ੈ✩ synopsis: the strongest jujutsu sorcerer can't handle his substances. you have to deal with it. (or, how satoru copes with accidentally taking yuuji's edibles)
ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni), unprotected sex, high sex, mating press, clingy!gojo, like annoying as fuck clingy, alcohol consumption, best friends to lovers, reader is described as small (compared to satoru)
ੈ✩ wc: 4.2k
ੈ✩ a/n: i just wanted to write clingy gojo honestly. also imagining him high is the funniest shit ever
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Hm?”
Satoru raises his eyebrows at you, resembling a dopey puppy, which isn’t far off from how he usually looks at you. However, there’s something particularly… different about him tonight.
For starters, he can’t pay attention to a goddamn thing you’re saying. While he does this often when he’s around Yaga or Utahime or any of the higher-ups, he usually makes the point to listen to you. Quite frankly, he normally looks at you so intently when you speak that you have to look away.
And sure, he’s looking at you intently now, but not with attention. No, the starry look in his eyes makes him look like he’s in a completely other world. At the moment, he’s zoned out staring at your lips.
“I know you enjoy staring at me but you look like you aren’t even there, Gojo,” you snap.
He shakes his head and takes a sip of his drink — non-alcoholic cider that you’d brought him because god (and everyone who’s known him) knows he can’t handle his liquor.
“What? Your pretty face is off limits for me to look at, now? That’s like condemning me for having eyes.”
You chuckle, shoving him gently. You soften when you realize that his Infinity is off for you.
“You’re a loser.”
“Nuh-uh. Could a loser be the strongest?”
Satoru stretches like a cat, his long limbs taking up a majority of the couch. To your dismay, he doesn’t mind taking up as much space as he wants, even if it means he’s sprawled all over your smaller frame.
“Maybe. The strongest can also be bitchless.”
“Yet you’re here,” he grins.
“What did you just call me?”
He mumbles something unintelligible as you shift to attempt to maintain comfort, but Satoru makes it difficult with his position. He’s resorted to clinging to your body, head pressed to your shoulder and arms wrapped around your middle as his legs spread across your lap.
“You’re more obnoxious than usual,” you snort. “Did I accidentally get you the alcoholic cider?”
He mumbles again, his response slurred. It doesn’t help that his face is smushed against your neck.
“Gojo.”
“Told you to call me Satoru,” he whine. “You call Shoko by her first name.”
He looks up at you with a pout, his blue eyes blown out wide. Even though he’s grown into his body over the years, having increased in muscle mass and most definitely in height, his face still retains the same youthfulness it had when he was seventeen. You find it the most endearing thing about him, aside from the fact that it’s one thing that makes you weak.
“Yeah, because Shoko is my best friend.”
You feel guilty for laughing at the way Satoru’s face falls. He’s being even more childish now, pawing at your body with his large hands.
“You’re sooooo mean to me, it’s not fair. You’re my best friend, you know. Can’t believe you’re so cruel to the man who loves you.”
“What?”
“It's true. You know you’re my favorite.”
“Okay, you have to be drunk,” you sigh, attempting to untangle yourself from his grasp, but the hold he has on you is as tight as a leash.
“Mmmm no, but I do feel all… fuzzy.”
His voice is saccharine as you feel his breath fan over your jaw. He’s slumped into your body again, not letting you move as he nearly straddles you.
“Satoru—”
“Ah, that’s my girl.” He gives you a sloppy grin and holds your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks like he used to when you were teenagers. Another annoying habit you found endearing, but only because it was him. There was no reasoning with Satoru when it came to physical boundaries.
You squirm in his grasp, trying desperately not to succumb. There are often moments like these — especially when you’re tipsy — where Satoru is just a little bit more handsy with you than usual. A hand on your thigh easing higher than it should. Fingers combing through your hair absentmindedly. His cheeks are flushed as he smiles at you. Did you actually fuck up and get the wrong cider for him? After two or three beers, the fluttery feeling in your stomach is starting to catch your attention in a way you dread.
“Satoru, what’s the matter with you?”
“You’re so soft. Do you use… what’s it called? That snail stuff,” Satoru mumbles as he strokes your cheek. “It’s like, cum, right? Heard Nobara talking about it. She was sooo mad when I said I didn’t have a skincare routine—”
“Satoru!”
You take his wrists in your hands and shake him, leaning away so you can look at his face with it being buried into your shoulder. He blinks at you like a wild animal, then relaxes with eyes half-lidded.
“You’re so pretty.”
You narrow your eyes, releasing his wrists so you can hold your hands to his cheeks. His Infinity is still off — he lets you squish his cheeks, stretch his skin, and rub the soft tip of his nose as he simply stares at you.
“Are you fucking high?”
“Oh. Maybe. Did you fight some kind of aphrodisiac curse before you came over?”
“What?” Your eyes nearly bug out of your head at that. Satoru has always been blunt, often inappropriately, but he’s never been as forward as this. He usually chooses to flirt by teasing, and even then, you’re sure that he revels in toying with his prey until they give in first.
“Sorry. TMI?”
“Satoru, did you smoke before I got here?”
“No, I just had dinner with the kids. Unless you roofied my cider. I’m flattered, honestly, but if you wanted to fuck me so badly, you could’ve just asked–”
“I did not fucking drug you!”
“Huh,” he muses. He plays with your fingers, tapping his fingertips to yours.
“Oh! I had some of Yuuji’s candy that he left here,” he cocks his head to the side, puppy-like again as he contemplates. “Honestly his fault because he knows how much I like sweets. They were these cute little gummy bears.”
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
“Do you still have them, Satoru?”
“I mean, I threw away the bag since I finished them all.”
“Oh my god.”
“What?”
You look at him incredulously.
“You cannot possibly be this stupid,” you mutter. “How many did you take?”
“Four… five? Yeah, five. Tops.”
“I feel like you’re lying to me.”
“I’m not!”
“You’re fucking stoned! I should be putting you to bed.”
“Only if you come,” he whines, clutching you and resting his chin on top of your head. Jesus, why was he so… long?
You didn’t realize that after you’d let go of him, he’d settled his hands back to your body again. It’s a ridiculous position — this tall man straddling your lap with his hands on your waist. You can barely move, let alone breathe. You hate the warmth that seeps into you, the sudden yearning igniting a fire in your stomach.
“Satoru, I really think you should go to bed.”
“Okay, we can go to bed,” he chuckles, ruffling your hair.
“You’re gonna have to get off of me, y’know.”
“Oh, yeah.”
You mirror Satoru as he gets to his feet, though you reach for your coat that’s thrown on the back of the armchair next to the couch. It’s a surprise to you that he holds you back, reflexes still cat-like despite how inebriated he is.
“Where are you going?”
You look up at him and he’s pouting again.
“I should probably get home.”
“No! I thought you were staying. You said you would.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Well, you’re drunk, aren’t you? You should stay with me,” Satoru coos, wrapping his arms around your waist again.
With him towering over your back, you can feel his warm breath as he crouches down to nuzzle your neck with his nose. The act of it makes you shiver. Warmth pools to your core at his embrace, especially when you realize that you’d already been aroused from the moment he’d been in your lap.
He’s like this often — touchy. This is what you tell yourself because even in your intoxicated state, you couldn’t believe that Satoru wanted you. You had known him for years, knew that he was the strongest, and because of that, he preferred to be alone. You knew that he refused to fall in love, and there was no exception regardless of how he looked at you. Regardless of how good it felt to have his arms wrapped around you.
You also know that he has the magnetism to draw you in. He always has. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just lay with him and sleep. And fuck, the look in his eyes is pleading when you unravel yourself and turn to face him.
So, against your better judgment, you let him take you by the hand to his bedroom.
“What are you doing?” your voice quivers when you see him undress.
“Hm? Do you wear pants to bed?”
You shrug, choosing to crawl underneath his covers instead. His bed is king-sized, obnoxiously large for his lanky frame, and his sheets are the softest you’ve ever felt. Probably Egyptian cotton if you had to guess. Rich bastard.
You’re smart enough to know better, you swear. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you how Satoru conducts himself in the comfort of his bedroom with his favorite person in his bed. And yet, you gasp lightly when he decides to not get under the covers and sprawl on top of your body, nose once again buried into your neck.
“Satoru,” you hiss. “Are you really going to sleep like this?”
“Oh, you were serious about sleeping?” he flashes you a toothy smile, propping up his head with his elbow. He busies his other hand with running his fingers through your hair.
“You’re so fucking heavy, get off me.”
“You’re being so mean today, baby. I ought to punish you, huh?”
“Excuse me?”
“Just indulge me, at least. I haven’t had anyone in my bed in years.”
“I find that hard to believe,” you mutter under your breath, but you’re interrupted by Satoru’s insistence to take up space.
In a huff, he kicks the covers open just so he can feel his skin on yours, and it makes your body much hotter than before. With direct access to you, he’s able to wrap his arms around you, and you can feel… all of him. Especially his length prodding your thigh.
“Have you ever been this high before?” you whisper to him.
“Probably,” he mumbles against your cheek. “And it was probably Shoko’s fault, to be honest. Remember when we tried to get her to quit smoking and she resorted to spliffs?”
“Yeah,” you chuckle.
Satoru is lying, but his gentleness makes you believe him. He is certainly, significantly, excessively higher than the last time he’d smoked with Shoko, which was probably years ago. He also had an inkling as to what kind of “candy” Yuuji had left behind in that nondescript baggie, but he didn’t particularly care about the consequences.
What you don’t know is that Satoru has been trying to keep his composure since the moment you walked through his door, but he can’t fucking help how his hazed state makes him want you more. You’re so alluring, with your bergamot perfume, pretty hair, and annoying sarcasm, which Satoru realizes isn’t annoying at all because you’re the only one who can match his wit.
And it doesn’t help that his attraction to you is fucking amplified when he’s stoned. He’d had to restrain himself from trying to fuck you when you were both on the couch, but now that you’re both cuddling in his bed, he’s a goner.
Every moment he isn’t speaking to you is spent reeling through the possibilities of the night over and over in an endless spiral until your voice breaks him out of it every few minutes.
He adjusts his body so that he isn’t putting too much pressure on your legs, but the subtle friction reminds him of his hard-on, which reminds him how fucking amazing it would be if he could be in between your legs in the way he wants.
Truthfully, he’s thought about it plenty of times before. With the warmth surging through his entire system, every contact he has with your body turns his senses into overdrive. He’s not sure how much longer he can hold it in.
“You know, I think if you weren’t here, I’d probably fall into a very dangerous psychosis and accidentally kill myself trying to recover.” His mind is going a million miles an hour, so he might as well tell you his every thought. It’s honestly a rare sight for you.
“I know. Because you’re an idiot.”
Satoru looks up and props himself up with you in between his elbows. He forgets how small you are compared to him — his body is nearly engulfing yours as it lays on top of you. He wonders how full you’d look with him inside you, how supple you’d be underneath his strong hands—
“Are you feeling okay, though?”
“I could be better.”
“Should I make you tea or something? I don’t know to nurse… excessive amounts of THC.”
Satoru looks at you in an unfathomable way. You think that maybe his high is infectious considering how warm you feel, like an inferno is crawling from your sternum to your stomach just from his presence. Normally, it would disgust you or embarrass you, because the look on his face indicates a kind of wanting, and you highly doubt any prospect of desire from him could be directed towards you.
He’s always been flirty, but he’s always been deadset that relationships were out of the question. From adolescence, you followed that example. It was practical for jujutsu sorcerers, and you have always been more than practical. That’s why you’re lying in Satoru’s bed, right? To take care of him. Nothing more.
The thumping beat in your heart says otherwise. You think it’s calling you selfish.
“I can think of something that would make me feel better,” Satoru rasps.
You know that it’s the weed in his system talking, that it’s materialized into a beast in his body trying to capture you, the damsel that walked into the trap set for her. Unfortunately, in your hazy state, you’re more than delighted to be a victim of it. To know that someone else was willing to sink their teeth into you was enough.
It’s a frenzy once you melt into each other. You aren’t sure who initiates first. It doesn’t matter, because feeling Satoru’s lips on yours is better than any drug you could consume.
It doesn’t take long for his hands to crawl up your skirt, fingertips grazing the front of your underwear. When Satoru feels the wetness in your core, he groans.
“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he gasps into your mouth.
“No, you aren’t.”
“No, I’m not. Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t stop.”
He’s animalistic in the way he tears off your clothes, slotting himself in your parted legs as his hard cock prods your cunt through his boxers. You want to protest and put him to bed because you know that he’s just horny from the weed, but his teeth on your bottom lip change your mind.
So, you succumb. When your hand reaches to palm his length, the moan against your lips is heaven to your ears.
“Holy fuck, I think I could cum just from you touching my dick.”
“I think that’s the weed.”
“Mm, I think it’s just you,” he murmurs, his voice dripping like honey into your neck as his teeth graze your pulse. With one hand, he pulls your hair so that your head turns away from him, cocked with your neck exposed to him. His other hand is focused on your dripping cunt, collecting your wetness just to push it back in with two digits.
He drinks down your moans with successions of praise and mumbles about how he can’t take it anymore, he has to fuck you, he’s so fucking sensitive.
“Then fuck me,” you breathe, and he wonders briefly if he truly is experiencing psychosis.
You both groan at the feeling of him filling you. You grasp his shoulder tightly as you cry out. Satoru lets out a ragged breath as he stretches you out slowly, head slumped to the cradle of your chest.
“I’m not even all the way in yet, baby,” he chuckles, his voice husky as it descends to a low groan once he fully enters you. “Oh, fuck, you’re tight. And so fucking wet, too.”
You whine his name and it dissolves into his mouth. You taste like everything he’s dreamed of. The taste of apples on his tongue from the cider mixes with the mild booze flavor in your mouth. He licks up your moans and happily swallows them, descending his mouth from your lips to your collarbone.
Satoru is so fucking high, probably peaking at this point, but he’s more than proud of himself for having you crumble beneath him. He wishes that you were as high as he was, honestly, because he’s never felt this euphoric in his life.
His whispers of praise are both sweet and salacious. The sound of him thrusting in and out of your wet cunt is even more lewd, but it’s drowned out by the bliss he brings to your body, the dopamine rush to your head.
“Ah! Satoru–“
“I know, baby, you can take it, can’t you? Fuck, you feel so good.”
You can barely speak, whimpers drowning out his praises. He’s slow in his movements so you can adjust to him because you’re squeezing him so goddamn tight. He’s obsessed with the way you sound when you fall apart for him, kitten-soft whimpers and moans and gasps.
Every nerve ending in Satoru’s body feels like it’s on fire, exacerbated immensely just by the feeling of your hands all over him. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum so soon. You’re fucking killing him. He thinks this is what addiction might feel like.
You shudder when you feel him deep inside you, pushed to the hilt until he hits a certain pressure in your cunt. He bares his teeth at you when he realizes.
“Yeah? Right there?”
“Y-yeah– oh–”
Satoru fucks like it’s a holy act. It might as well be from the look on his face, reveling at the way you screw your eyes shut and attempt to muffle the moans that fall from your mouth.
