nanamiâs side of the bed wouldnât even be called nanamiâs anymore. you sleep there nearly every day, blaming it on how the pillows smell of him.
nanamiâs clothes arenât his anymore, you're sleeping in his shorts and t-shirt tonight. you wore his shirt yesterday, and took his ties for some clothes experiments last week.
nanamiâs sacred pens are no longer his own, he finds them on the table after you tried to scribble up something and forgot to put them back.
nanamiâs mugs are now shared, always in the dishwasher even when he doesnât recall using them at all.Â
nanamiâs thoughts donât belong just to him anymore. youâd bug him about it all day if he doesnât share what heâs thinking â so he, with an exasperated sigh, tells you whatâs on his mind.
nanamiâs salary doesnât go straight to his savings account like it used to, instead taking a portion of it to spend on you. âyouâ means gifts, flowers, dates, trips, trinkets, and so on.
nanamiâs weekends arenât as quiet as they once were; now theyâre chaotic, full of so much of you.Â
nanamiâs fridge is full nowadays. candy, leftovers, ice cream, cheese, cake, bread, and the list goes on. so many things that donât go along with his diet fill the once-empty shelves.
nanami doesnât spend as much time in his study as before you moved in. now old books are left to collect dust, long forgotten in a room thatâs never lit. even when he decides to pick one up and read it, itâs the minute that he sees your face the book is tossed away.
nanamiâs happiness still comes from days off, but now itâs because those days are spent with you. days when he slept long and ignores the world are long gone, now he gets to sit and focus on you, watching as everything else becomes nothing but background noise.
nanami has always been sure heâs not looking for marriage, at least not right now. but he swears that ring looks so perfect for you. thereâs no way heâd miss it.Â
nanami stands in front of the bathroom mirror 5 minutes late every day because youâre still figuring out how to fix his tie the right way without any help. he canât seem to rush you, though â whatâs being precisely on time have on your little giggles as you sit on the sink and struggle to finish a task he could have done in under a minute?
nanami has been spending so much time eating as of late, more time than he can afford. while he used to finish a meal in approximately fifteen minutes, now dinners could stretch to two hours. he couldnât get off the table early when you sit across from him, talking and joking and doing anything thatâs not eating. he simply canât possibly not indulge in the little conversations, appreciating every moment he gets to spend in your presence.
nanamiâs life wouldnât even be called his anymore. youâre a storm, invading his life all at once, bringing in your chaos along with you. youâve infatuated him, youâve assailed his senses and changed his very being. every time nanamiâs eyes align with yours, he prays your presence isnât a fleeting one. he silently hopes you donât leave as suddenly as you came, that you plan to stay.
Thinking about how well your husband Nanami treats you on those days when work is just⌠overwhelming. How he already knows from the curt replies to his text messages throughout the day and the absence of the little heart emoji you usually insist on sending to him. Something so trivial and yet⌠he misses it more than he cares to admit.
Youâd told him at length about the project that was taking every ounce of your strength to work through, not to mention all of your brain power. Your husband was a diligent manâperceptive to a faultâso when it seemed that the day had been especially bad, what else could he do but leave work early to be there to pick up the pieces.
When you return home to find your normal evening chores completed, the smell of cooking luring you into the kitchen by your nose and the sight of your husband standing by the stove, itâs all you can do not to cry on the spot.
There are fresh stemmed flowers in the vase on the window sill and the small kitchen table is set for two, a glass of wine ready and waiting for you. Kento is there beside you before you can move, a large reassuring hand at the small of your back whilst he wipes away the tears you hadnât realised were falling with his other hand.
Moments like these brought it back with startling clarity how goddamn lucky you were. Your husband was attentive and practical, and you were fortunate to have found a man that was your perfect counterpart. He filled the gaps in you, and you did the same for him. He brought silence when your mind was chaotic and noisy. You gave him hope and a reason to fight when the paths of right and wrong became unclear.
âWhat would I do without you?â
Kento huffed, pressing a kiss to your head. âLucky for you, youâll never need to find out.â
ranking cod boys' intimacy style from gentle to rough
feat: 141 + los vaqueros + others
reader: afab, implied different readers for each
cw: explicit smut, kink, fluff, pretty tame imo
but lmk if you'd like something tagged
NSFW BELOW CUT * MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
1.) the gentlest, surprisingly, is ghost. make no mistake, he'll absolutely fuck the daylights out of you if you ask him to -- would enjoy it, too. but as simon riley... honestly, this man is touch-starved and nearing forty. he is tired, baby. coming home from deployment, first thing simon does is shower (knows you hate the smell of war on him), then take a fat nap with you. if you're in the middle of something, no you're not. he'll literally scoop you up and fireman-carry you to the couch or bed, whichever is closest. simon loves holding you, wants to be touching you all. the. time. his favorite way to nap is wrapped around you like a fitted sheet; skin on skin, nose in your hair as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. loves it even more when, later, he gets to wake you with soft, open-mouthed kisses on your neck; the flat of his palm sliding down the gentle swell of your tummy, cuping you through your sleep shorts. simon likes you best like this. how you just... melt into him, still sleep-sodden and docile. it's one of the few things that feels right in his life. chemically, cosmically, karmically (somehow--simon doesn't think he'll ever feel like he earned this. you. that he'll ever really deserve to be yours). he takes his time; fucks you slow with his fingers, savoring your muted whimpers as he grinds into your clit with the heel of his hand. to simon, watching you come apart in the firm circle of his arms is kin to a fresco on a ceiling; a sliver of the divine, and he, a sinner, doomed to watch heaven from afar. but by some small miracle, you offer him salvation. when you cum, it's with his name on your lips, so round and lush with love, and fuck--if that isn't the thing to save him, then nothing will.
2.) second is rudy. sweet, sweet boy. he sees you barefoot in a sundress one time. one. that's all it takes to precipitously shift the trajectory of his life to one where he wifes you up and makes you a mother, in that order. you're the first person he's ever envisioned having children with -- the only one he thinks knows will be worth risking everything for. and once that mental picture settles in his mind, itâs all he can think of. it becomes his sole mission to get you under him and fill you with him til it takes. rudy is a missionary guy through and through--wants to see that pretty face, cariĂąo so he can watch your cheeks and chest flush when you're about to cum. and the cute way your lashes flutter ("como alles de pollila, mi amor. fuck--") as he bottoms out in your sweet pussy, stretching you so good. and you're always so good for him -- wrapping your legs around his waist and tilting your hips to take him deeper, deeper. but god help you when he succeeds in knocking you up, youâre never getting a moment alone. consider rudy glued to your side for the foreseeable future. canât seem to keep his goddamn hands to himself, either. doesn't matter that youâre uncomfortable and prickly and prone to random bouts of inconsolable crying at the worst moments. he takes it all in stride. his love is steady, solid. once, you blurt out something to the effect of i'm never going to be attractive again, my body is gonna be ruined by the end of this. and rudy (after a beat) laughs. pulls you forward til your face is buried in his chest, cradles you there when you try to squirm away. tells you he's literally so attracted to you right now he feels like he should be on some sort of list. he's watching you build a new human being inside your body. you're fucking powerful. he can't imagine anything sexier.
3.) next up is kĂśnig. from jump, he adores you; the way you smolder at the edges, the unwavering bite of your tone. kleine katze, such pretty claws you have... and he's perfectly content to settle for admiring you from afar; but where others shy from him instinctually, finding his size and perpetual quiet off-putting, you don't. seem to gravitate towards him because of it. you touch him with a gentleness that should feel foreign, but actually feels like home. this man is fucking gone for you. loves you in a way that irreparably and fundamentally changes him. may or may not have cum more than once to the thought of you: hips bucking desperately into the clench of his own fist. but he knows precisely nichts about romance, even less about flirting. has no idea you've been trying to get his attention for months. ultimately, you have to make the first move. and you do--crawling into his lap one night in a grimy off-grid safehouse after a mission went the wrong kind of sideways. when you draw up the mask he goes rigid, tense; but he almost lost you today. (thought for one endless, horrific moment that he had.) so he lets you pull back the mask--lets you see his face. and when you finally kiss him, it pulls a kind of sound out of him the likes of which he's never made before. a desperate, animal keen that claws at the walls of his chest. and kĂśnig's a gentle giant, but he is giant. you're both too hasty the first time; too desperate for closeness to prep properly, so it hurts when he bullies his cock inside you. he's significantly bigger than any of your previous partners -- twice as thick and several inches longer -- and by all rights shouldn't fucking fit inside you, but you're both tenacious enough to make it work. kĂśnig is certain salvation resides in the gummy clutch of your cunt when you take him to the hilt; shuddering as you cum around him from nothing but the way his cock stuffs you full and the pressure of his calloused thumb on your clit. it's so unbelievably hot, he cums on the spot; not needing friction or movement when he has you clenching down on him like that, scheiĂe. after, he takes care of you--holds you close to his chest til your breath evens out and you slip into the dreamless, black pool of sleeping.
4.) alejandro, my love. truly a man of passion. it's a long process seducing you, and he enjoys every minute of it. loves finding new ways to get you to blush almost as much as he enjoys fucking you til you're blubbering and cock-stupid. almost. he likes the idea of having a family with you, but is less pernicious about it than rudy. he knows how he feels about you; is confident it'll happen someday. that said, this man's breeding kink knows no bounds. the mating press was built for him; the perfect mix of intimacy and intensity, where he can look you in the eye as he ruts you so deep you can feel him in your fucking throat. also the most likely to suggest expanding your sexual horizons. frankly, alejandro is bisexual as fuck. loves the idea of you getting railed by another man (perhaps rudy, winkwonk) while he watches; loves the idea of you taking the both of them at once even more, but it's always about you. your comfort and pleasure is paramount, and he'll go to unfathomable lengths to make sure your needs are met. happy wife, happy life, he says, hauling you into a deep kiss when you point out that you're not technically married, yet.
5.) alex is the perfect equilibrium of rough and gentle. initially respects you as a colleague, maybe a friendly acquaintance. internally, he finds your competence and no bullshit attitude deeply attractive, but he's a consummate professional; would never put you into a position where you'd feel unsafe (outside of the obvious dangerous shit you already do). and then--he sees you shoot a gun. the way your body slides liquid-smooth into weaver, the easy roll back into isosceles in the recoil... it gets him so fucking hard so fucking quick. he has to physically remove himself from the range and rub one out in a bathroom stall, images of those firm hands pumping his weeping cock pulling him over the edge. images that don't fade, to his chagrin, even after the initial arousal is dealt with. every time he sees you, it just... pops back up, so to speak. he keeps it locked down as best he can, but fails pretty comprehensively at doing so. alex finally breaks after catching one too many recruits staring after you when you walk away (fuckin' animals--only he's allowed to do that). he seeks you out when you're both off the clock and ends up fucking you on top of one of the washing machines in the base's communal laundry room. the epitome of soft dom, comes pre-programmed with an obligatory daddy kink that you absolutely abuse to get your way. takes you out to nice restaurants seemingly for the express purpose of fucking you in the fancy-schmanzy bathroom. honest-to-god almost passes out when you choke on his cock for the first time; begs like his life is on the line for you to do it again, please, please--oh, fuck baby, yes. that experience reveals two truths to him: one, that he might be a switch, and two, that he might just have to marry you.
