over and over. his face will flush, and he'll pull you in closer, never one to shy away from your touch, always too eager to embrace it, to give into it.
you're clingy, but not just with him.
with the students, for example, you become more emotional. you'll ruffle megumi's hair, pinch at yuji's cheek, wrap nobara up in a tight hug and coo about just how proud you are of all of them, how desperately you want them all to stay safe.
the students don't bat an eye or suspect a thing. you've always been like this.
but when you let gojo knuckle his fist to your hair with an arm thrown around you, or you eagerly share the remainders of your lunch with nanami having noticed that he had eaten very little, choso begins to find your friendliness only the slightest bit perturbing - as long as its displayed to others and not isolated solely for himself.
regardless, you're not a lazy high. you're not a rude high. hell, being high has become your true personality, as you're seen fried more often than you are sober, but because you don't cause trouble, because you're so kind, because of your true nature and how the fogginess of weed enhances so rather than dampens it, no one expresses concern to you. no one suggests that you should slow it down. no one even really notices it anymore, just how much you get high a day. especially when you use eye drops to clear away the redness and any possibility of suspicion.
but choso does notice it.
in the beginning stages of your relationship, the only true source he had regarding the effects of marijuana was you, and you swore up and down to him that you were fine, that despite weed being a drug, you weren't addicted or dependent on it in any way. how could you be? it's weed.
choso trusted you because he had no reason not to, for you seemed okay and coherent enough to function, therefore, he had no problem with it.
until he noticed just how often you got high.
and you get high every single day.
he'd asked you once if it was really okay to go and on without a break for sobriety, to breathe, to exist just as you are for at least a moment. you'd shaken your head at him with that bright smile that always shrinks your slim eyes, and told him that it didn't matter either way, that getting high every day didn't make any difference, didn't contrast in any way from getting high occasionally.
and that may be what you believe, but choso isn't entirely sure he buys it.
his instinct to believe all that you say dwindles a bit as time goes on, and as his rose-colored vision flickers to reality for just a moment. he decides, one day, to ask his brother if he knew anything about marijuana and its impacts.
"uh, no," yuji rushes out instantly, staring anxiously up at his brother with tight lips and wide eyes. choso sees a bead of sweet dot on the salmon haired boy's forehead, and he frowns. "okay, okay, one time! i tried it once,” he gives in without pressure.
"you're too young, yuji," the violet eyed half-curse begins to lecture, crossing his arms as though this whole ordeal had been a trap, an elaborate scheme to get yuji to confess to inappropriate drug use.
"i swear, i only tried it one time. it's like drinking a can of beer for the first time or sneaking into a casino to play..." the fifteen year old trails off, clearing his throat awkwardly under his brother's hard gaze. "a-anyway, why are you asking, bro? i swear i haven't gotten high since that one time. promise! besides, it's too distracting. i didn't really like feeling so foggy."
this catches choso's attention. "so it does make you feel foggy."
"well, yeah, that's the main thing it’s used for," the hazel eyed boy blinks, hand rising to his chin in thought as something dawns upon him. "oh yeah, you've never been high before, have you choso? you're not able to, right?"
"my genetic makeup doesn't allow it. i can't get drunk either," he explains distractedly. "going back to that foggy part... what is that like?"
"hmmm, how do i explain it," yuji slims his eyes. "it's kinda like, if you had a curse deployed against you that numbs your senses but heightens them at the same time. everything feels all slow and the world looks like whoaaaaa!"
choso tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "it makes you... slow?"
"no - well - it can. it more so just feels that way. and you get really hungry, and everything makes you laugh, and your mouth gets dry, and you pass out on the ground on the way back to your house and wake up at sunrise really confused," yuji trails off, clearly reminiscing a traumatic, weed-related moment that he shudders to remember. "it's not for me," he concludes with a nervous chuckle.
"it makes you pass out?"
"let me, heh, rephrase that," yuji chuckles. "if you have way too much of it in one sitting, it can."
"i see... is that what happened to you?"
"...i... can't remember," he lies horribly.
choso lets it slide. for now. "do you think you'd be able to fight curses like that?"
"like what? high?"
"mhm."
"hell no! maybe, i could technically, but i would never want to. even if i have gotten good at this, i don't like the idea of my focus being blurred by some buzz. i'd feel pretty paranoid that something bad would happen and i wouldn't react in time or even remember what to do."
"then, you don't suggest it?"
"maybe i would if we weren't sorcerers and worked at a mcdonald's or something," yuji shrugs. "but i definitely wouldn't suggest it in this occupation. that's like asking for something to go wrong."
yuji says so matter-of-factly, as if this is obvious, and choso sighs. "okay. i have one more question."
"shoot."
"why do you think... people get high?"
the tan skinned boy laughs at this as if the question is a hilarious joke. "sometimes it's to be social and hang out."
"but what if it's not social? what if you're doing it alone?"
"thennn... to forget? to not think. to just not be... i dunno, sober," yuji ponders. "i used to know some people who used it to feel better after bad days, or for anxiety, or to not feel sad. to chill. it all really depends."
choso contemplates. "to not be sober," he echoes under his breath.
yuji lowers his hands to his pockets, shifting on his feet. "you okay, bro? what's with all the weed questions?"
"i..." choso stops himself from being completely honest with yuji, though he ordinarily does not hide anything from him. but the brunette feels that this is a special occasion, that matters regarding you and a growing concern for your mental health aren't anything that his little brother needs to know about. especially since you work at the very school he attends. "...was just curious."
"that’s fair. who told you about weed?"
"um... yuki."
"oh. weird."
choso arrives at your apartment with his head spinning, gaze to the ground as thoughts swarm his head around you and your relationship with mairjuana. he thinks over what yuji said for the millionth time, how he mentioned that those experiencing sadness or seeking to escape reality often partake when they're alone. he then thinks about the risk of losing consciousness if you've had too much... and you do get high every day. but that doesn't count as one sitting, right? does it even matter, if the whole point is that you're using marijuana too often, regardless?
choso's not good with this human stuff sometimes, he feels. he wishes he could understand this better for you. he wishes he could try it just once, like his little brother who he still has to further chastise, to experience what you experience every day. to determine whether this is safe or not from his own exposure.
but he's caught the smoke that rises within your car through hefty inhalations before, and he's felt nothing. he'd watch as your speech slows, your eyes drooping, your body loosening, but he hasn't experienced those same symptoms. it's impossible for him to.
hence, his dilemma. he doesn't know what to do, who to listen to, how to go about telling you once more that he's worried without you dismissing him or distracting him, promising that everything is okayyyyy, as you so often say with the playful elongating of your vowels.
he doesn't want you to get upset with him, to think he doesn't have faith in what you say. he just wants to see inside your brain, to understand the way you operate, to help in any way if this hobby of yours is more detrimental than it is helpful.
but god, what yuji said about your shared occupations and roles in this world really stuck with him. despite you knowing how to function the majority of the time when you're high, yuji has a point. you still live in a world where you risk your life for the sake of humanity every day. a sorcerer's expectations are to remain alert, vigilant, quick on their feet, strategic.
how can anyone truly manage to do all of those things when they aren't sober? aren't of a clear head?
power and cursed energy can take you far enough on their own, sure. you're a talented sorcerer, a force to be reckoned with, but what happens if something goes awry? if safety and survival isn't guaranteed? if your environment shifts, if the curse count is miscalculated, if your talent alone is not enough to get you through?
how would being high help you then?
it wouldn't. choso knows that much.
if you were to ever get hurt because you weren't paying attention, because choso hadn't stepped in to get you to pace yourself, the brunette doesn't know what he'd do.
the faint scent of earthy weed intermingled with incense and your perfume wafts into choso's face as he proceeds into your space, dropping his keys on the counter as soft music echoes from the direction of your bathroom. he hears you humming along, in your own little element, and something tugs at his heart.
you're so happy like this. does he even have the heart to tell you he's worried, to take away what could possibly be saving you from sadness?
no, he should be the one saving you from sadness and helping to cheer you up. not some drug that makes people pass out.
choso walks slowly into your direction, following the sound of your voice. he passes cracked windows that flutter against sheer curtains, warm breeze filtering in to air out the space.
he rounds the corner to find you turning on your bedside lamp, just outside of the doorway to your connected bathroom. his soft eyes fall to the sway of your hips to the music, your back facing him, and he sighs, clenching his fingers nervously then releasing them.
you sense his presence behind you and whip your head around. a great beam spreads over your face, eyes deep red. and you look so breathtakingly beautiful, glowing in the peak of your high, freshly showered and moisturized, choso swallows down hard, finding whatever resolve he has to remain persistent and firm, to not let your charms swoop him up and veer his attention away from the elephant in the room.
"babyyy!" you raise your arms high, turning around to skip toward him. you connect your lips to his swiftly, dancing slightly into his arms as your own fall over his head and loop around his neck. you melt into him like sap, and the scent of your vanilla body wash and shea butter overlaying a thin hint of marijuana sends his heart into a stupor.
he kisses you first, electing to ask questions after. his lips chase yours when you pull back, and you lock your arms tighter around him, squishing his cheek into your lips as you kiss him loudly and repeatedly. choso blushes like a fool, for he is immune to every substance and drug but you.
"i missed you," you sigh against him between kisses to his cheek.
"i missed you too," he says, taken, though he had just seen you a few hours ago.
"mmm, you smell good," you hum, pulling back to peck his lips again. he smiles down at you sweetly, holding your upper back with hearts in his eyes. "and you look so handsome," you kiss him again.
"baby," he murmurs, sinking into your kisses rather easily, far too weak to oppose you in any circumstance. you kiss him again, and he swoons. "i love you. you know that, right?"
"of course i do," you scrunch your face and squish his cheeks. you kiss his puffed lips, then the tip of his nose. "i love you too. i love you so much. you're my baby." he hums with a smile, ducking in to kiss you one more time, unable to get enough of you.
"yes i am. and you’re mine."
you giggle, pecking his nose once more before releasing him to turn back to your task. his hand slides to yours, unwilling to let go, and he moves into the space behind you, sliding his arms around your stomach. he walks against you as you lead him into the bathroom, where you continue cleaning up the space.
"what are you doing?" he mumbles against you, cheek settling on your shoulder.
"cleaning up after smoking," you say simply.
"oh," choso says, recalling his responsibility. "that doesn't hurt your throat? isn't smoking bad for your lungs?"
"tobacco's different, baby."
"isn't all smoke bad, though?"
"my throat's fine," you wave off, smiling softly.
he looks up at you through the reflection in the mirror. this is gonna be a bit difficult, he can already tell.
"how was your day?" choso asks. "was everything okay? are you okay?"
"of course," you say. "i'm always okay. how was yours, cho?"
"mine was fine. so nothing bad happened to make you upset?"
you shake your head, looking up to meet his eyes in the mirror. "no," you slightly laugh. "why do you ask? are you worrying again?"
"no."
you quirk your brow with a smirk.
"a little. Yes,” he says. “i love you, i just want to make sure you're-"
"okay?" you finish with a giggle. you pat his hand over your waist. "you say that every day. i'm still okay, cho. i promise. you worry too much about me."
"it's my job. you're my world," he tells you like it's a known fact. and, well, it is. you smile wide.
"you're my world too. but you've gotta relax a bit, okay?" you drawl sluggishly. "i'll tell you when i'm not okay."
"you will?"
"yes, baby."
"...okay."
"what's got you worrying this time, hm? what's wrong?"
"...i don't want you to get upset."
"why would i get upset?" you ask calmly. "is this about the weed thing again?"
he takes a minute before speaking, trying to find the right words. "...i'm not judging you."
"oh, i know you aren't."
"and i want you to enjoy yourself. you seem really happy when you're... when you're high..."
"...but?"
"...but... are you sure you have to get high every day? during the week too?"
"i don't have to. i just choose to. and i don't see why not, you know? it's not like it messes with my performance."
"but what if... one day it does?"
you wave him off again. "no way. i've been doing this forever. i've got it down. i can't mess up what i've been doing all my life."
"but isn't that like drinking alcohol before a mission?"
"not at all," you laugh. "alcohol is a completely different thing. i'd never get drunk and go to work or go on a mission."
"but, weed is still a substance, right? i think it's still considered dangerous sometimes."
you laugh again, leaning over the counter with amusement. choso's embrace slackens slightly.
"what's funny?" he asks.
"you said but so many times just now."
choso releases you slowly, letting you delve into a fit of giggles as he shifts with concern that he poorly hides. "(y/n), i am worried," he admits fully. "what if something bad happens to you while you're high? what if you pass out because you got too high?"
"pass out?" you repeat through giggles, stabilizing yourself with your palms flat to the counter. "why would i pass out?"
"i heard that - that can happen if you get too high?"
"heard it?" you lift yourself up, placing a hand on your hip, leaning against the counter to face him. "from who?"
he doesn't even try to hide it. "yuji."
"yu-" you cut yourself off before finishing, stunned by the ridiculousness of such a revelation. "why in the world were you talking to your little brother about weed?"
"he's... younger, and i just wanted to know... more."
"why didn't you just ask me?"
"...because i wanted to see what someone else would say."
"about something i know all about?" you question, smile dwindling. "wait, were you asking if it's safe? were you - were you asking because of me?"
"i just wanted to see if he'd say anything different."
your brows draw together, lips parting. "choso, you've gotta chill about this whole weed thing."
"why?" you frowns.
"because you keep acting like - like i'm doing crack or something every time i get high. i keep telling you that this is fine. i've been smoking and stuff since forever. i know what i'm doing. i wouldn't get high if i couldn't handle myself. and now you're interrogating your little brother about it?"
"i'm sorry. i didn't know what else to do."
"there's nothing you need to do, baby. why can't you trust me when i say i'm fine?"
"it's not that i don't trust you."
"that kind of is what your actions are saying, cho."
"i just worry," he stresses. "if yuji were in your position, i'd act the same."
"that's because yuji's underage."
"and because i love you both so much," he adds. "i've heard what you've said, but... i wonder sometimes if it's healthy to get high without days for breaks."
you exhale, head rolling back as you close your eyes. "choso..."
"and yuji said that sometimes people who are sad get high. as a distraction. and you're always alone when you do, so maybe... maybe there is something else wrong that i can help with? you said you'd tell me if you weren't okay, right? what if you just haven't let yourself remember that you aren't okay?"
"yuji's fifteen."
"he's smart. he knows a lot of things."
"i know he does, but-"
"could he be right? is he right?"
"i'm fine."
it is clear that you don't want to talk about this anymore, that you want to steer the conversation into a different direction. you swiftly finish cleaning up, your mood slightly dampened, and choso follows you slowly out of the bathroom as you flick the lights off.
he stares at the back of your head, brows angled with concern. "i think you should take a day off."
"choso, please," you moan as you collapse over your bed face first. "too much serious talking. work is good. i'm not taking a day."
"i meant a day off from getting high."
you turn your head to the side, scrunching your eyes through the messiness of your hair. "is that a joke?"
"no."
after a moment, you twist yourself around to sit up, turning your body to him and crossing your legs over the comforter. "why are you so stressed about this?"
"i told you why. i'm worried."
"and i've told you not to worry."
"you wouldn't tell me otherwise. you don't like when i worry about you."
"you're right. i don't," you purse your lips, squinting through the haze of sativa.
"that's too bad," he says.
you can't help but chuckle at just how serious he is. "cho, you're sweet, you know that?"
"i don't want you to do that right now. i want you to listen to me," he tells you honestly, expression earnest, eyes passionate. despite your high, you know your boyfriend very well. you know that when his tone evens out, smooth and subconsciously chilling, he doesn't want his words or countenance to be taken lightly. he needs you to hear him. so you shut up and listen. "please listen to me," he says again.
you nod, correcting your posture, locking eyes. "i will. sorry. go ahead."
he already feels bad for having to put his foot down, but he at least appreciates that you'll take him seriously when he asks. "i may not know a lot about this stuff, but i know about you. and i know that you've been high the majority of the time, since we've met. i understand you enjoy that. i don't want to take that away from you, but i also just don't think it's a good idea to keep going on like this. i don't," he vents.
"i may not know what it feels like to be high. i may not know... a lot of things, but the research i've done leads me believe that you shouldn't function that way all the time. your brain gets cloudy, and as a sorcerer, as someone responsible for saving lives and keeping your own safe, i don't think it's good for you to be that way all the time. not while you work. not every day.
"i wonder... if your brain is hazy most of the time... if you even remember the beginning of our relationship... and everything that's gotten us here. that may be... unfair, but i don't fully understand... if you forget things. or if your memories of us, of everything good you do, of every moment i've had with you, are fuzzy. i wonder if you started to get high because... because you were sad about something that you can't remember. and now it’s just something you do without thought.."
your face hardens with emotion as you stare up at him timidly, watching as he pours his heart out to you. "you can call me dramatic. or overbearing. or say that i worry too much, but, i can never worry enough when it comes to you. i just want to know, to really understand. i want to know why you choose this every day instead of... of reality."
you are speechless for a moment as you search your boyfriend's eyes. you can see the way he worries over whether or not he has offended you or said the wrong thing swirling somewhere in his honest hues. your nose twitches, your conscience fighting against your high, truth bleeding through the escape, disrupting your ease.
you once told yourself that you would never engage with marijuana. you'd grown up in a strict household, held to impossibly high standards that lowered the second you flew the coop, the second the world reminded you that no one is safe from its horrors, your family having been slaughtered by a nasty curse.
you were eighteen when you first tried it. you'd coughed up a storm, sputtered and disrupted the rotation by letting the blunt burn for too long as you tried not to die. you chugged water in those first few seconds after your introductory, and accidentally really long, hit.
but then, the second you set your water down beside you and regulated your breathing, it hit you. that blanket of muteness that muffles everything bad, every fear, every negative emotion, and swallows it up in abrupt appreciation for how strangely your fingers move when you wiggle them before you, how heavy your body feels as you sink into the carpeted floor. the room spun with wonder, and a grin broke over your face.
you thought you'd be anxious, but instead, you floated away on a cloud of bliss.
and you've chased that feeling ever since. for what kind of psychopath can go day to day in this field completely sober?
gojo always demands craziness in his mentees, and all sorcerers alike, but your screws are tied too tight, your empathy and consciousness often overpowering you in a nearly debilitating way. the only way for you to remain sane, surrounded by death and destruction and devastation day in and day out, is to keep your head in the clouds. to blur the weight of hopelessness with sweet, tender, merciful marijuana.
you've struggled to depart with it ever since.
it's easy to tell yourself that it's fine, that a little weed every day isn't going to kill you. but the risks remain grounded in truth that you attempt to deny, that you often dodge, that choso has allowed you to, up until this very moment.
but you second guess yourself when you occasionally forget words that used to come to you quickly. when you take longer to write reports that you have easily blown through when sober. when you consequently worsen your sweet boyfriend's nerves.
you're not a lazy person. you're not cruel. you're not inconsiderate. you just don't want to have to think about the troubles of the world, for if you do, it will consume you completely, and you'll fall into something you consider far worse than addiction.
a deep depression.