“Don’t hold back, I wanna hear you.”
Fuck. Either Satoru was having the best wet dream of his life or you were overflowing with arousal. Regardless, his desperation for you boils over. His thrusts turn rougher, frantic. He’s indulgent with his hands palming your flesh, savoring the stutter of your hips against his.
The sounds of skin on skin, the lewd, wet sounds of your pussy taking all of him – it would make you embarrassed if you weren’t so distracted by how good he made you feel. Your heartbeat races when you feel his teeth on your skin again.
“You’re gonna leave marks,” you whine.
“So what?” he chuckles. “Afraid of letting everyone at the school know you’re mine? They already know, angel, believe me.”
His words make your face hotter. Little did you know that Satoru had claimed you when he’d first met you – everyone knew you were his favorite, besides you. Truthfully, Shoko would never hear the end of it, but you’d always assumed that Satoru was always just like that. You’d never thought he was serious in his flirting with you. You’d never thought you’d be under him like this hearing him pant your name.
He has his hands on the back of your thighs now, nearly folding you in half. He kisses you, open-mouthed and desperate. With your thighs hitched up around his waist, his cock deeper than before, carving out the shape of him into the crux of your pussy.
“Oh my god, Satoru, I’m so close–”
Even in his high state, he’s intent in the way he fucks you. Satoru’s fucked plenty of people before, but he’s never wanted to pleasure someone as much as he wants to pleasure you. He’s thought about it when he’s alone – what your face would look like with his tongue in your pussy, the tears that would spring from your pretty eyes when he fucks you deep. Now, he doesn’t have to imagine, you’re right there in front of him, real and beautiful and so fucking enticing.
“Cum for me,” he moans. “Fuck, you’re so good. Fucking made for me.”
Your moan catches in your throat, and you breathe unsteadily as you ride out your high. This might be the hardest you’ve come… ever. And at the moment, he’s making you fucking cry.
Through blurred vision, Satoru leans down to kiss you, grunting through sloppy thrusts. His head falls into the crook of your shoulder as he clutches you harder, limbs intertwined and closer than ever as the spark in his body nearly detonates.
“Yeah, yeah, cum with me. Please. Such a good fucking girl, huh? Oh, fuck.”
“‘s too much–”
“You can do it, baby. I’m almost there, just gotta– fuck–”
When he comes, he whines with so much need that you’re mesmerized just watching him. With a slackened jaw and parted lips, his pink mouth softly groans your name. He tastes sweet when he kisses you with his frame slumped against you. Your sternum aches with something familiar, a yearning that you don’t let yourself often indulge in.
Satoru kisses you like he doesn’t care for oxygen. Even after your orgasms, he’s stuck on you like glue, limb to limb, mouth to mouth. As if he’s forgotten where you end and he begins.
He’s too busy savoring you that when you lightly push him, he looks up confused like a kitten woken from slumber.
“You’re still inside me,” you giggle.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “I could stay like this forever.”
“I don’t know if I could.”
He sighs as he pulls out of you, chuckling when you let out a tiny moan at the feeling of it. You expect him to get out of bed, but he goes right back to his position on top of you.
“Satoru.”
“Yes?”
“We should clean ourselves up.”
He groans like a child. Like the little shit he is, he reaches down to graze your clit with the tip of his finger, laughing at the way you squirm.
“Not yet. I like looking at you. You’re so pretty after I fuck the shit out of you.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean it. Seeing my cum leak out of you like that is kind of turning me on again–”
“Okay, you pervert, we’re showering,” you huff, dragging him by the hand towards the bathroom.
When you’re both under the hot water, he braids your wet hair and litters kisses all over your face and neck. It’s unnervingly sweet, and you’re still trying to untie the knots in your stomach from the fact that your best friend just fucked the shit out of you.
You sigh, closing your eyes as his big hands gently rub soap around your back. He’s surprisingly gentle for someone who had toyed with you so roughly just minutes ago.
“You still high, cowboy?”
“Kind of. Feels more like I got struck by Cupid or something.”
“Sorry,” you mumble.
“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers into your ear. You shudder when you feel him biting down on your earlobe.
“I didn’t fuck you just because I was high. I mean, that was part of it, but I’ve always wanted you.”
“You have?”
“God, and you’re the one who calls me dense.”
Your head spins when his mouth latches onto your neck. He can’t keep his hands off of you, and of course, you can feel his hardness touching the small of your back.
“Satoru,” you whine. “We’re– wasting water–”
“You think that I, of all people, care about the water bill?”
The vibration of his laugh tickles your wet skin. Keening into his touch, something inside you blossoms with warmth, contrasting the dull ache of wanting that usually weighed down your body. With Satoru, everything feels impossibly light and dizzying. Like his touch alone is a silver lining, a small blessing.
He collects your wet hair, gathers it to cascade down your back, then pulls on it. You gasp in surprise, back arching with your throat exposed. He kisses your neck gently. His eyes are dilated as if he’s peaking from a drug.
“You’re like – what the fuck does he say in Twilight? Heroin. You’re like my own personal brand of heroin.”
“You’re such a freak,” you sigh, eyes fluttering as Satoru sneaks his hand to toy with your clit. “Satoru, are you seriously trying to fuck me again?”
“Obviously.”
“You’re insatiable, Jesus– oh, fuck–”
“I know, baby,” he chuckles. “Remind me to thank Yuuji later.”
“Please don’t talk about your students when your fingers are inside me.”
satoru knows you hear him when he cums. you know he does.
you’d been as good about this whole thing as one could be. after all, it's not like he does it day in day out, just occasionally throughout the week.
you’d have your headphones in to pretend that you’re immersed in one of your shows, volume low. acting like you don’t already have the sound of satoru's moans burned into your memory, like you can’t hear him getting himself off down the hall. trying your hardest to not let it affect you. which works well enough.
usually, at least.
sometimes it gets to be too much. your soft bottom lip ends up caught between your teeth, thighs pressed together like that'll do anything for the incessant throbbing down south. it unfortunately lasts maybe 5 minutes before you cave, weak enough to let a hand slide down the front of your shorts to ease the growing ache building in your abdomen. sliding two fingers deep and pretending they're longer, slightly thicker. able to curl in a way yours can't. palming your breast under your cami and imagining that it's a slightly larger, warmer hand working you up like this.
pretending that it isn’t your roommate’s moans alone that's causing this stubborn arousal. hoping you’d time his orgasm just right so you’d finish with him.
hell, maybe you’re just as bad as satoru is, just not as loud.
he’s always ridiculously shameless about it too—deep groans, breathless curses, the wet drag of his fist as he strokes his cock. one you've pictured a shameful number of times. little praises choked out like there’s someone else there making him feel good.
“you’re so wet,” you’d once heard him murmur, voice edging off into a deep, toe curling moan, “feels so good, baby…”
it’s like he wants you to hear him.
which you do. every. single. fucking time without fail.
once is mistake, twice is a coincidence? but 3 times? and the various instances after those? satoru gojo is ruining your fucking life. your sanity.
not a coincidence, but pattern. sheer pattern. he has to know. if the knowing glint in his pale eyes when morning came meant anything, his chirpy little ‘sleep well, roomie?’ that has the tips of your ears heating because no, obviously fucking not! grade a asshole, that’s what he is. it’s already a struggle to fight the building attraction–he’s annoying as hell when he wants to be, but a sweetheart of a friend. fixes stuff around the apartment without you even having to ask, makes you breakfast here and there, stays up at ridiculous hours with you when you can't sleep...among other things.
but now you know exactly how he sounds when he makes himself cum, how whiny he gets, and it just makes that fickle restraint falter even more.
aside from the whole ‘noisy jerker’ thing…he isn’t bad at all. you’d gotten lucky in the roommate lottery, you suppose. he at least handles his shit with the door closed (the singular saving grace).
tonight’s different though. you’d stepped out for a quarter of an hour at best to run to the convenience store—he’d been to one to offer up his card to restock the snacks in the communal cupboard, letting you go with a simple ‘get the good stuff, yeah?’
he’d been given a clear time frame so there’s no good reason why his door is cracked when you get back in, fucking up into his fist with gentle strokes and zero urgency at all.
"oh fuck…just like that.”
you halt mid step, frozen—card in your hold, heart clawing its way right up into your throat.
the sight is much more than you’d expected. he’s a much prettier sight than your imagination could've ever conjured up.
sweats pushed low and bunched on his thighs, muscled chest bare. his lashes rest against the flush dusting his cheeks, snowy strands mussed with a few damp ones sticking to his forehead. your eyes drop lower, you can't help it. to his happy trail, neatly groomed hairs that do match the drapes leading all the way down to his cock. it's shameful how fast blood rushes to your face. it's a pretty, flushed pink, a bead of precum welling at the tip as he strokes up and down, grip twisting near—
maybe…maybe you’d just wait till he finished. silently slip back into your room like you'd seen nothing at all, keeping the card till he finished. he wouldn’t mind. you shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t even be looking.
he’s jerking off and you’re just stood there like a peeping tom. gosh, you feel like a bigger pervert than he is. getting off to the sound of him is bad enough, now this?
“are you just gonna stand there?” the words come out of no where, startling you. it’s lazy sounding, a syrupy drawl tinged with amusement. like this is a normal, everyday conversation that you two have. the card slackens in your hold and your breathing ceases momentarily, mouth parting to get an excuse out, a ramble of apologies perhaps.
“you’re—oh fuck,” and he doesn’t even stop, eyes closed, head tipped to the ceiling now. his lips part around a moan, squeezing at the base of his cock on his downstroke to ebb his pleasure. pearly cream smears near the pretty bulb with he strokes upward again, thumb brushing over a vein at the side. “—fine. you’re fine! come in, I was just thinking about you.”
you do, you’re not sure why you do. maybe it’s your body working faster than your mind is, one saying yes, other saying no type thing. clear betrayal of every sensible instinct you have. your limbs are moving before the words can even settle. he grins like he knew you’d do just that, shifting floorboards giving you away.
you try not to look, you really do but it’s right there. hefty cock held in a light grip, flushed head all soft and rosy. veins pulsing proudly under flushed, shiny flesh. a cock you’ve tried (you really have) to not imagine too often. glistening with what looks like either pre or saliva (maybe both). it's stiff and heavy looking in his hand—the kind of pretty that causes a near physical ache in your chest and somewhere lower, dampness between your thighs soaking through your panties.
“you’re gonna cum to it anyway,” he murmurs, “might as well get you in here to let you see the real thing, right?” your eyes follow another pearlescent dribble from his head, eyes growing glossy. you will the dampness pooling between your thighs away, trying to focus on anything but him while actively ogling at his cock. you’re stood there like a deer in headlights, his words registering late. when they finally do, you’re all hot in the face as you glance up at his face, stumbling over words about only being here to give him his card. “huh? I don’t even…satoru, I promise you it’s not like that at all.”
“it’s not?” and then he laughs, all deep and rich, not at all helping with your situation currently.
“you just happen to play with yourself exactly when i’m getting myself off? the walls are thin, pretty. I don’t think the pillows muffle those vibrations too well.” you wonder if there’s a quick way to dig a hole to just jump into. maybe if you fake a fainting spell, he’d be nice enough to drop it so you could escape? shitty fucking amazon vibrator – the reviews were all lies.
a low, strangled noise leaves you - half startled, half mortified. trying to get a rebuttal out but your lips won’t cooperate.
satoru’s eyes open slowly, lids heavy like he’s already drunk on the pleasure. fuck, he loves this. loves the look on your face – lips parted, all stunned, no words to say to explain yourself. “haah—you’re not coming?” and god, he says it so breathily, you can’t help the instinctual clench of your thighs, nor the bob of your throat with how harsh you swallow.
“a little watching got you all needy?” he notices. of course he does. “why don’t we help each other out, hm? take your panties off. let me see how wet you got for me.”
that gives you a pause, panties in question uncomfortably damp. hot in the face with..embarrassment? arousal? most definitely arousal. maybe that more than the former. your hands are shaky as they graze the soft edges of your shorts, hooking under the elastic band of your panties.
you don’t know why you’re just listening to him. blindly following his instructions like it's law. "I...I really came to give you back the card." walking out of here and pretending this didn’t happen would be just as easy as walking in had been. but you don’t – you’ve been wanting to at least touch him for ages, depriving yourself right now wouldn’t do either of you any favors. "I was about to leave."
the plain pale gray, now turned smoky at the center falls, string of arousal connecting the fabric and your core briefly before snapping. it hits the floor in a heap with your shorts, and you press his card onto the closest surface to free both hands up.
"mm, i'm sure you were." his gaze drops and he groans at the clear glistening between your thighs, thumb swiping over his tip, hips twitching slightly as he slows his strokes.
“perfect. now c’mere, pretty.” he says again, softer this time. voice something warm and inviting.
you take a step, then a few more till you’re at the edge of the bed. his legs spread a little wider, chin angling down in a simple gesture. his strokes somehow get slower, lazier. teasing now, dragging out every wet sound, every twist of his wrist that has dribbles of his pre spilling over his knuckles. you sink down to your knees so you’re settled between his thighs, fingertips biting into the hardwood. the ache between your thighs that you'd been managing well enough makes itself known with a harsh throb, looking up at him through your lashes.
“there you are.” he croons, bringing his free hand back from gripping the sheets to brush stray hairs out your face, tipping your chin up. the pad of his thumb traces your bottom lip, slow, pressing in just slightly at the center.
“say ahh, roomie.”
a/n: another one for my fellow satogooners (¬ ͜ ͡¬) 𖹭.ᐟ -- edited repost! ˙ᵕ˙
thank you for reading! likes, reblogs and feedback very appreciated!
Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, slowburn, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit, jealous!zuko, we’re already married in his head, found family trope(ish), zuko has daddy issues] wc: 7.5k
m.list | chapter four | chapter five | next chapter
You’ve been taking advantage of the Fire Lord. He remembered saying you could take one or two days off— it’s been four. He never thought he would see that from you.
Not that he cares.
By all means, use him. Watching you abandon your duties these last few days has been quite the treat.
Ryuko has asked about you. Not directly, but to other people. Zuko’s made sure to mention you around him, though. It was his own little way to point out your absence, while you’re out doing god knows what.
Zuko didn’t want to know at first.
Unfortunately, there’s only so much patience left once he’s done playing his role as the Fire Lord. He just couldn’t help himself.
To what, exactly? Well…
“Zuzu?”
He stills, immediately recognizing that nasally little voice. Not to mention there’s only one person that would call him by that name.
Azula. She practically goes on to nag him, after randomly catching him at some food stall at the night market.
“You dethroned me just so you could prance around town in a cape?”
Funny enough, she would’ve matched with her brother if she’d just worn her hood. It might be a little risky, but most people wouldn’t know what she looked like, anyway. She could get away with showing her face for the most part.
Despite the initial whiplash from running into his sister, who’s been missing for well over a decade and is still at the top of the nation’s Most Wanted list, he’s quick to defend himself.