6.) now, keegan is a pretty tough nut to crack. it's hard to read him initially, even without the mask--but once you pick up on his tells, he's an open book. and that book wants you upended on the couch within seconds of you both entering the room. initially its just sex; a shared need to vent some frustration and stress. keegan is very private, mostly due to social discomfort and introverted tendencies. in the early days of your relationship, it manifests as him keeping you at a distance. for the first few months, he only ever kisses you when he's balls deep, and leaves after a five-minute come down. you rectify this through sheer persistence and charm. it's clear to you (far sooner than it is to him) that he's weakest to you when you give him big, sweet doe eyes and ask real pretty. this little trick works particularly well when you're riding him slow over the course of an hour, grinding down each time he bottoms out, til he's shuddering and begging you to please go faster--ah. f-fuckin' hell, kid, you're so tight, so good, fuck. when he cums, it's with a crackling whine of your name that pulls the knot of heat in your belly, sending you over after him. then, exhausted and fucked out, he falls asleep with you in his arms. he's still there the next morning when you wake, expression open and lax as he watches you wake. it's the first time you see keegan without reservations, when you realize he's got a gentleness to him--a kind of poet's sensitivity meant for libraries, museum archives, and the kinder side of nature. all overwritten by force to survive, to complete his mission. once you've seen the cracks in his mask, there's no going back for either of you. very quickly, your relationship shifts from distant and transactional to deeply personal; a tenderness blooming in the same garden as the newfound dedication to one another. keegan doesn't say I love you for a long time, but you know he does--you feel it in the way his dark eyes find you in a crowd, always seeking your familiar shape. you feel it in the way he presses your bodies flush from tip to tail while he's fucking you, when being inside of you isn't close enough. you feel it when he, for the very first time, asks you quietly if you'll stay the night with him, because he sleeps easier when you're there. so you stay--the night, and all those that follow.
7.) oh, gaz. such a mischievous little shit. your friend from your training days, you two scrap like puppies over anything and everything. banter is the cornerstone of your relationship, one-upping being a close second. you delight and infuriate one another in equal measure, bickering amongst yourselves til one of you takes a swing at the other. price has reprimanded you both multiple times for horsing around, but you're never in any real danger--you work too well together. there's a kind of shared consciousness between you; a base-level understanding, two wolves hunting in tandem. still, ghost refuses to let either of you sit together on the heli; not since that one time your game of grabass devolved into full-on grappling on the tarmac. ultimately, one of your little tiffs goes too far; ends with you both laid out on a training mat, groaning into each other's mouth as you grind your hips together through your clothes. you both pretend it didn't happen for maybe a week--then it happens again. and again. and again. being 'together' is never something you actually discuss with kyle. it just... happens. much to the chagrin of your lt and captain, the bickering actually increases when you two get together; becomes more like foreplay you can get away with doing in front of your superiors. and if this man isn't an absolute goddamn menace when it comes to exhibitionism. when he wants you, doesn't matter if you're in the middle of a meeting. fuck it--it's happening, and it's happening now. very playful in and out of the bedroom, likes teasing you in every sense of the word. he edges you so long sometimes you nearly kick him in the head when he finally lets you cum. there's my girl--oh shi--ah, haah, good fuckin' girl. he's largely aloof when it comes to his emotions--not the best at verbalizing how he's feeling or what he needs. so instead, he shows you. he shows up every. single. time. kyle's your friend before he's your lover; your partner in (war) crime(s). he's always got your six, you've always got his, and what is love if not someone who'd die (and live) for you?
8.) soap proudly describes himself as a pleasure dom, which is mostly true. but he's got serious switch potential. which you know for a fact because fuckin' hell, does that boy whimper somethin' pretty when you throat him juuuuust right. he's such a 'tits' man, it's crazy. loves to hold you close, feel your breasts smashed against his chest while he drives deep into the tight clutch of your cunt. but most of all, soap loves being on his knees for you. this man definitely moans while he eats you out, tonguing your pussy like it's a mouth. he feels big in every sense of the word--in sex, in love, in anger. and make no mistake, he loves you deeply. you two have some serious yelling matches, storm about slamming doors til the neighbors threaten to call the feds, but it's just your way. you're both headstrong and stupid; arguments are bound to happen, and any unresolved hurt feelings get a solid patch-job from the frankly earth shattering makeup sex that follows. like rudy, soap wants a big family with you, and he knew early. actually doesn't tell you just how early til years down the line. how after your first official date, he called his ma and asked if she'd send his nan's ring, please? because he's pretty sure he just met his future wife. said ring which glitters on your hand now, as you reach over and flick his forehead teasingly. tell him he can stop trying to romance you, you're already married. and could he grab more diapers on his way home from work?
9.) as are all things with graves, your sexual relationship is about power. he's an asshole in the worst way--condescending, smug, underhanded, sneaky in his sexism so you always look like some hysterical woman when you retaliate. the kicker? it turns you on as much as it pisses you off. he's happy to string you along, work you into a lather just to leave you high and dry. lord help you once he gets a taste of you--bending you over his desk and cramming you full of his cock with precisely zero prep. he kisses you, loves you, fucks you like he hates you. because he kind of does--he just wants you more. graves loves it when you cry, wipes your tears with his thumb before forcing it into your mouth. coos when you offer your neck up to him--yeah? want my hands on ya that bad, sugar? gonna be a good girl for me, hm? fuck yeah you are--and proceeds to make you cum so hard you black out. your 'relationship' (which it is; ring on your finger a year in, a little one on your hip not long after) is intense. toxic. would be just downright miserable if it wasn't so fucking hot. you cling to each other with gouging force; a livid-blue kind of love, painful and permanent. he carries a picture of you in his wallet: a small polaroid of you in your wedding dress, ashing a cigarette with one hand while the other flips the cameraman (him) the bird.
10.) and the roughest of them all: price wants more than to love or fuck you -- he wants to possess you. he's so tightly controlled everywhere else in his life (has to be for his work), doesn't seem the type to lose his head over a bird. but when he meets you, something shifts. you're soft. impossibly good. flippant and stubborn as a mule, sure -- you drive him up the fuckin' wall with your headstrong antics. (so goddamn petulant. so sure you're fuckin' right.) but war and death hasn't stained your world, left your indomitable spirit unsullied and intact. which, unfortunately, means you haven't gotten a thorough education on the importance of discipline. price wants to consume your disobedience; crack your rose-tinted glasses under his heel, roll the ambrosia of you in his cupped tongue. he'll do more than make you fall in line -- he'll make you want to do it. it's really just a matter of time before he acts on it. when he does, it's decisive. unsubtle. he crowds you up against the door of your flat on a sticky summer night, brandy on your breath. sinks a hand into your hair, holds you steady as he brings your mouths together with bruising intensity. he fucks you before he ever makes love to you; sinks his teeth into the velvet of your shoulder as he crushes you flat to the tabletop using just his bodyweight. snarls low when you keen wordlessly, overwhelmed and empty-headed at the deep burn-sting of his cock stretching your pretty little cunt, the lewd slap of his thighs against your ass. he batters you til you're not sure what's sweat and what's tears; til your skin bears a mural to his cacoethes, all blue and purple like a deep west sunrise. til there's not a person alive who won't be able to see you're his. always have been, always will, right dove? go on--tell him. tell him who this pussy belongs to.
written by kittsch, do not repost. not to be used for bots nor AI of any kind.
thinking about some of the jjk men and their fragrance preferencesâŚ.
because gojo probably smells really good all the time.
and like, normally itâs obnoxious when people go overboard with their fragrance, but thereâs something about the way his cologne lingers thatâs absolutely delicious. itâs sweet, maybe with some hints of cinnamon, but thereâs also a spice in it that complements his brazen demeanor. itâs probably high quality- it has lots of natural elements without that artificial sting that comes with lots of big name brands. if youâre his partner, youâll carry around his shirts or wear them whenever heâs away, sniffing them every once in a while to remind yourself of him. and, because heâs satoru gojo, itâs the one thing he gatekeeps too; youâve asked dozens of times where in the world heâs found such a unique scent, and he only answers with that self-assured smirk and a casual shrug. âsorry, thatâs confidential.â what you donât know is that he doesnât tell you because he loves seeing you wrapped up so adorably in his clothes; it makes that infinity-guarded heart of his fill with a new kind of warmth, and he doesnât want that scent traveling anywhere else.
and donât get me started on nanami. oh, this man prides himself on always smelling good.
youâll watch him get ready for work every morning and before date nights, noticing how meticulously he spritzes his cologne on at his pulse points, how heâs careful to pat not rub the fragrance into his skin because it dulls the top notes that way. (he explained it to you one time, because of course he would know information like that.) the scent lingers in his car, in his office, and he definitely invested in it. itâs a simple yet clean fragrance- iâm thinking linen meets vetiver with a hint of mint. however, the price tag doesnât mean that much to him; heâd happily douse your pillowcase or sheets with it so you can think of him while heâs out working overtime- anything to always associate that fresh, clean scent with him and only him.
and choso? you mightâve had to help him pick a cologne out at his quiet request, only because that little brother of his told him that most guys wear it and that thereâs a ton he can choose from.
you held the practically endless sample cards up to his nose that day in the mall, only for him to visibly wince at over half the new scents that filled his darkly marked nose. it was a funny and almost endearing scene, up until he finally settled on one that he really liked and still uses to this day. itâs a little smoky, probably with some jasmine notes and sandalwood, and you think it fits his reserved personality pretty well. he didnât quite get the concept of âa little goes a long wayâ at first, but now he knows just how much to apply. if you ask, heâll spray it wherever you want to be reminded of him- your plushies, your pillows, heâll even let you wear it. you joke that if he keeps using the cologne as often as he does, itâll start to seep into his blood; he simply tells you he can make that happen if you like it that much.
i think itâd be really interesting to explore a first meeting/first impression between satoru x reader in a slightly different kind of light than what i am/most are used to. one where satoru knows very well that he can come off abrasive and maybe even annoying at first impression; meaning he also knows all too well that most of the people in his life donât care much for him beyond the surface level. heâs there because heâs good at what he does and they like that about him but they donât like much else about him outside of what he can do, so he finds he has a hard time connecting with anyone at all because of it
heâs popular, yes, but not in the traditional senseâ to be popular is to be well-known and well-loved. heâs convinced only the first one really applies to him
thus begging the question of exactly how much you could catch him off-guard when you meet him for the first time and show an actual interest in him for who he is and not what he provides as a jujutsu sorcerer. he expects things to go in one ear and out the other when he talks to youâ he was so unprepared for you to hang on to every word he said, to ask him questions and engage more in the conversation beyond a couple of âmhmâs or a âwow, thatâs great, gojoâ
his eyebrows shoot up in surprise when you follow up with him on absolutely anything. heâll make an offhand comment expecting no one to pay it any mind as per usual, but then he hears your soft-spoken voice asking him to elaborate a little more and heâs perking up instantly. heâs a little surprised the first time it happens, entirely unprepared with an actual response because he didnât think that far aheadâ he didnât think anyone cared to even know. he has to clear his throat to get the words out of his mouth because he almost choked on them
over time, it started to change a little bit. now when he speaks up he found he has to resist the urge to flick his gaze over to you, no matter where you are in the room. itâs not like heâs doing it specifically to hear from you, thatâd be a little silly to expect it every time, but likeâ if you did happen to respond again, he wouldnât exactly be complaining, yeah?