"i..." you start, softly. "i get high because... because this world... is awful, cho," you profess.
your boyfriend drops down before you instantly, captured completely by your foreign vulnerability. he settles to his knees, inching toward you to cradle your calves with his chin to your knee.
your hand habitually weaves into his hair for comfort, silken strands of chestnut gliding coolly through your fingers. "i don't like thinking about how bad it is all the time. i signed up to... to help people, but to think of all the people i can't reach... to think of the people i can't save... to think that tomorrow could be my last day on earth, or yours... it's too much to handle. being high makes me feel like... like i can breathe again. like everything isn't so bad. like i can be."
"not all of the world is bad. not when you're in it."
you purse your lips to the side and look down at choso. his eyes shine as they look up at you, like you've hung the moon and the stars, like you're his entire purpose for being.
"if you get high all the time to avoid reality, then you'll only ever remember it as all bad. there's good in the world you should appreciate sober too. to make up for all that bad things you've seen sober. it evens out."
"cho, baby," you exhale. "nothing about our relationship is fuzzy in my head, okay? i remember it all. i think about us all the time. it makes me happy. you make me happy."
he breathes out, content. "you make me happy too. and you deserve real happiness. high and sober happiness. not just all high."
you smile lovingly. "okay," you say. "do you really not like it when i'm high?"
"i like you all the time.”
“but do you like when i get high?”
“...i don't mind if you're high. i just care if it's... too much. i care if it starts to mess with you."
"okay," you nibble on the inside of your lip. "choso, what if i try to stop and i can't? i've always believed that i could stop anytime, but... what if i can't?"
he lifts his head. "i'll be there to help," you promises.
"...what if that's too much on you? what if i disappoint you?"
"i'm always proud of you. i think you're - you're perfect," he speaks saw. "you're everything. not too much. everything."
overcome by choso's honesty, his support, and his love, you give in. "i'll try not to smoke for the rest of the week."choso's eyes widen, and before you can blink, he jumps up and hugs you tight. "thank you. thank you."
・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
toji fushiguro: porn addiction!
you were only nine when you experienced the ultimate betrayals from members of your family who your innocent naivety led you to trust. a child only learns what trust is when it is broken, shattered in the most unforgivable way.
you've always been a pretty girl. everyone you've ever crossed paths with in your life, from adolescence to adulthood, has mentioned your appearance in some kind of way. whether it's been a compliment to your smile, eyes roaming shamelessly over your body without shame, or unwanted hands that graze your back or your arm when you walk by in public, as if your beauty warrants some lack of boundary between individuals that you don't even know.
with that beauty came the rather early sexualization of your entire being. despite having only been a child, you were warned by your mother and your grandmother to remain modest before you even hit preteen years.
don't wear chapstick that's too shiny.
never wear a bikini to the pool.
always keep your shoulders and collarbones concealed, for your carelessness could lead to the temptation of others.
of men. adult men.
you were only nine.
you failed to understand the concern, why your family had always been so adamant about keeping certain parts of you concealed. after all, what was wrong with a bathing suit? what was wrong with the exposure of the skin around your neck? what was wrong with moisturizing your lips?
how could the actions of a child serve to offend or tempt anyone in any way?
you couldn't grasp it. you merely blindly trusted those who guided you, who antagonized and objectified you for being born with the graceful features of your mother, struck by the effects of puberty too early.
until your art teacher at camp began to hug you too tightly, too frequently when you entered his line of sight or accomplished something worth praising. until you began to fear wandering off by yourself in crowded spaces like the boardwalk or the mall, for you've caught ghostly eyes following you from unseen corners as you simply seek an ice cream cone with your hand clenched tightly in your mother's.
and strangely enough, despite how cognizant your family has made you of your looks and actions at too young of an age, despite the anxiety you've come to subconsciously develop in the presence of men, it wasn't an adult who betrayed you.
but a child. a cousin you'd always loved, just two years older than you.
you don't know why. you don't know what changed. one moment, you were six years old galloping around the house together, filling the space with giggles and exclamations as you imagine trekking up insurmountable mountains, roleplaying wild adventures that you always narrowly escape with the assistance of each other.
sharing bags of goldfish side by side, shoulder to shoulder with innocence glimmering in your wide eyes as you stare excitedly at the tv screen, captured by the motion picture that's been put on for the both of you to enjoy. nursing each other's scrapes and boo-boos when either of you have tripped and fallen on the pavement outside from playing too dramatically. weaving colored bands into matching bracelets for the both of you to wear, to honor your friendship beyond family relation.
then one day, it all changed.
your cousin suddenly fell quiet, eyes dull and void of the glimmer they once carried. her voice shifted from loud screeches to mellow mumbles, colorless and drab. she didn't want to play make-believe anymore, but instead asked you a strange question when the two of you were left alone in the basement of your house, where the two of you often played.
"have you ever had a kiss?"
nine year old you stilled, lowering the doll you were prancing over the floor to the ground with confusion. "what?! uh-uh," you shake your head. "have you?"
she doesn't answer. she merely proceeds to pry more, asking you about things and experiences you don't quite understand. when you look back, her words filter out as a flat, unified ringing sound that does not align with the way her mouth moves to speak.
you didn't understand what she was saying, all the explicit things she was suddenly describing. you watched her with blown eyes, soft perplexity on your features as she went on, speaking with a strange cadence about acts no eleven year old should be so familiar with.
you only began to understand when she left to lock the basement door, and returned to you from around the corner with an empty face. "i'll show you," she said.
you lay awake that night, stripped of the ability to sleep, of the ability to think, of the ability to properly breathe. shrunken eyes bore into the ceiling as you lay flat on your bed. stars danced over the black ceiling from your nightlight plugged in the corner of the wall, and you watched the small shapes twinkle over you, casting your face in a soft blue glow.
you were stiff. unable to move, for you don't know what pushed your body into motion when it was time for dinner, when you had to sit next to her as a film washes over her face, a filter placed by your mind's sensoring. you couldn't eat. you just stared at your food and claimed to not feel well, hoping to be put to bed soon after your cousin left.
you did not speak for a while after it happened, after the girl you'd trusted to be your friend, to be family, stole away your innocence, forced you into participation of the things that were likely done to her. but you didn't know that at nine years old. you couldn't explain it, couldn't comprehend it, couldn't escape it.
the surrounding world drained of the color that all children use as a lens through which to view it. you developed a striking case of ocd, unable to find sleep or rest within your mind unless your bathroom door was cracked open at exactly a 45 degree angle, not too wide and not too closed. the door to your bedroom had to remain locked in the way that it only ever was when the assault occurred. you cracked your neck three times on the right side, then three more on the other. the necklace you always wore had to set the pendant of your first initial directly in the center of your chest, and you had to lay completely flat with your hands tucked under your blanket to your sides.
if any of it didn't feel right, you’d start again, and begin a cycle that stole more of your sleep.
your cousin disappeared soon after that, perhaps about two weeks later. the sleepovers ceased, as did the touching and experimentation that you had become so ordinary in your daily life, that you'd felt strange when it stopped. your family, far too focused on the potential dangers of men, never thought once to look within the circle of your family, of their children and what they were doing to each other.
you were thrown into therapy for displaying a sudden shift in behavior and early signs of ocd, but you never talked. you never told anyone what happened.
from then on, you grew into an obsession with your looks. as school crushes came and went, you absorbed the attention and chalked your very worth up to how you were physically perceived. bras came by the time you were twelve, and early teenagehood sent your mother into a spiral.
your sexual awareness developed early, as did further curiosity regarding so. the gift of an ipod touch one christmas opened the gate to unrestricted internet access, and you fell down a rabbit hole of obscene readings, clips, and images that you absorbed.
you didn't parade your findings about, however. you kept them to yourself, remained reserved and passive about all the things you've seen and done, all the things you began to blame yourself for. you hated the desire that should have come with puberty, not long before it. you hated that hot feeling that brought your screen to your face every night, that left your mind wandering about the crude human urge to sexually collide with one another in such possessive, aggressive ways.
by the time you were eighteen, you still did not have a boyfriend, but countless smuts saved in your drive and flagged twitter porn accounts served as the substitution. you'd long struggled with your sexual identity, due to the past and the variety of pornographic material you'd consumed, and you questioned your ability to be viewed as anything more than an object to be used, a pretty face and a pretty body.
you went to college, and caution became crudeness. you instantly learned to stray from vulnerability, to never reveal yourself emotionally to those who only seek you physically.
the first time you have sex, it hurts. you hate it. bodies writhed awkwardly on a creaking couch in the stale fluorescent overhead light. you didn't cum. his hands gripped you too roughly and left red marks in their wake on your hips and over your throat. you cried the entire night, then as if compelled, as if programmed to at any moment of inconvenience, you pulled out your stash of porn and slipped a hand down your pants with tears in your eyes, seeking the only warmth you knew to provide yourself.
as you got older and college felt more manageable, you learned to further embrace your sexuality, your assets. while sex made you uncomfortable at first, it was the only thing you truly knew, that you'd studied inside and out and grown infatuated over in your mind. you sought control, and while you lacked it in all other areas of your life - as your mom picked where you'd go to school, a continuation of her suffocation of your life and deprivation of your voice and opinions - you found that you held insurmountable power in the bedroom.
everyone wanted you. you've always been wanted. you don't remember a single moment in your childhood where you were viewed as a child and not a potential heart-stopper, a figment of temptation.
so you fucked your way through the rest of school. some people were good. some were bad. none were very remarkable, yet porn always came at the end of the day, along with self-relief that has not relented in some sixteen odd years.
somehow you made it through college, and not too long after, you met toji at a bar one night, where he had found you sipping a long island almost resentfully, dolled up in knee high boots, a black skirt hugging tightly around your upper thighs, and a low cut, skin tight tank under a cropped denim jacket. while your sinful appearance was enough to catch the ebony haired man's eye from afar, it is the solemn look in your eye when you graze the area that pulls him to you.
the bulky man saunters over, shuffling before the stool beside you to rest his forearms on the counter and lean toward you. you look up at him, unsurprised, flickering your hazy (e/c) eyes over his broad chest. sharp, ivy hues gleam as they capture you, and the curve of a smirk grazes his scarred lips.
you lift your brows slightly, twirling your straw around your finger to lick the excess liquor from your painted lips. the man tilts his head, tendrils of raven hair sweeping over his eyes with mischief, desire swirling in his gaze. you play along, for you're alone and he's handsome, rather strikingly so, and you can't find any other way to cope with the sense of worthlessness you carry, as you are jobless and on the verge of losing your apartment due to the rent increase.
"what's a girl like you doin' sittin' over here by herself, hm?" a low buttery voice flows from his lips, his head craning down slightly so that you can hear him over the friday night hustle of the bar.
you blink blandly up at him, propping your chin up on your palm as you lean into him with lazy eyes. "what do you mean by that exactly?"
thrilled by your immediate combative tone, the green eyes man's smirk widens. "y're too pretty to be alone, lookin' so sad."
you furrow your brows, straightening yourself and clearing your throat. "i'm not sad," you deny. "what makes you think i am?"
he hums lowly and takes a moment to search your eyes. your jaw clicks and your eyes narrow slightly in suspicion as you stare back, feeling slightly exposed. he shifts, lifting a thick finger to point toward his eyes. "aren't you? eyes don't lie."
you scoff a laugh and instantly tear your eyes away to stare into your drink. "i'm just daydreaming."
"about what's makin' you sad?"
"no. i'm not sad." you frown.
he chuckles. "did i offend ya, darlin'?" he tilts himself to get a better angle at your face, leaning forward. "hey, don't shut me out, now. we're just gettin' started."
"and your preferred way of flirting is to tell a woman that she has sad eyes?"
"nah. it's my first time tryin' it. i never had any reason to before," he says. "i ain't shamin' ya. just pointing out somethin' we got in common."
you look back up at him with a quirked brow. he smiles, eyes lidded, jaw sharp. "oh, now you're gonna tell me you're sad too?"
"just lonely."
you press your lips together tightly as you eye him. he keeps his smirk and your eye contact as though he is happy to be glared at by such a skeptical, beautiful woman - happy to poke at your nerves, and he doesn't even know you.
when you look in his eyes, however, you see what he could have been referring to. the maturity, the age, the hardships he has been forced to endure in order to stand before you like this in such a casual manner, with his life and a semblance of his dignity still somewhat intact.
your brows twitch. you note the faded circles under his eyes, the intensity of his very gaze beneath that air of smugness, and you relax slightly and suddenly wonder where that scar over his lips came from. how he's managed to bulk himself up to such an impressive level of fitness, his shirt practically bulging against his pectorals, lats, and biceps. what led him to this shitty place to even begin with.
"right," you say simply. he notices the way your mind buffers as you watch him and he watches you, and something strange snaps between you. something unsaid, something shared. it catches you off guard, for you are so used to there being a disconnect between yourself and the people you've physically pursued.
you didn't expect to feel so... seen.
"you gonna let me buy you a drink?" he offers.
"i don't drink with strangers," you lie.
he pushes himself up to stand over you, extending a large hand into your direction with that lopsided grin. "toji."
the corner of your lips curve as you eventually take his hand. "(y/n)."
"would you look at that?" he drawls, shifting to sit in the stool beside you. "we ain't strangers anymore."
the night goes on as the space opens between you, drinks lowering inhibitions and conversation shockingly flowing like you’re old bar friends, like you’ve been joking around with one another for years.
a couple hours of drinking and being the loudest pair within the establishment lead you to where you always end up: in your bedroom.
and while you expect another session of pushing and gripping and being thrown around without care, a half an hour of skin clapping against you over a symphony of pleasured grunts and groans that are the only things that work toward expanding your ego while you dissociate and pretend to enjoy yourself, toji fushiguro shatters your expectations, first by laying you comfortably on your back and leaving searing kisses down your body, trailing further and further toward your heat.
your mind goes to mush as raw pleasure consumes you through his touch, his lips, his breath against yours and every patch of sweaty bare skin he can find. he's firm, but not rough. not in the first half at least. he devours you like he's been starved for years, like he's been seeking your taste but did not know where to find it, and your eyes roll back and your lips fall into a silent scream as toji performs upon you the acts of sex that you have long fantasized and romanticized in your head due to the excess of pornographic media you consume.
with him, you don't scrunch your eyes closed and wait until it's over. you don't let your mind wander to what you'll do afterwards, how you'll distract yourself from allowing yet another man who doesn't deserve this access to use you as if you're his.
you sink into him, into all of toji, as he handles you the only way a man ever should. he doesn't relent until you cum once, twice, three then four times, and he takes his time. he's slow, intentional, grounding, as he does not rush to chase a high but savors everything that leads up to it. savors you.
such a brazen display of intimacy for two individuals who once swore off love completely.
the two of you fall in love months later, an arrangement set solely for the purposes of sexual release having developed into longing gazes, lengthy personal conversations, and the tightening of the string that first bridged a connection between you, a shared hidden grief though derived from separate traumas.
for a while, you don't resort to porn, as toji satisfies you in ways you never believed to be imaginable. the two of you are inherently sexual beings, one noise complaint away from getting kicked out of your place indefinitely. you have your emotional moments, when you talk for hours in each other's arms, wrapped up in warmth and security that feels so foreign, mundanely yet happily shopping for groceries within the company of one another, discussing shared spaces half a year down the line, children you learned early on that he had eventually stepping into the equation.
you've built a true, solid foundation, having found in each other what neither of you believed you deserved. fights and resistance to the good came and went, making your relationship stronger.
but boy, if the two of you don't fuck every damn day like it's your job.
and though you know toji fushiguro of all people would never judge you for your past, for your habits, you have yet to tell him about your assault as a child. you've yet to tell him that it is the very reason why you clamber over him every chance that you can get, grinding against his crotch for the friction you so desperately need.
it is true that for quite some time, you didn't touch your porn archives, but after about a month of fucking toji, you'd gone back to it.
not because you enjoy it. not because it makes you feel good. you just can't help it. you can't help but to chase that release every chance you get, even after toji has wrecked you, even after you've fallen head over heels in love.
you feel disgusting more often than not, like you're some walking disease, like you'll be regarded as gross or as the slut you were in high school just for walking out of the door to go to work, knowing that your fingers had been stuffed inside of you again before you could even think about rising to start the day (with toji away on a job).
and in those brief silences when you aren't surrounded by toji's love, your mind takes you back to that day. the day your childhood was stolen by another child. the day you realized you could never be anything more than a body.
toji's no fool. he knows that there is something that has gripped you from the past, something that explains your waves of confidence that are combatted by waves of inferiority and self consciousness. he didn't lie to you the night you first met, when he told you that he saw sadness in your eyes. he wasn't referring to any typical kind of sadness, but the kind that is engrained in you. the kind that stains your soul, that traps you in a loop from the moment it began to the moment you die.
he knows, he suspects, that something happened to you. he's not necessarily a saint himself. his childhood was shit. the majority of his adulthood was shit, as well. he's seen the gruesomeness and cruelty of human kind up close, and has had to live by it in order to survive time and time again.
he sees that in you. the hardened exterior sheltering something fragile beneath. the neediness you display. your inability to stay off of him for more than two seconds.
now, toji isn't complaining. his sex drive is just as high as yours, which is why the chemistry between the two of you is so potent. he loves you and he's always, always happy to show you, to give in to your needs that so closely align with his. you match one another's energy - you have for ten months now.
but something eats away at him when it comes to you. something that you pretend does not exist.
he thinks he figures it out one night when you get up to go to the bathroom, leaving your phone in a haste with the screen facing upward. your finger had accidentally swiped up when you put it down, showing all the open tabs and apps you'd forgotten to close.
toji glances down, then does a double take at something he saw out of the corner of his eye. he swipes through your apps, clicking where his attention was caught, and his brows lift in surprise when he is greeted with the visual of a woman bent over a balcony in twitter, a burly man's hips smacking ruthlessly into her from behind.
toji's eyes slim as he swipes out of the video, only to find that it is within a collection of films similar to that one, all lined up next to each other in your archives. he swipes through some more, amateur video after amateur video greeting his face - threesomes, female and male masturbation, creampies, squirting, gangbangs, straight, gay, bi, trans, you fucking name it. the whole of the porno verse is captured within your phone, and toji scratches his hair with a pensive look.
he's not disgusted. not grossed out, just mildly shocked. and confused. he gets watching some shit from time to time to just bust one out, but he hasn't even thought of looking up some video of a stranger when he's got hundreds of videos and pictures of you to choose from.
so why do you need all this when you have him?
you return from the bathroom and freeze the moment you approach the side of the bed and see toji on your phone, scrolling through what looks to be your twitter.
your stomach drops and your face falls. "what are you doing?" you rush out.
"tryna figure out why you need all this shit," toji murmurs, a hint of agitation laced in his tone. he looks up at you from your phone, a dip in his brow. "what, i ain't enough or somethin'?"