“I’m not prancing around town,” he grimaces. “And what do you mean dethroned? You were never even crowned.”
“Yeah, because you interrupted my coronation!”
Their sudden quarrel catches the eyes of a few people walking by, along with the old vendor that was just trying to hand him his chicken skewers. Thankfully, everyone’s quick to mind their own in the Silk District. Fights were common enough— just keep walking and you’re sure to be safe once the brawl starts.
It’s as if they were children again, arguing over absolute nonsense. At first it was a dispute over her brief stint as the nation’s first Fire Lady. Now, they’re just throwing accusations at each other.
“Please don’t tell me you’re working in a brothel now,” Zuko grumbles, fully prepared to give her some money so she wouldn't have to be indebted to one.
“I am not!” she scoffs. “And what are you doing here?! Last I heard, you have nearly twice the amount of concubines Father had kept.”
His eyes widened. Now was not the time to ask what he was up to. It’s not like he can tell her he’s been trying to scope you out all night, so he’s left scrambling.
“Most of them were gifted to me,” he barely explains, more so stuck on where she heard that from. Azula made it sound like he hoarded them.
She continued to press him. “You never answered why you’re walking around town with a hooded cape.”
“I wanted some normalcy,” he throws his arms out, hoping that’d be enough for her.
Azula raises a brow. “So you go to the sex capital of the world?”
“I’m not here for the fucking brothels,” he suddenly snaps at her, but quickly collects himself as it only made him look guilty. “Sorry. I’m here for work. We’re in the middle of opening a rehabilitation facility.”
“Right,” she blandly says, crossing her arms and taking a moment to stare him down, lost on what else to say. At least she believes him. She would’ve continued to interrogate him, had she not.
Zuko just looks at her as well. Not meaning to participate in a staring competition as he tried to figure out what about her had changed. Something felt off.
Then her brows pinch together.
It’s the eyes.
She thinks she’s glaring at him right now, but they’ve softened. And there’s actually a trace of light behind her golden eyes, rather than the dull orbs demonically possessed individuals often have. The only feature she shared with their father was that sadistic look he’d get on his face whenever someone angered him, yet there was no trace of Ozai in all her visible annoyance.
All he sees is their mother.
“So, how’s father?” she asks casually, figuring she might as well ask about the old bastard since he’s here.
Zuko lets out a disappointed sigh, not bothering to hide how peeved the thought of their father made him. “He spends his days drawing flowers and demanding he be given dignity.”
She sighs as well, because he just sounds pathetic at this point. “You don’t give into his demands… right?”
“Oh, no, never,” he says with a reassuring tone. “He’s tolerable for the most part, but there’s periods where he needs more… help.”
His fathers fall from grace needs to be studied at this point. He will scream, cry, break his little board games that he hardly deserved to begin with, and demand new ones. Ozai drew a portrait of him once when he was 21. He was without a scar. It was touching, sort of. Really fucking odd, though. He didn’t exactly listen to his father when he explained the sentiment behind it, but he understood why there would be one.
Zuko hung around until the servant brought his father dinner that night. Guess what happened when he didn’t allow the servant to give his father a slice of cake with his dinner?
His father took the portrait down and drew a scar on both his eyes.
The concept of self-regulation was completely foreign to his father—antagonizing him may as well have been a form of psychological warfare. Which is why Zuko started eating that same slice of cake as he watched his father have the meltdown of a century.
“Yeah, Father is… Father.”
There was no need to elaborate, Azula completely understood what he meant by that. “Do they still whip prisoners?”
Zuko pauses and looks at her as if she’s gone mad. “No….. that’s illegal.”
She shrugs. “Some people only respond to physical discipline.”
He hums tentatively, “Father usually behaves after a day or two of being put on a liquid diet.”
She finds herself coughing out a laugh, surprised he’d even do such a thing. She remembers the day Zuko visited her and Ozai in prison. He could’ve easily tortured the information he needed out of them, but instead he walked in with a tray of tea as he spoke of wanting to treat them with dignity— he used that word less than a handful of times, but his father continues to cling to it for his life.
She couldn’t wrap her head around how someone could be so gullible, it disgusted her.
Even when he cut her a deal, allowing her to walk freely as they looked for their mother, he disgusted her. He was weak for offering her tea, weak for allowing her to accompany him unrestrained, weak for letting her attack him during the trip. She was his tormentor and still, he forgave her, over and over again.
She wonders if she’ll ever grow the strength to thank him for being the only one to show her forgiveness.
“And mother?” she asks, struggling to hide her cautious tone.
“She’s good. Still in Hira’a.” Zuko pauses, eyes filled with both relief and a little sorrow. He has a good bond with his mother and had always believed Azula deserved the same. He’d love nothing more than to reunite the two. “She never fails to bring you up whenever I see her.”
How sweet.
And mildly triggering, given all the years she spent missing a woman who had forgotten her. She quickly catches herself from slipping into her thoughts any further—there was no need to punish herself like that, she had already suffered enough.
It’s been over ten years since they’ve seen each other, and she still wasn’t ready. But, even in all her resentment, she still found herself wishing she could tell that she often thought of her, too.
Rather than giving him a definitive no, she just rolled her eyes.
Perhaps she has grown softer throughout the years. The last time she randomly appeared, she promised to make it her life’s mission to drive her brother to the brink of insanity in hopes to make him more like their father. Granted, she was fucking losing it at that time, having unresolved trauma and what not. Being locked in a cage like a fucking animal only made her worse. The final blow was when she was released to help find their mother, only to find out she chose to have the memory of them completely wiped.
Oh, that fucked her up.
Azula refused to admit it at the time, but she’s closer to admitting it now after years of solitude. A changed woman, she was. Zuko should consider himself lucky to get away with just an argument today. Had their reunion been a few years sooner, that argument would’ve ended with the entire market burning down in flames.
But, she was his little sister at the end of the day, and there’s no doubt she'd still be annoyed at the sight of him again the next time they inevitably run into each other.
Azula closes her eyes and sighs, then lightly nods her head, “Well, I’m off. It was nice seeing you, Zuzu.”
It didn’t sound like it. “Wh— hold on, where are you going?”
“A temple,” she vaguely says, not stupid enough to tell him exactly which one. Zuko probably would’ve let her be, but one couldn’t be too safe. “Have fun in the brothels!”
“I already told you I wasn’t here for the brothels— Azula, wait,” he calls after her, more confused than anything. “Do you need money or anything?”
His sister stops to consider it. She may have some at the moment, but prior to passing by, she was pretty low on silver. The only reason why she came here was to pick-pocket a few people.
And by pick pocket, she means breaking into the homes of local lords and raiding their safes. Easy money. Can’t feel too bad about it either since they’re notoriously known for their corruption at a local level. She may be a criminal, but she was ethical.
“How much?” she asks, reluctant to jump right into accepting it.
He casually reaches into his pockets and pulls out a pouch of gold coins, lazily sifting through them before realizing he never had a number in his head.
“Wow look at the Fire Lord giving a fugitive money,” she murmurs, earning herself a disappointed look from Zuko. “What?”
“Don’t say that.”
She shrugs. “It’s the truth.”
“Just take the fucking pouch,” he sighs, shoving the bag into her hands. “And please make it last.”
“Aww, are you saying that because you don’t know when you’ll see me next? Are you gonna be sad after this?” she continues to poke at him.
Suddenly, he feels a headache starting to blossom against the right side of his skull. “I don’t think I will,” he blandly says, rubbing his temple as she begins to laugh at him. “Will you do me a favor though since I gave you money?”
The question wipes the smile off her face, she hates being indebted to others.
“The next time I see you, I want it to be with Mother.” She opens her mouth, probably to say something along the lines of not telling her what to do, but he doesn’t give her a chance to say it. “It can be five years from now or even twenty. Just go to mom whenever you’re ready and I’ll meet you two there.”
She blinks. “Wait, does that mean I’m not an enemy of the state anymore?”
“Oh no, you still are,” he lets out a laugh. “But if you have an emergency and really, really need help, send a letter to Mom.”
She doesn’t say much at first. She was actually moved for once and it showed.
“Thank you,” she says with a barely contained smile.
It was natural for him to give her a weird look, it was the first time she’s ever expressed genuine appreciation. Not quite grasping how much weight those two words held. Maybe she’ll tell him one day, but for now, it wasn’t her problem.
“You can thank me by going to mom’s one day.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Azula doesn't sound very serious when she turns to leave, but she really was and already had a date in mind. It would be sooner than five years, but enough to work on those flashbacks.
He watches her run off, scoffing out a laugh once she disappears into the crowd of people, leaving as fast as she appeared.
Alone, again.
Well, he’s not alone. He has his uncle.
It’s time like this when he really remembers just how different his life has turned out. It wasn’t bad. Bittersweet, yes. But not bad. After years of being subjected to his Father’s cruelty and abuse, everyone’s moved on with their own lives
Even Azula.
Then it dawned on him that he had just committed treason. He wasn’t supposed to let a criminal like her continue to roam the earth without consequence. Yet he did. He gave her money, too— way too much of it. Had one of the imperial guards caught her, she would’ve been behind bars, just like their father.
But at that moment, he wasn’t the one who held the throne. He was simply someone’s brother. Their father may have played favorites, but he recognized long ago that he has scarred them both and that she, too, deserved freedom.
—
Running around with Cyra has made you realize just how much you missed the crude humor and self-indulgent ways of the Silk District.
Those who served the imperial court were the complete opposite. So proper and uptight. The amount of self-importance some had without contributing anything remarkable to the world was exhausting. You don’t think you would’ve lasted as long as you have had it not been for who you served.
Although, he’s been a little too lenient with you during this trip. He hasn’t told you to come back to work once, which is why you’ve consistently gotten back to the hotel as late as 2:00 AM. You very well may be pushing your luck, but he never set a curfew for you and neither has Chamberlain.
You were a bit nervous to see the Lord’s reaction after your first night. Being met with nothing but indifference only made it worse, making you question what his true intentions were. The worries lingered in the back of your mind until a couple nights later.
There was nothing more anti-climatic than catching a glimpse of a cloaked man from the corner of your eye.
Wearing a cloak here wasn’t an unusual sight, citizens covered themselves for all different reasons. Some, such as yourself in the past, did it purely for the look. Some did it to conceal their identities. It was the latter for the Fire Lord, who was apparently spying on you.
Zuko rules over an entire nation, yet has the ability to shrink his presence down to that of a disregarded and overlooked vagrant. He's quiet when he wants to be, taking up such little space he may as well vanish into thin air. It’s quite the talent, allowing him to slip away into normalcy for an hour or two whenever the grandiosity of the palace became too much.
Unfortunately for Zuko, you can spot him in a crowd. Easily.
Maybe it’s from all the time you’ve spent with him—hours spent locked away in an office, days spent traveling, weeks spent visiting in foreign lands.
Or maybe it’s something more. The possibility was not a thought you liked to entertain. It’s not because the thought itself wasn’t ridiculous—it absolutely was ridiculous. It’s as if the God’s decided to make a mockery out of your life when they had decided on your reality.
You can just imagine them all brainstorming your fate in some heavenly council room.
“Let’s give her someone she can’t have,” one says. “Perhaps Azulon’s second grandson?”
“I love it. Put her in the least liked clan,” says another. “The boy will bring an era of peace and let their union create unrest within the other clans.”
“Brilliant. Make their connection devastatingly magnetic, as well,” the God of Misfortune excitedly says, followed by the room erupting in evil laughter.
And devastating it was.
Zuko was well over a hundred feet away, just another body swallowed by a sea of people. Many walked past him, some even stared in his direction as their minds drifted off, but no one truly noticed. He was insignificant. Invisible.
The gods continued to laugh, because you had noticed him, anyway.
It was beyond just the odd, occasional pull. It was as if you were connected by a stubborn invisible string that enjoyed tugging at you, constantly reminding you of the person at the end of it.
You disappeared shortly after noticing him, but quickly decided to have a little fun. You had brought Cyra along—weaving in and out of shops and alleyways.
“You’re going to drive him mad,” she had said.
“He already is,” you giggled at the thought of him losing sight of you once more.
“I’m sure he just wanted to see if you were okay. You look like you’ve forgotten all about your duties! He’s doing no less than a hired guard would. It’s quite flattering, actually.”
“He is a lunatic that’s doing it for free.”
Cyra was more perceptive than that, but kept her own conclusions to herself, knowing the troubles it’d bring. It was a matter you chose to be blind to, and she believed you were better for it.
That was last night.
Tonight, a local lord was throwing a banquet in honor of the Fire Lord’s visit.
Back being the most important man in the room, he went. He’d be lying if he said he’d been looking forward to attending, but at least this one wasn’t as formal compared to most of the banquet’s he’s attended in the past.
Zuko tried to enjoy it. He drank with those that wanted to share a drink with him, laughed as he listened to the stories the locals shared and said just enough to keep a conversation alive. It wasn’t enough, though— these are people that have thrived in a culture that rewards ambition and resilience. They were more interested in getting to know him as a person, and while appreciates being seen as one, he will not be contributing to a conversation about personal hardships.
He hates conversations that lead to praise or pity. He’s never wanted to leave a place more. But that would be seen as rude, so he’s stuck having to redirect conversations, all while trying not to pay too much attention to you.
To say you’re gone the entire day is not an exaggeration—neither him nor Chamberlain have gotten the chance to catch up with you. But he had a feeling you’d pop up. When you did, he realized he underestimated just how well connected you were.
He’s never seen you this comfortable at an event before. Nor has he ever seen you in such a tight dress. He is thankful for the robe you paired with it for the evening. It did a wonderful job at keeping the inappropriate thoughts he would’ve had at bay.
Lucky for him, Saiyo chose not to come tonight, crossing off whatever worries he would’ve had if he’d gotten caught for looking at you too much.
“I couldn’t imagine the pressure of having all of those concubines.”
Zuko genuinely laughs this time, Lord Joji was quite the empath. “They’re terrifying. You’d think having their own secluded area would bring them some peace and serenity, yet they spend their days brawling with each other.”
The words slipped right out once it was just him and the host. He would’ve never shared that at any other event.
Joji’s clearly enjoying it, laughing at the image in his head. “Perhaps it’s time to bring in some fake eunuchs,” he sips his sake. “Declutter the court, so to speak.”
“Wait, what?”
He tenses at the sudden drop in Zuko’s tone. He couldn’t tell if he was offended or not, but he grew anxious as the silence went on. “I was just kidding, by the way,” he forces out a laugh. “It’s uh— typical humor around here. I always forget how crass we can be at times. Haha… I’m sure we look like a bunch of heathens to the rest of the world.”
“Huh?” The sudden self-depreciation pulled Zuko out of his thoughts. “Oh no, the humor here is wonderful. The eunuch idea is fucking genius.”
Joji pauses and looks at him for a moment, stuck on how he called it an idea. “It worked well for my grand uncle,” he says, testing the waters. “He was able to bring the house back down to a comfortable number in no time.”
“Is that so?” There’s a bit of skepticism in his tone. “Probably didn’t have that many to begin with.”