for some reason, though, his heart now starts to race in anticipation; waiting for you to say something, to acknowledge the words he would normally share absentmindedly in the break roomâ except now heâs oh so carefully choosing what to say that could maybe, potentially, hopefully kickstart another conversation with you. and even then his heart is still racing when you do acknowledge his statement; he has to remind himself to not speak too fast or smile too weird, to just act normal about it. smile normally, breathe normally, donât stare at them, donât show how elated he feels to be talking with someone who actually listens to what he has to say
slowly but surely the ice breaks between you twoâ or well, it doesnât break but itâs more⌠melting slowly? itâs providing a very smooth transition between being acquaintances and being friends. he really likes it that way because it feels more natural, more like something that you wanted to happen, something that you still want; not just an overnight decision that will burn out as fast as it came to you. satoru learns that you actually want to be his friend, you want to get to know him
andâ he doesnât fucking get it.
because, sureâ maybe at first he couldâve told himself that it was just curtesy, done out of the kindness of your own heart. back then it was easier to calm his frantic nerves by reminding himself that youâre just being nice to him and listening to him because heâs a stranger; youâre new to teaching at jujutsu tech, after all, and you must have heard a lot of impressive stuff about this satoru gojo guy, so youâre just entertaining him for the time being. he wouldnât have blamed you at all if you slowly lost interest in getting to know him beyond that point, as most people usually did
so the fact that it hasnât happened yet is as nerve-racking as it is exciting. he canât tell if it makes him incredibly giddy or anxious as fuck, like heâs just waiting for the inevitable. a ticking bomb. he feels like the more time that passes the more likely you are to stop caring about him the next time he sees you in the break room
but instead, youâre the one seeking him out now. youâre the one initiating conversations with him and greeting him when you pass him in the halls or the courtyard. youâre the one excitedly sharing something with him that reminded you of him and heâs left completely gobsmacked about it all
it really doesnât get any better for him from this point forward; because now he feels like his heart is gonna give out every time you approach him, tapping his shoulder to get his attention, smiling at him the way you doâ the way you always have
one day, he skipped his lunch break to get some mission paperwork doneâ something he notoriously puts off âand he didnât say anything about it because he didnât think it mattered to anyone. when he stepped out of his office later that afternoon, whistling to himself as he locks the door behind him, heâs surprised when he finds you lingering around the area. you seemed busy, but also like you were waiting for somethingâ someone, perhaps? when you hear him from the other side of the hallway, he sees the way your eyes light up when you meet his gaze, and heâs never been so thankful for the blindfold he wears because heâs certain his eyes just pathetically fluttered in shock
he feels frozen in place watching you trot over to him, feels his heart stuck in his throat, something twisting deep in his chest and pulling tighter with every word that left your lips as you greeted him for the first time that day. he hears you ask where he was during lunch, heâs sure he heard you say something along the lines of missing him; and everything else is just static in his brain after that. heâs pretty good about keeping up the conversation as much as he consciously can, telling you that he was just behind on some work, because right now his mind can only replay the same phrases over and over again
they missed me. my presence was missed. i was missed.
by the time you both part ways heâs left standing in the same spot for an undetermined amount of time. his mind and heart alike are competing in a race to see which can operate faster than usual; it takes the sound of a door closing somewhere down the hallway to really snap him out of his trance
as for that thing that he felt in his chest, heâs convinced its only dug deeper every day since. because every time he sees you he feels it deeper, feels it stronger than before. he doesnât know what it is but it makes his hands all clammy and heâs on the verge of stuttering through his words more often than he ever has in a long timeâ about a decade or so, to be exact
the final straw that broke the camelâs back was during his birthday. he was loaded with some more mission paperwork youâd dropped off for him, curtesy of principal yaga, and he spent a late night at his office in the school working on them. he got a few small happy birthdays throughout the day, mostly when people happened to bump into him, but for the most part heâs been too distractedâ and so was everyone else, he reasons. he normally would have picked a colleague at random to grab dinner with him and talk their ears off but he ended up working late himself, so that didnât happen
heâs flipping through the mountain of paperwork on his desk when a small card pokes out from between one of the sheets. curiously, he plucks it out and examines it, finding it to be a small, baby blue notecard with a few poorly drawn balloons on one side and a small note on the other. the card read:
âsatoru, happy birthday! iâm sorry you got busy and didnât get to celebrate properly today, so i hope this gift card i got for you will cheer you up! iâm definitely treating you to some birthday lunch later this week as well, if youâre free of course !! (:â
he reads the message over and over again. itâs not signed but he recognizes it as your handwriting clear as day, he can see the cursed energy residuals of yours that you left behindâ those unique swirls of charged particles that make up who you are as a sorcerer, the same ones that make him feel like heâs in a field of flowers and cotton candy clouds every time he senses them. he feels his heart stop and start 10x faster than ever
he makes a mental note to text or call you whenever heâs done with his work, but he finds it hard to focus on anything at all after what he just read. heâs not sure what it isâ maybe itâs the fact that someone remembered his birthday, maybe itâs the fact that that someone happened to be you. but something is making that feeling flutter all over his chest now, blooming like a bright flower in the spring, making him feel light on his feet at the sheer thought of you sneaking this in between the paperwork as you handed it to him. that explains the shy smile you had on your face when you saw him earlier
for whatever reason, you wanted to surprise him with this, to make him smile on his own birthday. you thought about him, about something personal pertaining to him, and his heart just canât take it anymore. he feels heat flush his cheeks all the way down to his neck and his breath comes in short for a split secondâ a hitch in his breathing, followed by a smile so wide and ocean blue eyes so bright that he briefly wonders if anyone who happened to see him right now would think he looked crazy
regardless, whatever it is youâve been making him feel for the last few monthsâ itâs new, and itâs strong, and itâs a little scary, and he canât get enough of it
ăťâĽăťclose - gojo satoru x f!reader (crossposted on ao3!) ăťâĽăť
âš oh nooo youâre trapped in a hotel room with gojo⌠and thereâs only one bed⌠ahhhhh
âš 18+, smut, frenemies to lovers, a ridiculous amount of banter
âš word count: 9.8k (iâm so normal about him lolâŚ)
âWell fuck.â
Mouth agape, you stand tiredly beside your overly cheeky partner-in-exorcises, surveying the last available hotel suite thatâs closest to your current assignment. Cramped could describe it if youâre feeling generous, as the sparse amenities make the single queen-sized bed in the center of the room look like a California King. The overblown stock photos of generic flowers hanging haphazardly above the bed are nearly mocking the otherwise drab room, and the dim lighting makes it all look more dingy than romantic given the scenario youâre in.
One bed left in this overbooked âhotelâŚâ This has to be a fever dream.
âI call the left side!â
Said partner, Satoru Gojo, is oblivious to your inner turmoil as he languidly steps into the room with his singsong tone, surveying what little it has to offer with an otherwise calm expression. God, this guy gets on your nerves, but not for any pertinent or extravagant reason. Really, he just carries himself a little too cockily for your taste, like heâs used to people fawning over him for doing nothing. While you work well together for the most part, thereâs something about his presence that just makes you-
âYou can take the whole thing,â you grumble dismissively, carefully moving around him to set your backpack down on the warped work desk. Youâd sooner sleep in the bathtub even if it was soaking wet, you think.
Your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets with how hard they roll when you hear him let out a feigned hum of disappointment. You can sense him studying your every move, even through that stupid blindfold thing heâs always got on.
âBummer. You scared youâre gonna catch some cooties? Iâm not contagious.â Gojo tuts playfully, shaking his black jacket off and tossing it over the back of the chair. âGuess that means more room for me!â He wastes wastes no time in flopping onto the middle of the stiff mattress with a grin, and part of you canât help but admire- no, simply notice, you tell yourself- how his shockingly white hair and pale skin contrasts the dull, dated comforter. Heâs got a white button down on, and youâre tempted to call him a bloodsucking vampire with how translucent he looks. Humming to himself, he reaches for the remote that practically shrinks in his large hands, clicking the clunky TV on and watching it take a few minutes to whir to life.
Youâre unsure what to do with yourself, but youâre determined to put some space between the two of you with whatever happens. Itâs unfortunate when you realize that you really might not be successful with that endeavor, given your dwarfed hotel room that could trigger any sane personâs claustrophobia. It didnât help that this guy already took up most of the lackluster room with just his body, either. Your eyes flicker over to your work partner, who appears unnervingly okay with this turn of events. With a deep sigh, you pull out the creaky chair and slump defeatedly onto the desk. Youâre careful to scoot to the edge of the chair so your back doesnât make contact with his resting jacket, and he doesnât miss your obvious attempt at distance. Itâs known by many that heâs always been a huge fan of himself, and youâd be damned if you ever let him think you were part of that club, too.
âHey, careful with the outerwear.â Gojoâs selectively ignoring your clear discomfort, opting to poke at you anyway because he just does that. âThatâs a pricey jacket, yâknow.â His face is serene as heâs clicking through the available channels and making his own little noises when each show is less intriguing than the next.
âRight⌠Iâll try my best,â you reply disinterestedly with a yawn. You rest your face on the cool wood- anything to mentally take yourself out of the painfully tiny space you and this massive human were expected to share for the evening. Itâs been a long day of mundane yet necessary work, and apparently the real work is supposed to happen tomorrow. Being instructed last minute to change your stopping point for the day, you were left with no choice but to call around in a new area until you found an option. Gojo simply shrugged and started searching, not even slightly irritated at the change of plans. It irks you how little your colleague is bothered by, well, anything, because it has to be disingenuous at some point, right? Over time youâve realized that with him, it truly is a brazen confidence- a kind that you decided was more dangerous than reassuring in reference to your line of work. Itâs just unnatural- then again, nothing in your field is, so whatâs your real issue with him? The question always leaves you befuddled at your core, and now itâs glaring in your face with the close quarters youâre sharing.
After some time spent listening to Gojoâs disjointed chuckles at whatever was playing, you take out your phone to text Shoko about your dreaded situation. Thisâll be a long night, you think, grasping at straws to reason that itâs only temporary and that the smell of his spicy cologne will soon fade away from your senses. You have to say though, the scent fits him pretty wellâŚunlike this miniature room youâre both posted up in.