"oh my god," you breathe out, realizing that your worst nightmare has come true.
you jump over the bed and climb over him to reach for your phone, his arm stretching it out of your reach. he watches you, annoyance bubbling.
"toji, please give it back, oh my god," you beg in horror.
toji clicks his tongue. "the fuck else are you hiding in here that's got you actin' like this? you got something else other than porn you wanna show me?"
the very word itself cements in your gut and makes you ill as you struggle against him, tugging at his arm, your legs straddled on either side of his torso. he sees the sheer panic on your face and starts to fear the worst. "no, toji - it's just - fuck, just give it back!"
"why? the fuck are ya freakin' out for?" he grumbles. "the hell are you doin' behind my back, doll?"
"nothing, toji, i just don't - fucking want you to see all of that-" you reach to snatch your phone again, but he switches sides, raising his arms over you to grab it with his other hand and extend it into the opposite direction. your eyes follow the phone, catching one of the clips replaying out of the corner of your eye, and you yelp, reaching for it again.
toji's free arm blocks you, barring you away as he sorts through dms, messages, pictures that show nothing incriminating.
"toji, what the fuck? you think i'm cheating on you?!"
"why else would you be climbing all over me to get yer phone back?" his eyes remain glued to your phone screen.
"because you fucking opened my twitter!"
"you're embarrassed about some porn?" he rips his gaze away to look at you heatedly. your lips are turned downward into a petrified frouwn and your pupils have shrunken, brows curled and eyes wide as if you're going to cry. the muscles in toji's face slowly relax as he looks over you, detecting no trace of unfaithfulness but every trace of humiliation.
okay... so this is about the porn. and nothing else.
he lowers your phone. "why do ya have so much of it saved?"
"i don't wanna talk about that. please, just give it back. i'll delete it all."
"what are you-" he stops himself, taking a second to think before proceeding. "i ain't mad at ya. not about the porn. i just fuckin'... thought you were hiding some other shit for a second. my bad - sorry. hey, i'm sorry," he softens, lowering his arm from you.
you immediately lunge for your phone, snatching it back in toji's moment of understanding. you immediately swipe out of your tabs, deleting twitter all together with shaking hands.
toji's palm falls to your leg, as you're still seated on top of him. "just forget this happened. please," you plead in a hushed voice. "forget you saw that."
"i dunno, doll, i got a few questions still," toji says as you continue to fumble through your phone, searching for and deleting any remnants of porn. your heart pounds in your chest, and toji's teeth grind together as he watches you.
you look so damn terrified. so ashamed, it makes him feel bad for throwing accusations at you. this is very clearly something else entirely.
"i don't want to talk about it, toji."
"(y/n), come on," he starts. "i gotta know what's goin' through your head. as yer man, i deserve that much. just tell me, am i not doin' enough? you need extra shit to get you off?"
"it's not fucking like that," you snap.
he tosses out his hands. "then what is it like? you got a shit ton of stuff saved. i don't even know how you got time to look at it all when y're either at work or too busy gettin' fucked by me. and i don't think i do a bad job, unless you got somethin' to tell me. so i'm askin'. what's it for?"
you drop your phone to your lap. "how many times do i have tell you i don't want to talk about it?"
"and i'm tellin' you that we have to talk about it. the hell is with you?"
"toji, maybe i don't want to talk anything out with the guy who just practically accused me of cheating."
"you were jumpin' for your fuckin' phone like you got a secret life or somethin."
"i was trying to get my phone because you invaded my fucking privacy and found something you shouldn't have found."
"it's porn. i wouldn't think you'd freak out about it unless there's a reason you have it that you're not tellin' me. which clearly there is."
"why are you acting like what you just saw wasn't fucking weird?!" you scrunch your face.
"everyone watches porn."
"...you watch porn?"
"not anymore. i got you," he says simply. "hence, my question that you keep dodgin'. what am i doin' wrong for you to need all that? you got other men in there, too. what's that supposed to make me think?"
you fall quiet for a few seconds, guilt swarming you. "toji, there's nothing wrong with you," you say, lightly. "nothing at all. it's not you. it's not anything you aren't doing. i - i didn't think you'd - i'm sorry. it's not you, it's me. i've always... been... i'm sorry. sorry."
toji sits up slightly, lowering his hands back to your legs. "always been what?"
you shrug, looking away. you feel that familiar lump form in your throat as your mind takes you back to your basement, to your faceless cousin, to all you've ever been to everyone you've known.
is toji the exception?
"talk to me, doll. c'mon. y're too fiery to lose your words now."
"i just didn't realize you'd assume that you aren't good enough," you frown. "you're perfect. you're everything. i'm sorry i made you feel that way. i didn't mean to - the porn has nothing to do with you, but i just - god, that's so awful. that's so embarrassing," you bury your face in your hands, letting your phone slip from your lap and onto the bed beside the pair of you.
"you need ta slow down," toji murmurs, thumb smoothing over the skin of your thigh consolingly. "stop sayin' y're sorry. i was bein' a prick. not you."
"but the stuff you saw-"
"it's just porn, baby. if you say it don't concern me, then i believe it," he says. "what're you talkin about - you've always been what?" he repeats the question.
a slut. a sex fiend. a pervert.
you're terrified to tell him the truth. you don't want him to look at you differently. you don't want to become what you already feel that you are in his eyes.
"...i - have.... that's not new. it's from..." you can't finish your sentence. the words get lodged in your throat. ghosts of hands swipe over you, unwanted, flickers of grips fisting your hair soothed by later hours of porn surveillance resurface. your nose wrinkles. you've had that fucking archive for years like it's a part of you.
"you've had it all for a while," toji finishes for you. "how long?"
"i can't say," you shudder.
toji watches you shrink into yourself, your face still concealed behind your hands. he reaches for your wrist, gently tugging your hands away. he's met with some resistance that inevitably gives way against his hold.
he holds your hand, revealing your flushed cheeks and glittery eyes. your chin wrinkles as you fight a cry, and you keep your gaze downcast, your head ducked.
toji's fully alert now.
"alright," he murmurs. "alright, girl. i get it. it's been a while, huh?"
you don't nod or hum in affirmation. you merely whimper something broken, bowing your head lower.
"you look at this every day?"
you don't answer again. toji starts to understand.
"alright. hey, listen," he tilts your head up by your jaw. your eyes stay looking downward until he tells you to meet his eyes. hesitantly, you do. "you got a little addiction. so what? everyone's had one or already does. i ain't upset. i'm just tryna make sure y're okay."
you sniff. "addiction?"
"tell me if i'm wrong," he offers. "but just by yer reaction, 'nd by what i'm guessin' has been goin' on for a long time, you look all that porn outta habit." you still don't say anything, and toji probes further. "you like all that stuff? you fantasize about it?"
"n-no. not with you," you manage to answer.
"but y're so used to it, yeah?"
"...yeah."
"that's addiction, sweets. and it's common as all hell, so don't stress about it. i'll help ya."
"toji... how are you not weirded out?"
"it's you, doll. you can't weird me out even if you tried."
"but, i-" you swallow hard. "i mean... don't you see now how hypersexual i am? even after you satisfy me, it's like i... can't stop. and i don't even fucking like porn. it's just always there... that doesn't bother you?"
the ebony haired assassin narrows his eyes at you as the final pieces click together in his mind. your hypersexuality, the porn addiction, that empty look in your eye that he still catches when you think he isn't looking.
his jaw clicks and his chest tightens. he was really hoping it wasn't that. but if you've been like this for as long as you hint, since you were a child, then there's only one explanation for it.
"that ain't wait bothers me," he says lowly, gaze tendering. "what bothers me is what could have made you this way."
you go rigid. "what?"
"folks aren't born hypersexual, doll. i know it."
you've had sex with so many people. each of them the same as the last, eager to possess you, happy to discard you, and you never complained. that was what you asked for by pursuing the men you pursued.
yet, for the first time in twenty five years of your life, someone sees you clearly. honors you accordingly. seeks to support you willingly. how could toji have guessed if he had not endured similar trials? how could he have glanced into your soul upon first meeting without much more than a greeting and a flimsy pick up line?
how is it that toji fushiguro knows you so well without you having to say anything? how is it that he still loves you, still sees you the same as he always has after deducing so? after seeing those videos in your phone? and those weren't even the half of it.
you've spent your whole life hiding behind a facade of boldness and sexual ambition, and to this day, not even your mother can name why you are the way you are - why you struggled to keep a job because you'd be caught flirting with the customers and your coworkers. why you struggle to find purpose outside of what you can physically provide. toji is the only person who's ever made you feel like something more, like a person and not an object. like a woman with a fragile heart, a woman who deserves love just as much as you claim he does.
and though you'd tried to keep the ugly pieces of you concealed, so as to not scare toji away, he's glimpsed into you regardless. without struggle. without complaint. and he cares not about your actions, not about your past, for his isn't any prettier, but about you and only you.
"h-how... did you-"
"it's in your eyes, baby," he purses his lips, fighting off the emotion that threatens to take him over the confirmation of his suspicions. "it always has been."
a tear races down your face as you stare at him, awed. "i've never told anyone."
"you don't gotta tell me. if you ain't ready, it's okay. m'sorry." toji leans forward to cup your face in his hands, holding your gaze. "m'sorry," he apologizes again, and you know this time, it's for all the things he does not know. all the things you've internalized and kept inside.
you take in a shuddering breath, dazed. "i was nine," you breathe.
those three words break the seemingly indestructible man before you, his pupils constricting, jaw clicking faster and harder.
"it wasn't even... a stranger or some man, it was-" you see her face suddenly, the unfiltered vision, her empty eyes. you suddenly feel winded. "it was my eleven year old cousin."
you think it may have been better if he told you he hated you after discovering this.
instead, he catches you as you collapse into him, swaddling you to his chest with his big arms, protecting you from the memories that he watches come to life in your eyes.
"no one ever knew, toji. no one fucking cared. and then i was blamed f-for everything sexual i've ever done. i had sex with so many people, and the porn came - came so early. i was only a kid. i was a baby, and for the rest of my life i'll be this and i can't stop it. i can't fix it."
you babble on, your confession crashing through in a jumbled blur that neither of you can properly understand, but the message comes through.
"y're not broken," toji says into your hair, voice hushed as he holds you. "'nd if they never cared, i do. i fuckin' care."
"my whole life," you cry into his chest. "my whole life, i've just been this."
"y're whole life, you've been strong," he corrects. "dealin' with that fucked up stuff on yer own. with no one keepin' you standin' but yourself," he recounts the similarities you share with dread, for of all people to share life's strife, he wishes to whatever power out there that it wasn't you. you don't deserve this. you never deserved this.
like you said. you were only a kid.
and unfortunately, so was the girl who assaulted you.
your body jerks with your sobs as he holds you. "why don't you hate me...?" he makes out through your stuttered wails.
"hate ya?" he tilts his head down. "darlin', you ain't do anything wrong. not a damn thing, you hear?"
"t-that's not true."
"the hell it isn't." he helps lift you up slightly, pulling back to look you in the eye. "none of this is yer fault. none of it."
"but-"
"not a damn thing," he says firmly. "none of this changes anything. i love you. i always will. y're not weird. y're not gross. you were hurt too soon, and you ain't ask for that. i'm sorry i accused you of all that stuff earlier. i'm damn sorry, (y/n). i'm sorry you-" he can't say it. he just pulls you back into him as you cry silently, burrowing you face into him further. he smoothes a hand over the back of your head, pressing a firm kiss there. "m'sorry, darlin. shit's fuckin' awful."
"please," you whine. "please forget you saw all of that."
"whatever you want, baby."
through the humiliation, the ever present agony of abuse, you let toji love you and see you in ways no one ever has, for he refuses to do otherwise. refuses to let you feel alone ever again.
the world is a cruel place, and yet it has somehow brought its worst victims together by chance.
that is the only thing either of you can thank this universe for.
Hiii how are you and I hope you’re doing well! I have a request! You should do if Nanami lost you in a battle/mission that was supposed to be for him. Hope it’s not too much and thank u for ur time!!
˖᯽ ݁˖· ─ 𝐈 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐘
୨୧ a mission meant for nanami becomes your last, leaving him to mourn you and live with the guilt of it.
𝐖𝐂: 1.3k
𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂: !lovinghusbandnanami x !deadreader
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: thank you so much for the req!! I had so much extra time today I hope you enjoyed!! please like and reblog .ᐟ.ᐟ
December 20, 2025 was the day you left, and three days later your eyes stayed permanently closed.
Christmas was approaching in less than a week, and your husband Nanami was impossible to shop for. He had everything he desired because he was more than comfortable. If he saw a watch he liked, he bought it. Any clothes he was interested in were on his doorstep the next day, which made it difficult to get anything for him.
You spent weeks wondering what you could get your husband that didn’t cost money. You’d considered wrapping yourself up and giving him a night to remember or making a nice meal for him, but you’d thought of something better. Or at least that’s what it seemed at the time.
You were going to take Nanami’s last mission before Christmas. He always complained about working around the holidays, and you decided to help him out with that. You called his lovely anxious assistant, Ichiji. He gave you his schedule and rearranged his missions and labeled them under your task. You were to take his special grade mission on December 21.
You were strong. You didn’t belong to a specific clan. Just a normal middle class family. You attended Jujutsu High, and that’s where you had met your doting husband, Nanami.
The mission description wasn’t anything that troubled you. In fact, you were so confident that you departed early and left on the 20th.
You didn’t want to tell Nanami until you got back so then you two could just relax and lounge around the house. You told him that you were going on your mission and that you would be back soon.
Something that did trouble you was his additional gift that sat at the top of your closet. You had made a scrapbook of a memory from every month since the two of you had met. It was thick and heavily decorated.
You were hiding it, and you actually kicked him out of the closet every time he entered in fear he would get curious and open it.
The day you left, he smothered you in kisses at the door because when you got back he would be on his mission. The one you had taken, of course, but he didn’t know that.
“Be safe, dear, please.”
His hazel eyes stared into yours as his large hands cupped your face.
“I love you.”
You giggled.
“I love you too, Ken. I’ll be safe, I swear.”
You said, and just like that, you were gone. Forever.
Nanami received the news from his distant version of a student, Yuji Itadori.
Yuji Itadori: I’m so sorry for your loss. The first years are here for you.
Kento Nanami: What are you referring to?
Yuji Itadori: I’m so sorry, Nanami, to tell you. It’s best Ichiji tells you.
Nanami was genuinely confused, so he immediately called Ichiji, who answered on the second to last ring. His breathing was rigid, and he didn’t greet Nanami like he formally did.
“[Insert name] passed away.”
Nanami felt his breathing hitch, his ears ring, and his mouth weirdly watering.
“I’m so sorry, Nanami!” Ichiji cried. “It’s my fault. I sent her.” Ichiji constantly whispered that to himself over and over.
“I sent her. I sent her. I sent her.”
Nanami doesn’t know how the call ended. He doesn’t even know how he found himself in the bed you two shared. Or at least used to share. He couldn’t cry. He didn’t believe it. It wasn’t true. Ichiji was being the idiot he was known to be.
Days that Nanami didn’t even know passed. It was like he wasn’t there. He didn’t understand what Ichiji meant at first.
“I sent her.”
He thought it was Ichiji’s way of saying he booked her for the mission, but no. The usual reminder for Nanami that reminded him that his mission was the following morning didn’t sound. That’s when he knew. You took his mission.
The reminder not going off was also a reminder that a day had passed.
Nanami’s apartment began to become neglected because he didn’t move from his bed. He physically felt sick.
Your death was similar to Haibara’s, which in a weird way triggered him. He didn’t even know he could get triggered.
He soon accepted it when he realized you weren’t back home yet.
He wanted to carry out life as normal. He truly did, but everything was a reminder of you. The way you left your makeup on the counter after getting ready, the hair you failed to clean out of your brush, and the bra that hung out of your drawers that he begged you to close.
Now he wishes he would’ve let you leave all your junk around as a reminder that you were once here.
The living room that usually blasted crime documentaries now remained quiet. The music that played on the home Alexa now remained untouched.
After what felt like months, Nanami finally continued life. He had to. There were bills to pay and curses to exorcise.
But what really helped Nanami was Gojo coming over.
Nanami let Gojo in, and the two sat in the living room. The room was untouched and surprisingly clean. The only thing that was dirty was a bit of dust here and there.
“I know death is hard, but think about how she would be if she saw you like this.”
That was the only thing that Nanami remembered Gojo saying.
Life went on, but not easily. It was painful.
Nanami left your side of the sink untouched. Your blush sat spilled over on the counter, your bras hung out of your dresser, and your pillowcases on your side of the bed were left unwashed despite the bedding being washed routinely.
He couldn’t let you go at all. The thought of your existence fading disgusted him.
He cried into his pillow every single night without fail. It didn’t matter if he had a decent day that consisted of his favorite bread being at the store or successfully completing a mission. Nothing compared to you being there and in his presence.
The guilt also ate away at him for the longest time. He couldn’t fathom how a mission that was meant for him was given to you. He felt it so deeply. That was until he was cleaning the house one day and found a book sitting dusty on the top shelf tucked away in the back.
It was a scrapbook. He brought it to the bed and lightly dusted it off. He opened it, and he swore he felt tears instantly cloud his eyes. It was a book filled with memories of you two, and at the very end was the last picture the two of you had taken with Merry Christmas written at the bottom.
Tears stained the pages, and he closed the book and placed it in his nightstand. Unexpectedly, a piece of paper fell out of it. It was a note.
∟ Dear Ken, my loving husband, my best friend,
Merry Christmas! I actually didn’t know what to get you because I swear you have everything. So I decided to make this scrapbook filled with memories of us. And if you scan the code on the back, it’s a QR code with a playlist of our favorite songs from high school. Do you remember when we used to sit under the cherry blossom trees because I thought it was romantic, but you would be annoyed with the bugs flying around? Such good times. Or the times where we snuck off campus to get Subway, but you were so paranoid that we were going to get caught. I miss it so much. I’m so lucky that I have you. The memories we’ve shared together have been amazing. I love you so much, and I hope you can relax knowing you don’t have any missions for the rest of the year. I know I’m such an amazing wife. I love you, Kenny.
Love, [insert name] ∟
That was more than enough for him. Closure that he didn’t know he needed.
@califoreigner, 2026 — Unauthorized copying, reconstruction, reposting, or uploading to other platforms is prohibited.
who has two floppy ears and a cute little tail? Suguru Geto, apparently!
pairing: bunny!Geto x f!Reader
content: mdni, fluff and smut, au where Geto never defected, taking care of Geto after a curse temporarily transforms him into a rabbit, teasing, multiple povs, coworker to pet to lover, Geto HATES being a bunny, pining, petting, cuddling, domestic fluff, falling in love, smidges of angst, injury, hurt/comfort, gojo being a nuisance and our favorite matchmaker, eventual smut (after he transforms back to his normal body), oral (f! receiving), back shots, unprotected piv sex, creampie, breeding kink, Geto is borderline OBSESSED
art by @aransmind + divider by @dollywons
"You got a bunny?" You giggled, bending down to get a better look at the small ball of fuzz sitting on Shoko's desk. Tufts of long black fur stuck out, beady eyes staring back at you through its mane when you squinted at it.