“It may take some time. But once they’ve finished their jobs, you can catch one of them in the final act and he’ll confess to everything during interrogation.”
“Getting more than one would be smart, wouldn’t it?” he muses to himself, then takes a sip from his glass. “You could probably just get a servant to catch them—avoid all the tears and pleading.”
Joji nods, “You’d be surprised how many attendants are willing to spy for you in exchange for a small bonus.”
Zuko suddenly huffs out a defeated laugh. “They’d only just send more.”
“Would you like my grand uncle’s information? Wait, never mind, I forgot you were—“
Zuko waves a hand. Even he forgot who he was for a moment there— he was bound to more than just the practice of keeping concubines. “I wouldn’t want to waste someone else’s time.”
“It wouldn’t be a waste at all,” he reassures him. “If you ever do change your mind though, I’d be more than happy to introduce you to him.”
“Thank you,” Zuko hums as something else catches his attention. “Could you remind me where the washroom is, again?”
—
The moon casted a faint light over the host’s backyard, revealing stone paths that allowed you to walk through a lush garden filled with delicate flowers and soft shrubs. The path took you past several wooden arches, long overtaken by nature as vines wrap up and cascade over the structures, gently rustling with each breeze.
You had hid behind one when you first heard footsteps, and then waited. You weren’t actually avoiding him, you had already expected he’d follow you out here, and just wanted to creep up on him once he got closer.
It’s not until he fully walks past you when you decide to make your presence known, magically appear a few feet behind him.
“Are you spying on me?”
“No.” You failed to startle him, but did manage to make him feel wrongfully accused. “I was just– I knew you were out here and I thought I’d get some fresh air, too.“
He braces himself. He didn't need to see the glass in your hand to know that you’ve been drinking. You had given it away when you casually stepped out of the shadows to greet him.
“Getting fresh air,” you muse to yourself as you walk up to him. “Like last night?”
The light drains from his eyes. He looks absolutely mortified, and doesn’t even try to deny it. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I figured it’d be fun setting you off on a wild goose chase. I’m sure you have a perfectly normal explanation, though.”
“I wanted to see if you were okay,” he doesn’t sound very certain of it. “I was already planning on touring the place.”
“You know I’m just fine.” It’s not like he’d be much help if trouble were to arise, you were more than capable of defending yourself. “Does keeping me away from Ryuko make you feel better?”
Knowing that you weren’t mad should’ve made him feel better, but being spoken to like a child was so much worse. You look like you’re about to giggle at his response, regardless of what it was.
“Actually no, I have a better question. Are you going to do this every time someone shows interest in me? Even when you already have Sai and all the other concubines?”
That’s not a question he wants to answer. He hasn’t even touched Sai at all during the trip, not that it’d make a difference since that was his job. “If you’re happy, then no.” How he still manages to be stubborn, you have no clue.
Your lips twitch into a smile. “You don’t think I’d be happy with him?”
There’s a spark of annoyance in his eyes, realizing he’s going to have to come clean about something you most likely already know about.
“You told him you liked your life and then he went on to tell you everything that was wrong with it— I think you’d be miserable with him.” He grows irritated by the words he was having to repeat. “And then he insulted your position by saying there was no future in it. You’ve done nothing but work towards bettering it!”
You had a feeling he overheard that conversation and once again, your intuition hasn’t failed you. “Are you sure it’s not because he tried to say that you think you own me?”
“Yeah. He studied me for an entire hour, yet I’ve never looked at you and thought of insulting you the way he did. He spoke over you that entire time and when he couldn’t sway you, he decided to hurt your feelings. And he still thought he deserved to be given a chance.”
He’s pretty much ranting at this point and it’s taking everything in him not to go off track and say something rude.
“He deserves to have his fucking tongue cut out.”
Whoops.
“…I think that might be too harsh of a punishment.” You said it more to lighten, trying to process how pissed off he’s been this entire time.
“Whether you find it harsh or not makes no difference to me. You shouldn’t have been spoken to that way,” he muttered, waving away whatever dignity he had left. “I never want to see anything like that happen again.”
You thought this would be more of a silly exchange where you’d make fun of him for being—well, pathetic. It would’ve been easier had he just felt threatened by Ryuko, but his reason for hating him is reasonable enough and you can’t find it yourself to tell him that he was wrong.
He waits for you to say the usual spiel about how he needs to stop making everything so difficult and to just have an heir already.
There was a bit of defeat in your tone when you spoke. “I wish you knew how tiring it is watching you do whatever you want, when I’ve done nothing but try to do the right thing.”
You sigh and reach forward, fingers gently brushing over the apple of his cheek, and with Zuko being dwindled down to a man who takes whatever he can get, he gravitates towards your touch.
“Maybe it’s time to give up,” he feebly suggests.
“If only the people knew how much of a fool they have for a ruler, too,” you softly say.
And like the fool he is, he places his hand over yours and just holds it there— making it one of the very few times he’s ever allowed someone to touch the scar on his face. “And what if I was just a fool?”
Now he’s just speaking nonsense. You know more than anyone how much he’d hate being a normal person. He liked having power—that was alright, he was one of the rare few who knew how to wield it properly.
“I wouldn’t allow that.” You continue to rub your thumb over his cheek, using a tone that’s far too tender for the answer you come up with. “I’d stage a coup d'état and put you right back where you belong.”
His lips slowly curve in a smile. “You’re making it very hard for me to be angry with our circumstances right now.”
“I know, at least you have me as a loyalist,” you hum, slightly tilting your head as you get a better look at him. “I’m starting to grow a little homesick, honestly— even if it is boring there.”
“You can go home early, if you want,” he offers with a second thought.
“I’ll be fine. It’s only 3 more days.”
“I hope you’re nicer to me by then. I’m a little homesick, too.”
How charming. “That’s if I don’t drink my memories away after tonight— this isn’t exactly a conversation I want to remember,” you sadly admit.
Zuko’s eyes soften, wishing you’d drink more around him often—you’re quite endearing in the state you’re in. “And why is that?”
“Because I’d prefer not to be overcome with embarrassment when I wake up tomorrow morning.”
His mind goes back to the morning after he first kissed you and chuckles. “It’s not that bad.“
You laugh blandly in return. “Not everyone’s as shameless as you.”
But perhaps it was time to even things out between you for once. He did complain about being the only one drunk that night, after all.
So in the moment of silence you shared with him, you leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his cheekbone, allowing yourself to be selfish for once.
He’s never been so still in his life. You’ve yelled at him, rejected him, pushed him on to other women so many times that he’s lost count. Yet there was no denying that you felt something so incredibly deep for him. There was no need to spell it out— he saw it, felt it, heard it.
“What happened to never touching you again?” Zuko wasn’t complaining, but he was absolutely going to tease you.
“I’m afraid that only applies to you,” you say, feigning sympathy. “Unless you’d like to order me to stop touching you, as well.”
“I would never do such a thing,” he fights off a smile. “Though I would like to know what my punishment would be if I defied your orders.”
There was a sudden look of disbelief on your face, a little disappointment as well. “That is the sluttiest question I’ve ever heard, you know that?”
“I think the courtesans may have just corrupted your mind with all their crude little jokes.”
“Perhaps. They told me I’d make a fine courtesan the other day.” You run the backs of fingers across his jaw, ignoring the sudden twitch in his eye. “Could you imagine such a simple comment planting a seed in my mind?”
Fortunately, you’ve had enough drinks in you to be able to dismiss the sinister laugh that comes out of him. “No. I don’t want to imagine that, at all, actually.”
“Uh-oh,” you smile and take a sip. “Does the idea make you jealous, My Lord?”
“Jealous? Yes.” He plucks the glass from your hand and takes a sip of your sake. “A little angry, as well.”
“A little?”
His eyes narrow and speaks as if you had just challenged him. “I would buy you out before you got the chance to take customers.”
You throw out another idea. “What if I took a customer while waiting for you to finish the paperwork?”
“I’d turn him into a eunuch.” He watches as your smile slowly fades away.
“That’s a little much for a man that hoards concubines, no?”
He thinks to defend himself against hoarding accusations, but forces himself to let it go. “Does it matter if you’re planning on drinking your memories away tonight?”
You stare at him as you recall the last ten minutes or so. “I probably should.”
“Were you not going to?”
“I was on the fence about it,” you give a contemplative hum. “Eh—better safe than sorry.”
You turn to leave, but Zuko grabs your wrists before you take a step. “You’re not going back to ignoring me tomorrow, are you?”
“Depends on my mood tomorrow,” you smile and snatch your wrist away. “Bye!”
“Fuck—Wait! What kind of an answer is that?”
—
The last days of your visit were fairly normal.
You had ended up taking the rest of the time off. Everyone figured you needed the break anyways and you had zero objections to that.
It was the last day when everything went south.
Of course you just so happened to be there, after deciding to stay at the hotel for some extra rest before traveling back home.
The Madame at Cyra’s brothel would’ve had no issues letting you take a nap there. Had you actually done so, you would’ve been sleeping peacefully right about now— rather than awkwardly sitting in a silent room full of people who are too nervous to speak.
After thirty minutes of being tortured by discomfort, Lord Zuko and the Chamberlain finally walk through the door. The tears started almost immediately.
You guess the guard who had to go fetch them didn’t say what the emergency was. They didn’t look very mad. Chamberlain looked more worried. Zuko just stood there while Concubine Saiyo and one of the guards got on their hands and knees to beg for forgiveness.
“Lord Z-Zuko, I’m— I’m s-so so-sorry!”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty! Please spare my life. I beg you! Please!”
It takes a moment to click for Zuko and only you notice the glimmer of joy in his eyes when he finally realizes what has happened.
You were hoping he’d send you back to your room, but ended up having to kneel a few feet away from the two adulterers as they had to recall their stories in full. You’re not sure why that was still protocol. Even Zuko looked miserable as he had to listen to them, but the Chancellor was known to be a stickler.
The older man regretted it soon enough. Hearing the events of the sexual encounter quickly became a unique torture he was forced to endure.
Saiyo began to beg again in the end, and you felt a little bad. She was a nice girl.
“Please—please!! I’ll do anything!”
Zuko offers a sympathetic hum, only to remind her of the law. “I have no other choice but to remove you from the court. What kind of a message would that send to the others if I let you stay?” He was full of shit.
“My f-family will kill me!” she continued to cry.
He looks to the guard next to her, who’s staring out into space, tears all dried out. Zuko tries to ask him a question but struggles with the wording at first. Eventually he grows impatient and bluntly asks, “Did you enjoy fucking her?”
The guard grows pale, terrified of what the punishment for that would be.
“I’m not executing you. Not whipping you, either. Or whatever physical punishment they have for these kinds of things,” Zuko lets him know.
The guard sighs in relief, then bows. “I— Yes, I did.”
Chamberlain scoffs and looks at the guard in disgust. How the youth could willingly engage in such devious acts was beyond him.
“Sai, do y—“ Zuko tries to get the concubines' attention, but she's too busy dry heaving to notice. “Saiyo. Sa—my fucking gods—Sai!”
She throws her head back and wails. “I’m s-so sorry, my Lord!!”
“Do you want t—Sai, please,“ cut off once more, he slams his fist on the table next to him, startling everyone in the room. “STOP.”
She takes in a sharp breath, whimpering another apology as Zuko glared at her, daring her to sniffle again.
Zuko finally speaks and points to the guard. “If you don’t want to go home, I can gift you to him. You can be his wife.”
“W-wait— really?”
Zuko notices her bottom lip quiver. “Don’t. Just answer the question.”
“O-okay, yes. Please. I can’t go home.”
“Great.” He takes a sip of water. “You all can leave now— except for you.”
You don’t do a very good job of hiding your dismay, but you stay in place and wait for everyone to leave.
Zuko opens his mouth.
Saiyo pops in and whines, “Lord Zuko, do you hate me?!”
He rests his head in his hand and sighs. “No, I don’t hate you.”
“But—I cheated!“
“That’s okay. We found you a place to live and you are safe,” he says, trying to maintain his patience to the best of his ability. “I need to speak with Ms.—“
“But will you be fine?” she whimpers.
Her question actually manages to make Zuko smile a little, but it’s for reasons he can’t exactly share. “I will be just fine,” he hums.
The concubine needs some extra reassurance, so it wasn’t until a few minutes later when you two finally had the room to yourselves.
“Don’t you think you’re sitting a little too far?” he asks.
You are. Without a word, you bring the floor cushion upfront, ignoring the pleased look on his face because he knows exactly what he’s doing.
There’s a bit of a stare off until you finally break the silence. “You’re not punishing me for this.”
“There’s nothing to punish you for,” he chuckles. “Not that I’d ever have the heart to, anyway.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Just wanted to talk.”
“I’m kneeling in front of you,” you mutter, stating the obvious. “This doesn’t feel very casual.”
“Would you like to sit on my lap instead?”
“No,” you answer rather fast.
“Shame,” he relaxes, leaning on the armrest. “I must say I am having a very good day right now.”
You nearly roll your eyes, it’s not often you make mistakes, this one being punishable by death had it been made during the rule of the two previous Fire Lords. “I’m sure you are.”
“Feels very meaningful, as well.”
“Yeah?” You try to sound interested, but you have a feeling he’s going to eventually say something inappropriate. “How so?”
“You know,” he gestures at the door. “You brought them here because you wanted more space between us— I didn’t want space, I also don’t like my concubines. Then you ended up solving both of my problems and even showered me with some of your affection. I feel as if we’ve come full circle here.”
That wipes the smile off your face, you were counting on him to be kind enough to pretend like it didn’t happen.
You force out a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
He lets out an actual laugh, light and filled to the brim with content. “I’m talking about the banquet we attended a few days ago.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t—“
“Yes, you did,” he says, looking at you with amusement. “All drunk and sweaty, throwing yourself at me and begging me to f—“
“That did not happen!” you slam both hands on the ground and yelp.
“Oh, so you do know?”
“I do, now stop—please,” you beg him.
“Alright, fine,” he laughs. “Anyways, I just wanted to thank you, that's all.”
“Don’t thank me for any of that,” you murmur, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Ugh—If I’d known I’d be bringing two freaks together, I would’ve never brought guards. You should probably expect an apology letter from my father. Though I’m sure it’ll mostly be him begging you to allow him to torture the guard.”
Knowing your father, the news will probably have a chill running down his spine and sickened with worry. A mistake like this could very well result in you being taken in as a concubine in place of Saiyo, since you and your father would be the reason why he had one less concubine.
Zuko’s too busy thinking about how your father would be probably go into full, graphic detail on the proposed torture, leaving him mildy disturbed.
“I should probably write him a letter—let it be how he finds out about the incident and let him know neither of you are at fault.”
“If you could, that’d be wonderful,” you nod in content.
The weary look on his face never fades as his eyes trail past you and look off into the distance. Your father being the cause of it was hard to believe. There’s something he’s not telling you.
“I know I’m still on a break, but I’m on a fixed salary,” you say to lighten the mood, despite growing concerned over the sudden mood switch. “If you want my professional opinion.”