Your eyes betray you when they briefly flit over again at the man lounging across the bed. Itâs quite the spectacle, as the ends of his gangly legs and feet are dangling awkwardly over the edge, yet his expression is serene. The word "cute" passes through your mind and you immediately shush it by reflex, but itâs not as strong as the newfound proximity that prompts you to finally tease him in a dry tone: âJesus, youâre taking up the whole thing and itâs still not enough.â
âTell me about it.â Heâs quick to react to your statement, and you swear you see his broad chest huff with amusement out of your peripheral. âIt must be the price to pay when youâre a dreamy, charming, six foot three Jujutsu Sorcerer,â he adds in a lighthearted tone that seeks feigned sympathy. Youâre not looking at him anymore, but you can guess that heâs batting the long white eyelashes that decorate his electric blue eyes. Meanwhile, youâre battling a smile.
Shokoâs not answering your SOS texts, so you actually decide to take the bait in the meantime. âYou poor thing,â you coo halfheartedly, âItâs just never enough for you.â You shift, draping your arm over the back of the cheap desk chair that warps under your weight.
âYouâre so right! Iâm glad someone finally understands.â He points a finger at you, clearly pleased that youâre bantering along, and then he rests that same finger on his pointed chin. âSpeaking of nothing ever being enough, Iâm starving.â He suddenly sits up, making the bed creak with his movement. Itâs apparent that his focus has shifted from the lifeless television show to you. âWho delivers around here?â
Gojoâs nonchalant behavior has the opposite effect on you- itâs disconcerting. At the same time, a very quiet part of you wants to warm up to the idea of finding it endearing. Being annoyed by him was all you knew- how could you ever change now?
The noise that escapes him is pure juvenile glee when you wordlessly open up a delivery app on your phone and sling the device over to him, which he catches with ease before scavenging through the limited number of nearby restaurants. If anything, youâve never seen him so locked in. You hear him murmur his commentary to himself as he swipes through, picking out his order from his spot on the bed (which is basically the whole thing), and then he abruptly stands up with a matter-of-fact tone in his voice. Without watching him, you hear his steps move somewhere behind your seat.
âHey, your girlfriend Shoko is texting you. I had no idea I was such a hot subject! Well, maybe I did.â
Oh shit. The heart that previously resided in your chest has plummeted to your stomach. You completely forgot youâd been virtually begging her for moral support when you first arrived at your shoebox of a room.
You muster all your inner strength to maintain a semblance of cool. âIs she on her way to save me?â
The grin on his face is nearly glowing as he reads your screen. âHah, you wish. It says, and I quote, âSorry Iâm just now seeing these! How are you and your âHonored Oneâ doing? I promise heâs not as bad as you think he is, LOL.ââ
You can feel all the blood in your body rush to your face as Gojo continues to read the message, who is doing everything to refrain from bursting into a fit of laughter. ââAt least heâs not the worst looking, and you guys are gonna have to share a bed anyway. Wink emoji, wink emoji.ââ
Your world comes screeching to an ugly halt. In this moment, you remind yourself to never text Shoko while youâre in the same room as him- ever again.
âOh my god⌠Youâre lying. Stop it!â You feel a wave of sickeningly nervous giggles threaten to rack through your body as you fly out of your rickety seat, marching over to the lanky sorcerer and swiping at him for your phone. He tsks, holding the device up from your reach with a mischievous tilt of his head, and youâre sure that youâve never been this flushed with humiliation before. His muscled arm holds your phone up revealing the chat, and unfortunately, he wasnât lying. And his voice? Itâs smug, obnoxiously so as he taunts you. âThis is so much more interesting than ordering food right now. I think Iâm gonna answer her. What should I say?â
âGive it back, Satoru Gojo.â You glower up at him, silently knowing your efforts are futile due to your drastic height difference- and that goddamn Infinity ability of his that he loved to show off.
âOooh, donât say my full name. It really scares me,â Gojo gasps mockingly before making a show of squinting up at the screen and beginning to type with his other hand. âLetâs try this.â His fingers begin to dance across the screen. ââShoko, I think I might be falling for Satoru Gojo, all six foot three of him. Weâve had such a romantic evening-â"
âJesus Christ, hand it over already!â Youâre reaching your limit with tolerating his antics, body teeming in some liminal space between annoyance and mortification. You stretch up again to try and pluck the phone only to make contact with nothing. Fucking showoff. Heâs still got his blindfold on, and youâre unable to see how his eyes are completely shimmering with mirth and self-satisfaction.
âAaand, sent! I think sheâll like that. Anyway, go ahead and add your order to the cart. Itâs on me- I remembered to bring the JuJutsu High credit card this time!â Gojo carries on casually like he hasnât just done the equivalent of planting an explosive in your text messages, feeling incredibly proud of himself as he plops the phone back into your open palm. Glaring up at him and his resilient grin, you are entirely uninterested in eating any kind of food right now. He thinks itâs kind of cute how quickly your face turns ruby red.
You stare at your violated device, blinking in disbelief before looking back up at him. âYouâre a real motherfucker, you know that?â You challenge, though your voice isnât as hostile as it should be.
His large hands fly up defensively. âWhoa, who says I donât go for daughters either?â
Heâs maddening. How do his students stand him? Your free palm has never moved so fast to your face. Resolving into your clunky self-assigned seat, your butt collides firmly with cold wood. âYouâre right. Who donât you go for?â You huff.
Gojo chuckles with his whole chest as he moves to sprawl out over the miniature bed, returning to the original position he was in before he hijacked your text conversation. With blindfolded eyes focused back on the hazy television screen, his hands lock behind his head as he shrugs indifferently. âNever been a big fan of Geminis, to be honest.â
Unreal. He could talk to you in circles like this forever, and only because he knows he gets under your skin that way. You resign, eyeing your phone screen and scrolling through the restaurant he picked to order delivery from. Heâs got quite the spread in the cart, complete with an elaborate dessert that couldâve wiped out your savings account.
âClearly a fan of cheesecake though, holy shit.â The jab doesnât come out as mean as you intend it to, and honestly, you arenât sure how much longer youâll be capable of treating him with this much animosity. Youâre already tired, and if you were any more awake youâd realize that your work partner was slowly wearing your guard down, quip by cocky quip.
âRight again. Donât you just love getting to know me through our intimate time together?â
Shoko is spamming you with an endless barrage of confused and shocked emojis, and youâre far too sleep-deprived to reply. Your entire body flushes at his words as they reverberate in your mind. Intimate is not the right word. No, it shouldnât be, more like invasive. Right?
âCouldnât be happier,â you reply curtly, mindlessly picking out whichever menu items are at the top before punching in the room number and credit card info, which was smoothly slid onto the table by Gojo without your prior notice. With your back to him, his gratification is on full display as he pretends to watch whatever crappy show is playing. Winning is his favorite thing in the world, and grating on your nerves is a close second- though really, the two coincide. Part of him wonders how much further he can blur that line.
The comically large bag of food is immediately torn open by an eager Gojo the second it lands on the hotel roomâs table, and heâs forking together a messy array of sides onto his plate before dragging over a lounge chair from the corner next to yours. Heâs sitting far too close for your comfort, but you begrudgingly comply. It wasnât like he was going to go away anytime soon, even though the night would be so much easier that way. As he shovels his dinner into his mouth, your mind aimlessly ventures as to how he keeps his form so trim with an appetite like that. Heâs got to have a strict workout regimen somewhere, though âstrictâ is a word not often associated with him-
âHey, your foodâs gonna get cold if you keep staring like that.â
Your eyes widen in record time. Itâs a hideous realization that youâve zoned out on watching the renowned sorcerer-turned-temporary-roommate inhale his overpriced dinner, all from being overcome with either exhaustion or acceptance of your cramped situation. At this point, itâs maybe a little of both.
âSorry,â you mumble, not even caring to articulate a more acidic response. It seems youâre beginning to neutralize into Gojoâs presence, and he mentally takes note of your changing chemistry with him as you quietly stab at your steak bites.
Heâs got the perfect opportunity to coo something vain back, like âDonât apologize, Iâd stare too if it were me,â but he doesnât. He simply keeps eating, sparing you with a less than uncomfortable silence. Itâs never been the worst thing between you two given your extensive work history, and you feel yourself soften slightly when the bland hotel roomâs air isnât filled with his assumptive commentary for once. As your plates both get emptier, he feels this sudden need to hold your attention, as youâre less likely to be as combative as youâve been before. Youâre... not so set on hating him.
âYou tired?â
Gojoâs two-worded inquiry jars you, almost to the point of choking on your bread. It's something genuine. He closes up one of the empty to-go boxes and shoves it into the takeout bag before pulling out the monstrosity that is his slice of cheesecake. For some reason your heart stammers at how refreshing the possibility of a real conversation with him could actually be.
Youâve got the perfect opportunity to snap something defensive back, like âYeah, of you,â but you donât. His shiny eyes shift under the fabric of his blindfold to you, almost prompting you to answer.
ââŚYeah, I must be making it pretty obvious,â you say, unintentionally yawning and proving his point. If you were any more relaxed with him, he wouldâve told you how cute you looked doing that. You secure your leftovers and start to chuck them into the bag before a large hand suddenly stops you with a âgimmeâ motion.
âJudging by how easily youâre willing to waste that perfectly good foodâŚitâs not hard to tell,â he prods at you with a grin that you wouldâve unnerved you earlier, but at this hour itâs a little more welcoming. Is that a snicker that comes out of you? You hand over the half-eaten order of steak bites to his jubilation, and heâs already popping open the lid to pick one up with his fingers.
Curse your brain in its exhausted state, because itâs nearly hypnotized by his digits. Theyâre long, dextile, confident somehow. Theyâre slender and defined, yet capable of serious damage- this you know all too well, and that excites you more than it should. The slice of meat dwarfs in his hold, its shiny reddish myoglobin starting to trickle down his hand and wrist, and it decorates his fine veins and tendons there with its sheenâŚ
No, thereâs no way youâre jealous of a piece of meat right now. Did you seriously feel a flutter somewhere that you shouldnât? Satoru Gojo is literally eating your leftovers with his bare, grubby hands, and youâve made the fatal error of finding it attractive. Yeah, youâre definitely sleeping in the bathtub tonight before your conflicted mind wanders any further.
He munches on the remainder of your dinner before finally digging into the cheesecake, and you feel blessed for the distraction from your shifting thoughts when you two chat about the mission at hand tomorrow. Is he worried about the curses youâll be dealing with? No, of course not. According to him, heâs only worried about messing up his hair. Oh, and that expensive jacket you were careful not to touch earlier. With that all that added up, maybe he is nervous about it.
When the conversation dies down, the only sound in the unimpressive hotel room is the game show now playing on the practically vintage television. You quietly scroll your phone while your colleague digs into the soft dessert, stopping suddenly to stick his fork out to you.
âWant a bite? And before you say no, I already told you my cooties arenât contagious.â
Is this real kindness? You whip your head to face him, studying the glob of caramel-drizzled sweetness, and heâs waving the fork around like a magic wand complete with some convincing âwhooshâ sound effects. Itâs even more comical with the way he fills his seat, almost like heâs sitting in a dollâs chair. The sight beside you makes you stifle a laugh, and in that moment you realize something: while he constantly irritates you, Satoru Gojo is the brightest, liveliest thing in that damn room. Itâs not saying much given the plain wallpaper, dull sheets, and dusty furniture, but it all amounts to him looking pretty good despite your surroundings. If you werenât sober right now, youâd admit that he looks pretty good just about anywhere. Heâs so unfitting, literally, in the drab, cramped space that you almost want to let that very laugh out.