You never knew bunnies could glare.
Gojo laughed behind you, a big hand clamping down on your shoulder once you stood back up as he leaned in to hum in your ear. His infinity was down for once, but he still seemed a little jittery, his foot impatiently bouncing on the tile. "Not quite."
"Then whose is it?" You tilted your head to the side, one corner of your mouth curling up trying to suppress your laugh that someone actually brought one here. One of the students? Haibara? Nanami?
Its fur was obviously well-maintained, maybe the pieces of his emo little heart leftover from high school convinced him to purchase his own stoic companion.
"Yours."
"Yeah, right," You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes at the realization he seriously expected you to take this thing home and shrugging his hand back off of you. "If you think I'm babysitting whatever animal you-"
"You haven't even let me explain," Gojo whined, tugging at your sleeve.
Between missions and the stacks of paperwork he already pushed off on you, there was no fucking way you were taking care of another one of his problems.
Or pet, in this case.
"No."
"Come on, please," He purred, pitching his voice down and skimming his fingertips over your back in an attempt to butter you up.
"Ask Suguru to take care of it," You sighed, glancing back to where the rabbit hadn't moved, perched on the edge and sitting oddly still, almost observant.
"I can't," He whined.
"Why not?"
"That's Suguru."
You blinked up at him. Then at the bunny. Then back to him. You heard his words, but they weren't setting in, all the synapses in your brain refusing to fire to give them any meaning.
"You named that Suguru?" Your eyebrow shot up, bottom lip still pushed out in a pout.
It wasn't like you were friends with Geto, or more than just coworkers or acquaintances, but you sincerely doubted he would be pleased at the tiny creature in front of you sharing his namesake. Even it didn't seem happy, a harsh thump of his back foot against the table as if he was making a point of his annoyance.
You'd been the subject of Gojo's jokes before, used to the punchlines pointed at you. But this was a new one.
"Suguru, help me out here," He huffed, talking to the bunny. Who actually nodded.
God, you didn't get paid nearly enough for this.
"I swear if this is another joke-" You mumbled, leaning down to get a better look. The bunny, Suguru, was watching you back just as intently, beady eyes staring straight into yours.
"I'm not joking," Gojo protested, as if offended by the thought alone.
You stuck out a finger, wondering if it'd be rude to pet him or even just poke one of his paws, struggling to accept what you were seeing. But the second your finger got close enough to his face, he nipped you.
"Hey, wait-" His warning was a little late when Geto's freshly-sharpened incisors had already sunk into the pad of your finger.
"He bit me," You frowned, pulling your hand back and holding it close to your chest, little red droplets pooling over the broken skin.
"You stuck your finger in front of his mouth," Gojo said it like it should be obvious. "It's, like, an instinct or something."
"How am I supposed to know that?" You blinked, wiping away the blood on your shirt with a disgusted huff.
Suguru stomped his back paw again, irritated with one or maybe both of you for bickering while he was stuck like that.
"What even happened?" You grumbled, muscles pulled tight in your jaw.
"Dunno," Gojo shrugged, readjusting the blindfold over his eyes and pulling it up just enough to peek again at his best friend on the table. "He swallowed the curse one second, and the next, poof!"
He talked with his hands, exaggerating the motion and cocking his head to the side.
"Poof?" You repeated, barely holding in your eye roll.
"Shoko says he should be back to normal in a few days," Gojo just kept on going, ignoring your strained stare. He did pause though, tilting his head from side to side sheepishly. "Or a few weeks."
You half-expected Geto to pop out from the hallway, a wry smile on his face and that annoying know-it-all crinkle of his eyes. Leaning against the doorframe murmuring something about you falling for another one of Gojo's tricks again.
Sure, they'd grown up from the teenagers who used to tease you at every sister school exchange, but ever since you transferred and started working with them as adults, you'd been swept up in their bullshit enough times that you were having trouble shaking your suspicions.
"So you want me to take care of a bunny, I mean, Suguru for weeks? While you do what, exactly?" You grimaced when you corrected yourself, looking back at the door that the real Geto still hadn't walked through.
Once upon a lifetime ago, you actually had a crush on him, doodled his name in notebooks and dreamed about confessing your feelings in some cheesy way. But you'd grown up too, enough to recognize that even as adults, he paid much attention to you outside of polite 'hello's and whatever schemes Gojo roped him into.
"Who do you think has to handle his missions now?" Gojo hummed, ruffling your hair before you could smack his hand away, a cocky smile still on his face.
Unbothered to pick up the slack from his best friend's situation.
You weren't sure what was worse.
Being the one to handle Geto's workload or taking on the workload of handling him.
"I might need you to cover some of his classes too," Gojo added.
"Gojo," You groaned, having a hard time glancing over at the bunny astutely observing your conversation for more than a few seconds at a time.
"Just if, you know, he's like that for more than a week," Gojo gestured back again, like the black ball of fur could speak for itself.
There was no way it'd last that long.
Or you told yourself as much, snagging the pet carrier from the passenger seat of your car and slamming the door shut behind you as you glanced up at your apartment.
You were pretty sure Geto shared your sentiment judging by the faintly audible little grunts from inside the plastic cage, the sound of his nails scratching against the sides.
Oddly enough, you were nervous.
Stomach hurting and twisting with each step you took forward, unable to shake your discomfort and anxiety. He'd never been to your apartment under normal circumstances. Never seemed to see you as anything other than a semi-competent coworker to help Gojo tease.
The latter had been to your place before.
A few times, actually.
Finding excuses to show up at weird hours on his day off, sometimes bringing souvenirs from his missions or just to bother you when he was bored and Geto didn't want to hang out with him.
At least it meant he knew your address, boxes waiting for you by the door, the pet supplies Gojo mentioned having delivered before you left stacked up.
You had to nudge them over with your feet to have enough room to unlock the door and push it open.
"So, uh, this is my place," You cleared your throat, setting the cage down on the floor. Geto was already scratching at the door of it, little claws scraping over the metal bars.
You glanced around your very much not animal-proofed apartment, the dishes still left in the sink and the blanket wrinkled on the couch from where you'd stayed up late watching tv the night before.
"Sorry, I, um, guess I should set up your stuff first," You sighed, opening the door again to start dragging all the boxes back in and tearing them open. Settling onto the floor next to him, legs crossed as you started to take out the pen you'd have to put together, the bags of hay and pet bowls before tugging out toy after toy.
You wondered if Gojo just ordered express-delivery for anything marked bunny in the pet section.
"Sorry," You absentmindedly apologized again to Geto, not even sure what you were saying sorry for. Maybe for the fact he was stuck with you in the first place?
Was it weird to talk to him like that? As if he'd really be able to respond?
You thought it'd be weirder to act like it wasn't still him, to ignore the cues he was still trying to send.
He was shaking his head no inside the cage, displeased with your decision.
"You want out now?" You asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek as his head bobbed back up. You glanced around your place again before hesitantly reaching for the latch to unlock it. "Promise you won't like, chew on any wires or anything?"
You were pretty sure he was internally rolling his eyes at you.
Feeling even more like an idiot, you unlatched it, holding it open so he could hop out. He was sniffing the air, nose twitching. You couldn't tell if it was good or bad.
Whatever he decided, he was quick to sprint away, disappearing around the corner to assess the rest of his new surroundings, where he'd be living for the time being.
You tried not to let the discomfort stew too much, tried to dismiss how nervous you felt at having him here too, distracting yourself with putting together the pen and moving all your furniture to fit it against the wall, filling up a bowls with water and setting up a box with hay for him.
Just throwing in the chew toys with the rest of the stuff made you feel weird, icky treating him like he was your new pet.
Would he think it was pity rather than sympathy if you tried to express that to him? Or would he hate both?
You frowned, breaking down the last of the boxes and tossing them in the trash while you glanced around the floor, searching for a flash of black anywhere.
"Geto? Um, hey, I've got everything set up now?" You called out, peeking into the kitchen and not spotting him there either.
You'd daydreamed a few times about Suguru Geto being in your bedroom.
You just hadn't imagined he'd be chewing up your favorite fucking shoes.
"What the fuck?" You huffed, going to pick him up just for him to scamper away at the last second, growling at you. "You're buying me a new pair, asshole."
That little prick.
It wasn't like you did this to him. Like you even wanted him here.
"We can just fucking pretend none of this ever happened once it's over, okay?" You gritted your teeth, picking up your now-wrecked shoes and walking over to the small trash can in your connected bathroom. "That's what you want, right?"
The black ball of fuzz in front of you made a sound. What exactly it was, you didn't know. Didn't fucking care. But you were pretty sure it was as close as he could get to agreeing.
"Fine then," You huffed, chucking the once beloved pair in the trash can and fixing your stare back in the petulant beast by your feet. Acting out as if you weren't doing him a fucking favor to begin with.
But it was hard for the anger to hold when you were looking at the new him in front of you. Knowing it was probably torture to be trapped in something so small, so helpless he had to rely on a coworker he barely knew to take care of him.
Your frown softened, letting out a soft sigh as the lid for the trash can shut again.
"Once you're you, we can just go back to how it was before. We won't even have to talk again."
This was perhaps the most humiliating week of his life.
Suguru Geto was a man who could stomach almost anything. He had to. Forced to swallow curses, bite back the bile in his throat and learn to live with the taste of it.
But really, hay?
All he could fucking eat was hay? A piece of romaine lettuce? A few carrots? Blueberries if he was lucky?
The taste was fine, good even, to his changed taste buds and the way his brain was currently rewired, but you feeding it to him? Biting your lip and frowning while your fingers held it out for him to take? Like you felt sorry for him?
He hated it.
Hated being trapped here. The stupid pen where you put chew toys for him, the brush you tried to use to comb his fur no matter how many times he managed to wiggle free from your grip, how quickly you bunny-proofed the place, closing doors and putting up gates to keep him contained to the living room and your bedroom. Although, you kept your closet shut now after he'd taken out his frustrations on your shoes in a moment of weakness.
The first few days consisted of feeble attempts at communication, your face scrunching up when you tried to get him to blink once for yes and twice for no before you realized that was stupid. Then came the papers, your almost illegible scrawl in big letters to ask him if the food was okay, if he needed anything, your pout returning when he kept thumping over and over again on the one marked no.
He didn't know if he should be annoyed or appreciative when you returned home from a mission the next day with those push-to-talk buttons people supposedly trained their pets with.
The rational part of him understood how hard you were trying to help.
It didn't make the idea you were trying to tame him feel any less dehumanizing, training him like he really was your pet.
Forced cohabitation was bad enough. He wished you'd just act like he wasn't there. Leave him to eat the hay and watch the tv you never seemed to turn off and wait it out until he got his body back.
You even tried to put him in a fucking harness one afternoon when you came home earlier, cooing softly about taking him outside to get some sun and go on a walk. You gave up after he accidentally bit you when your hand got too close to his face while he squirmed his way out of it.
"Hey, um, Geto?" You called from the bedroom, voice muffled despite the open door.
His head snapped up to the sound automatically, nose twitching. That was another thing, how easily his prey instincts took control at the first hint of danger, reduced to feeling even more like a trapped animal by his own body.
He still found himself staring at you though.
You were dressed up.
Not in your usual work uniform or one of the casual outfits he'd seen you in whenever you tagged along with Satoru somewhere, but in a dark little dress and heels.
"I'm heading out for a few hours, um, sorry to leave you by yourself again," You apologized, when really all he was thinking was thank fucking god for some peace. "Do, uh, you want the tv on or-?"
Suguru thumped his back foot, the best he could do for a no without going through the series of questions that'd inevitably come if he showed an ounce of interest in those dumb buttons.
"Oh, okay," You nodded, jaw tensing as your eyes swept back over the room, looking for something. You didn't find it, returning back to your room and coming out a few minutes later with a purse hooked over your elbow. "Well, um, I'll be back in a bit."
Suguru watched the door shut behind you.
The silence was strange, the quiet he used to enjoy back in his own home drowning him here. Time took longer to pass, no phone or books or movies to distract him.
He missed reading. Missed reclining in his own bed, missed warm baths and washing his hair.
He didn't miss you.
Okay, that was sort of a lie.
Your company was comforting, in a strangling sort of way, weighing down on his conscience in your absence. All his needs were met. Food, water, entertainment. But he was still bored without you.
A bizarre itch that his hind legs couldn't scratch, one he couldn't run from, pacing pointless circles, paws leaving tracks on your soft bedroom rug.
Your scent was everywhere, on every surface, clinging to the clothes you'd left on the floor in your rush to get ready.
He was thankful you weren't here to see him burying his nose into a dress you discarded in a pile next to your half-empty laundry basket, sniffing and rubbing his cheeks and chin over it. Suguru didn't even fully understand why - one of those stupid instinctual urges that he couldn't resist.
"Geto?"
Shit.
He scurried back out to the living room before you made it past the couch, your heels already kicked off as you tossed your purse on the coffee table. You reached up to cover your mouth while you yawned, steps wobbling a little, like you'd been out drinking. He noticed it then - how the hem of your dress was rolled up on your thighs, clinging to the skin, eyes glossed over and tired.
Drinking? Or a date?
He didn't think you had a boyfriend.
Satoru would've known, would've pestered you about it or complained to him about you having a social life outside of work. He'd even tried to set the two of you up a few times, although Suguru usually shot down the idea. He'd never been that interested in having a real relationship with anyone - assumed you were the same way. But that didn't mean you couldn't hook up, have casual flings on your nights off.
It bothered Suguru.
Much more than he cared to confess.
He stared while you half-collapsed on the couch, curling up on your side and reaching for the remote on the table to turn the TV on before sighing and shutting it back off. Rolling over onto your back to just blink at the ceiling overhead.
He was tempted to actually use the buttons for once, to smack the one that said where to see if you'd actually tell him how you spent your night away from him.
To convince himself that the only reason he was so irritated was the fact that you could leave and he couldn't.
"Hey," You murmured, turning your head to glance over at him.
Suguru wasn't sure what he'd say even if could reply.
Just staring at you when you sighed again, sitting back up and shuffling off the couch, disappearing down the hall into your bedroom.
Usually, you'd stick around, hang out in the living room and kitchen, absentmindedly talking to him while you went about your evenings. He waited for you to come back out, eyeing the empty spot where you'd just been.
You didn't come back out though, no soft hum of your voice talking to yourself or the quiet pitter patter of the shower running either.
And yeah, he hated to hop, but he was hesitantly hopping through the hall until he reached your cracked open door, poking his head through and scanning the room for you.
You had changed into a tiny pair of shorts, a loose t-shirt, sprawled out in your bed and reading with your head propped up on a pillow.
It was easy to imagine you spending your nights like this.
An uncomfortable feeling was settling in his stomach, mouth dry at feeling like an intruder, an interloper in your home.
You sensed him there, maybe heading the quiet creak of the door, glancing over your shoulder.
He expected a frown. Or even just a blank expression, something polite.
But you smiled instead, one corner of your mouth barely curling up, features softening. Warm. As if you were actually happy to see him.
"Bored?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. Suguru took a small step closer, nudging the door open further. Your smile grew at the affirmation. "Want up here?"
He bobbed his head just once. The most his pride would allow. You were quick to hop off the bed, scooping his off the floor and plopping him down on the bed.
Your touch was delicate, careful. Hands that held him like he was something precious, or breakable.
It dawned on him that it wasn't because he was. That it wasn't because you were looking down at him. But because you respected him enough to care he was comfortable.
The realization didn't help how fast his new heart was beating.
You flopped back down next to him, holding out your book and flipping back to the page you left off on.
"Satoru said you like to read," You commented, eyes on the words ahead rather than him. It was true, but for some stupid reason, he was stuck on the fact you could so casually said Satoru, when he usually only ever heard you use Gojo in front of him. The only time he ever heard you say Suguru was when you thought he wasn't there, only overheard in your conversations with Satoru as if he was a frequent topic of conversation.
He never thought he'd want to know what you used to talk about before as badly as he did now.
He tried to make a humming sound, to actually reply to you for once, wondering if you'd smile again.
You did.
"I can, uh, read out loud if you want? Or pick up some audiobooks for you to listen to while I'm on missions?" You offered.
He nodded again, taking a small hop next to you, his fur brushing against your skin as he laid out next to you, nose twitching at the sweet scent of your perfume. Just your perfume.
And secretly?
Suguru was glad you didn't smell like someone else.
The you from a few weeks ago wouldn't have believed it.
Somehow, someway, Suguru Geto had slowly started to settle into his role of a spoiled house pet. Your spoiled house pet.
He'd wait near the door for you to get back, although, your started to cut a few corners to get out of missions as soon as possible, wrapping up lessons early and sending the students for treats or shopping to give them a break so you could return to him faster. You'd set up audiobooks for him to listen to, buying a speaker just for him to be able to hear it properly and connecting it to an old tablet so he could listen during the day. He'd been more willing to communicate, letting you carry him up to the TV to pick out shows and movies to watch together or picking out what fruits he wanted from the fridge.
It was nice to not be alone.
You guessed he felt the same.
Sniffing at your clothes, his nose twitching when he picked up on the faint scent of Gojo clinging to your shirt just to rub his chin over it. Sitting on your lap and letting you stroke his soft fur while he made a quiet sort of purr to let you know he was content.
He'd even started letting you brush him without protest, let you check his sharp little teeth poking out, not that you really knew what you were looking for despite how many articles you read and videos about bunny dental care you watched.
"Pretty boy," You murmured, scratching behind his ears how you knew he liked.
It was easy to forget sometimes that your precious pet was really a fully-grown man and your former coworker.
What would happen when he transformed back? Or what if he didn't?
You were pretty sure he had to. An inevitability.
Each day brought new doubts, concerns that were getting harder to hide when you woke up and he was still this furry version of him.
You couldn't read his mind. But you suspected he'd gotten used to it the same way you'd gotten used to him.
Started looking forward to you coming home in the evenings while you spent your days thinking about being curled up on the couch with him, his comforting weight on your chest while he let you pet him.
Even with your new routine, you were still painfully aware your rabbit wasn't one.
"Long day, huh?" You muttered, yawning as you continued to stroke his fur. "Me too."
Gojo had left on some mission last night, leaving you to juggle his students and Geto's, dragging them with you to take care of lower grade curses across the city before returning them to the school, scuffed up and dirt-stained.
There was a knock at the door, loud enough you jumped, and Geto did too. Little nails scratched at the bare skin of your thighs below your shorts, scurrying off your lap to your side. You swallowed hard, glancing down at him before reluctantly standing up.
"Probably just food," You mumbled, picking up a slice of the apple you'd cut up for him earlier, holding it out for him to nibble on before you walked over to answer the door and get your own dinner for the night.
Technically it was.
It was just in the hands of a white-haired imbecile.