He gives an apathetic hum, letting the silence drag on some more as he takes your offer into consideration.
“I ran into my sister the other day.”
Your eyes widened and he confirmed it with a subtle nod, then continued to give you a breakdown of their brief reunion. It sounded like something that would’ve been more heartwarming, but in the end you understood why he didn’t look very moved. “I considered pardoning her, but that only lasted about an hour.”
“Probably for the best. She sounds like she’s found peace, and you got to avoid all the pushback and scrutiny a pardoning would’ve received.” You were sugar coating it, the council would’ve been up in flames. The only reason why you’re staying calm over him committing literal treason is because he seemed to need a friend right now.
“I’ll help her if she needs it, but she’s not coming back to the capital after everything I’ve had to do for this fucking place over the years. I gave my soul away in exchange for everyone’s peace,” he admits in defeat. “Fuck, sorry.”
“Don’t be,” you murmur, not having much advice for him on the matter.
It has gotten a lot better over the years, but the beginning years of his reign have left lasting effects on him, though he’d never admit it.
He says it’s all been rewarding, but those years were thankless. No one took him seriously. He had multiple attempts on his life. He was terrified of being anything like his father, so his own people constantly took advantage of him for being too nice. When the word spread, people protested because they thought he was too weak.
Things finally started to pick up once he began to ally with different clans and create factions, which allowed him to get even more done since people were more willing to help and support him.
He’s loved by the majority now, but you’ve come to realize that the damage had been done. You felt sorry for him. His main goal of helping others has never changed, but he has no interest in getting to know people.
“Don’t give me that look,” he grumbles, rising from his seat.
“I wasn’t looking at you at all.”
He watches as you stand and walk to the other end of the room, putting the floor cushion in its rightful place. His gaze may have drifted lower than it should’ve, but it rose back up once you turned around.
He looks like he’s about to say something stupid, so you shoot him a glare. “What?”
“Nothing,” he shrugs, pointing at the cushion you had just put away, “just reminded me of the empty bed I’ll have tonight.” Everyone was leaving tomorrow morning, except for the new couple, who were to leave right away.
“Don’t complain as if you didn’t try to thank me for it,” you sigh.
“I’m not. I might have another way to thank you, though,” he steps in front of you just before you pass him and leans forward.
“Miss Advisor!”
Concubine Saiyo was still turning the corner when she cried out for you. Zuko quickly spins around and you take several steps away from him. Saiyo comes trotting in shortly afterwards, tears streaming from her cheeks.
“I’m leaving now. I will miss seeing you!” her voice trembles.
“I will miss you, too! I wish you the best of luck.”
Zuko had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, but then found himself fighting back a smile as he watched you two wrap your arms around each other. If this was going to be the standard for farewells, he should just start bringing Concubines to trips, along with a fake eunuch. He’d be a free man soon enough!
“And because I like you, if you ever get sent to the west wing as a concubine, don’t listen to what any of them say because they are looking to set you up for failure,” Sai tightly grabs on to your shoulders, “the easiest way to win over the Lord’s affection is to relax your throat. It’s fine if you gag, if anything he’d rather you would—“
“SAIYO!” The name practically rips through both the Fire Lord’s and Chamberlain's vocal chords.
She glances at them, then hurries to tell you the rest. “The messier the better, honestly. Practice Yoga as well! He—“
[ SYNOPSIS ] — You're a hopeless romantic dating Megumi Fushiguro, convinced he's too quiet and aloof for grand gestures, you never ask for the things you secretly want. But Megumi has been paying attention all along. w.c: 2.5k
[ PAIRING ] — bf!megumi fushiguro x hopeless romantic!reader
[ TAGS ] — gn!reader, established relationship, fluff, no angst. art by: @/sa2men THIS FIC IS A REQUEST!
The moment you fell in love with Megumi Fushiguro, you made a quiet, private peace with the fact that he would never be the kind of boyfriend who showed up with flowers.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care. If anything, he cared more than anyone you’d ever known. He just showed it differently. He walked on the street side of the sidewalk without ever mentioning it. He remembered your coffee order, down to the half-sugar, and never got it wrong. When you were sick, he showed up with medicine and a bag of the specific crackers you could stomach, no fanfare, no fuss. He sat through movies he clearly didn’t enjoy because you wanted to see them, and he never complained, only glancing at you every so often to see if you were having a good time.
He was steady. That was the word for him. He was the quiet, constant presence that made everything feel more manageable. And you loved him for it. You really did.
But you also loved romance. The kind of romance that made your heart flutter in your chest, the kind that belonged in books and movies and the daydreams you indulged in when you were alone. You loved the idea of being surprised with something thoughtful just because someone had been thinking of you. A bouquet of your favorite flowers. A box of chocolates you’d mentioned wanting to try once, in passing. A handwritten note tucked somewhere you’d find it. Small things, really. Silly things, maybe. But they mattered to you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
You’d never told Megumi any of this. It felt too vulnerable, too much like asking for something you weren’t sure he could give. What if you asked and he tried, and it was awkward and forced and you both ended up feeling worse? What if he thought it was frivolous, a waste of time and money? You’d rather have nothing than have something that made him uncomfortable.
So you kept that part of yourself tucked away. You watched your romance movies with your headphones on so he wouldn’t catch you sniffling over a love confession. You scrolled past flower shop displays without slowing down. When you saw couples on the street holding elaborate bouquets, you looked away and reminded yourself that your relationship was good, that it was solid, that you didn’t need that stuff.
And you didn’t need it. That was the thing. You wanted it, quietly and privately, but you didn’t need it. You could live without it. You’d been doing it for years.
• ───────────────── •
The first time you let something slip, it was an accident.
You were walking together through a neighborhood you didn’t visit often, on your way to a new café a coworker had recommended. It was a spring morning, sunny and cool, and you were in a good mood. Megumi walked beside you with his hands in his jacket pockets, quiet as usual, but that was comfortable. You’d learned to fill the silence when you wanted to, and to let it be when you didn’t.
You passed a small florist shop, the kind that spilled out onto the sidewalk with buckets of fresh-cut stems and greenery. The scent hit you before you even saw them—sweet and clean and a little bit heady. White lilies. Tall, elegant, their petals just beginning to open.
You made a small sound without meaning to. Something pleased.
Megumi glanced at you. “What?”
“Nothing. I just love lilies.” You gestured toward them as you walked, not breaking stride. “They smell amazing. My mom used to keep them in the house when I was a kid. I always said I’d have them everywhere when I grew up.”
He looked at the lilies, then back at you. “Why don’t you?”
“I don’t know. Seems impractical. They don’t last that long.” You shrugged. “Anyway, where’s this café supposed to be? I think we might have passed it.”
And that was it. The conversation moved on. You found the café, you ordered pastries, you argued lightly about whether the coffee was better than your usual spot. It was an ordinary morning, and you didn’t think about the lilies again.
Megumi did.
• ───────────────── •
The second time was a few weeks later, on a rainy evening after work.
You’d met up to grab dinner at a casual ramen shop, and afterward you were walking toward the station, huddled under the umbrella Megumi held. Your arm was linked through his, more for warmth than anything else, and you were in the middle of telling him about your day when you spotted it.
A chocolate shop. Not just any chocolate shop—La Maison du Chocolat, the one you’d read about in a magazine ages ago. The storefront was sleek and glowing, and through the window you could see rows of truffles in neat little lines, each one dusted or glazed or decorated like a tiny piece of art.
“Oh,” you said, pointing. “That’s the place. The really fancy one.”
Megumi followed your gaze. “Have you been?”
“No. It’s way too expensive.” You slowed down a little, just enough to get a better look at the window display. “But I’ve always been curious. They say the dark chocolate ones with the gold on top are incredible.”
He didn’t respond, but that wasn’t unusual. You kept walking, and after a moment you added, “Maybe one day. For a birthday or something.”
That was all. You didn’t stop. You didn’t stare. You just made a comment and moved on, because it wasn’t that serious. It was chocolate. It didn’t matter.
Megumi looked back once, through the rain, at the name above the door.
• ───────────────── •
The third time wasn’t about something you wanted. It was about something you felt.
You were at his apartment on a weekday evening, both of you doing your own things in the same room. Megumi was at his desk, typing something for work, and you were curled up on the couch with a book. It was a romance novel—the kind you’d normally hide or at least angle away from him—but you’d gotten too comfortable and forgotten to be self-conscious.
The scene you were reading was a love confession. The main character had written a letter. A short, simple, devastatingly earnest letter that laid out everything he’d noticed about the person he loved, all the little things he’d never said out loud. It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just true.
You didn’t realize you were crying until a tear landed on the page.
You sniffled and wiped your face quickly, but Megumi had already turned around. He had this sixth sense for your moods, always had. He didn’t say anything, just watched you with a small furrow in his brow.
“I’m fine,” you said, before he could ask. “It’s just the book.”
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing bad. He just…” You searched for the right words. “He wrote her a letter. Telling her all the things he notices about her. The small things. And she didn’t know he was paying attention, but he was. The whole time.”
Megumi was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
He studied your face for a second longer, then turned back to his laptop. “Okay.”
You laughed a little, still blotting your eyes. “Sorry. I know it’s silly.”
“It’s not silly.”
He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t push. You went back to your book, and he went back to his work, and the evening continued as it always did.
But Megumi had been paying attention. He was always paying attention. And what he’d noticed over the past several months was this: you never asked for anything. Not once. Not for flowers, not for chocolate, not for letters or grand gestures or any of the things you clearly loved. You consumed romance like it was a secret language, and you never, ever expected him to speak it.
He thought about that a lot.
And then he decided to do something about it.
• ───────────────── •
Today had been terrible, so terrible that it made you want to crawl into bed the second you got home. You’d had a long day—too many meetings, too many emails, too many tiny frustrations that added up into exhaustion. By the time you reached your apartment building, your shoulders were tight and your mind was foggy and all you wanted was to sit in silence for an hour.
You unlocked the door, stepped inside, and stopped.
Something smelled good. Floral. You couldn’t place it at first. Then you looked toward the kitchen and saw them.
White lilies. A whole bunch of them, arranged in a clear glass vase on the counter, their petals unfolding like they’d been waiting for you. They were beautiful. Simple and elegant and exactly the kind you’d pointed out weeks ago on a sunny Saturday morning.
Next to the vase was a box you recognized immediately. La Maison du Chocolat. Dark navy packaging, ivory ribbon. The exact one you’d looked at through a rainy window.
You didn’t move. You just stood in the doorway with your keys still in your hand, trying to process what you were seeing. Your brain felt slow, like it couldn’t catch up to your eyes.
Megumi was sitting on the couch, his laptop open on the coffee table. He glanced up when you came in, the same way he always did, like it was perfectly normal for there to be lilies and expensive chocolate on your kitchen counter on a random day.
“Hi,” he said.
You stared at him. Then at the flowers. Then back at him. “Did you…?”
He closed his laptop and stood. “You said you liked lilies. On the way to that café.” He walked over to where you were still frozen in the doorway. “And the chocolate place. You said you were curious about it.”
Your voice came out a little hoarse. “That was weeks ago.”
“Yeah.”
“I just mentioned it in passing. I didn’t think you’d—”
“I know.” He shrugged, just slightly. His ears were pink. “But you were so happy when you looked at them.”
You looked at the lilies again, then at the chocolate, and your throat tightened in a way that was both familiar and foreign. You’d felt this exact feeling a hundred times while reading books or watching movies, but never in real life. Never aimed at you.
“Megumi.” You swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know I didn’t have to.” He said it plainly, no self-deprecation, no false modesty. Just a fact. “I wanted to.”
You didn’t know what to say. Your mind was full of things—gratitude, surprise, something that felt dangerously close to tears—but none of it made it to your mouth.
Megumi reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was small, just a sheet torn from a notebook, the edges a little uneven. He held it out to you.
“I’m not good at this stuff,” he said. “But I wrote something.”
You took it with careful fingers. His handwriting was neat, a little cramped. The note was short.
I love you, I hope you like this. You deserve it all and more. -M
That was it. Three sentences. Not a grand declaration, not a poetic outpouring. Just a really quiet confession.
You read it three times anyway.
When you looked up, Megumi was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite name. He looked almost uncertain, which was rare for him. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d done enough, or if he’d done it right, or if you even wanted this at all.
“Is it okay?” he asked.
You let out a breath that was half a laugh. “Is it okay? Megumi, this is more than okay.”
His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Good.”
You stepped into his space and wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed your face into the fabric of his sweater. He hugged you back without hesitation, one hand resting on your back, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head.
“Thank you,” you said, muffled against his chest.
His voice rumbled above you. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I know. But I want to.”
He didn’t argue. He just held you for a moment longer, and you let yourself be held, the scent of lilies filling the apartment around you.
When you finally pulled back, you were smiling.
“You really didn’t have to,” you said again. “I would’ve been fine without any of this.”
“I know you would have.” He met your eyes. “But you shouldn’t have to be.”
The words landed somewhere deep in your chest. You looked at him—at this boy who barely said those three words half the time, who hated attention, who never made a show of anything—and you understood, maybe for the first time, that he’d been paying attention all along, especially to the things you wanted but were too afraid to ask for.
“I didn’t think you were the type,” you admitted quietly. “For this kind of thing.”
“I’m not.” He said it without shame. “But I can try, if you want me to.”
You nodded, and there was something loosening in your chest, something you’d been holding onto for so long you’d forgotten it was there. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He glanced at the chocolate. “You want to try those? I’ve been waiting for you to get home for an hour.”
You laughed, real and genuine. “You could’ve started without me.”
“Didn’t want to.”
He opened the box with careful fingers and held it out to you. Inside, the chocolates were lined up in neat rows, each one glistening under the kitchen light. The dark chocolate one with the gold dust was right there in the corner, like he’d saved it for you on purpose.
You picked it up and bit into it. The chocolate was rich and smooth, not too sweet, with a faint bitter edge that lingered on your tongue. It was, without question, the best chocolate you’d ever eaten.
“This is absurd,” you said, your mouth still half-full. “It’s so good.”
Megumi watched you, and the corner of his mouth lifted—just a fraction, just enough that you noticed. “Good.”
You spent the rest of the evening on the couch, the box of chocolates between you and the lilies scenting the air. He ate a few of the chocolates, mostly the ones you handed him. You talked about your day, about his, about nothing in particular. It was just a casual day after all.
Except now there were lilies on the counter. A note in your pocket. And something quiet and steady settling in the space between you, something that felt a lot like being known.
Before bed, you put the lilies in the center of the table where you’d see them first thing in the morning. Megumi came up behind you while you were adjusting the vase, and he didn’t say anything. He just put his chin on your shoulder, a brief, light touch, and then went to brush his teeth.
You smiled at the flowers. You didn’t need the grand gestures, you never had. But it was nice to know that he saw that part of you, the secret romantic you’d kept hidden for so long, and didn’t think it was silly or too much or not worth the effort.
He’d noticed. He’d remembered. And in your eyes, that was its own kind of romance.