âEhâŚI donât believe you, but even if they werenât... I couldnât avoid them in this room anyway,â you joke sleepily, reaching for the fork and pushing the bite of cheesecake past your lips. Heâs sitting pretty close, near enough that his spicy cologne still dances in your senses, but if he were any closer youâd swear you could spot him watching how your lips attached so tightly around the plastic silverware. Youâre trying desperately to avoid the fact that sharing the fork was like indirectly kissing him, because if you think about it long enough itâll make you blush all over again. So much for keeping a distance between you two.
You realize something else: he mightâve had a point with his dessert selection. âThat is pretty good,â you commentate, handing him back the fork. Thereâs almost a soft expression on his blindfolded face when he wordlessly pushes the rest of the heaping slice between the two of you, as if the sugary dessert could substitute for a peace treaty. This is how all truces should go, you silently decide.
âHere, have some more in case you die tomorrow,â Gojo tuts with a grin, knowing fully well that youâd be perfectly fine during your assignment the next day. He loves to poke at you, but he can also recognize all the hard work you do. Hell, putting up with him was a full-time job, he could admit.
Your mouth flies open to let out a lighthearted âYou asshole,â and you reflexively move to smack his shoulder. Youâre even more shocked when your palm actually makes contact with the muscle there..as is he.
Gojo had turned his Infinity off. He mustâve gotten so caught up in wanting to break down your guard this evening that he neglected to remember his own.
âNo way, I actually landed a hit on the Satoru Gojo,â you beam. Triumphantly taking another bite of the cheesecake, you feel his gaze train on you. His face-chiseled, you have to say- is conveying something unidentifiable. Thereâs some surprise and some amusement, but thereâs another emotion lingering in the slight rise of his light eyebrows and his relaxed jaw. Something deeper, almost longing. It honestly concerns you for a moment, but heâs quick to recover by slumping backward over the chair, clutching a hand where yours landed just seconds before.
âAbuse! How dare you!â He declares, gripping his shoulder in the throes of his dramatics. âYaga will be hearing about this. Iâm reporting you to the higher-ups!â
âDonât even. Iâll tell them you sabotaged my technology then,â you counter, waving your phone. âOh, and that you misused company funds.â You point accusingly at the heap of cheesecake between you both. âAnd then weâll both get fired.â
His fists hit the table as he falls forward dramatically. âUghâŚBut then weâd end up living here,â he sighs woefully, âand that would be the worst part of all.â
You openly crack up at his refreshing honesty, finally recognizing this room for the shithole that it is, and you feel a newfound warmth spread throughout your chest. âHmmm⌠But then we could keep ordering this cheesecake.â Maybe you like bantering with him, you decide.
Gojo chuckles as he stands up from his seat, dragging it back to where it resided in the corner and going along with your bit. âNot if we canât âmisuse our funds,â you tattletale. We better start thinking of a side hustle to keep our lifestyle going.â
Thereâs a certain weight to âweâs and âourâs that make your heart palpitate just the slightest. Itâs like a promise of a future together, a future beyond the uninspiring walls you were forced to rest in tonight. Still in your fit of tired giggles, you close up the remainder of the dessert before sticking it in the hotel roomâs loud, antiquated mini fridge. The change of pace between you both is almost freeing, allowing you to consider the idea of actually sleeping somewhat soundly tonight.
âWell, you ponder on that. Iâm gonna get ready for bed.â Youâre quick to tuck into the bathroom as your laughter dies down, taking your bag with you to switch into the pajamas you packed. All the while, youâre secretly wondering what the sleeping situation is going to look like. You know youâre desperate for rest and given how the evening between you two has warmed a little, the idea of sharing the tiny bed with Gojo isâŚless than awful to you now. You step out, only to gasp when said man is right outside the door. Heâs leaning against the frame with his own bag slung over his shoulder, grinning wickedly and looking all too smug
âMy turn, princess. Coming through!â
The novel nickname flutters through your system as he squeezes past you, closing the door in your face with another low chuckle. God, heâs an idiot, you think with a smile, opting to perch in the seat he used for dinner until he returns to the room.
Youâre playing a mindless game on your phone when you hear the bathroom door squeak closed, and Gojo plops back into the stiff bed. Thereâs no shirt on his sculpted body, only a baggy pair of black pajama pants whose waistband barely kisses his narrow hips. Humbled is an understatement when you try not to ogle at the sorcerer before you, whose murder you were secretly plotting just hours before. The skin on your face is akin to the Sunâs surface as you summon every ounce of will not to stare, but his Six Eyes promptly detects the sheepish change in your demeanor.
âSo, you sharing this thing with me or what?â He looks over at you in the chair as he stretches over the traverse of the mattress, head propped on one hand while the other toys with his blindfold. âSince you donât seem to care about my cooties anymore.â The repeated movement of those long, deft fingers looping around the fabric is enough to conjure a flashback to him eating those damn steak bites, and you feel hot all over again. It shouldnât be suggestive, it really shouldnât, but the way heâs talking makes it seem like he wants you beside him.
You rest your chin in your hand as you reply with a frown, pretending to think, âHmmm. Thatâs gonna be a tight fit.â He snorts in response, something devious but expected on the tip of his tongue, and you realize it as soon as you answer. âDonât even say it, Gojo.â
He feigns surprise, scooting over and patting the pillow beside him. âPffft. When have I been known to say anything out of pocket?â He canât deny the thought of fitting tightly somewhere else, his aqua eyes flashing with a desire heâs never allowed himself to feel for a long time. âListen princess, youâve only got two choices for tonight, so pick wisely. Thereâs somewhere tight-â he pats the pillow again, -âor somewhere wet.â The thumb previously tugging on the fabric around his eyes jabs toward the bathroom door.
Thereâs that nickname again. âHow erotic,â you snicker, wordlessly complying and letting your exhaustion guide the way to the empty side of the bed. Itâs not a ton of space, but youâll do your best to make it work. Carefully, you slide in to avoid touching him, realizing just how difficult that task is going to be in your limited amount of territory. Should you make a pillow border between you two? No, because then that would take up even more precious space. Maybe if you bunched up some of your blanket-
âAlright! Wait till Shoko hears about this!â
Gojo visibly approves of your choice as he watches you timidly sidle in next to him, wearing that stupidly eager grin on his face and whooping like a sports game attendee. Shooting him a playful glare and an âOh, enough with you, Six Eyes,â you feel the cool sheets hit your skin, and your body erupts in goosebumps through your thin-ish shirt and shorts. You quickly face the opposite way as him, but not before stealing another glance at his ridiculously toned chest and stomach as he reaches to turn the bedside lamp off. God, he smells so good, like minty toothpaste and his cologne. Darkness abruptly envelops you as your heart pounds, and you have a horrible thought: Who said I wouldnât be wet sleeping here?
You hear Gojo release a barely audible sigh, almost as if heâs tentative to fall asleep beside you too. Heâs not sure who to trust less, you or himself, but he hides his apprehension with a couple more quips as you settle into the compact mattress.
âYou have any idea how many people would pay to be where you are right now? You are so lucky.â
He could talk in circles with you again for hours if it meant prolonging the inevitable vulnerability that is unconsciousness beside another person- though a deeper part of him reasons thereâs nothing to worry about. Maybe there are other things you could do instead of talk, he thinks, doing little to shake the idea away. Itâs kind of nice, way more than nice, the image of you all spread out below him-
The eye roll you respond with is felt by him but not seen in the lightless room. Clouded by an atypical hunger and pure fatigue, you murmur back, âDonât worry, I tip well,â and a smug smile forms on your face. Itâs kind of fun getting to poke back at him. Thatâs all it is, right? Harmless banter. Gojo senses your intentions on a level unbeknownst to you, though- and heâs not entirely upset at them.
âListen to you! That was smooth. I just might give you a discount for that.â You hear the sheets rustle beside you, and you slowly turn. Heâs fully facing you, boyishly propping his head up on his fist with his near-glowing eyes now exposed. You notice that his blindfold has now been placed neatly on the outdated nightstand. Heâs keenly tuned in on you, finding your pajamas a little too cute for a pre-mission night of sleep. Itâs clearly getting more difficult for him to deny how entertained he is by the sight of you all snuggled in on your diminutive side of the crappy hotel bed.
You pretend to cover your eyes after seeing his finally revealed to you, feeling thoroughly proud of yourself for matching his energy now. âPut those LEDs away, good lord,â you joke, allowing yourself to let out a sleepy laugh as you pull up the covers to give your bumpy skin some salvation. His intentful gaze is already doing plenty to send heat throughout your limbs though, and the act of grabbing the blanket is an effort in vain. As your eyelids flutter with the weight of tiredness, you understand just how close you two are in the moment. Mentally, you were so much farther away earlier in the evening than you are now- and it takes a second for you to process that you actually like the change.
Gojo laughs softly, and you can hear the late hour begin to seep into his tone. It grows more throaty, lower than before, and itâs entirely too pleasant. Part of you wonders if heâd consider the proposition of reading you a bedtime story. Thereâs a lingering tension in the air, nearly tangible, and it shifts when you note how his eyes flicker all over your face. Eyes, lips, back to eyes, back to lips.
âMaybe I wanna look at you a little longer. Are you gonna report me to the higher-ups for that, too?â Gojo bats his icy white lashes, his oaky scent further settling into the sheets. The only light in the shoddy room comes from his vibrant irises, and theyâre spotlighting on you with piqued interest. The light has always come from him, and itâs an epiphany that has you scooting an inch closer.
âIf those things blind me, I will.â You exhale through your nose, partially wishing you could reach out to the heat that radiates off his halfway bare body.
He blinks, and you swear the room flashes dark again for that split second. âWell, yâknow, that might be a good thing,â he tries to reason lightheartedly, in a volume just above a whisper. âYou wouldnât have to look at this ugly room anymore.â You watch his hand- the same one you nearly salivated over earlier- land in the limited space between you two, almost as if it wants to cross that border. It takes the most willpower youâve ever needed not to stare at it, feeling your face flush with a sick anticipation. âIâd be saving you.â Maybe itâs what heâs always wanted to do all along, you both think, and it encourages you to be just as coy back.
In this moment, you feel bold enough to say something you thought would never leave your mouth: âBut then I wouldnât get to look at all six foot three of you.â You pout sarcastically, and Gojo gets the urge to kiss it right off your face. His grin is proud; itâs everything he never knew he wanted to hear.
Your teasing is like a silent permission for his hand to move closer to you, and your entire body stills when you feel it land gently on your lower thigh to play with the frilled hem of your shorts. Must be a pattern of his, you realize. He chuckles, and the sound is so low that you can practically feel it.