"How's my favorite two people, er, friends?" Gojo corrected himself, stepping inside and past you before you could stop him. He half-tossed over on your coffee table, squatting down to look at his best friend turned bunny.
"You could've called," You frowned, sighing as you shut the door behind him. "Or texted."
The disruption made you nervous. Convinced you that it was some sign of change, that for all you knew, it'd go back to before, getting the cold shoulder from a fucking rabbit.
"Can't I just check in on you two?" Gojo whined, reaching out like he was about to pick Suguru up by the scruff of his neck.
"Don't grab him like that, it could hurt him," You huffed, stomping over just for infinity to stop you before you could pull him back.
"Fine, fine," He groaned, and you didn't need to see his eyes to know he was rolling them under the blindfold. "So protective."
"Whatever."
Suguru stomped, letting out a soft little growl at how close Gojo was. But you weren't sure what annoyed him more - Gojo's proximity to you or him.
"You got anything sweet?" Gojo didn't let the topic linger, distracting you as he started pushed aside the plate with apples and pulled out your to-go box, lips curling down at its contents.
"I dunno," You shrugged. "I'll look in the kitchen."
You ended up scrounging through most of the shelves in your pantry and half your fridge before you finally found an ice cream bar in the back of your freezer, sighing as you went to return to the living room.
But you paused before you entered at the sound of Gojo still talking, holding Suguru up in the air while he tried to kick his paws and free himself. You almost giggled at the sight, already thinking all the different ways Suguru would surely find to get him back for it later.
"I bet you don't even wanna go back to normal, huh?" Gojo teased, cocking his head to the side while Suguru just let out another little bunny growl at him.
"Hey," You announced your presence, barely keeping the grin off your face as you stepped inside and Gojo quickly returned Suguru to the couch, attempting to look innocent.
Suguru was quick to hop back in your lap the second you sat down as you handed the ice cream bar over to Gojo, despite the fact it felt a bit like rewarding a baby for bad behavior. You grabbed another apple slice to make up to Suguru for it, automatically smiling when he started eating it.
"He lets you feed him?"
For the first time in the past few weeks, the idea of what came next didn't feel quite so scary. That it didn't have to be awkward or unfamiliar.
It wasn't so insane to think you weren't just coworkers or awkward acquaintances anymore. Things didn't have to be weird when this was over, or you'd have to go back to pretending you didn't notice him in every room you were in together.
Still though, you couldn't shake the small part of you that hoped for something more.
Where were you?
You'd shown up late a few times, but only ever an hour or two. Suguru was too short to see the clock on the stove, but he'd watched the sky shift outside from the fading pink of sunset to pitch black, with only the glow from the tv and the tiny lamp you'd forgotten to turn off in your bedroom to cut through the dark of your apartment.
The show you switched on for him earlier shut off at the end of the season, stuck on the same loading screen waiting for someone to press a button on the remote. Which, unfortunately, you'd left on the kitchen counter in your rush getting ready this morning, just out of his jumping height if he even wanted to try.
He'd been a little annoyed at first. He knew you'd feel bad about it when you got back, probably pick him up and apologize with a cute pout, nuzzling him against your chest or cuddling on the couch to make it up to him. He just wanted you to show up already so you could. Absentmindedly stomping his foot waiting for the click of the key in the lock, for you to shuffle through after the door swung open.
But it didn't come.
It didn't help that ten minutes felt more like an hour in this body. That with no way to measure time other than the episodes auto-playing and changing daylight from the window, the seconds stretched out, the hours dragged on until it felt more like days since he'd last seen you.
He tried to remember what you were rambling about this morning, if you mentioned anything about being late. But nothing stood out. You were teaching his students today, then a mission, right?
You mentioned that Nanami was supposed to come along, so surely, between the two of you, you could take care of even a special grade if you had to.
Or maybe you had, and you were out getting drinks with him. Maybe you were in the backseat of his car, letting him undress you and pull you onto his lap. Fiddling with his belt or running your fingers through his short hair-
The lock flipped.
Suguru had already made himself mad though, stomping his back feet before you even pushed the door open, uneven footsteps stumbling through. Haughty as he held his little bunny head up high, planning on giving you the silent treatment until he heard your shaky breathing.
His heart was beating too fast, blood roaring in his ears frozen in place listening to the slam of the door behind you, your footsteps pausing as you leaned against it, holding your side with one hand.
"Shit, Suguru, sorry," You mumbled, your voice weak. "Just, fuck, give me a few minutes."
Your body was shaking, from adrenaline or anxiety, taking uneasy steps forward and bracing yourself on the couch once you were close enough.
He wished he could see you clearer, all the wrong colors and the slightly blurrier bunny vision he was confined by made it hard to tell how hurt you were, how much blood was on your already dark clothes other than what had seeped through to stain your hands.
"It's not that bad," You said it like you weren't wincing, choking down the lump in your throat as you walked towards the bathroom. Suguru couldn't do anything except follow. Couldn't steady you, couldn't hold your hand or help you sit and clean up your wounds the way he wanted to.
Shit. Why the fuck hadn't you gone to Shoko?
Why hadn't Nanami dragged you back to her?
Suguru would've.
It slipped his mind that you weren't as strong as him. That you didn't have RCT. Watching you swallow the pain, forcing yourself to keep moving until you were shoving the door to the bathroom open, eyes glazed over and exhausted as you gripped the counter hard and rumbled through the cabinets for a first aid kit.
Half-collapsing on the closed lid of the toilet seat and rummaging through for gauze to press down on the wound through the torn fabric of your shirt.
It was almost funny, he thought Gojo was full of shit before. Of course, he wanted to turn back, of course he wanted everything to be normal again.
But his best friend knew him better. Was right for once.
He hadn't wanted that - he liked being with you, liked this limbo of long days spent in the comfort of your home and nights spent in your bed.
Suguru liked you.
It just hadn't struck him until now, when he was ready to throw all of that away to be able to help.
He needed his body back.
Needed to do anything other than watch every excruciating wince and flinch as you wiped it clean. You made a small noise when you went to pull off your ripped and blood-stained shirt, balling it up and throwing it in the sink to soak so you could examine the slash across your side better.
"It looks worse than it is," You spoke so quietly it was hard for him to hear. Trying to comfort him when he should be comforting you.
He should be carrying you to Shoko, cradling you against his chest and wiping away the tears brimming at your lashes.
You wiped them yourself though, swiping with the back of your hand just to leave a streak of blood across your cheek.
"I'll see Shoko in the morning," You excused, steadying your voice as you went through each step. Popping a few painkillers before disinfecting it, struggling to patch it up, hands shaking through unsteady stitches before you finished bandaging it up.
You didn't look at him.
Suguru wanted to know what you were thinking.
He had to make himself hop himself forward, rubbing his head around your ankles to forced your attention down to him.
"Hey," You muttered, balling up the plastic wrapping of the bandaid and tossing it in the trash can. "You don't have to feel bad. I'm okay."
You weren't that convincing when you couldn't even bend over to pick him up or pet him.
He stayed by your feet while you cleaned up the first aid, filling up the sink to soak your shirt before you walked back to your bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and preemptively wincing at the thought of finishing changing. Suguru pulled at your shoelaces to untie them for you, loathing just how little he could do to help.
You laughed, something short, sweet, leaning over to pull your shoes off, carefully lifting him up and placing him on the bed. Even the simple movement seemed to hurt, your face scrunching up as you sucked in another breath.
"Thanks, Suguru," You sighed leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead.
He needed you to kiss him again - the real him.
You felt him first.
Someone's arm was wrapped around you, your cheek pressed against something firm and warm, smooth skin and hard muscles practically suffocating you. The blanket was still pulled up around your, your limbs tangled in the fabric while the weight of him kept you there.
Him sleeping on top of you was fine when he was like, eight pounds. He weighed a lot fucking more as a human.
Blinking back surprise, trying to squirm free just for Suguru to grumble something incoherent in his sleep and hold you tighter.
"Sugu, shit, Geto," You groaned as you corrected yourself, managing to pull your arms free to start pushing him off. Your side still hurt from yesterday, a dull throb that ached with every movement.
He just readjusted instead, moving down to nuzzle his head back into your neck, long dark hair splayed out and tickling your face, still too asleep to realize he wasn't a small bunny anymore.
"You're heavy," You complained, and he stirred, his body going stiff the second it hit him why.
"Fuck."
His voice was hoarse and raw, like it hurt to use. It took him a second to start moving, every motion slow, sluggish while he untangled himself from you. You tried not to stare, sitting up in your bed while he stood, but your eyes had a mind of their own, raking over his body to realize he was very much naked.
You made a small noise, immediately looking away and throwing the blanket at him to cover up.
"Um, okay, well, I'm, uh, gonna call Gojo so he can get you some clothes," You rambled, covering your eyes with one hand and fumbling for your phone where you could've sworn you left it on the nightstand before you fell asleep.
A warm hand brushed against yours, goosebumps going up your arm as sturdy fingers skimmed over your skin. It took you a painfully long second to realized he was holding your phone out for you to take.
"Thanks," You choked out, grabbing it and crawling out the other side of the bed so you wouldn't accidentally bump into him. "You can just, uh, use my bathroom to shower or take a bath or whatever."
You were scurrying out before he could reply clutching your phone like a shield to save you from the sheer awkwardness.
In your hurry, you hadn't realized you'd torn your sloppy stitches until you felt something damp through your shirt as you slammed the door behind you and started frantically thumbing through your contacts for Satoru.
"Shit," You muttered, hitting the call button and tucking it between your ear and shoulder and hurrying to the other bathroom to clean it back up, choking down a few more pain killers dry as the phone rang.
"Good morning, princess," An annoyingly chipper voice answered right as you perched yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter.
"I need you to come over," You cut straight to the point, hoping he didn't hear the tremble to your voice when you pressed down on your wound with a fresh piece of gauze. "Suguru's back to normal. And, um, naked."
"I'd never say no to you, but a threesome at nine in the morning is a little early, baby."
"Please just bring him some clothes, idiot," You gritted your teeth, bracing yourself as you disinfected it again.
You really just needed to go see Shoko, but you wanted to make sure Suguru was fine first.
"So no-"
"I'm hanging up now, be here in the next five minutes before I have to maim you," You warned, ending the call before he could say head.
Your side fucking hurt, grinding your molars just replaying the memory of that stupid curse catching you off guard after you thought you killed it.
Nanami had tried to convince you to call Shoko, but it was her night off, and she was out on some date. You didn't want to drag her away unless you were actually actively dying.
Although, you might need to interrupt her morning after now.
There was a sharp knock on the bathroom door, and you forced yourself back on your feet.
Gojo probably fucking teleported straight into your living room.
You glanced around the bathroom, pulling a bathrobe off the door and wrapping it around yourself, tying a bow around the waist.
But when you swung the door open, Suguru was standing there, sculpted chest on display, one of your towels slung low on his hips and his hair damp and long.
Your mouth fell open, but you couldn't find the words when your eyes met his.
His face was pulled tight, jaw clenched as his dark eyes assessed you.
Your heart sank.
Punctured and peppered with holes, disappointment flooding in and drowning you with just a single stern expression from him.
Before you could linger on it, before he could really shove your head under, the energy in the room shifted, and Gojo popped in behind him.
"Sup, Suguru?" He casually greeted, slapping a hand on his shoulder.
Geto twisted around to scowl at his best friend. Gojo just chuckled, pushing the change of clothes he'd brought against his chest before glancing over at you.
"Cute bed head," Gojo commented, stepping around his friend to ruffle your mused hair.
"Shut up," You huffed, smacking his fingers away.
Suguru slotted himself between you before Gojo could do it again.
"She's hurt," Suguru spoke slowly, still frowning. "Take her to Shoko."
"God, you're both so bossy this morning," Gojo complained, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to him, peeking out from beneath his blindfold to squint at you. "How bad is it?"
"I can drive myself," You grumbled, cutting a glare at Suguru.
Really? You'd taken care of him for a month and the first thing he did was rat you out to Gojo?
"Whatever, I'll just take you," Gojo shrugged, slipping his blindfold back down and tugging you closer so you could teleport together.
You were staring at Suguru though.
Forced to look up at him now, all the softness gone, replaced by sharp lines and harsh edges. You didn't know what sort of face you were making, didn't want to when you were sure it was probably tinged with hurt or worse, longing. Caught somewhere between devastation and desire when you couldn't tell what new box he'd put you in now, or if he'd just returned you to the one you'd been stuck in before, barely more than coworkers.
That was what you promised him, right?
What you kidded yourself into thinking wouldn't be hard, no matter how much you liked his presence, how much you convince yourself there was some silent connection you shared.
You couldn't read his face anymore.
And then it was gone, replaced by trees, standing outside of the campus. Gojo was digging his phone out to text Shoko for you.
"Want me to carry you in?" He offered, shoving his hands back in his pockets to pull out loose candy and toss it in his mouth.
"No," You grimaced. "It's fine."
You could take care of yourself.
You'd been perfectly okay on your own before.
It was just a little hard to pretend it was the same when Ijichi gave you a ride home a couple hours later, returning to a quiet apartment with no one to greet you.
Stepping over a few bunny toys left out the day before, walking around empty rooms, starkly aware of just how alone you were.
Even the days felt longer, the silence louder, stretching out and surrounding you.
And yeah, you were still fine, but you ended up taking more missions just to fill the time, to give you an excuse not to return back to your room. Not to the point of really exhausting yourself, but enough that you wouldn't have to think. You avoided stepping foot back on campus, no matter how many times Gojo invited you to join his lesson plans, only going to see Shoko when absolutely necessary.
It wasn't that you didn't want to see Suguru, although it was part of it.
You just didn't know if you'd be able to keep your word if you did.
He probably just wanted to forget.
Didn't want to be dragged back to how it felt to be so small if he saw you.
The first time you bumped into him was when he was in the middle of arguing with Nanami in the latter's office, arms folded across his chest and that casually cold stare still on his face while they bickered about something.
"Um, sorry, I needed your signature on some stuff, Kento," You interrupted, forcing yourself to focus on your blond colleague as he sighed as pushed his goggles back up his nose.
"Sure."
You felt Suguru's eyes sticking to your back as you walked away.
There was a shoebox waiting for you when you got home that night, a brand new pair of shoes to replace the ones he destroyed.
You guessed it was just his way of upholding your deal.
The first time you talked to him was a couple weeks later when him and Gojo made an appearance in Shoko's office the second she stepped out after treating you.
"Hey," He spoke first, brows knitted together, searching your face for something.
"Hi," You echoed back, avoiding his sharp gaze in favor of the floor, the desk, anything.
"You're hurt?" His once silky voice still sounded raw, too low, not quite as smooth as it used to be.
"Not anymore," You shook your head.
"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," He frowned again, stepping closer. You hopped off the table you were sitting on, brushing past his broad chest to get by.
"Thanks for the concern," You muttered.
Obligatory concern wasn't of any interest to you. Whatever debt he might feel towards you, you didn't care to cash in. But a clean slate felt impossible when he'd stationed himself in every corner of your mind.
You'd started considering transferring back to Kyoto, started wondering if it was even worth staying when you just felt so weird about everything now.
Stopping a pet stores on the way home, scooping up bunnies and playing with cats and debating on if you really needed a companion. Or maybe just a date.
You'd been lounging on your couch and swiping through apps for the latter when someone started pounding impatiently on your door.
"You look like you could use a drink."
It was a stupid idea, every one Gojo had was, but you begrudgingly accepted, getting changed into a short dress and letting him drag you down the stairs to your car. He pretended to be a gentleman enough to open the driver's door for you before proceeding to be the passenger princess he actually was, sliding into the shotgun seat and flipping the radio stations on the drive to the bar.
You should've known better.
Because who else would be waiting in a booth for you when you got there?
Really, you should've left.
But you stayed, letting Gojo tug you over to join his best friend, ordering drinks and shots, careful to only drink enough for the warmth to set in, to feel the fuzz in your chest but not get too tipsy that you wouldn't let anything slip.
Gojo on the other hand?
It only took him one drink to dredge up everything you'd been avoiding for the past few weeks.
"C'mon, you'd take care of me if I got turned into, I dunno, a dog, right?" Gojo whined, slurring already, his infinity switching off as he flopped into your lap. He rarely drank - a sight you probably would've savored some other time, snapped some photos of to blackmail him later. He readjusted so his head was reclining on your thighs, fingers pulling back his blindfold so he could blink his big blue eyes up at you.
"You'd probably be a mouse, if anything," You teased, flicking his forehead.
"Nuh-uh," He argued, catching your wrist, small little flickers of energy tingling your skin that he couldn't control, pulling your hand until it was resting in his hair.
"Uh-huh," You giggled, combing through the soft short strands with your fingers.
"I'd take care of you if-"
There was loud thud, almost a heavy stomp, and it took you a second for it to click that someone had. Another to realize who.
You supposed some of Suguru's bunny brain was still there, a few little habits left he hadn't kicked.
"Satoru," Geto scolded, his whiskey glass hitting the table with a harsh clink. You glanced up to see his mouth set in a polite smile you knew was pretend. Fake and forced on, trying not to crack or twitch. "Get off."
"Fine," Gojo huffed and groaned, almost rolling onto the floor in his attempt to push off the booth and your legs to get up.
But you were busy watching his best friend, who, if you weren't mistaken, looked distinctly jealous?
You were torturing him.
He finally had his body back and here you were, torturing him.
The unsure glances you'd toss his way when you thought he wasn't looking, your soft words now addressing him politely, all the intimacy in them removed. The worst part was you weren't even avoiding him, just adhering to the stupid agreement from that first day and pretending the entire month never happened.
He didn't know how to make it more obvious he didn't want that.
But every time he stopped by your apartment, you weren't there. You were never at the school anymore either, always on some mission or with your nose buried in paperwork.
He left the shoes by your door, hoping to hear something, anything, just to get more of the same silence.
It took suggesting to Satoru that the three of you go out for drinks to get you to even come within five feet of him.
And watching this almost made him wish he hadn't.
You let Satoru plop himself down on your lap, giggling with him, petting him. Playing with his hair, fingers sifting through it how you used to stroke Suguru's fur.
Okay, he hadn't meant to thump his foot, just a leftover reflex. But it was better than grabbing Satoru by his collar and dragging him back to a sitting position.
He was only half-aware of what he was saying, if he even offered an excuse, only relaxing once Satoru sat up. His best friend yawning and stretching, digging his phone out of his pocket to check the time.
"Oops," He chuckled. "Ijichi's been waiting outside for me. You want a ride, sweetheart?"
You shook your head, but your eyes flickered over to Suguru, waiting to see if he reacted to Satoru's offer. Or maybe hoping he'd counter with one of his own.
"I'm okay, thanks though," You replied, lips pressed in a thin smile.
"Suit yourself," Satoru sighed, practically pushing Suguru out of the booth so he could get out. He tossed more than enough to cover the bill for all three of you in the table before lifted up one corner of his blindfold again, winking at Suguru before he started to turn. "Make sure she gets home safe, alright?"