⋆୨୧˚ ✦ SUMMARY In which Gojo is stupidly and utterly obsessed with you.
CREDS. gojo art - thatsallitchief, pics found on Pinterest, divider by @/strangergraphics
CONTENT. FLUFF Gojo being a hazard to himself and society, not rlly proofread. WC. 0.6k
A/N. You missed me sooooo badddd ahahaha you wanted me back sooooo badddd hahahahah......
You and Satoru had an interesting relationship.
Formed through a combination of Gojo's nagging and complete inability to respect others' boundaries, you were dragged into what could only be described as a one-sided romantic (non)friendship—against your will of course.
The moment you walked into Jujutsu High, you already felt it.
felt him.
That unmistakable presence that made the hairs on your neck stand and your eye twitch in pure annoyance.
Because Satoru gojo was standing in the hallways like a six-foot-three LED billboard on the Vegas strip, waving at you with both of his lanky arms like a toddler lacking self awareness.
"Y/N!!!" he shouted as if you were across a football field and not a mere 10 feet away.
you sigh, and blink once. "Why are you yelling."
"Wanted to make sure you saw me," he shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning against the wall.
He brings a hand up to push off his blindfold, revealing his terrifyingly blue eyes.
They sparkled. Literally. Like someone installed RGB lighting in his head.
"put the blindfold back on please," you said. "you look like a glowstick."
Gojo gasps, clutching his chest and stumbling back. "You wound me. These eyes are a national treasure. Wait no- global."
"no they're a safety hazard."
"you're so hot when you're mean to me," he sighs, trailing behind you while you ran around the teachers lounge moving papers and files.
"don't you have a job to do, Gojo?" You finally turn to him.
"Yeah. Admiring you," he winks at you.
"Do you have something in your eyes?"
"Just blinded by your beauty," he smiles.
Eventually, after threatening to report him to HR, he ran off to go harrass another innocent person while you got to working on planning your next lesson for the first years.
for a little while at least, the halls were quiet. calm, even. Until they werent.
Gojo teleported to your side, leaning down so close you could feel his hair tickle the side of your face.
"Hi," he whispered. "miss me?"
"no," you instantly replied.
he froze before grinning. "Liar."
you didnt look up from your paperwork. "What do you want?"
"you." he sat in the chair beside you, kicking his up onto the table and right by your head. you glared at him.
"soooo," he began, "when are we going on that date you havent agreed to yet?"
"we're not."
"Great! I'll pick you up at seven."
"Gojo-"
he vanished before you could finish.
then reappeared. "seven thirty?"
"NO."
“Eight?”
“Stop.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, hands up in defense. “We’ll compromise.”
You cap your pen before setting it down. “On what.”
He smiled, eyes growing wide in excitement behind his blindfold.
“You pick the time. I’ll pick the place.”
You gave him a blank stare, although you for some reason couldn't help but find his persistence charming.
“I hate you.”
"yeah you hate me now, but you'll love me eventually," he says, tugging gently at a strand of your hair.
"when is eventually?" you ask.
"when we're married with 3 kids and a dog and a fish and a house on the lakeside," he explains.
"right..."
you turn your head, looking at the indents in his blindfold where his eyes are. you saw the way his hair stuck up in every which way, the white strands reflecting the dull overhead lights.
you always noticed the way his shoulders untensed when he was around you, and how his infinity always faltered.
The way he looked at you like he'd already made up his mind about you years ago, when you first made your way through the threshold of Jujutsu High.
That was the problem.
I mean, you said he was annoying, but you never said he was ugly. it's not that he wasn't the typical guy you would go for—because he was very much your type—you were just scared to be in a relationship with the life you live.
You didn't want to lose someone you cared so deeply about, and unfortunately for you, you dont think Gojo is going to let you go anytime soon.
ruin the friendship | gojo satoru x you
⟡ fluff, soccer player!gojo, lowkey a 5+1 if u squint | 2.7k
Satoru meets you on a fleeting day that only September knows how to do. The autumn afternoon tasted of woodsmoke, the sky a deep blue that seemed to go on forever. The soccer field impossibly green against the fire of the turning trees, gold and scarlet leaves drifting lazily across the track, the whole campus holding its breath… Or maybe none of it looked like that at all.
Maybe it was only because seeing you standing there made Satoru's whole world arrange itself into something worth looking at.
Well, the half of you that he could see in his vision. You were tucked behind your friend, who had enough to say for the both of you. She was halfway through introducing the college newspaper before he noticed you at all. The setting sun pooled golden along your throat and cheekbones, your hair lifting softly in the wind, and your expression, through all of it, utterly relaxed.
"So would that be okay?" Yumi finishes, he had caught her name somewhere in the middle of her spiel, but the rest of it flew over him.
"Uh," Satoru hums, a real testament to his sharp mind. Suguru answers for him; at least one of them had been listening. Suguru walks Yumi back through everything she had just said, the newspaper, the semester, the plan to cover the sports section, like he had been listening to every word.
Well, because he had been. Suguru had been listening while Satoru was just standing there with the sun in his eyes and you in his line of sight, watching the way you hadn't looked at him yet, the way he already found himself wanting to know what your voice sounded like, what you thought about, what you were like when you weren't standing on the sideline of a soccer field looking like you had somewhere better to be.
"Great! See you tomorrow," Yumi says, already turning on her heel. You nod after her, a small polite gesture, your eyes cast somewhere just past Satoru's shoulder, and then you turn and follow her across the track, leaves skittering around your sneakers as you walk away.
Satoru’s eyes follow you, and he only snaps out of it when Suguru reaches over and smacks the back of his head.
“You done?”
Satoru gapes at him. “What?”
Suguru just looks toward where you disappeared, then back at him.
Satoru immediately looks away. “Shut up.”
“Do you like soccer?” It slips out of Satoru’s mouth before he can stop himself. It was either that or saying something objectively worse, like admitting the fact that he’s thought about you an unreasonable amount since yesterday’s practice.
Suguru told him your name yesterday, and you introduced yourselves properly today, which means there is absolutely no reason for him to be embarrassing himself like this already.
“No, not really,” you confess with a shy laugh. “The sports section wasn’t exactly my first choice-” Your eyes widen slightly. “Not that there’s anything wrong with soccer. Or sports. God, that sounded bad.”
Satoru laughs, not because you’re funny (although you are, a little) but because you’ve known him for roughly 10 minutes and already managed to reject something he likes, unlike most people who hear he plays soccer and start pretending they’ve always been deeply invested in its history.
Satoru has never put much belief into that whole opposites attract thing, mostly because it sounds like something people say after making objectively questionable decisions, but he looks at you for a second longer than necessary and thinks maybe there are more flawed theories in the world.
Satoru’s known you for almost a month, mostly through awkward encounters at practice and increasingly less awkward walks afterward. Somewhere between post-practice interviews and waiting for his teammates, who insist warm-down stretches take thirty years, he learns you’re pre-med.
He also learns that you’d originally wanted to cover research studies in the biology department for the paper instead of sports. Unfortunately, most of those positions had already been filled by upperclassmen before applications even reached sophomores.
Satoru nods sympathetically and says something supportive like a normal person when you tell him. Secretly, though, he’s glad, which immediately makes him feel like a terrible person.
He wants you to get the opportunities you actually wanted, but selfishly, he likes that sports means you end up here instead, sitting on cold bleachers with your laptop open and asking him questions after practice and pretending not to laugh when he starts giving useless answers just to keep the conversation going.
On the first practice of the week, you’re nowhere to be found. Satoru notices on his first sweep of the bleachers, the sidelines, and the small cluster of students hovering near the track. Yumi is there, which means you should be too, tucked somewhere close to her with your laptop balanced on your knees. But today the space beside her is empty.
He tells himself it’s nothing. People miss things; it’s normal. He repeats this to himself twice during drills and once more during the cooldown. But after practice, he finds Yumi anyway, hands shoved deep in his pockets like that makes any of this casual.
"Hey," he says, "Where's your friend?"
Yumi's pen stops moving. "She's sick."
"Sick?"
She turns to face him fully then, "Relax, she’s not dying. It's a cold, not medieval tuberculosis."
Satoru laughs in return, because it was funny, but underneath it, the same low hum of worry was sitting unmoved right in the middle of his chest. "...Do you think I could get her number?"
Yumi stares at him. "I just told you," she says slowly, as if he's a little bit foolish, "she's sick."
"I know."
"So why do you need her number?"
He opens his mouth, then closes it. His hands are still in his pockets, which is the only place they could be right now, because they have gone slightly damp, and he absolutely has no interest in Yumi knowing that.
Yumi watches him for another second, letting him sit in it, and then the corner of her mouth pulls up. "I'm kidding," she says, already flipping to a new page in her notepad. She scribbles your number down, tears it off, and holds it out to him.
Satoru sits in his car for an embarrassing amount of time, staring at your name at the top of a blank text message. He types something. Deletes it. Types something else, reads it back, winces, deletes that too.
He deletes it. Too formal, sounds like a get-well card from a coworker.
Satoru: Hey! It’s Satoru from the soccer team. Yumi gave me your number.
He deletes that too. He should’ve scrapped it after the exclamation point.
Satoru: Hey.
He stares at that for a long moment, then deletes it. He throws his phone face down on the passenger seat and runs a hand through his hair, tipping his head back against the headrest. He has played in front of hundreds of people, taken penalty kicks with the score tied, and not once felt his hands shake, so he doesn’t know why drafting a single text message to you is doing this to him.
He picks his phone back up.
Satoru: Hi, it’s Satoru. Yumi mentioned you were sick, feel better soon.
He reads it four times. It’s fine. It is completely fine and normal. He sends it before he can talk himself out of it and turns his phone face down on the passenger seat, wishing that he could do the same with whatever is sitting in his chest every time he thinks about you.
He hears his phone ding and something in his chest flinches, which is insane, which is genuinely embarrassing. But he still reaches for his phone off the passenger seat so fast he nearly fumbles it between his fingers.
You: hiii satoru!! yeah im okay, just a cold! thanks for checking in tho
He reads it once and types back:
Satoru: And here I thought you had perfect attendance
He stares at it and immediately regrets sending it. But 2 minutes later, your typing bubble appears.
You: i have a 102 degree fever. so sorry i couldn't make it out to stand in the cold and watch you run in circles like a hamster on a wheel >:( have some compassion
He grins at his phone like an idiot.
The next time you come to practice, there is a bottled tea drink sitting in your spot on the bleachers, impossible to miss. Beside it, a post-it note pressed flat against the cold metal.
Glad you're feeling better.
Beneath the words, occupying considerably more space, is a small doodle of a hamster. You look up. Satoru is already on the field, in the middle of warming up, looking right at you.
Suguru falls into step beside him during a water break, glancing once in your direction and then back at Satoru. "So when are you going to tell her?"
Satoru, mid sip, chokes. Water goes everywhere, a significant amount of it landing directly on Suguru, who recoils and shoves him hard in the shoulder.
"Tell her what?" Satoru asks.
Suguru wipes his sleeve, unimpressed. "That you like her."
Satoru wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He seems to be processing this like it’s new information. "I don't… " he starts, and then stops, and then says nothing.
You had only made it out to a handful of games during the season; you and Yumi split the roster between you, trading off week by week. But it’s the last game of the season, and you are both there, and Satoru sees you from across the field during warm-up and has to actively remember how to breathe.
You are wearing his jersey. His number, his name across your back, which you have because 2 weeks ago in the library, you had knocked your drink across the table and onto yourself, and the only thing Satoru had in his bag was a spare jersey. You had given it back the next day, freshly washed, but he had told you to keep it and then walked away before his face could do anything embarrassing.
Your hair is tied up with ribbons in the team’s colors, and there is face paint on your cheeks. You are standing next to Yumi, who is scribbling something in her notepad.
Suguru appears at his shoulder. "Breathe."
Satoru shoves him lightly for being insufferable and then, annoyingly, takes his first breath after seeing you.
A week after the last game's victory, the final sports issue finally gets printed. You and Yumi had spent stupid amounts of time on it, more than necessary, probably. You had argued over layouts, stayed late editing quotes, and gone back and forth over photos until both of you were cross-eyed under the fluorescent lights of the newspaper office.
You almost don't give it to him, but you'd written this one with him in the back of your mind the whole time. And it was the thing you'd spent the better part of two weeks on, the piece your editor sent back twice with notes that made you want to close your laptop and walk into the ocean.
There was no practice to go to anymore, no bleachers to sit on, no easy excuse to find yourself in the same place at the same time. You hadn't quite realized how much of your access to him had been built into the structure of the semester until the season ended and took all of it with it.
But you ran into him on a Thursday morning. He was coming out of the building you were going into, his bag over one shoulder, looking like he'd had roughly just enough sleep.
"Hey," he says
"Hey," you hum back, and then, before you could think about it long enough to talk yourself out of it, you pull the folded copy from your bag and hold it out to him. “The final issue."
He takes it and finds your name before he finds anything else, which he does every time. He stands there in the cold of the path like he has nowhere else to be, like the words you wrote were worth taking the time over, and you let yourself look at him the way you don't usually let yourself look at him.
October had been all fire and gold, the air still holding the last warmth of summer in the afternoons. But November had come in quietly and taken all of that away, leaving something crisper and cleaner behind, the trees stripped back now, the sky a pale gray that sat low over the campus.
Satoru’s white hair catches the morning light the way it always does, but there is something about the gray November sky behind him that makes it look softer. A few strands have fallen across his forehead, and the cold, with its real teeth to it this week, has put the faintest color along his cheekbones.
He turns another page, and something in his expression shifts. You look away before he can catch you watching.
"You wrote about the last game like you actually cared about it," he says, which was not what you expected him to say.
"I did care about it," you say, carefully.
"You told me a month ago that you didn't even know the offside rule."
"I looked it up," you confess, and something paints his face at that, something warm and slow, and you feel your heart do the thing it has been doing around him for months.
He closes the issue and looks at you. "It's good," he says, which you can tell is not what he actually wanted to say, which is its own thing to think about.
"Thank you," you say.
The wind moves through the bare trees lining the path, and he shifts the issue to one hand, and you watch him not quite look at you, which is unusual because Satoru Gojo has never once had trouble looking at anything directly in his life.
"I kept thinking about what you'd write," he says finally, still not quite looking at you.
You don't say anything.
"And then I kept thinking about that and then about other things and then," He stops, then starts again. "You take up all my mind when you're not with me. And half of it when you are."
Something blooms in your chest, your heart doing something without your approval, your hands not entirely steady either.
"That's a lot," you say finally, which is not really a response, which you are aware of. So you reach out and close your fingers around his wrist, then lean forward and rest the top of your head against his chest.
"I know," he smiles.
You pull back to look at him and think about September, the soccer field, the afternoon you didn’t dare to look at him yet. You think about cold bleachers and post-practice walks and every conversation that started about one thing and ended somewhere neither of you had planned. You think about his jersey still hanging in your closet.
"I chose the photo of you from the third game," you say. "There were better ones technically."