âHmm⌠Youâre right. Again.â Your work partnerâs head tilts down slightly at you, and his expression is overcome with what can only be described as relief. âGuess I need to save you some other way.â He notices the goosebumps adorning your figure, and suddenly youâre pressed up against his broad chest. God, heâs so warm, you donât even realize the way youâre curling right up into him. Somehow, despite your height difference, you fit perfectly along his lanky frame.
âBetter?â
You are tired, fatigued beyond belief, but youâd be stupid not to stay awake to experience Satoru Gojo letting his guard down for you. Perhaps this dismal hotel room was a test of will for you two, and while youâre not entirely sure what denotes passing or failing, you do know one thing: Satoru Gojo is unbelievably comfortable to cuddle with.
StillâŚyou wonder what would unfold if you pushed further.
âHmmm⌠still not warm enough.â The words leave you before you can tame them, and the unspoken invitation behind them makes his eyebrows raise. The hand playing with the fabric of your shorts squeezes into your skin just the slightest, prompting you to look up at him where you see no reserves on his handsome (God, itâs good to admit that) face. His soft pink lips hover inches from your own, drawing closer like magnets.
âReally.â You feel a thumb rub slow circles along your outer thigh. âI can fix that for you, yeah?â His words shoot straight to your core as his head ducks a little lower, just breaths away from yours.
Well, youâre definitely not tired anymore.
âIf youâre still offering that discountâŚâ you breathe out. A rush of smugness allows you to bring your hands to his toned chest, traveling up to trace his defined collarbone. His skin is soft, almost velvety, most likely from years of keeping his perimeter so trained to avoid any unnecessary contact, and the act of smoothing your fingers over it becomes soothing.
Gojoâs lopsided grin conveys the desire heâs suppressed for so long, seemingly caught up in this new dynamic with you. âNah, weâll put it on the credit card,â he finally laughs before confidently pressing his lips to yours.
He is an entirely new taste, and youâre not able to reference his movements to anything or anyone; itâs another level of tact and precision. Did he plan this? His kisses are the perfect mix of messy and firm, and itâs clear heâs doing all but holding back. Something unlocks as he goes through the motions, maybe the realization of the snapped tension or maybe the feeling of you kissing back just as passionately, and his mouth soon scatters everywhere from your lips to your jaw to your neck in a flurry of teeth and tongue. Heâs somehow magically in tune with your most sensitive areas of the exposed skin as his lips wander, leaving you to grab his firm bicep and cling as if heâs grounding you to the earth. The details of the dingy hotel room are completely abandoned as you feel your senses envelop, finally, with all that is Satoru Gojo, and there was truly no beauty greater than that.
Chest heaving, you almost let out a laugh at how rapidly the night has shifted. His well-trained hands travel, one squeezing the tissue of your breast over your thin shirt while the other dances just below the leg of your shorts. With all walls down, itâs pointless to hide the effect his touch has on you. If his hand moved any higher, heâd discover how wet you were- part of you dreaded how inflated his ego would become after that, but the other, hungrier part of you needed him to do it.
âAnyone ever told you-â Gojo breathes out between his attack, brushing a thumb over your hardened nipple, âhow pretty you are?â He is all too focused on drinking in your features, finding your weakest and favorite points. Your back arches ridiculously easily into his touch as you struggle to find the words to answer him.
âN-no one else thatâs mattered.â
Youâre sure his ego will balloon rapidly upon that little admission, but you partly didnât care- not when he was capable of making you feel so unbelievably good.
Heâs rightfully amused at how blatant your desire is now. âOh? So I do matter to you then.â His other hand roams up your thigh, threatening to reach where you wanted it most. You snicker before a shudder erupts from you when a long, hot stripe is licked down your neck and over your shoulder, and itâs all you need to swing your leg over his, straddling him on the stiff, narrow mattress. The flex of his abs as he sits up to accommodate you is nothing short of poetic, and you find more prose in the clouded, desperate fog of his azure eyes when he watches you with curiosity. He immediately rests his grip on your waist, pressing you down gently onto what can only be described as a monster underneath his sweats. You understand now why he carries himself the way that he does: Heâs fucking huge.
You push your chest against his, unable to stop the twitch of your hips when you feel Gojoâs hardness brush against your heat. The wetness of your arousal is sure to be felt through the fabric, and heâd be silly to halt your admittedly cute display of attempts in chasing just an ounce of pleasure. Your flushed face, furrowed eyebrows, small noises, itâs motion picture to him. However, he selfishly wants to be that pleasure for you, and heâs quick to slide a hand down your body to cup your pussy through your pajamas.
Your jaw goes slack as Gojoâs hand makes contact with your most sensitive area over your shorts, and the circles he rubs help him collect some of the condensation from the fabric. It feels good, but not good enough, and you canât help but huff at the restricted movement. He is all too cocky when his hand pulls away, eyeing it with an intense mirth.
âDamn, waterworks, you always get this wet?â Heâs half-amazed and half-amused as he studies his glistening fingers, his other hand gripping at your ass. âThatâs so hot.â
âShut up, Satoru.â You smack his bare shoulder before burying your face into it, feeling your cheeks turn crimson. He chuckles, finding you adorable when youâre embarrassed yet hating that you feel that way. He knows just how to help you get over that, and he starts by slowly sliding his body down, holding your thighs spread as he maneuvers his head onto the flat-ish pillow. You glare down confusedly at him in his newfound position, only to meet with eager cerulean eyes that are practically begging to pull you closer.
âFine then, Iâve got other stuff I wanna do with my mouth anyway,â you hear him murmur from between your thighs, and his hand brushes over your clothed, throbbing cunt again. âNow sit, princess.â
âHuh? No, you wonât be able to breathe, I canât.â Your head shakes vigorously in disapproval. Not that you didnât want them there, but there was no way⌠youâd probably end up suffocating the guy, and while you had a more murderous urge to do that earlier this evening youâd much rather-
âFine with me, now lemme taste you,â Gojo insists with almost a whine in his tone, not letting you respond before pulling the soaked crotch of your shorts to the side and licking a long, forceful line from your hole to your clit. You moan when he does it again, and again, feeling your knees weaken to finally sink yourself onto his mouth. The groan that vibrates against your nerve endings makes you look down, only to see his frosty white lashes flutter as you fill his senses. This was well worth the hours of wearing down your resolve this evening.
His movements become frantic, desperate to experience you now that heâs let his guard down this long with no dire consequences. You feel his tongue lap at your sensitive clit, and his lips kiss in your heat so loudly and wetly that it sounds like a porn scene. Your hands fly to his ivory hair, gripping till his scalp stings. This makes him groan again, and you can barely control the way your hips start to rock along his mouth.
Gojo breaks away for a split second, tongue dragging along your inner thigh with his cock nearly in pain because of heâs got you where he wants you. âJust like that, baby, ride my face,â he huffs quickly before returning to flattening his tongue along your clit. You feel him squeeze the cheeks of your ass, forcing you onto the hot muscle and encouraging you to continue.
He seems to be breathing just fine, you realize- which of course he is, heâs Satoru fucking Gojo- he could handle just about anything. It gives you the confidence to rut your hips forward, moaning louder when his lips wrap around your overstimulated nerve and suck hard. You earn a playful smack on your ass when his name slips out of your mouth, and the stinging sends you further into your frenzy for pleasure as you start to build up a pace. Itâs addicting, really, the way heâs lapping and sucking at your aching cunt like itâs his favorite dessert, and youâre suddenly thankful that he has the appetite that he does. He breaks away for a second to spit into your heat, spreading your slick folds wide with those deft fingers of his, and that only has you rocking harder along his mouth when he reattaches himself. To him, you are so much better than any sweet heâs had.
You donât even realize youâre doing it, but youâre tugging Gojoâs snowy tresses in shallow efforts to further bury his face in your cunt as you ride it, and heâs all too happy that youâre using him in this way. As his tongue prods up into your tight entrance, he feels his cock throb again at the prospect of how it would feel inside of you. He groans at the thought, and you feel it all the way up in your ribcage. Heâs already picked up on the fact that youâre close, judging by how your frantic movements have sped up and the way youâre babbling incoherent praises that only make him ache more.
âFuck, Satoru, feels so- good- pleaseâŚâ
When Gojo lets out a little laugh at that, you feel your slick dribble messily down your thighs. That hot, blinding pressure grows stronger under your navel when you grind harder on his tongue, threatening to spill over when he starts to flick it along your clit to match your pace. It all feels so deliciously good that you pay no mind to his nails digging into your flesh, his own way of ensuring heâs leaving a mark- as if he hasnât decorated your neck in shades of blotchy fuchsia already.
âIâm-so-closeâŚ.â
He gives your ass another smack with your breathy cry, looking up at you with eyes that nearly beam. You look down while your hips continue to drag along his tongue, finding him just so damn pretty while heâs eating you so good, and you ease your fingers in his hair. That impending sensation grows stronger, and he quickly parts from your lips to murmur confidently:
âI know, princess, I got you. Lemme have it.â
His choice of words and the way he immediately goes back to lapping at your heat are both more than enough to have you coming apart around his tongue in mere seconds. There is nothing in your mindâs eye but Gojo as your high overtakes you, fizzling through your being and prompting you to cry out his name as if itâs a chant. He soaks it all in, helping you ride out your release before slowing to kiss his way back up your body. Youâve never come that hard- and somehow, he senses this too. Your legs feel like jelly when heâs finally face-to-face with you, and his is glistening with your arousal. If he wasnât desperate to be inside of you right now he could do that for hours, he thinks.
You lean in, capturing your lips with Gojoâs and wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him deeply. Your own taste on your lips does little to dissuade you from him, and for the next few moments, you both feverishly rip off whatever clothing is still unfortunately on your bodies. He, as gracefully as he can given the annoyingly small hotel bed, maneuvers you onto the pillow so youâre lying on your back, and you feel his heavy cock hit your stomach. He pauses for a second to study your features, finding that every inch of you is worth burning to memory. Youâre stunning like this, all sticky and flushed and needy, and itâs all because of his efforts. Heâs only more gratified when your mouth flies open at his impressive size.
âYou're kidding. That's not gonna fit,â You sputter, still in your post-orgasm daze, but you feel your hole clench around nothing when you notice the filmy drops of pre beading around his thick tip.
His laugh is genuine, almost melodic as he pumps himself a few times. âSuch a downer. Weâll make it fit, âkay?â Gojo promises with a goofy grin, letting his hand wander along your bare nipples and stomach before eventually revisiting your now sore cunt. You hiss in delight when he slides one of his long fingers in, and your legs spread automatically at the intrusion. Even in the most cramped bed ever, youâd realize youâd make room for him anywhere. You reach out, dragging your hand along his chiseled stomach, nearly in awe at how firm the muscles are there. Heâs like if art was living, breathing, unrestricted from a canvas or frame.
Your hand slides further, silently encouraging his own to move so you can take over stroking his hardened cock as his finger curls along your hot walls. You moan quietly, watching his breath hitch in his broad chest- heâs not sure whether to watch your face or your movements, and thereâs an eagerness within him that amplifies when he sees how tightly youâre sucking in just a digit of his. His hips jut forward slightly when your thumb brushes his sensitive tip, and he finally decides to look into your eyes. You stare back, wanting to say so much about how his are the perfect shade of blue.