The second he was gone though, you were flustered, shrugging before he even said anything.
"Could I buy you another drin-"
"You really don't have to," You accidentally interrupted, blushing and looking down at your hands in your lap. "I meant, about Satoru said, but, uh, to the drink too."
"I want to."
"It's fine," You insisted, but your smile was forced, practiced. "It was nice seeing you tonight though."
"Just nice?" He baited, barely able to keep a straight face when yours turned into a pout.
You pushed off the table, slipping out of the booth, tilting your head to the side with a conflicted expression. "Good night, Geto."
Suguru was following you out with a small frown this time.
"Suguru," He corrected. How many times had he stomped and grunted to get you to call him that in bunny form? Just for you to go back to his last name the second he was a sorcerer again?
"Good night, Suguru," You hummed. There was a hint of teasing there, a faint smile on your face he barely got a glimpse of before you walked a little faster out the exit.
"You're tired?" He asked, fresh air hitting him first as the door thudded shut behind him as he followed you outside.
"Not really." You probably only acknowledged it because you knew he'd been around you enough to know it'd be a lie otherwise.
He wanted to ask you to stay, or to leave with him instead.
"I should probably head home now," You swallowed, glancing between your feet before back out to the street ahead.
"Where's your car?"
"It's like a ten minute walk from here, I, uh, couldn't find parking," You mumbled, still not looking at him, putting yet another step between you he immediately bridged.
His hand grabbed the hem of your shirt, pinching it in his fingers lightly, just enough to get you to stop before you could slip away again.
"You wanna ride?" Suguru offered. Flying over the city at nighttime on his dragon was romantic, right? He could wrap an arm around your waist (to keep you steady, of course), watch the twinkling lights below and feel the cool breeze on your skin.
"I'm sorta scared of heights," You sheepishly admitted, shrugging your shoulders apologetically. "But thanks."
"Let me walk you there then," He insisted.
"Figured you'd probably want to just crash at your own place," You dismissed, staring straight ahead rather than looking at him.
"I wouldn't mind going back to yours," He smoothly answered back, letting go of your shirt to see if you'd try to break away again.
"Yeah?" You were cautious, eyes flicking up to his.
"Yeah."
He walked next to you, the quiet break in conversation comfortable, studying your side profile while you lead the way to your car.
"I'd take care of you," Suguru murmured under his breath. He wasn't even sure he actually said it, or if he had and the quiet footfalls on the pavement and the passing cars drowned him out.
"You'd, um, what?" You finally said, stealing another peek up at him. Your hand brushed against his, just barely, and it took everything in him not to hold it, not to interlock his fingers with yours and refuse to let go.
"If it ever happened to you," He replied, completely serious even if you were staring at him like you understood him better as a bunny.
He could practically see the gears turning in your head, like you were trying to decide how to interpret it before you landed on a joke.
"Yeah, you'd save me from being neglected or overfed at Gojo's?" You hummed, looking back at the street ahead.
"Sure," Suguru said.
"How kind of you," You laughed a little, folding your arms across yourself as a brittle breeze cut through the air, fighting back a shiver.
He took his jacket off, and you paused, staring at him with your face scrunched up, mouth parted like you wanted to tell him it was yet another thing he didn't need to do, no sound came out. He took the opportunity to help slip it on you himself, brushing your hair out of the way as you pulled it around your shoulders.
"Thanks," You blushed.
He wished he'd just listened to Satoru the first time he suggested you would make a cute couple a year ago, asked you out himself, wished there wasn't all this time wasted when you could've been his.
He refused to waste any more.
Opening the car door for you when you finally made it there, getting in the passenger seat and watching you scramble to turn the radio station to music you remembered he liked, adjusting the temperature and chuckling when you asked again if he really wanted to go to your place.
You still came up with a cute excuse after he said yes, claiming you had a book you thought he'd like, to pretend he was coming over just to borrow something.
As if it was too hard to believe you were what he liked, you were what he wanted.
"It's a little messy, but I guess you've seen it look worse," You muttered, lips pursed together as you rummaged through your bag for your key. He leaned against the door, one corner of his mouth quirking up as you threw him an apologetic look.
You found the key, turning it in the lock and pushing the door open, letting him in first.
The first thing he noticed was the bunny pen still up. Although the bowls were empty now.
"You kept everything," He commented, unsure what the weird feeling in his chest was. It was cloying, some thick nostalgia that clouded his judgement when everything was almost the same as he left it, although it all felt much, well, smaller.
You kicked off your heels, laughing a little when Suguru automatically started helping you shrug off his jacket, his fingertips grazing against your skin.
"I've been thinking about adopting a real one," You casually answered, a faint blush flooding your cheeks like you were embarrassed about it. Jealousy? Annoyance? Whatever it was, he felt absolutely territorial and entirely idiotic over the panic seizing inside him at the thought of you replacing him with a new pet. "It's been kinda weird adjusting, you know?"
"Oh," He murmured, attention sweeping back over your living room. It still smelled like you. Your perfume lingered in the air, but it was more than that, or maybe he was just more sensitive to it now. "It's been hard for me too."
"Really?" You breathed a sigh of relief, glancing back over your shoulder at him with that small smile he used to fall asleep next to.
"Yeah," He confirmed, pushing down the lump in his throat.
"Being alone-"
"I miss you," He interrupted before you could keep skirting around it, before you could find another excuse to pretend you didn't hate his absence the way he hated yours.
"I, uh, you what?" You squeaked, sounding just like the mouse you accused Satoru of being.
"I miss you," Suguru repeated, a tentative hand on your waist to twist you around so he could see your face in full. Watch your eyes widen and pretty lips part in surprise while you tried to work out if you meant it how you hoped he did.
"I missed you too," You quietly admitted, as if it was something to feel guilty for.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you," Suguru continued, tracing up your sides with long fingers, then back down to your hips.
He wanted to hold you this time instead of the other way around.
"I-"
You stopped yourself when he pulled you closer, your chest pressed against his, sucking in a sharp inhale.
But you broke eye contact, glancing away sheepishly. He followed your stare over to your messy coffee table, noticing the papers scattered across the surface. One word caught his eye, transfer in big and bold letters.
"What's that?" The panic from before flared up hard now.
You wouldn't leave.
You couldn't.
"Oh, um," You paused, embarrassed. "I was just considering transferring back to help them out. It's not like you guys really need me here."
"Do I not need you?" For once, he sort of wished he was more like Gojo.
He would throw himself down on his knees and beg you to stay.
Suguru could barely stand to even stare at you, loathed the longing in his voice when he waited for your answer.
"Do you?" You echoed quietly.
"I do," Suguru admitted, feeling something inside himself crack at the honesty.
"Suguru," You said his name like you weren't convinced.
"If you go, I'll go too."
He almost surprised himself. But he wasn't going to let life take the one thing he ever truly wanted from him, not this time.
"If you're just doing this because you feel like, you owe me or something idiotic like that," You started again, clearing your throat and trying to strengthen your resolve despite how close you were to giving in, your bottom lip starting to quiver.
"I'm doing this because I like you," Suguru chuckled.
You let him pick you up this time, wrapping your legs around his waist and your wrists around his neck, so badly wanting to believe him. Looking up at him like your whole world was in his hands when he carried you back to your room.
He half-tossed you onto the bed, hands almost shaking when they hovered over your body. He was nervous, but it felt like it had when he first transformed back, like all his proportions were suddenly wrong again, struggling to control his fingers and force them to move how they once did. Not nimble or deliberate, but messy, needy.
"Suguru," You purred so prettily, propping yourself up on your elbows and peering up at him with warm eyes. He settled on caressing your cheek, feeling the flush under your skin. "If you change your-"
"I'm not changing it," He murmured, sucking a sharp breath. He'd stay where you were, or follow where you went. Nothing had been simpler.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him on top of you, and he was struck again by how different your room felt. How tiny the bed seemed than the last time you were under him.
Then there was you.
Tangling your fingers in his hair and returning his stare, wondering if the little glints of adoration were really in your eyes or just a reflection of his own. You smelled sweeter in person, up close like this, but what he couldn't stop thinking about was your taste.
Of all the things he'd forced down his throat, rolled over his taste buds and struggled to swallow, you were the first he wanted to savor.
"Stop staring at me like that then," You let out a light huff, bottom lip sticking out. He wanted to bite it.
Your eyes fluttered shut when his nose nuzzled against yours, expecting the kiss before his mouth pressed against yours, and he was barely surprising the urge to lap at your bottom lip and beg for entry.
But you were always good at anticipating his needs, already parting your lips to let him in, your legs starting to wrap around his waist before his free hand snagged one of your thighs and pressed it down into your soft mattress.
Suguru was pretty sure he found heaven in your kiss. Divine karma repaying him for every putrid curse he'd choked down, lost between the cherry chapstick on your lips and the wine on your tongue when it slid against his.
He wanted to claim you.
Make you his in body and word and mind.
He was yours. He'd scratched and stomped and tried to fight it but it was true, wasn't it? His heart had already been cut out and you had already signed your name on it, permanently stamped him with a return to: label like he could somehow get lost when there was already an invisible leash connecting him to you.
Pulling away to breathe was hard enough. But seeing your tiny smile start to curl up, you eyes glossy and bright as they locked with his, his lungs could've collapsed at how pretty he thought you looked.
"Kiss me again," You quietly requested.
He'd kiss you as many times as you let him.
Returning his mouth to yours, offering warm open-mouth kisses like promises, loyalty and love and lust all wrapped up in his soft lips sucking on yours.
His free hand snuck between the increasingly narrow space between your body and his, tugging up your dress until he could see the pretty little lace underwear you'd worn underneath it.
"Cute," He commented, pulling away so he could them down, taking his time shimmying the flimsy fabric down your thighs, despite how badly he wanted to just rip it off in one go.
Your face was flushed, watching him with wide eyes as he tossed the panties into the laundry basket before prying your thighs apart all the way. He paused, removing his own clothes piece by piece, cock already swollen as it smacked up against his dark happy trail, pre-cum beading up along his pink tip.
Satisfaction swelled in his chest to see how soaked you were, his new favorite feast sprawled out for him.
Suguru flipped you over onto your stomach, pushing your face down and propping you up on your knees, nudging them open just enough for him to fit between them.
His second taste of you had him convinced he would never be able to get enough. Licking a clean stripe up your thighs to your entrance, pushing his tongue in deeper, flattening it as it danced inside.
"Sh-shit," You mumbled, completely flustered now, and he could just picture the pretty blush on your face, your next breath stolen as he practiced more drawn-out swirls.
His fingers leaving indents in your soft skin, the pliant muscles tensing with every squeeze of his hands.
Hearing your moans and shaky breathing only made him work harder, exploring every spot he'd stretch out later, determined to hear his name from your lips again. Devote each and every ministration of his mouth to you. His pretty girl.
"You like that?" He broke away to murmur right as you started making broken little whimpers into the mattress.
"Mm, mhm," You moaned, squirming under his grip.
"Wanna hear you, sweetheart," He sighed, pulling away just enough to admire the view one more time, tempted to leave scattered bites and kisses all over your thighs to make it just that much sweeter.
"Suguru," You huffed a complaint, all whiny and adorable as you barely found the strength to lift your head. "Keep going."
Your impatient whine might've worked on another man.
But Suguru had been patient before. Had waited for you to come back around to him. He'd be taking care of you the rest of his life, but he still wanted each second to last.
He couldn't help it, bending down to plant a kiss on the back of your thigh, letting his teeth sink in just enough to leave a small hickey, continuing up to leave a trail of them along your thighs while you made muffled noises.
"I asked you a question, baby," He reminded you, spreading your thighs apart as he left another peck close enough you had to feel his breath ghosting over your sensitive clit, almost jolting at the phantom sensation.
"You know I like it, Sugu-" You gasped when his tongue slipped back inside, surprised at the sudden warmth.
And yeah, he did, but you were clueless how much he loved it.
Loved every noise he pulled out of you, how you melted in him, let him pull you in and squeezed so tightly at every grunt and groan he made.
Adored every time you said his name, listening to your harsh exhales and watching you grip the blankets underneath you like you could crumble at any moment.
When you did? Falling apart after he slipped his hand around to your front, massaging careful circles against your aching bud until you were trembling, only held up by his arms around you?
Suguru was pretty fucking sure he was in love.
All that patience had evaporated, drained somewhere he couldn't access, need of his own taking over as he climbed back on top of you, lining himself up and barely holding himself back as he sank into you.
Half the street probably heard his groan, and your neighbors absolutely heard your pretty mewl of his name when his hands gripped your hips so mean to hold you there.
"Fuck, oh fuck, you're so-"
"Sugu," You whined, interrupting him and wiggling your hips as you tried to force him in all the way.
His composure, the control he'd cling to, both were quickly unraveling.
The sight of you bent over, his cock half-concealed inside you while you clenched around him so sinfully to suck him in?
He could probably cum from that alone.
Suguru clenched his jaw, staving it off as he slowly pushed in deeper, counting out his breaths until he bottomed out inside you, your own inhales growing ragged at the stretch and burn.
He wanted to mold you to him, to fuck you hard enough and long enough to leave an impression of every ridge and vein. Not make it two pumps before finishing.
But you had a knack for making his life difficult.
The arch of your back when he pulled out and plunged back in, the intoxicating scent of your perfume that was still driving him fucking insane, the gorgeous little gasps you let out with each thrust and smack of his hips against your ass.
He rutted deeper, his cock throbbing while your insides clung desperately onto him, watching the way your fists curled up in the comforter when you buried your face into the soft cotton to muffled your whines.
"M-mine," Suguru stuttered over the growl, hardly recognizing the husk in his own voice, swollen tip stuffed up against your womb while you squeezed around him.
Really, he was yours.
Would be your loyal dog or lap animal, whatever you wanted him to be.
Something primal inside him screamed that he had to fill you up, to mark you as his and stuff a baby or two or twelve inside you. Okay, not actually that last one.
The little sliver of him that was still operating on the most basic instincts of a small animal couldn't tell the difference though.
"Tell me to pull out," Suguru groaned, his fingers pressing harder into your hip, his reason getting fuzzier the longer you kept sucking him in. Sweat pricked at his forehead as his face fell forward to rest on your back, lips pressed to your skin like a lifeline.
"N-no."
Your voice was quiet, a soft breath that was hardly audible over the sound of skin on skin or the thump thump thumps of your headboard hitting the wall.
Barely hanging on by a strand, the tremble of your thighs underneath him and the shudders sent down your spine with each snap of his hips frayed the tether to his self-control until there was almost nothing left. Trailing kisses across your shoulder to feel the gasp he tore from your throat when you unraveled underneath him, holding you together while you fell to pieces crying out his name in broken whimpers.
He hadn't meant to.
But his teeth were sinking into the scruff of your neck, a soft love bite digging in to keep you still underneath him while warm spurts of cum coated your walls white. The thick veins pulsing until every last drop took, his cock still buried deep inside until he realized he was still half-clamped down, releasing you just to keep you pinned to the bed by his body weight instead.
"Suguru," You softly whined, turning your head so he could hear you better.
"Yeah, baby?" He murmured, pressing a few small kisses over the fresh hickies starting to blossom on your skin, lips pressing against the indents his teeth had left.
"I don't want this to be just sex," You confessed. Your voice was small, strained even, like you were embarrassed to say it.
"It's not," He promised. He readjusted so he could tilt your head, grabbing you chin as he caught your mouth with another kiss.
Part of him wished he could swallow you too - keep you with him where you'd always stay by his side. Another reminded him that was insane.
He could settle on being your boyfriend for now.
"I meant it earlier," He reiterated, kissing the corner of your mouth between words. There was no way in hell he was letting you slip through his fingers again. "You know I'm yours too."
You giggled, returning a peck to the tip of his nose as you tried to squirm free from under him, like you just remembered his cock was still inside you, cum leaking out around him and onto your blankets.
He didn't want to pull out though, didn't even want to separate when you were finally his.
Honestly, he was halfway-hoping you'd get pregnant, picturing you with a cute baby bump padding around barefoot in the sort of sundress that clung to your swollen stomach, physical proof you belonged to him just as much as he did to you.
You hadn't told him to pull out after all.
So surely, you wanted the same, right?
"You're all mine?" You hummed, shifting your hips around just to get a reaction out of him, his cock already oversensitive and starting to get hard again as his hands held you back down by your waist.
"You just want me to say it again," He chided with a chuckle of his own, sighing into your skin while you let out another weak huff that sounded more like a whine.
"Maybe," You admitted.
You looked back up at him, and he was a little too aware that he'd say it however many times you wanted as long as it was true.
"You know," You started talking again, biting down on your bottom lip as you rested your head on your folded forearms underneath them, yawning softly. "I was going to buy you a little bunny collar so everyone would know you were mine, but I guess you've already outgrown it, huh?"
He laughed again, his hand sliding up your spine to trace his own bite mark on the nape of your neck. Could you really not tell you already had him on a leash?
Synopsis: in which popular girl!reader is done with shitty players and wants to try the newest delicacy: virgin nerds. It’s game on to seduce the physics student, who seems more than ready to abandon his life of celibacy.
But their arrangement only works if they’re both on the same page. What happens when one expects a little more than sex?
Is it game over?
Warnings: eventual smut, plot with porn, fake dating trope, college au, no curses au, mean girl!reader, fem dom!reader, nerd!jo, subby!gojo, virgin!gojo, masochist!gojo, some angst but with a happy ending, very early 2000s romcoms, reader grows a lot (hate towards her will not be tolerated), reader gets humbled quite often here lol, chapter specific warnings will be listed on the chapter, some allusions to toxic/unhealthy relationships and coping, not proofread
Word Count: 41k
Gojo art by @/Leimiruu on X
Chapter ONE - Game start
Chapter TWO - Different levels
Chapter THREE - Boss fight
Chapter FOUR - Perfect victory
Disclaimers:
♤ COMPLETED
♤ Available on AO3.
♤ This is a mix of fluff, smut and angst, so minors/ageless blogs do not interact.
♤ Any comments hating on the reader in this story will be deleted and the user will be blocked. The story plays on the mean girl trope so you will see mean girl behaviour. Just know this is all intentional. If you are sensitive to a flawed female character, do not read. I know what some of you are like. I have played these games before.
♤ This is a college au separate from my EdenU au. Different Gojo and university setting altogether. Any semblance is coincidental.
♤ Every part of this is of my own work. No AI or external inspiration was used. Please do not repost this on Tumblr or on any other platform without credits. I do not give permission for this to be translated. And please do not feed my work into AI.
ᝰ FAMOUSLY, HUMILIATED .ᐟ PROLOGUE
⤷ suguru geto x fem!reader
masterlist ❀ next chapter (tba!)