"You're not looking at the camera. You're looking at something off to the side, and you're..." you stop for a second. "It's the best one because of your smile. I've never seen you smile like that in any of the other photos."
"I know that photo," he says, quietly.
"It ran on the front page."
"I know." He hums, "I was looking at you."
He closes the distance slowly. His hand comes up to your jaw, cold from the November air. He’s so close that you can see the gray sky caught in his eyes, and then he kisses you, his thumb moving once against your cheek. When he pulls back, he doesn't go far; his hand is still at your jaw, and you feel the cold on your face and the warmth of his hand and your own heartbeat, shaky and loud, and entirely his fault.
frat!gojo, who swears he’s not possessive over you—you guys are friends, the kind of people who can joke about terrible dates and worse hookups, taking bike rides to the beach in the dead of night, laying in the sand and staring at the stars, the kind of people who know each other inside out, close enough to test the boundaries of what’s platonic but never enough for it to be romantic.
frat!gojo, who hates how nervous he gets around you—he’s good with women, with sorority girls throwing themselves in his direction all the time, but you’re just different. you’re soft, you’re sweet and when you look at him he can feel his words die down in his throat, blood rushing to his head when you smile at him, it’s damn near pathetic.
frat!gojo, who always butts into conversations you have with other people, trying his hardest not to punch suguru through a wall while he whispers into your ears, making you laugh the way only gojo is allowed to :c.
frat!gojo, who always waits outside your classes until they’re done, following you around like a lost puppy, hogging all your attention all day—well, he’s a lot more interesting than the rest of your friends anyway, can you blame him?
frat!gojo, who’s always begging you to go to his frat parties—you know that it’s just his excuse to wanting to see you all dolled up and on his arm, but a part of you also wants to make him suffer every single time you set foot into one of his parties.
frat!gojo, who’s has the wind knocked out of his lungs the second you make your way through the door, your dress shimmering in the shitty lights, your jewellery shining through while you awkwardly wave at him from the entrance.
frat!gojo, who’s at your side instantly, pulling you closer to him by your waist, bringing his glass of vodka to your lips while you tilt your head back, swallowing while staring right at his pretty blue eyes. and gojo nearly has his heart beat out of his chest—the way you were looking at him really wasn’t fair, your eyes all wide and trusting it just wasn’t good for his heart.
frat!gojo, who swears he doesn’t do relationships—he doesn’t know what it means to be a good boyfriend, but when he looks at you, he knows that he can try.
frat!gojo, who slowly has his chaotic facade crumble before you—he’s softer around you, more genuine, it’s like his fratboy persona switches off the second he has you in his vicinity it’s almost comical.
frat!gojo, who holds himself back when he sees people asking you out. he knows it isn’t fair to be all jealous over you, you aren’t even his, but a part of him knows that if he doesn’t get his act together, someone will swoop in and take his place.
frat!gojo, who’s petrified of losing you—and the only way he knows how to show it is to be insufferable, constantly annoying you, making sure he’s part of your daily life so you don’t forget about him.
frat!gojo, who’s so down bad his frat brothers almost feel sorry for him, watching him eye you from the distance, just hoping someday, he’ll have to courage to get closer to you.
:3 he’s so laaaame
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon toji’s worm to crawl up your ass.
summary: a fortune, the student council presidency, and a future already negotiated for you—complete with a ryomen engagement ring after you graduate from university. you’ve got it all… but is that really what you want? an unexpected friendship with gojo satoru makes the answer far less certain.
warnings: (18+) smut, porn with plot, fluff, light angst, college au, academic rivals/annoyances to lovers, oral (fem. receiving), p in v, criminally down bad!gojo, mentions of frat parties, alcohol consumption, marriages of convenience, family troubles, and overall rich people problems ™️, the university they go to is heavily implied to be aristocratic, brief sukuna x reader but she doesn’t fw him, anatomy & physiology facts that are probably incorrect but we shall ignore that for the sake of the plot
word count: 16.9k
art by bimyo_n!
Rumor has it that everything began the moment winter break ended.
You extended the handle of your suitcase and walked toward the foyer, where you were sure your mother was already waiting. By the time you rounded the corner, she was already unlocking the front door and pulling it open.
As if it couldn’t be any more obvious that she was eager for you to leave the house and return to university.
If you had to guess, the end of each break between semesters was her favorite time of year.
Well, that and her birthday—because your father had made a habit of buying her a new handbag each season, and if there was anything she loved more than a mansion to herself, it was a mansion to herself full of designer purses.
“The car is waiting for you,” she said simply, her tone lacking the warmth of a mother wishing her daughter farewell.
You hardly noticed its absence. You hadn’t felt it in years, anyway. You’d be lucky—or unlucky, you weren’t quite sure—if she hugged you goodbye.
Just as you opened your mouth to reply, you noticed the furrow in her brow. Wordlessly, she pressed her hand between your shoulder blades to correct your posture. “How is it that you’ve somehow managed to develop a slouch? Your father and I didn’t pay for you to go to charm school for nothing to come of it.”
Your jaw tightened, the familiar urge to shrug her hand away flared, but you didn’t let it show in your voice. “And where is he? He couldn’t take an early lunch to come home and see me off?”
She released a breath that sounded more like a laugh than a scoff. “Why would he? You’re going to be back in two months for dinner with the Ryomen family. He’ll see you then.”
This time, your bitterness did reach your voice. “Oh. Right. That.”
Your suitcase was plucked from your side by the family driver and you watched as he loaded it into the trunk.
“Yes. That.” Your mother tugged at your skirt, as if that would make it any longer.
She looked at you sharply. Her message was clear, even though it remained wordless: don’t show up wearing something like this the next time we see you.
After all, appearances were important. You had learned that from an early age.
By the time you were ten, your eyebrows were already being plucked biweekly. Sometimes, thrice in one month, should your mother notice a hair out of place. At eleven, you learned what pore strips were, why they were used, and what people would say about you if you didn’t. Once you were fourteen, styling your hair came as easily as walking on two feet.
But the Ryomen family didn’t care about that as much as your mother did.
What they truly cared about was securing a fortune that would create generational wealth. They cared about fostering a bond with your parents that would lead to a prosperous business relationship. They only cared about you because you were the business—an investment that they expected to mature on schedule. Well, you and Sukuna, their son, whom you have practically been betrothed to since you were six years old.
Graduation was approaching, and you would bet your life that this dinner was a gimmick—one for both sets of parents to nudge you two closer together. Not that they cared whether you truly got along. Aligning the Ryomen fortune with your family name would make your combined estate as good as gold. They likely just wanted to ensure that the eventual marriage (business deal) would be lifelong.
Which is to say, they wanted to drill it into your head that filing for divorce was not an option once everything was said and done. How sweet of them.
You couldn’t worry about that now, though. You were already running late, and you needed to get back to campus and unpack. Classes start tomorrow morning, and you would hate to be seen with bags under your eyes—and your mother would certainly hate to hear about it from the monumental amount of staff at Mikage Academy, who seemed intent on notifying her of nearly every step you took over the past few years.
“Well, I should be going,” you muttered—more to yourself than to her—because you weren’t even confident she was listening anymore.
Your suspicions were confirmed when she muttered a final ‘don’t forget about the dinner’ before shutting the door behind you. She didn’t follow you out. Didn’t hug you goodbye either.
Once you were inside the vehicle—headphones on, with music blaring loud enough to drown out any chance at forming a coherent thought—you relaxed your shoulders and slouched, because there was no one here to pester you about it.
At least that was something you could be thankful for.
☆
The student council election was rapidly approaching, and that was just about all you were allowed to think about.
You knelt on the ground with a paintbrush in your hand, carefully mapping out the words Vote Y/N for Student Council President! :) on the posterboard.
The headphones in your ears were turned up a bit too high, because you hadn’t even noticed that your best friend, Utahime, had entered the empty workroom until she accidentally kicked over the can of red paint you had been using. You gasped as it splattered all over the poster, leaning back on the heels of your feet to ensure, at the very least, that it didn’t get on your clothes.
“Utahime!”
“I’m sorry!” she said quickly, tilting the can upright again.
The damage had already been done, though. She knelt beside you and carefully folded up the poster, tossing it into a nearby bin. Wiping her hands against each other, her eyes landed on you.
“Let the record show that I didn’t mean to do that and am guilty of all crimes regardless,” she paused, then smiled at you. “You know, you don’t really need to campaign. No one has run against you in, what— three years?”
You frowned as you wiped your thumb over the dot of paint on your skirt. It was small enough that an untrained eye wouldn’t notice. “I know that, but you can never be too sure.”
“Actually, you can be,” she retorted, but retrieved a fresh posterboard for you anyway. “The only way you lose this election is if a meteor penetrates Earth’s orbit and targets Mikage specifically, and in that case, we would all be dead anyway.”
You raised a brow as you dipped a fresh paintbrush into the can. “In that case, I should campaign to make sure that everyone died with an intent to vote for me.”
Utahime laughed with a shake of her head but didn’t push it any further. “I should run a smear campaign against you in the school’s newspaper. Maybe then, your effort won’t be for naught.” She paused. “Speaking of— have you read the newspaper lately?”
You were stopped dead in your tracks. If Utahime had managed to read the entirety of the university’s boring-to-death newspaper and felt it was important enough to bring up to you, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. “Yeah? Not this week’s issue, though. Why?”
“Of course you read it regularly,” she mumbled with a smile before fishing her phone out of her backpack. “There’s a new column for blind items. About the students. Can you believe that this shit actually made the final cut? It’s awesome.”
You invaded her personal space to look at her phone screen. “No way. What are they saying?”
Utahime laughed. “Just read it for yourself. I had to change my outfit because I read them this morning while brushing my teeth and laughed so hard, I toothpaste-bombed my own shirt.”
Reading the blind items to yourself, you can’t help but stifle your laugh that comes before the unease settles in. Someone had written these based on what they had observed, and despite how harmless they seemed now, the concept of that person walking among you was something that left a pit in your stomach.
A certain basketball player was seen coming back to his dorm room around 4 a.m. with multiple shades of lipstick on his neck.
A male who lives on floor three in the Newbrooke dormitory has been shitting in the showers for two weeks straight.
A sorority girl tossed the entirety of her roommate’s makeup collection out the window and blamed it on someone else, resulting in their expulsion from the sorority.
A notorious rich boy blew his semester’s allowance on a new sports car.
You skimmed the rest and ensured that none of them could be about you before you handed Utahime her phone back. “I’m sure we all know who number four is about.”
She shrugged but nodded anyway. “Right? I mean, Gojo revs his engine like it’s nobody’s business all the time.” She looked down at her phone. “I wonder who’s shitting in the showers, though.”
“Maybe that one’s about Gojo, too,” you quipped, too quickly to hide the bite in your voice.
You regretted how much you sounded like your mother then, and how easily it had come out.
Your family’s disdain for the Gojo family stemmed long before you were born. Hell, before your parents were even born. The details of it all were up for interpretation at this point—nobody talked about it, and you never dared to ask—but to your understanding, Gojo’s great-great-great-grandfather had screwed over yours—somehow, some way—and this was what had come of it. You would be reluctant to believe it. After all, there were quite a few tools in your own family, and you liked to believe you were nothing like them.
But the asshat that was Satoru Gojo lived up to his reputation, as far as you’d learned. That was enough for you to write him off.
Not to mention, he was the only student here at Mikage who posed a threat to you. He was academically gifted and never let you forget it; most things came easier to him than they did you, and you hated him for it.
Well, that and the time he spilled beer all over your shoes at a frat party freshman year. He probably didn’t even remember it had happened, but you did, because some other dipshit had been recording the entire ordeal and posted it online.
The earful you’d gotten from your parents that day was enough for you to stay away from him entirely.
All the while, Utahime raised her eyebrow with a grin. “Oh, wow. You’d better hope he didn’t hear that, or else you just lost a vote.”
☆
All things considered, you were having a good day.
Even though your hair is still slightly damp from the rain and the perfume you put on only two hours ago has nearly worn off, you’re pretty confident that you’ve just aced your first Anatomy & Physiology test.
Every other person in the lecture hall is already relaxed, scrolling on their phones while they wait for your professor to hand back the graded exams—because all things considered, it’s only worth three percent of your total grade after all calculations. And yes, you have done the calculations (twice!), because heaven forbid you be uninformed about anything relating to your academics.
You glance at your watch nervously. You hope this class is released on time, because attending it was only the second thing you’ve checked off your mile-long to-do list for the day.
You have a student council meeting at 2 p.m., a meeting with Professor Yaga at 3:15 p.m. about an upcoming scholarship opportunity, and a study date with Sukuna at 4 p.m.—where he doesn’t do much of anything at all aside from scrolling through red pill looksmaxxer Instagram reels for two hours.
A test is lazily tossed back onto your desk, and you pick it up immediately.
It’s a 98%. An A.
You smile to yourself, but it doesn’t last very long. It falters the moment you feel a presence looming over your shoulder—one that carries the scent of expensive cologne. It’s light and masculine, and reminds you of summer, for whatever reason. You may have complimented it if the presence hadn’t beaten you to speaking.
“Only a ninety-eight? Poor thing. Didn’t sleep well or something?”
Suddenly, your compliment dries up, because you’d know that voice anywhere. Satoru fucking Gojo.
You snap your head around so fast it nearly spins off your spine. “Stay away from me and get a life,” you say through gritted teeth, but snatch his test from his hands despite yourself.
And there, in the top corner, written in pen, is a 100%. From what you can tell from all the talking he’s doing right now—which you aren’t listening to a lick—he’s pretty intent on rubbing it in your face.
He clicks his tongue and places his hand on the back of your seat, using it for leverage as he leans over you a bit more. “See? You got number thirteen wrong. You said the fluid inside body cells is extracellular fluid. Ouch.” He pats the back of your seat, as if it’s any consolation. “You know, I’m free Thursday afternoons. I could tutor you, and once the exam comes around, that frown will be turned right-side up—”
You stand abruptly and hand his test back to him, your wrist so rigid it may as well cut through ice. “Oh, I’m so good off that. I’d rather gouge my eyes out with an ice pick.”
Satoru tilts his head, his grin so smug it makes you sick. “Well, suit yourself. Speaking of—pretty sure ice picks are usually on clearance this time of year. Y’know, with it being spring and all.”
A single glance around the room tells you nearly everyone else has already left, and that it’s painfully obvious you and Satoru are the only ones who stayed behind to talk. You’d rather not be spotted with him again. You don’t bother hiding your eye roll as you zip up your backpack and walk away, crumpled test in tow.
“Hey, where are you going? What about our riveting conversation?” he calls after you, and you can practically hear his grin when he speaks. “It was a funny joke!”
The door slams shut behind you.
☆
You can’t stand Sukuna—no matter how hard you try.
“Can you at least turn that down?”
Sukuna grumbled under his breath before slumping even lower into the seat he dwarfed in size, but he lowered the volume of his Instagram reels just enough to pacify you. “What’s it matter, anyway? There’s nobody here.”