âYâknow why I harass you so much?â He asks in a tone that reaches a new level of softness for him, and you entertain his question as he slowly introduces a second finger. The stretch is delicious, though you think itâs doing little to prep for the monstrosity that awaits you.
ââCause youâre Satoru Gojo?â You reply before letting out a hiss at a particularly sensitive spot he hits within you.
He snorts. âWell, yeah, and âcause I think youâre pretty. Inside and out. Gorgeous, actually.â
You blush a little at how he turns a silly banter into a very real confession, and you watch his eyelids flutter again. Actually, you feel kind of bad for being so lighthearted while he was being serious- that was his thing, anyway. Times like these were what made his bluntness endearing, and he continues, beginning to align his length with your dripping entrance after slowly removing his fingers.
âSo, lemme prove it.â
Feeling all kinds of giddy you nod, angling your thighs so his hips can fit between them. His spongy tip drags through your slick folds, and itâs the most youâve ever felt another person focus so directly on you. You look up at him, bringing your hands up his stomach and to his defined shoulders as his tip sinks into you just the slightest.
âWell, youâre pretty too, like otherworldly handsome,â you admit back with a timid smile, clearly trying to regain your breath. âJust couldnât tell you âcause you were too busy harassing me.â You exhale when he submerges himself a little more, and he smiles back with his pearly white teeth. âYouâre fucking huge, too⌠oh my godâŚâ you add, moaning a little at how his cock feels nothing like his fingers. You hate to admit it, but itâs clear heâs set to wreck you.
âNaturally.â Heâs using every ounce of strength to control himself from pounding into you, responding to your praise and your criticism all at once. Gojo slowly and gently pushes in until his hips are flush with yours, and it feels as if heâs tearing you from the inside. Your face is scrunched at the intrusion, and he has to cover his own mouth to stop a moan at how tight you feel. Thereâs no other convincing needed by him that your pussy was practically made for him, he thinks, and he studies your features for any indication of stopping.
âLook at you,â he coos, nearly mesmerized by how your cunt has already swallowed him whole. His hand slides down his face to tweak at one of your hardened nipples. âAnd you said I wouldnât fit. Takinâ it like a pro, princess.â His lighthearted motivation makes you snicker a little, and it eases some of the stinging from the stretch heâs causing. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, and his eyes practically roll to the back of his head when your hot walls grip around him. It takes a few moments for you to adjust to his size, and when finally you do, you give him the silent go-ahead by softening your expression. His grin could blind a room full of people when he thrusts deeper, not only reaching that same sensitive spot but finding another, and it makes your head loll back to the pillow.
That reminds him. He pauses for a second to slide one of the cheap hotel pillows under your tailbone, and suddenly his cock feels like itâs colliding with your guts when he continues his movements. Your mouth couldnât fall any more open as he starts to establish a pace, filling you so masterfully yet harshly with every stroke.
âSa-to-ruâŚâ you pant, digging your nails into Gojoâs sculpted back, and this only motivates him more. You have a realization that could either be horrible or amazing: How could you ever fuck anyone else again? Again and again heâs thrusting into that magical spot till the sounds of your wetness fill the otherwise lackluster room, spoiling you for any other and reassuring you that yes, he really is the strongest. Part of him knows how skilled he is, and he has to refrain from laughing- no one would ever be enough once he was done with you. Then again, he never wants to be done with you.
You feel his tactful hands roam your body aimlessly, a visible sign of his enrapture with how you receive him. He wants to focus on watching his cock slam into your cunt over and over, but he also wants to watch your face as you writhe and cry out his name- heâs clearly conflicted.
The little breathy noises slipping out of him arenât helping your cause, and the way he abruptly throws one of your legs over his broad shoulder doesnât either. Heâs now rutting into your tight heat relentlessly, a stark contrast from how delicately heâs kissing up the thigh thatâs pressed into his chest.
âYour pussy is...perfect,â you hear Gojo groan, drawing the words out, and his kisses along your thigh become animalistic as they turn into bites. You whimper, back arching with all the sensations filling your system, and that heady feeling in your tummy begins to strengthen again. âWanna-fuck you- foreverâŚâ
âPlease,â you agree as your ability to form sentences leaves you. âDonât ever- stopâŚâ
In a perfect world, he wouldnât. As one hand holds your thigh to his chest and the other travels to your overstimulated clit, his shiny blue eyes watch your contorting face, smiling proudly when you moan at how his fingers rub tight circles along your nerves. He can feel his release approaching alongside yours, and your slick walls flutter around his cock as he pummels into you.
âWant another one, princess,â Gojo pants, making your skin smack against his as your orgasm builds up in your tummy. âGo on, come on- my cockâŚâ
His wish is your command. You quickly lean forward, mashing your lips with his when the pleasure fizzles out of you all over again. You feel the tips of your toes burn at how powerfully your release hits you, wracking your body with an almost overwhelming amount of pleasure. Youâre reduced to a heaving, shaking mess, convulsing around his length and left only able to babble his name against his mouth in your state of bliss. His hand cradles the back of your head as he fucks you through the aftershock and kisses you roughly, only to follow close behind just moments later. His movements falter before your name falls from his lips, and his hips stutter as you feel yourself start to fill with his thick seed.
Holy shit. Who wouldâve guessed that this was how your evening would turn out? Just mere hours ago you wanted to claw at his throat, and instead you clawed at his back because of how good he was dicking you down. Your mind swims as Gojo slowly withdraws, slipping out of your sore cunt to collapse beside you in what little space the hotel bed offered. Heâs even gorgeous like this, maybe more than ever actually. Youâre observing how his ivory hair sticks to his forehead and his back glistens with the thinnest layer of sweat from his efforts, the muscles there decorated with thin red indents from your nails. Itâs a sight worth recreating an infinite number of times.
Not having him envelop all your senses anymore forces you back into reality, where a mission lies just hours ahead of you and your shared hotel room isnât any prettier. And unbelievably, those things donât even matter anymore. All you can perceive and recognize in your afterglow is Satoru Gojo, who is already regaining his breath while you lie there like a fucked-out mess. Beautiful.
Gojo turns to face you, watching your chest rise and fall as you regulate yourself, and his delighted grin is all too perfect for someone who just obliterated you.
âSoâŚyou warm enough now?â
Your sticky body shifts to face him, vibrating with laughter as you answer âFor now, yesâŚâ and your head hits the pillow exhaustedly. Thatâs right- you were already tired before this âdevelopmentâ even happened.
His whole being is pure elation as he languidly drapes an arm over your bare figure. âDoes that mean we get to do that again? I think she really likes me.â His hand brushes over your abused cunt, and your body flares at his touch yet again. It was a sick epiphany that he could destroy you and youâd still want more.
You snicker. âYes, but she is super sore right now.â The sleepiness from earlier seeps into your brain, and you find yourself curling back into his lanky frame. He accepts you openly, resting a hand on your ass as he scoops you closer.
âI can kiss her better,â he pipes up quietly, already thinking of all the ways he could keep touching you. Even though you feel that droning buzz of want again, you tiredly shake your head, regretfully reminding him âNoooo, weâve gotta get up in a few hours. Maybe after our mission.â You swear his eyes desaturate a shade before he sighs.
âYeah yeah yeah. Youâre gonna be tired and sore anyway.â
âOh, and youâre not?â
âNah.â Gojo moves to press a fresh batch of kisses all over your neck, and you shudder. He did have a point- you were already planning on shotgunning whatever energy drinks were in the dingy hotel lobbyâs vending machine in the morning, as if they even had one. âI could go all night if you wanted, princess. Give you more of my cooties.â
You laugh freely, realizing he probably wasnât exaggerating. Itâs quite the offer from the one who just wrecked you so good- and youâd be silly to refuse despite your tiredness. You feeling your limbs tangle into each otherâs, returning thoughts of the hazardous hotel drifting away once more, and your arousal slowly revisits you. What an incredible way to forget about your surroundings. You tug playfully on his icy tresses, you decide that this might be your new favorite kind of exhaustion. âAs long as you donât share your cooties with anyone else.â
Snickering, Gojo keenly zeroes on spreading your aching legs so he can see the aftermath from earlier, and heâs hardening again at the sight of his thick cum barely trickling out onto your thighs. With a mischievous smile, he assures you, âNever. This is just too pretty. Plus, you said you were gonna tip well.â
His hands trace you, and thereâs not a more discernible indicator of your new bond with him than when you look down at his length, answering him in a familiarly cheeky tone, âWell, you already did.â He laughs, the warmest he's ever allowed himself, and it's certain he's keeping his promise.
âIt seems as though Shelley insists the true monstrosity lies in humanity rather than Frankensteinâs creation.â
âWell, yeah, the monster was left completely alone because the doctor couldnât bear to look at him after he brought him to life.â You vigorously wipe down one of the tables in the nearly empty coffee shop as you answer the sole guest thatâs left. âIt upset him a lot. He even says something to him like, âI ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel.ââ
âHm.â A thoughtful pause. ââSatan had his companions, fellow-devils, to admire and encourage him; but I am solitary and abhorred.ââ Grey eyes skim the quoteâs faded page, large hands clasping the worn cover. A prized first-edition print he had quietly boasted about earlier that evening. âItâs as if the doctor was so blinded by his need for recognition that he failed to recognize the potential consequences of his experiment. Such hastiness. Iâm curious as to what inspired him, or rather pushed him, to play God like that in the first place.â
Tossing the rag into a bucket of cleaning solution, you sigh amusedly. âProbably just entitlement. But anyway, Boss, shopâs closed. Iâll be happy to hear your musings again at 7 oâclock tomorrow morning.â
Truthfully, you didnât mind this guyâs presence at all; he did this often, at least a couple of times a week when he could, staying for hours on end to delve into his books and pick your brain on their contents while sipping your coffee. It started a good bit ago, and the second he silently breezed through the shopâs door you had an inkling that youâd be seeing him a lot. He made note of a classic piece resting behind the counter that youâd brought from home that day, and the slow parts of your shifts were soon filled with rich discussion about the stories youâve both read- a welcome break from the monotonous routine of pulling shots, steaming milk, and taking complaints from the middle-aged women who insisted they ordered their drink âextra hot.â Quickly, he grew to become your favorite regular; he had quite the heart for literature and art, and he was fairly easy on the eyes too.
He lets out an appreciative chuckle. âWell, Iâll be sure to remember my alarm, then.â His low voice has the heaviness of sincerity as he teases you, and you could almost swear it was flirting. He carefully closes the book before tucking it under his arm, standing to his full height. Albeit not the tallest, heâs still able to look down at you. âIâd quite like to hear your thoughts on Dr. Frankensteinâs innate motivations.â
You fight the blush that threatens to tinge your cheeks, halfway tempted to keep the doors unlocked just to talk to him some more. However, this could be a double-edged sword for you; youâd be here all night chatting with him if you allowed that discrepancy. Then youâd be too tired to comprehend all his reasonings the next morning when heâd want to debate all over again.