DAY ONE working on the mural, you're shaking with every stroke. the reference picture you'd spent the last week putting together pulled up on your phone. and old pair of overalls, stained with at least three years' worth of paint buildup, fossilised into the denim.
you wouldn't have gotten here without it.
your art page had been blowing up for months now. steady growth, a few viral posts— but this still feels unreal. like someone is going to tap your shoulder and tell you they meant to message a different artist.
the piece you're creating is going to be painful. monumental. inspirational. it'll make passers stop and think. it's a woman crying, ugly, and real. you want it to communicate pressure, hurt, overwhelm.
you want people to stop when they walk past.
you want them to feel something they can’t immediately scroll away from.
hopefully.
hopefully.
you've brought out the fancy brushes. expensive paints and even a ladder. coins are tossed into the donation hat behind you, and try your hardest to let the clinking sound distract you.
by the end of the day, you're counting them out in your living with shoko and maki while utahime and nobara make snacks in your cramped kitchen.
"wow." you whisper, looking at the total shoko writes down on a post-it-note. that's more than double what you make at a single shift at the library. and you did it with a smile on your face.
DAY TWO people are filming and taking pictures as they pass by. it's really coming together now. thankfully, you have a mask on. you wouldn't want to ruin the whole faceless artist thing you have going on.
shoko and utahime stop by at midday to bring you coffee. you shove the straw under your mask, and suck up the caffeine like a starving victorian child.
a girl walks up to you to complement the mural and ask for your instagram. you sputter, almost choking on your coffee, brain short-circuiting.
shoko pats your head good-naturedly. utahime giggles and points to the bottom corner, where you'd painted your handle in white.
DAY THREE is your deadline. the piece would go up on takeshita street's page tonight.
you've mad good time, thankfully. you're just down to the final touches. pupils, depth, maybe some shimmer if you can.
you climb the ladder with a brush between your teeth, lugging a heavy bucket of brown paint for the eyes.
maybe your legs are stiff from the awkward angles you'd put them in the last three days while painting. maybe you're shaky from all the coffee and energy drinks you'd consumed in the last two hours. maybe you're lightheaded from the apple you'd convinced yourself counted as breakfast.
regardless, you don't remember the fall.
you remember the crash. the paint splattering everywhere. and the blood. so much blood. the sound of nobara freaking out and shoko speaking to the ambulance operators came in dizzy waves. your ears rang. the girls tried keeping you awake. your own voice was somewhere far away.
you woke up in white sheets, loopy from anaesthesia and heavy. your leg's wrapped up. a small surgery. thankfully, that was all.
"m-my mural..." you try to sit up. shoko presses your shoulder back down.
"it'll be there tomorrow."
it isn't.
it is. but not really.
it gets uploaded that night. your name in the caption. your handle which you regret writing so perfectly in the bottom.
a woman. head tilted. tears streaming down her face. mouth agape.
missing her pupils.
the comments are ruthless.
💬 what the hell is that ☠️
💬 GIRL WHO'S UNDER THE TABLE
💬 why is this demon being ate out
💬 im scared.
you laugh at it a little yourself. half-disbelief, half-amusement. they aren't exactly wrong. it looks raunchy as hell.
you don't have the energy to do anything else. not to make a post to clear things up. not to beg the account to take the post down. not to ask for an extension.
big mistake.
the next morning, you're discharged. shoko takes you to her place and cooks everyone breakfast while you lay on her couch and let the other three draw on your cast and paint your toenails. they wanted to make you feel better. make you laugh. pamper you.
"oh shit." nobara whispers. she's on her phone, scrolling through instagram reels while waiting for your toes to dry so she can paint a second coat.
"what?" you ask, sitting up slightly.
she gulps, looking at you, and then back at her phone. then shows it to maki. her jaw tightens. utahime peeks between their shoulders, her eyes widen. then shoko looks.
"show me!" you demand.
hesitantly, nobara turns her phone to face you.
it's the mural.
your mural.
some meme song is playing in the background. with a caption slapped over the top reading 'yall just be calling anything art these days'.
one million likes.
your body numbs. your handle is sat there, clear as day in the bottom.
damage control doesn't work. by the next day, the video's at two million. your inbox is flooded with troll commissions. you have to turn your comment section off.
before you're about to turn off your direct messages too, someone sends you a video.
a group of teenage boys. in front of your mural. one of them mimicks the face the woman's making. another lets out an exaggerated moan.
on a normal day, you'd laugh. it's stupid.
but then one of them shakes a red spray paint can. in big, dripping letter over the woman's face, he writes; 'QUIT'.
so you do.
everyone tells you it'll pass. just ride it out, people will move on to the next scandal and forget.
but it doesn't matter. not to you. because the spark's vanished.
you deactivate your account. list your art supplies on facebook marketplace.
WHERE a viral mistake turns you into a public punchline and kills your passion overnight. while trying to to sell the last pieces of your life as an artist, a buyer from facebook marketplace happens to be suguru geto, a well-known painter in your city and art studio owner... and, apparently, a fan of yours. after encouraging you to start painting again under an anonymous alias, you begin rebuilding your passion in secret, with the help of suguru and his studio.
❀ may be suggestive at parts but sfw overall, dirty/vulgar jokes, kys jokes, half-written.
୨୧ in which !shychoso gets dragged to a frat party by his best friend yuji, fully planning to disappear into a corner, only to be found by you who pulls him out of his comfort zone and leads to him fucking you into the start of a new situationship.
𝐖𝐂: 1.4 - 1.6k??
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I have the urge to make this into a series so I will! If you know the song from the title then you know the direction this story is going XD (greek tragedy- the wombats) please like + reblog + comment and a follow is always much appreciated .ᐟ.ᐟ
Ever since highschool you lived your life on the edge and almost every caption on your Instagram spam account was “#yolo!”. Hanging out with you was like a reward for some people. You were so welcoming in high school that you earned the superlative for "Most Likely to Brighten Your Day".
You’d been carefree since birth and problems rolled off your shoulders. You didn’t stress anything and you surely didn’t study because your mentality was “studying is doubting my knowledge!” It took a short time for you to grasp concepts you cared for. So in that sense you were smart enough for school not to stress you the way it should’ve.
Some of these habits rolled over to college. You were considered the life of the party on campus. You only joined a sorority to be able to host parties and be in your element and that was exactly where you thrived.
Ragers consisted of everyone showing up at midnight, drinking their asses off and dancing to unbearably loud music. You supplied the liquor but preferred not to drink because you didn’t need it.
You often found yourself on the dance floor with your skirt rolled up, hair slightly sticking to your forehead and your arms flailing in the air to the music. This was how Choso spotted you.
You were the life of the party. You checked on everyone all night to make sure people were having fun. You would walk over to random groups of people and just fit right in. Conversation was so natural to you that it made Choso jealous. You were friends with everyone.
Your adventures spirit is what led you to meet the quiet black haired boy. Choso wasn’t a nerd but he was focused on his studies enough to where he could avoid social interactions. It wasn’t that he was anti social he just preferred keeping his distance from people he considered a waste of time.
A friend who had forced himself into Choso’s life was Yuji Itadori. Yuji was a powerhouse in everything he did. He was kind and loved social interactions unlike Choso. He was the only reason Choso even attended parties.
Despite the people surrounding Choso, he didn’t feel the slightest urge to go make conversation with anyone. Like usual Yuji dragged him here and left him due to the chaos of the party scene.
Choso didn’t mind it and he considered himself the safe friend who could responsibly drive his friends home. This mindset went out the window when you locked eyes on him.
Two red solo cups slushed back and forth due to your body jerking around in the crowd. Your habit to check on members who attended your party left you making eye contact with a reserved black haired boy who stood awkwardly in a corner.
You danced your way over to him and handed him a cup which he eyed suspiciously. A grin made its way onto your face as you smiled. “Hi my name is [insert name]! No need to be suspicious I swear! It’s fruit punch with a pinch of alcohol. Just a little something I give to everyone who seems a bit tense!” You said as he watched you down the alcoholic beverage in your cup to prove it to him.
“What’s your name? Mr.ShyGuy.” You teased. Choso’s cheeks were flushed. He didn’t know if it was because a pretty girl was approaching him at a party or the fact that a pretty girl nicknamed him. “Choso.” He said in an accidental flat tone. His reserved personality made conversation appear flat and uninterested or at least that’s what he was told.
“Well Mr.Choso! Have a drink!” You said pointing to the cup in his hands. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand before momentarily sipping on the drink. You eagerly clasped your palms together at his willingness. You honestly took this as a sign that he wanted to party.
Your hand found Choso’s free hand and you pulled him through the party to the crowded pool table. This was a common sight for party goers. You pulling strangers out of their shells but this time it was different. You were pulling the hand of a tall reserved nerd who was surprisingly attractive to most. His attractiveness arguably tripled with you next to him because it gave ‘Sexiest couple of the year’.
Eyes followed the two of you as you entered the game room with a large pool table in the middle. Eyes locked on your hands basically intertwined and girls mouths suddenly opened to drool over him. Typical college girls.
Upon approaching him you weren’t focused on his attractiveness so your attention wasn’t even on the girls who were practically eye fucking him.
You and Choso approached the pool table where billard balls were nowhere in sight. Shot cups lined the table where your frat brother declared a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’. You excitedly rushed to the table and squeezed you and Choso into the round.
The game started slowly.
“Never have I ever cheated on a test.” Everyone took a shot.
“Never have I ever..got below a 60 on my rice purity test.” Everyone but Choso and a few others took a shot. You stood on your toes and whispered into Choso’s ear “I can change that if you want.”
It was a fluke and you didn’t think much of it. You were a tease and it never usually got you anywhere until this time.
Choso’s hands mercilessly gripped your hips as he pushed into your tight cunt.
Your back arched of the mattress at every thrust. “Ah-I..can’t” you whispered out as Choso’s thumb polished light flickers of force onto your clit.
“You can pretty girl. This is what you wanted. Right?” He said as he leaned down over you to place kisses along your neck. His voice was rough and it was so fucking hot.
You never expected something this this. Getting fucked by the quiet nerd who you now remembered sat in your ecology class.
After a few rounds of ‘Never Have I Ever.’ Choso had loosened up and he’d joined you on the dance floor. You two danced together and his hands found their way to your hips where he proudly became protective of you.
Any guy who even looked at you received a nasty glare. Maybe it was just the alcohol.
Your ass grinded on Choso to the music which led his hands higher onto your waist to maintain distance between the two of you.
“Mh..” Choso breathed out silently as he noticed his length growing due to your grinding.
You turned around now facing him and innocently looked up at his as you mouthed “I can fix that for you.”
Which is what led you to be pressed under Choso’s large frame. He was initially hesitant due to the drunken state you two were in but after you assured him that you were okay he immediately went to work.
Choso’s pace quickened as your cunt tightened around him. Despite sleeping with a few guys ever now and then, Choso was the icing in the cake.
The way his length grew inside of you and hit sweet spots you didn’t know even know existed made your eyes roll. The praise you wanted to give him came out in broken moans.
Drool trickled down your chin before Choso said “I-I’m close.” Your legs wrapped around his waist and you pulled him closer.
“Please finish inside.” You begged out. His pace quickened and you purposely clenched around him.
Tears filled the rim of your eyes as Choso dumped his thick load into your wet puffy cunt. It felt like heaven on earth and for a while you two stayed there until he continued to lazily thrust.
“You didn’t finish did you?” He said now drilling into you as his thumb quickly circled your clit. Broken moans escaped your mouth and your legs began to slightly shake.
“Yes Cho.. ple-” You were cut off as Choso pressed his lips into yours and gently began kissing your face. The tension had now settled and his pace changed between quick rough plaps into your cunt to slow strokes that left you throwing your head back and grinding into him for more.
The change in speed caused you to orgasm and Choso to cum inside you once more despite it being his second time in less than five minutes.
You squealed out as you both came at the same time and Choso let out deep grunts before pulling his length out of you.
He apologized as his seed now began slowly dripping down your thighs.
You laughed softly before propping yourself up on the bed frame. “Don’t apologize dork I asked for it.” You said joking as you watched his cum leak out of your cunt that was still throbbing for more.
Choso saw this and settled himself between your thighs where he pulled you by your thighs closer to him.
“Ngh w- wait!” You moaned out as your cunt was still sensitive. Choso ignored your pleads as his tongue lapped your cunt. He moaned into you as his tongue continuously plunged in and out of you.
“I’m just cleaning you up.” He said into your pussy which sent vibrations through your body due to his deep voice. He kissed your cunt a few times before kissing your thighs. He did this for a while until he looked up to find your eyes barely open.
“This was hot.” You whispered. You barley looked down at the boy before casually asking “Can I get your number?”
Choso had a dumbfounded expression on his face. He did just cum in the hottest girl on campus and she didn’t even seem to care. “I.. are you on..birth control?” He asked.
You nodded. “Duhhh, now can I get your number?”
@califoreigner , 2026 — Unauthorized copying, reconstruction, reposting, or uploading to other platforms is prohibited.
ever wondered what valentines day dates the jjk men/women would take shy!reader on? then look no further! below is a collection of beautifully curated work by a plethora of talented authors. || mdni
in which, they see you sitting in class and decide to finally ask you out.
chemistry class with FRATBOY!SUKUNA. he's had his eye on you ever since taking chemistry as a subject. he finally plucks up the courage to ask you out on a cafe hopping date for valentines, and you accept! (fluff to smut) 18+ ! by: @sixxels
music class with FRATBOY!GOJO. he'd been your childhood friend years ago. after growing distant and falling into the fratty lifestyle, gojo decides to bite the bullet and rekindle the flame that had been there all along, taking you on a date to your childhood treehouse on valentine's day. (angst to fluff) by: @rainlina
film class with FRATBOY!TOJI. toji's been crushing on you for a while, you had such a deep appreciation for film and he really admired your outlook on things. he approaches you in class and asks if you'd be down to go watch one of his favourite movies together! (fluff, smut) by: @strawb3rryhachi
biology class with BESTFRIEND!GETO. he woo's you in bio with his effortless charm, asking if you'll humor him with a date on valentines day. you, of course, say yes, and the two of you have a sweet dorm room dinner together. (fluff, smut) 18+ ! by: @fricks
history class with NERD!GOJO. you and him are one in the same, so it's safe to say you were both tremendously nervous when gojo decides to finally ask you out on valentines day. the awkward boy suggests you come over to his place to watch a movie and eat some pizza, you happily agree. (fluff, smut) 18+ ! by: @dollhousesinner
psychology class with NERD!CHOSO. choso, the hot nerd in your class, awkwardly asks his project partner if you'll accompany him on a date on valentines day. you accept, and he takes you out to a bookstore to get a better understanding of what makes you tick! (fluff) by: @cassideezlife
accounting class with NERD!NANAMI. nanami can't resist the cute nerdy girl in his finance class, and with valentines day coming up soon? now is a better time than ever to ask you out on a date. he takes you to the aquarium where he tells you about all the fish and you slowly come out of your little shell. (fluff) by: @whispers-of-aurora
philosophy class with MENTOR!HIGURUMA. he's around your age, and totally into you. he'd always been attracted to the shyer girls, and your intellect mixed with your self preservation intrigued him to no end. with valentines day around the corner, he asks you out and takes you to a bistro! (fluff) by: @stellarixe
biology class with FRIENDSTOLOVERS!MEGUMI. there was always an unspoken kind of love between you and megumi, one he'd decided needed adressing with valentines day approaching. after all, he couldn't let you get snatched up by anyone else. he takes you out on a nice date and makes you a beautiful bouquet of flowers. (fluff) by: @kaekuna
art class with SKATERBOY!INO. ino's a little bit on an outsider on campus. so, he's a little nervous to ask such a sweet girl out in fear of seeming too forward or weird. but, valentines day is a good a time as any to try your luck, so the boy asks you out to the skate park. you agree, and it turns out the both of you had been secretly crushing on each other for ages! (fluff) by: @kixxtie
literature class with POPULAR!SHOKO. shoko had a thing for sweet things like you, so she suggests you come with her to a party that's happening on valentines to get to know you better. at said party, she finds you passed out on the balcony sofa and decides to cuddle up with you! (fluff) by: @snorlexi
all works to be posted on the 13th of february AEST, right in time for valentine's day!
ryomen sukuna finally decides to man up….three months after he spoke to you last. is he too late or will you let him back in?
★ PAIRING: frat bro! ryomen sukuna x nerdy! fem reader
★ CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ content, MDNI. unplanned pregnancy. baby gumi cameo. sukuna being a self absorbed asshole (what’s new). mention of abortion.
★ WORD COUNT: 3k
★ JADE’S NOTES: uh don’t take your baby to a frat 😄👍
part three of frat bro turned dad of the year
ryomen sukuna’s a man who’s used to being in control.
he’s used to the world shifting around his feet to accommodate to the sheer amount of space that he takes up, used to being the center of attention in every room he steps in. necks craning around to catch a glimpse of him, a call of his name in hopes he’d at least give them a curt nod, a pat on the shoulder.
even in rooms he’d never stepped a foot in, he was the center of attention. his name rolling around like waves, from one mouth onto the next, rumors that he didn’t care to deny nor confirm.
he doesn’t remember the last time he’s so much as had to lift a finger to get a woman to talk to him, they flock to him like a pack of vultures to decaying flesh. they’re eager to talk to him, they’re eager to be seen with him, but they never want to actually get to see him. not that it matters, he forgets about them by the time they’re upstairs in his room.
you had completely tilted that on its axis. sure, you jumped at the first opportunity to go up to his room (who could blame you), but you’d also taken to tutoring him seriously. actually teaching him the material even when you both knew he wasn’t paying attention to the material.
he noticed little things about you—from the way you color coordinated your journals: red for stats and blue for english, to the way you nibbled on your pen while you contemplated how to explain things to him. how you kept a little snack on you in case he needed it after practice.
you were everything he should’ve hated himself for liking, everything he did hate himself for liking, and yet here he was. standing in front of your dorm building.
sukuna’s been many things throughout his life.
he’s been an asshole, he’s been a chronic avoidant and ghoster, he’s been a liar.
but what he hasn’t been is just plain old discarded.
replaced.
and by none other than president of nerd-city himself, satoru gojo.
satoru gojo who once had a head brace on in high school, teeth forced shut by metal clasp after metal clasp. satoru gojo who once went over digimon evolutions for one of his classes—writing a twenty page analysis and getting an a for it.
satoru gojo who had a prized membership to barnes and nobles, spending most of his time surrounded by books with his stupid fucking sweater vests.
but here you are, getting walked up to your dorm building by that nerd. his fingers splayed across your back, gently guiding you up the stairs to your building. you’re in his hoodie, hands fiddling with the sleeves as if you’re debating giving it back. you don’t.
the part that gets him the most about your interaction with gojo is that you seem happy being around him, happy in a way he’s never given you the opportunity to be around him. it’s stupid, but sukuna swears he could’ve wrung his scrawny ass neck just for giving you a forehead kiss.
sukuna doesn’t think twice before speeding back off to the frat house. he doesn’t punch a wall like an overgrown man child (though the thought of putting satoru’s face on the door to throw darts lingers), instead, he just sits there. in pure silence and in the dark.
he thinks about calling yoruzu or any of the multiple unsaved numbers on his phone—any of them that would be showing up to his door before he even got the chance to ask them to come over with their panties half down their knees.
for once, the thought makes him want to throw up.
then, he thinks about trying to make things right with you, of showing up to your dorm with a cheap bouquet of roses from the grocery store and a half-assed apology. you’d probably push him away.
that thought makes him even more nauseous.
sukuna settles for calling toji over instead.
this used to be toji’s scene—showing up to nearly every party with a girl on each arm. his shirt lost by the end of the night, manicured nails trailing up the ridges of his stomach. phone blowing up with messages from those very same girls, demanding a text back that never came.
it’s weird to see him look so grown up, so put together. though, its a sight that fits him, sukuna has to admit that much.
the baby on his chest looks out of place in the frat house, a thumb in between his lips as curious eyes take in the space around them. beer bottles scattered throughout every surface of the room, leaving behind rings that’d be a pain in the ass to clean up.
toji plops onto the couch, one hand on megumi’s back as he settles down. he keeps the baby still against him, one strong hand cradling his back.
“you want a beer, man?” sukuna speaks up from the kitchen, perusing through the different bottles on the fridge. budweiser, vodka, red bull, monster, and a single bottle of half empty water. not like he had much to offer regardless.
“nah, i’ll get a water.” he grabs the pathetic excuse for a water (making a mental note buy some more, he’ll probably forget by tomorrow though) and a can of budweiser. he tossed over the bottle where toji was sitting, plopping down on the couch once more. spreading his legs wiiide while the game loaded.
the game started off fairly competitive, the two of them practically yelling insults at the other before conversation started up. about the frat, about torture methods initiation methods for the new pledges, about whatever their brains could figure out.
he decides to bite the bullet then. sukuna takes a quick swig of the beer can in hand, crushing the tin in his palm. that’s all it takes for him to speak up, “how’d you know you were ready to be a dad and shit?” he vaguely gestures over to where megumi’s crawling over his father’s lap like his own personal jungle gym.
toji lets out a sigh that makes him sound twenty years older, looking down at megumi with an expression that isn’t anything short of devotion. of pure adoration to the bundle of joy his wife brought into the world.
“wasn’t ready, but little guy’s mom—” the little guy in question has now decided the other man’s a better source of entertainment, a tirade of giggles leaving his chest while pudgy little fingers reach out to tug on sukuna’s lip ring. “lil’ guy’s mom needed me to be, so here i am. buying diapers and all that shit.”
“mm. makes sense.”
“what’s with the question, man? you plannin’ on settling down?” toji questions, letting out a quiet snort, “or did ya get a girl pregnant?” it’s spoken as nothing more than a joke, toji’s laugh echoing through the empty halls of the house.
sukuna doesn’t answer. he picks at the tab on his beer can, prying it off. trying to look everywhere but the man in front of him, focusing on the stupid painting choso put up on the wall. toji sees right through the little act, his laugh fading into a disbelieving scoff.
“no fucking way, man,” toji finally manages to get out, eyes practically the size of saucers. “congrats.” the pats on his back are awkward, unsure.
he only manages to get out a grunt of acknowledgment, “thanks man,” sukuna mutters out, arms coming to lay behind his head, “but i messed up. me and baby mama aren’t talking anymore.”
toji lets out a low whistle, taking a large swig of water. he tossed away the empty bottle, only adding to the mess already scattered around the coffee table. “what’d you do to her?”
“gave her a couple hundred bucks for the abortion and a happy meal. said i didn’t wanna be a dad,” sukuna merely shrugged in response, barely managing to avoid the punch toji sent to his arm.
“no shit she doesn’t want anything to do with you,” once again, toji does nothing but state the obvious.
“i know that much. don’t know how to be back in her life when she’s avoiding me like the plague.”
“you gotta apologize. say you’re sorry for bein’ a dick. let her know you wanna be a part of the baby’s life,” toji answered like it was the simplest thing in the world, like they were just discussing what to eat. “don’t expect her to let you back in, but show her you’re tryin.’”
the two of them continue to lounge around the couch for a while longer, cuing up a game of 2k on the communal playstation downstairs. megumi’s calm as long as he has his binky and his wolf themed pacifier, eyes closing blissfully. he doesn’t wake or cry even once, he just remains with one fist curled up against toji’s chest asleep.
“look man, just think about i said,” toji speaks up once he’s about to step out of the room, pacing around in circles to keep megumi asleep, “pregnancy’s hard and shit,” understatement of the year, “so think about ‘er and how she’s feeling.”
gojo’s getting all the moments that he’s missing out on, the moments that he should be by your side.
sukuna doesn’t get out of the car just yet. the engine runs on idle, his fingertips tapping against the steering wheel to the song playing on his speakers. the song ends far too quickly for his taste, going to the next one queued up on his playlist. he doesn’t tap his fingers to this one.
his hands run through his hair, pink ends sticking up in every direction. far too messy for his taste. he runs them through his hair again, a frustrated groan leaving his lips when they only get more messed up. after a few more times of doing so, he decides to let his hair be. he’s doing everything and anything to avoid getting out of the car just yet, even going as far to check his reflection in the car’s mirror.
a few people that he sees on campus roam around in and out of the building, the thought of any of them catching them with you nearly making him want to turn away and leave. but he lets that thought simmer down, shaking it away with a scoff. nobody would dare say anything to his face anyways.
“yo, what’re you doing with gojo?” too aggressive.
“c’mon ma. i’ll do anything to be part of the baby’s life again, i swear on my playstation.” too pathetic by his standards.
a few people stop in their paths to look through the window, confused at the man talking to himself and gesturing to nothing in particular. sukuna looks insane, he’s aware. this is what you’ve led him to. with one quick glare, the people staring are soon enough getting back on their merry way, pretending as if it never happened in the first place.
he crosses the road in quick strides, entering your dorm building as someone else is leaving. the floor smells like stale laundry, food containers spilling out of trash bins outside, paint peeling off the walls in thick sheets. sukuna really needed to figure out a better living arrangement for you.
he approaches the half bored ra sitting at their desk, not even giving him a glance as they continue to scroll through their phone. sukuna clears his throat obnoxiously so, garnering the attention of even those just passing by. “can i help you?”
sukuna gives them your name and a brief description of your appearance, able to get your room number with just a quick search. the elevator’s broken which leaves him going up the stairs, taking two at a time and avoiding the students coming down with heap after heap of laundry in their basket.
he doesn’t knock on the door just yet, listening to the chatter going on inside through paper thin walls. he hears your voice call out to shoko, a small laugh leaving your lips afterwards. it makes his chest clench. he amounts it to heartburn.
he really should stop drinking so much red bull. (it’s not the red bull.)
the longer that he stands here, the more underprepared that he feels. every apology he’d practiced in the car before coming up here faded from his memory, leaving him scrambling to try to find the pieces. the overpriced $10 bouquet he picked up from the gas station (the flowers are dying, he was in a rush), suddenly feels like too little.
just as soon as he’s about to leave your door and resign himself to a life of mediocre hookups and a life of not knowing his kid, he brings his hand up. knock. knock. just two short knocks to disrupt the routine you had going on, to disrupt the noise that was going on inside.
“are you expecting someone?” he hears shoko speak behind the door.
“no, let me check who it is though.”
the door swings open about five seconds the later, the smile on your face quickly fades away at the sight of sukuna standing at your door. your arms cross across your chest defensively, blocking yourself off from him. “what do you want.”
you spoke to sukuna like he was nothing more than a pest, nothing more than just a nuisance. but damn, if you didn’t look beautiful even while you were glaring daggers at him. after seeing only glimpses of you around campus, either with shoko or alone, this was a sight that was more than welcome.
it’s still early on in your pregnancy. maybe three, four months max. but given that the giant in front of you’s nearly seven feet tall, you’re already starting to show. not much, but a little bump peeks out underneath the oversized tee you had on.
you have a soft glow to your face that makeup couldn’t replicate, an aura that he wants nothing more than to bask in for as long as you’d let him. which apparently doesn’t seem like it’ll be long just based on the glare you’re shooting him.
“well?” you prompt, foot tapping against the hardwood floor. right, you wanted to know what he was doing here. sukuna swallowed dryly, holding the door open with his foot before you shut it in front of face. c’mon idiot, speak.
his grip on the bouquet of flowers in hand tightens, knuckles a shade of ghostly white. the flowers pathetically droop to one side, almost as pathetic as he feels standing in front of you again. he extends them out to you, watching as you take them with a wary gaze.
you don’t thank him—sukuna expects that much already, but you don’t throw them away. you simply set them aside like you’re still considering what to do with them. sukuna hopes you’ll give him that same amount of consideration.
he clears his throat, “our last conversation didn’t go well.” that earns a sharp scoff from you, seconds ticking down on an imaginary clock. still, he manages to continue, “i know i said i didn’t wanna be a dad. but i want to be a part of the baby’s life now. go to appointments with you and all the shit you’re doing with gojo.”
“so you’re only doing this because you’re jealous of gojo.” it’s not a question, it’s a simple observation. grass is green. the sky isn’t blue but rather a reflection of the sun’s rays on the earth’s atmosphere. and ryomen sukuna is fucking jealous of satoru gojo.
“yes, i am jealous,” the words come out like they’re being forced out of him, each syllable strained as it leaves his tongue. sukuna’s brows furrow, shaking his head before begrudgingly continuing, “i’m jealous that he’s getting everything i’m not.”
even if it’s well deserved, a little voice in his head spoke. he immediately shut that one down.
“and who’s fault is that?” you don’t miss the chance to respond, about to say more when your phone buzzes in your pocket. gojo.
five minutes away :3 i brought kikifuku don’t tell shoko
a small, involuntary smile forms on your face at the sight.
it’s become routine at this point—having him take you to your appointments and go out to eat after. maybe study for an upcoming exam, play a round of digimon until you had to keel over the toilet. it hasn’t been easy, by any means, even if you were just starting your first trimester, but shoko and gojo had been a great help through it all.
this month, gojo’s research had informed him that the embryo would start to turn into a fetus. that it would start to move around, grow nails and hair, that it would start to resemble, well, a baby.
“just tell him to fuck off,” sukuna speaks up, glaring at your phone like it personally offended him, “spend the day with me, mama. i’ll take you out and buy some baby clothes or whatever you want.”
you would’ve swooned to hear him say that two months ago. instead, you just feel a throbbing headache pounding at the back of your skull. and a strong urge to just punch him in the mouth.
and now you’re painfully aware that while the man in front of you has been absent and self centered, gojo had taken it upon himself to be someone that you could grow to depend on. offering a ride without so much as you needing to say a word, holding your hand throughout your appointments.
you couldn’t just bring yourself to tell him to turn around just because the big oaf feels threatened. feels entitled to come back into your life whenever he pleases, whenever he decides it’s not so much of a shame to be around you.
“i’m not going to say no to gojo just because you want to be a part of the baby’s life now,” you respond calmly, measured to a fault, “but if you’re really serious about trying to make this work, come to the baby shower in two weeks.”
not much, but an olive branch. a peace offering to help him prove himself.
୨୧ in which !shychoso gets dragged to a frat party by his best friend yuji, fully planning to disappear into a corner, only to be found by you who pulls him out of his comfort zone and leads to him fucking you into the start of a new situationship.
𝐖𝐂: 1.4 - 1.6k??
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I have the urge to make this into a series so I will! If you know the song from the title then you know the direction this story is going XD (greek tragedy- the wombats) please like + reblog + comment and a follow is always much appreciated .ᐟ.ᐟ
Ever since highschool you lived your life on the edge and almost every caption on your Instagram spam account was “#yolo!”. Hanging out with you was like a reward for some people. You were so welcoming in high school that you earned the superlative for "Most Likely to Brighten Your Day".
You’d been carefree since birth and problems rolled off your shoulders. You didn’t stress anything and you surely didn’t study because your mentality was “studying is doubting my knowledge!” It took a short time for you to grasp concepts you cared for. So in that sense you were smart enough for school not to stress you the way it should’ve.
Some of these habits rolled over to college. You were considered the life of the party on campus. You only joined a sorority to be able to host parties and be in your element and that was exactly where you thrived.
Ragers consisted of everyone showing up at midnight, drinking their asses off and dancing to unbearably loud music. You supplied the liquor but preferred not to drink because you didn’t need it.
You often found yourself on the dance floor with your skirt rolled up, hair slightly sticking to your forehead and your arms flailing in the air to the music. This was how Choso spotted you.
You were the life of the party. You checked on everyone all night to make sure people were having fun. You would walk over to random groups of people and just fit right in. Conversation was so natural to you that it made Choso jealous. You were friends with everyone.
Your adventures spirit is what led you to meet the quiet black haired boy. Choso wasn’t a nerd but he was focused on his studies enough to where he could avoid social interactions. It wasn’t that he was anti social he just preferred keeping his distance from people he considered a waste of time.
A friend who had forced himself into Choso’s life was Yuji Itadori. Yuji was a powerhouse in everything he did. He was kind and loved social interactions unlike Choso. He was the only reason Choso even attended parties.
Despite the people surrounding Choso, he didn’t feel the slightest urge to go make conversation with anyone. Like usual Yuji dragged him here and left him due to the chaos of the party scene.
Choso didn’t mind it and he considered himself the safe friend who could responsibly drive his friends home. This mindset went out the window when you locked eyes on him.
Two red solo cups slushed back and forth due to your body jerking around in the crowd. Your habit to check on members who attended your party left you making eye contact with a reserved black haired boy who stood awkwardly in a corner.
You danced your way over to him and handed him a cup which he eyed suspiciously. A grin made its way onto your face as you smiled. “Hi my name is [insert name]! No need to be suspicious I swear! It’s fruit punch with a pinch of alcohol. Just a little something I give to everyone who seems a bit tense!” You said as he watched you down the alcoholic beverage in your cup to prove it to him.
“What’s your name? Mr.ShyGuy.” You teased. Choso’s cheeks were flushed. He didn’t know if it was because a pretty girl was approaching him at a party or the fact that a pretty girl nicknamed him. “Choso.” He said in an accidental flat tone. His reserved personality made conversation appear flat and uninterested or at least that’s what he was told.
“Well Mr.Choso! Have a drink!” You said pointing to the cup in his hands. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand before momentarily sipping on the drink. You eagerly clasped your palms together at his willingness. You honestly took this as a sign that he wanted to party.
Your hand found Choso’s free hand and you pulled him through the party to the crowded pool table. This was a common sight for party goers. You pulling strangers out of their shells but this time it was different. You were pulling the hand of a tall reserved nerd who was surprisingly attractive to most. His attractiveness arguably tripled with you next to him because it gave ‘Sexiest couple of the year’.
Eyes followed the two of you as you entered the game room with a large pool table in the middle. Eyes locked on your hands basically intertwined and girls mouths suddenly opened to drool over him. Typical college girls.
Upon approaching him you weren’t focused on his attractiveness so your attention wasn’t even on the girls who were practically eye fucking him.
You and Choso approached the pool table where billard balls were nowhere in sight. Shot cups lined the table where your frat brother declared a game of ‘Never Have I Ever’. You excitedly rushed to the table and squeezed you and Choso into the round.
The game started slowly.
“Never have I ever cheated on a test.” Everyone took a shot.
“Never have I ever..got below a 60 on my rice purity test.” Everyone but Choso and a few others took a shot. You stood on your toes and whispered into Choso’s ear “I can change that if you want.”
It was a fluke and you didn’t think much of it. You were a tease and it never usually got you anywhere until this time.
Choso’s hands mercilessly gripped your hips as he pushed into your tight cunt.
Your back arched of the mattress at every thrust. “Ah-I..can’t” you whispered out as Choso’s thumb polished light flickers of force onto your clit.
“You can pretty girl. This is what you wanted. Right?” He said as he leaned down over you to place kisses along your neck. His voice was rough and it was so fucking hot.
You never expected something this this. Getting fucked by the quiet nerd who you now remembered sat in your ecology class.
After a few rounds of ‘Never Have I Ever.’ Choso had loosened up and he’d joined you on the dance floor. You two danced together and his hands found their way to your hips where he proudly became protective of you.
Any guy who even looked at you received a nasty glare. Maybe it was just the alcohol.
Your ass grinded on Choso to the music which led his hands higher onto your waist to maintain distance between the two of you.
“Mh..” Choso breathed out silently as he noticed his length growing due to your grinding.
You turned around now facing him and innocently looked up at his as you mouthed “I can fix that for you.”
Which is what led you to be pressed under Choso’s large frame. He was initially hesitant due to the drunken state you two were in but after you assured him that you were okay he immediately went to work.
Choso’s pace quickened as your cunt tightened around him. Despite sleeping with a few guys ever now and then, Choso was the icing in the cake.
The way his length grew inside of you and hit sweet spots you didn’t know even know existed made your eyes roll. The praise you wanted to give him came out in broken moans.
Drool trickled down your chin before Choso said “I-I’m close.” Your legs wrapped around his waist and you pulled him closer.
“Please finish inside.” You begged out. His pace quickened and you purposely clenched around him.
Tears filled the rim of your eyes as Choso dumped his thick load into your wet puffy cunt. It felt like heaven on earth and for a while you two stayed there until he continued to lazily thrust.
“You didn’t finish did you?” He said now drilling into you as his thumb quickly circled your clit. Broken moans escaped your mouth and your legs began to slightly shake.
“Yes Cho.. ple-” You were cut off as Choso pressed his lips into yours and gently began kissing your face. The tension had now settled and his pace changed between quick rough plaps into your cunt to slow strokes that left you throwing your head back and grinding into him for more.
The change in speed caused you to orgasm and Choso to cum inside you once more despite it being his second time in less than five minutes.
You squealed out as you both came at the same time and Choso let out deep grunts before pulling his length out of you.
He apologized as his seed now began slowly dripping down your thighs.
You laughed softly before propping yourself up on the bed frame. “Don’t apologize dork I asked for it.” You said joking as you watched his cum leak out of your cunt that was still throbbing for more.
Choso saw this and settled himself between your thighs where he pulled you by your thighs closer to him.
“Ngh w- wait!” You moaned out as your cunt was still sensitive. Choso ignored your pleads as his tongue lapped your cunt. He moaned into you as his tongue continuously plunged in and out of you.
“I’m just cleaning you up.” He said into your pussy which sent vibrations through your body due to his deep voice. He kissed your cunt a few times before kissing your thighs. He did this for a while until he looked up to find your eyes barely open.
“This was hot.” You whispered. You barley looked down at the boy before casually asking “Can I get your number?”
Choso had a dumbfounded expression on his face. He did just cum in the hottest girl on campus and she didn’t even seem to care. “I.. are you on..birth control?” He asked.
You nodded. “Duhhh, now can I get your number?”
@califoreigner , 2026 — Unauthorized copying, reconstruction, reposting, or uploading to other platforms is prohibited.