âI mean, Iâll be off in about fifteen minutes,â you blurt out, not fully realizing the forwardness of the unspoken invitation. An invitation that is met with surprise from your normally nonchalant regular.
Thereâs a small smirk tugging at the corners of his fine lips as his eyebrows raise slightly at you. âVery well. Where do you suggest we take this conversation, then?â He is all too impressed with this turn of events as he sets down his book to collect a few haphazard mugs, bringing them over to the sink for you. The small action, while also being another discrepancy, nearly makes you swoon. âOn second thought, donât answer that. I know just the place.â
Your heartbeat surges when you wonder about his implication, taking the mugs from him and plopping them into the soapy water. His stormy grey eyes watch you with interest as you take care of the nightly closing duties, cleaning the tableware before setting everything in its proper place.
âIt better not be Frankensteinâs laboratory,â You halfway joke, curious as to how this night could unfold with the guy youâve always regarded as the friendly yet handsome customer. Another part of you is wary, but he only shakes his head, sending the choppy black locks that framed his face into a gentle flurry of movement.
âNo, nothing like that at all,â is all he answers with a reassuring smile and a chuckle. Concentration lost on what may lie ahead with him, youâre barely able to focus on counting out the register as you lock it up and grab your bag. âIf you say so,â you reply with a small smile. With a flick of the light and his chivalrous door-holding, youâre both out of the shop and securing its entrance with your key before you turn to your good-looking regular.
âWhere to, Boss?â Youâd be lying if you said you werenât a little nervous about venturing somewhere new with him.
âItâs a surprise, but I think youâll like it.â His tone is genuine as his dark tresses flutter in the nightâs breeze, walking beside you and guiding you toward a vibrant ramen joint nestled a couple streets away. âOh, and donât feel like you have to call me that. Iâm Chrollo.â
Chrollo. What an interesting name- yet it fits him perfectly. You say it aloud, which seems to satisfy him. Moments later, you feel his hand cradle the small of your back with the same tenderness of his beloved book as you reach the restaurantâs doors, and it sends heat along the entirety of your skin. Part of you toys with the thought that this could be the beginning of a story of your own, bound in cloth and published in ink for you two to analyze over coffee later.
This creation might be much more beautiful than Frankensteinâs.
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Itâs a lovely evening as expected, and Chrollo drops you off at your doorstep with a warm promise to debate literature outside of your work hours again. Heâs everything and then some- charming, collected, unafraid to banter with you, and part of you is honestly disappointed that the evening doesnât escalate further. Still, youâre vibrating with giddiness, unable to rest as you think about your quasi-date with him, and youâre already imagining what kinds of stories youâll talk about next.
After a few hours of finally sleeping, youâre awoken by a panicked call from one of your coworkers early that next morning. Something about the storeâs register being wiped empty of its change, and thatâs all you need to hear to be there in record time. Once you arrive, you scope the scene and the coffee shop is perfectly kept the way it was last night, save for the now desolate register. You inspect it carefully, shocked at how meticulously the cash had been removed, and the results of your search make your heart pound. The only items that surface are your door key along with small slip of paper with some elongated handwriting. It couldnât be.
Your entire being blanches when you read the familiar words straight out of Shelleyâs book:
âI seemed to have lost all soul or sensation but for this one pursuit.â
I genuinely do not think it's possible to ever write a fanfic about Graves without using the words 'southern' and 'drawl' in quick succession of each other
Based on that trend on TikTok âIâm - of courseâbut with Simon Riley
Slightly awkward in my description and not proof read
âIâm married to a Lieutenant of course I gossip with the other wives.â His sweet wife started looking into the camera she had to coach her old man husband on how to hold.
The camera cuts to Simon
âI will kill any man that speaks to mâwifeâ blink blink
Then the camera pans down to her heels and his boots.
âSi you canât murder a man because he spoke to me thatâs silly.â She started to argue
âMânot I will do it with my bare handsâ he is absolutely dead serious
The camera cuts back to Mrs.riley
âIâm married to a lieutenant no I canât run a mile or do any form of pull ups, and heâs kidding about the murder part- no mânotâ she was cut off again another very serious blink.
âIâll strangle âemâ
âSi you canât-â
âIâll take my gloves off and choke him probably just ambush him off the back take him by surprise not because he can beat me but so he can frail his arms in the air and rack his brain for every single sin heâs ever committed to warrant such a death heâll be gone before it hits him.â
Simon who smiles to himself every time he sees you doing something you love just because he's there to witness it. He'll always be there by your side and while a man of few words, is not above going on and on about how proud he is of you. Even if it's something small, he recognises your efforts and cares enough to take interest in what you like.
More specifically, you've decided you would like to draw, paint- you name it, you just need to get everything out of that head of yours and you find that a blank sheet of paper is the perfect candidate to help keep you occupied.
He'll offer to sit still so you can practice anatomy with him as your glowing model. When you tell him you don't want to be a bother; he's gonna have to sit still for a while, he tells you that he's fine with it because he's went through all the training while in the military which makes him a perfect candidate for your drawings.
So, you relent and let him sit there and he sits for as long as you need him, his head turned in your direction always. His stillness is impressive, and in the end, you find that the only person you're really able to draw is your boyfriend because of how many times he opted to be your model. That doesn't really matter, because, at the end of the day, he's the only one you've had eyes for and he appreciates the pile of paper taking up the corner of your shared office.
donât mind me here, just imagining ghost giving you a drink with no glass đŤ
itâs a late night after a fairly monotonous day, and youâre sat on the couch as ghost rummages around in the kitchen. you hear the clinking of glasses and closing of cupboards, all happening over the low volume of whatever mind-numbing show is playing on the television. then the noise all stops, and you only hear his deep, husky voice from behind you: âfancy a drink?â
you turn your head over your shoulder, absentmindedly responding with a halfhearted âhmmm⌠sure, but not a whole lot please,â before returning to your zoned out state. he lets out a quiet hum before grabbing the bottle of whiskey from the counter and wordlessly making his way over to you. you donât even register his presence until you feel a calloused hand brush along your cheek, cupping your chin and gently tilting your head back. your heart thumps in your chest when your now widened eyes meet ghostâs, and he commands as a murmur âopen fâme.â he lifts the bottle slightly, indicating his intentions.
youâre unbelievably flustered when you comply, face turning bright red as you dutifully open your mouth for him. heâs biting back a grin while he caresses your jaw, standing over your form to tilt the bottle toward you. his watchful eyes never leave yours, and time seems to stop as the liquor pours past your lips. youâre not sure which is warmer- the whiskey spilling down your throat, or his large hand on your skin.
âthatâs itâŚâ
his praise makes your whole body flutter. once you swallow, ghost tilts the bottle back upright, holding back a chuckle before he closes your mouth for you. he moves to situate himself beside you on the couch, bringing one glass and the bottle with him, and heâs thoroughly amused at all of the inquisition written all over your face. what he did was so unexpectedâŚbut so hot.
he sets everything down on the coffee table to start making his drink, though youâre both well aware that his creation is soon to be abandoned anyway. with low-lidded eyes, he only offers a slight shrug to your silent questioning, and his cheeky response is stated as casually as it could be.
âsaid ya didnât want muchâŚi didnât wanna waste another glass.â
Price who doesnât bat an eye when you ask him to peel your orange. He sets down his book and peels it effortlessly. To him it isnât a big deal, heâs just happy you wanted his help. Price places a kiss on your head and goes back to reading, smiling behind his mutton chops when he hears your pleased hums.
Soap who has seen the trend of asking your partner to peel your orange and is over the moon excited. He tries to contain his excitement and act like he doesnât know, but the small cuts speak for itself. Soap was too fast to get it done, but he still did it and thats all that matters. When he hands it back to you heâs grinning so widely you donât even notice the half squished orange.
Gaz who perks up and quickly nods, taking the âorderâ and running with it. You momentarily forget about the orange after a few minutes but walk into the kitchen to see Gaz pulling the last string of pith from your orange. He definitely spent the most time on it and made it as perfect as he could. You only deserve perfection. When Gaz gives it back his heart swells when he sees your proud look.
Ghost who outstretches his hand for you to pass the orange to him before you even ask. He doesnât know about the trend, no, but he likes doing things for you given how much youâve done for him. Ghost silently peels it and passes it back to you, but not before sneaking a slice for himself. He canât help but chuckle when you scold him about taking the slice.
domestic! simon is the best partner & father your family could ever ask for. heâs up at the ass crack of the morning to make a dash to the store, stocking up on all the groceries and making sure to grab your pregnancy cravings. you wake up, sore, miserable and aggyâ toddling downstairs with bed head, only to find heâs at the kitchen counter slicing up fresh fruit for you. âoi, sit down.â heâll say affectionately, pointing to the table so donât stay on your feet for too long. âiâm pregnant, si, iâm not completely incompetent.â you sigh, hands rubbing your swollen tummy with a smirk. he chuckles, raising his eyebrows at you as if to say âyou sure about that?â
he rubs soothing lotions onto your tummy, unable to stop himself from grinning with each kick from wee riley. âfeisty one, eh? gets it from papa riley.â he remarks, his eyes warm with affection as he continues to stare down at your tummy. âmad, âent it? to think.. iâm gonna be a dad. crazy.â
and the love doesnât stop when wee riley is born, it quadruples in size. a milk-drunk baby all coddled up in the crook of his arm while he whips up some dinner. he swears that his mac n cheese & tenderstem broccoli heals, and you have to admit he does manage to make even stinky olâ broccoli taste good. he doesnât understand why dads make such a big fuss about being active parents, hell, you have to remind simon that wee riley is your baby too!
he loves the milestones, canât not shut up about how much he loves his kiddo. spends his time gushing to laswell about their kids, how exciting it is to be a parent!! the boys love it too, to be honest. johnnyâs set out to be wee rileyâs favourite uncle, gaz likes teasing you about how whipped and domesticated olâ ghosty is. and price, well, heâs actually wee rileyâs favourite. he looks unamused every time the little bugger grabs at his moustache, babbling and squealing with excitement at the fluff on his face. he looks like a mardy bum, but when nobodyâs looking heâll crack a smile. and yes, johnnyâs salty that the baby prefers price LOL
so imagine how excited he is when, on one lazy sunday morning, the three of you are laying in bed with no set plans for the day. the babyâs attention is divided between a silly kidâs movie on the telly, and exploring the terrain of the bed. grabbing tiny fistfuls of cotton with a toothy smile, babbling excitedly at papa riley. he chuckles, nodding as he leans in. âoh yeah? you showinâ the duvet whoâs boss, love?â he grins, ruffling the delicate tufts of hair on wee rileyâs head, eliciting an excited squeal. his attention is suddenly stolen when, unexpectedly, you slide a picture into his lap.
itâs an ultrasound.
he thought the happiest of his life was the day he had met you, but then he married youâ and that was the happiest day of his life. and then wee riley was born, and he couldnât comprehend how fucking happy and lucky he was as a man. so, the news of another baby on the way makes his heart full. fucking hell, heâs a lucky fella. and he wouldnât have it any other way <33
count me in on all the fun @certifiedfreec - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