You huffed and tried not to take it personally, as the single person currently sitting beside him. “It matters to me because, unlike some people, I actually care about my grades. Very shocking, I know.”
It might be shocking to most—which you’d understand, because it even shocks you on most days—but Sukuna is one of the few people in your life who understands you.
Not when it comes to the things that make you who you are as an independent person. He couldn’t recite your full name if he tried, nor could he remember your birthday, favorite color, or go-to drink order at your favorite café.
Because at the end of the day, Sukuna doesn’t see you. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t have to. But after everything, he knows you better than most. He knows about the things you don’t say out loud. He knows how much you hate going home, because he hates it just as much. He knows that none of this truly matters, because your parents have had your futures lined up for over a decade, and none of your hard work plays a factor in that.
Where the two of you differ is this: you still seem to be under the assumption that hard work might relieve you of your fate, but Sukuna has long since adopted a different worldview. He thinks that if everything is going to work out in the end—a nice house, a somewhat decent spouse, a few kids in the far future—then what’s the point in trying in the meantime?
“Jeez, woman. I was just asking. It that time of the month or somethin’?”
You scoffed, but didn’t dignify him with a reply.
You don’t know what this is exactly—whatever you and Sukuna are. You aren’t dating. You have kissed a few times—experimental and primarily drunk kisses shared at parties that never amounted to anything, because, well… you just don’t like each other. You aren’t sure if you’re even friends, or if you’d want to be.
At most, you’re familial acquaintances, which is the polite way of saying that he is supposed to be your husband one day, if your parents have anything to say about it.
“I just need to focus. Yaga said I have a good chance at landing the internship, but that doesn’t mean I should start slacking off now.”
“What internship?”
You blinked.
“The internship I applied for three months ago?”
Sukuna blinked.
“The one I passed three rounds of interviews for?”
You scoffed. “For fuck’s sake, Sukuna, it’s just about the only thing I’ve been talking about for months!”
He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, okay, okay. Jeez. The only thing I’m noticing right now is that I’m not the only one being loud in the library anymore.”
A swarm of harsh replies flooded your mind, but you tamped them down—because you were 99% percent sure Sukuna was far too dim-witted to grasp whatever insult you could chuck his way anyway.
“Whatever. I need to get going.” You packed up your belongings and stood, taking a step in the opposite direction before he caught your arm. You glared back at him. “What?”
“Are you mad at me or somethin’? What’d I say?”
Once again, you didn’t give him a reply and walked away.
Sukuna leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest with a shake of his head. “Women.”
Once in the hallway, you approached the vending machine. You could use a pick-me-up, even if it were in the form of junk food. Just as you were within a few feet of it, an infuriating man with white hair slid in front of you. Satoru was quick to slide a dollar into the machine and punch in whatever he wanted.
“Oh—sorry, did you want something?” he asked over his shoulder, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.
You were fed up with men today. No, scratch that. You were more than fed up with men today. You rolled your eyes and began to walk away, and maybe Satoru had a change of heart, or maybe he realized that your fallen expression didn’t just have to do with running into him.
“Hey, no— come back, I’m serious,” he called after you. He reached into his pocket and slid another dollar into the machine. “What do you want?”
You turned around, eyeing him closely. “I don’t need your dollar, Gojo.”
Unfazed by your tone, he laughed. It was boyish and carefree in a way that surprised you. “I know you don’t,” he said simply. “Way to make me feel nice about my good deed, though. I didn’t know a single dollar could move you so much.” You narrowed your eyes at him, and he tilted his head toward the machine in response. “C’mon. Pick something.”
And because you just couldn’t catch a break today, your stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. You placed a hand over your abdomen immediately, your face nearly losing its color.
“…Gummy bears,” you finally managed to choke out. “Please.”
Satoru smiled and punched in the corresponding code for a bag of Haribo Gummy Bears. “Decent choice for a starving woman. Not sweet enough for my taste, but decent.”
You huffed out a breath, watching him retrieve both of your chosen snacks. “Sour Patch Kids? Really?”
He handed you the gummy bears before nodding once. “Yup. Really.” He paused, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “I thought you’d like them. I mean, you’d definitely fit in with them.”
“Fit in with who?”
Satoru tore the bag open and popped one into his mouth. “The Sour Patch Kids. Y’know—with this whole mean-girl-who-hates-me getup you’ve got going on. Really sour of you.”
Your eyebrows pinched together. “That’s so stupid.”
“Yeah, but you almost smiled. Saw it with my own eyes,” he chirped back, chewing on the candy. You smoothed your expression, and he shook his head. “No, no, no— don’t hide it now. That’s just unfair. I paid a dollar for that smile.”
Your face tightened, because now you really were fighting the urge to smile, damn it. “Whatever,” you snapped as you started to walk away—then stopped, your expression tightening even more. “I mean… thank you. For the gummy bears.” You said one last thing before turning your back on him. “And don’t think this means I like you now, because I don’t.”
Satoru just smiled. “Yeah, of course, wouldn’t dream of it.”
☆
Your phone vibrated late into the night.
If it were any other day, you would’ve been fast asleep by now. You’d been strict about your sleep schedule ever since you accidentally discovered—at twelve years old, six hours into a late-night 3 a.m. deep dive—that not sleeping enough can result in the brain eating itself.
But even the fear of having a peanut-sized brain by the time you were forty hadn’t been enough to lull you to sleep tonight, which was how you found yourself watching ASMR cat spa day videos at 1 a.m.
You groaned when you glanced at the top of your screen and saw who dared to interrupt your doomscrolling.
sukuna: hey
sukuna: i can see u reading my texts.
sukuna: stop being mad at me and listen
sukuna: theres a party tomorrow night and i think you should come
sukuna: and before u get all “i need to focus and stay in and be boring all the time” on me just listen
sukuna: u should take time away from your hw and relax
You nearly smiled. This might’ve been the nicest thing Sukuna had ever said to you.
sukuna: plus i wanna go and it looks bad if we arent there together. people talk.
Never mind.
you: i’ll think about it
sukuna: cool. be ready by 9
you: i never said i was going???
☆
Spoiler alert: you wound up coming to the party.
The air is stale and smells of vape smoke and alcohol. The frat house is far too crowded, and from where you’re standing in the kitchen, everyone looks like a pack of sardines wiggling around to a 2010s pop song that no one has quite caught the rhythm for yet. And yet, for all of your complaining, you’re still here—looking your best, at that.
You weren’t as much of a bore as Sukuna made you out to be, but you could admit that you didn’t party nearly as much as you had when you first started at Mikage. The passing of time makes you more responsible, or whatever the poets say—you can’t remember, and you’re honestly a little tipsy already, truth be told.
Suddenly, Shoko nudges your side with her elbow. “Hey, party girl. You gonna stand in here all night, or do you plan on joining us at some point?”
“I didn’t even see you there,” you say through a laugh, waving a hand through the air to dissipate some of the vape smoke Toji blows only a few feet away. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
You follow her through the crowd, only managing to bump into a few people along the way while clutching your Solo cup tight to your chest. It’s warmer now that you’re enveloped in this sea of bodies; your cheeks feel hot, but you pay no mind to it. You’re not sure how long it takes before you and Shoko reunite with Utahime and Nobara, the four of you forming a little circle for yourselves—something that looks conspiratorial from the outside, but feels like a haven on the inside.
“Took you long enough,” Nobara says by way of greeting. She glances down at your cup. “What’d you find in the kitchen?”
“I don’t even know what the hell this is. I just grabbed whatever was unopened and poured it into a cup with ice. I’m hoping it’ll water down,” you reply with a shrug.
Nobara scoffs. “Toji never stocks shit for these parties—deadass, this is the worst frat. I don’t even know why we come here.”
Shoko laughs, though you can barely hear it over the music. “We come here because girls get in free at the door. I mean, if I’m gonna get shitfaced and regret my decisions tomorrow morning, I sure as hell don’t wanna pay for it.”
Utahime taps Shoko’s cup. “Yeah, speaking of getting shitfaced—you’re drinking water once you finish that. I can’t carry you back to your dorm. The last time I tried, I basically dragged you there.”
Shoko groans but doesn’t fight it. All of a sudden, the three of them lock eyes on something directly behind you, and their expressions fall.
Utahime’s face goes white as she places her hands on your shoulders. “Girl, don’t turn around. I’m so serious.”
“What are you talking about?” Your brows knit together, even as you’re already turning.
And when you see it, your eyes widen.
Sukuna is making out with some girl in the center of the room, and while the sight doesn’t make you sick, it does make you nervous. In the span of three seconds, a million thoughts rush through your mind.
You’re granted a glimpse into your future: a future where you marry a man who invites you to a party just to make out with another girl right in front of you. A future where you never feel secure enough to let your guard down, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. A future where you die even more miserable than you feel right now.
Not because you’re jealous. No, you couldn’t care less what the hell he does. It’s the principle that bothers you.
If you were expected to keep up appearances and make time to “bond” with him out of your already packed schedule, why was he allowed to do whatever he pleased?
You hope no one else is paying as much attention to him as you are, because the last thing you need is both of your parents finding out and breathing down your neck, trying to put Sukuna on a leash.
“Just classless,” Shoko hums.
You turn back around, laughing. “He’s a mess. I don’t know what the hell my parents are thinking.”
Nobara sighs. “You should run away and join the circus or something. They’ll never find you.”
You laugh to yourself, knowing they’re only trying to make you feel better. But the impending doom of your upcoming graduation feels worse than ever now. You feel suffocated—like the air is too warm to breathe—so you mumble out a half-assed excuse before slipping through the crowd and out onto the balcony.
It’s cold outside. Refreshing against your skin.
The party has spilled out onto the front lawn, and the sight is so ridiculous it brings you an odd sense of comfort. Choso wobbles on two unsteady legs with Nanami perched on his shoulders, currently trying—and failing—to fish toilet paper out of a tree. Two seconds later, they go tumbling over together, face-planting into the grass.
“That’s gotta hurt.”
You gasp, wrenching away from the edge of the balcony to look behind you.
And there he stood.
Satoru fucking Gojo.
Only now, he looks different. More casual. Relaxed, right down to the smoothed wrinkle between his eyebrows and the clothes he’s wearing now. You’ve never seen him in anything but collared dress shirts and black slacks, courtesy of Mikage Academy’s suffocating dress code.
He takes a step closer. Then another. Soon he’s beside you, forearms resting on the railing. His shirt stretches across his frame, and your eyes traitorously trace the curve of his bicep. The sharp line of his jaw. The slope of his nose.
You tear your gaze away before it gets embarrassing. Has he always looked like that?
Clearing your throat, you mirror his posture. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he replies easily. He glances at you, then back out at the lawn. “Nice party. Solid DJ choice.”
You huff. “Small talk? Really?”
Satoru shrugs. “I figured I should ease into it. You don’t exactly look like you’re in the mood for my usual charm.”
“You mean being insufferable?”
“Wow,” he says. “I was more so going for memorable.”
Your eyes meet. You’re the first to look away.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “I don’t really know how to talk to you when I’m not irritated with you and your stupid gloating.” You pause, then lift a finger. “And before you say anything—I aced the quiz yesterday. So if you came out here to rub it in, save it.”
“Oh no,” Satoru deadpans. “My entire plan— ruined right before my eyes.”
You glance at him. He’s smiling, but it’s softer than usual.
“No,” he continues, dropping his head slightly. “That’s not why I came out here.”
Your brows pinch together. “No?”
“Nope. I needed air. And maybe a tetanus shot after sitting on that couch, ‘cause that thing’s disgusting.”
You laugh despite yourself.
“And,” he adds casually, “I saw you come out here.”
You turn toward him. Somehow, his eyes look brighter at night. “Is that your official reason?”
“Mostly,” he says. “What can I say? I’m curious.”
“About?”
“About why you look like you’d rather be anywhere else than at a party like this.”
You hesitate. “It’s… complicated, I guess.”
“Ah,” Satoru nods.
You scoff, easily reading between the lines. “It has nothing to do with Sukuna. Well— okay, maybe a little. But not like that.”
He tilts his head. “You sure? Because from where I’m standing, it kinda looked like your boyfriend might have a lot to do with it.”
“Ew. No,” you say quickly. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Something shifts in Satoru’s expression. “Good to know.”
You blink. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Just is.”
You roll your eyes, but continue anyway, words spilling easier now. “If my parents have their way, he’ll probably be more than my boyfriend someday.” You grimace. “Which is terrifying, because he’s about as smart as a box of rocks, and I can’t be around him for more than ten minutes without wanting to bang my head against the wall.”
Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Here I thought I was harsh.”
Panic flickers through you when he doesn’t say anything else right away.
“I know it sounds stupid,” you rush on. “There are people who’d kill to have something lined up like that, and here I am complaining. My mom married my dad for business reasons and they’re… fine. I think.” You run a hand over your hair. “But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be married right after graduation. I don’t even know if I want to get married at all.”
Satoru doesn’t interrupt, but when he does speak, his voice is quieter. “That doesn’t sound stupid. In a place like this,” he gestures toward campus, “everything’s a transaction. Degrees, connections, last names.” He scoffs lightly. “My parents won’t shut up about networking. Meanwhile, the best relationship I’ve built here is with the lady who gives me extra french toast in the dining hall.”
You laugh, clearly surprised. Not only because the french toast sucks, but because you wouldn’t expect something like that from him. It should make you feel less impressed with him, but for some reason, it doesn’t.
“I’m serious,” he adds. “Peace isn’t exactly encouraged around here. If anything, you’re expected to trade for it.”
“And you?” you ask before you can stop yourself. “You don’t seem all that worried about it, for someone who comes from a family like yours.”
Satoru shrugs again, but this time it’s different. Less flippant. “Guess I just decided a while ago that I’d rather disappoint my parents than disappoint myself.”
The quiet that follows is heavier than the music inside. You can hear the hollers and shuffling feet just inside, but it fades away just as quickly as it came.
“You make it sound easy,” you say.
He smiles. “Hey, I never said it was. It’s just easier than the alternative, is all.”
You nod because it feels appropriate, and you aren’t sure what else you should do. Talking with him is surprisingly easy, but that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to be doing it. That you should be doing it. Even now, you wish you could resonate with Satoru’s ideology, because all you can think about is how much your parents would hate this.
“My parents would hate this,” you blurt out, accidentally saying your thoughts aloud.
You look at him, embarrassed and doing your best to hide it. It feels strange, knowing just how much you’re supposed to hate talking to him yourself, but don’t.
He rubs the back of his neck. “This conversation?”
You try not to stare at his bicep, flexing right in your face.
“Yeah,” you admit. “My parents hate your family. Always have.”
“Mine aren’t exactly fans of yours either.” Satoru laughs, tilting his head slightly. The feeling was mutual—he couldn’t take much offense at it. Still, he asks, “Do you feel that way too?”
“What do you mean?”
He turns to look at you, his expression almost serious. “Do you hate me?”
You huff. “I don’t even understand the reasoning all that much. I just know that the animosity exists, and that I’m expected to respect it— and I guess I have, for the most part.”
“That isn’t what I asked,” he replies simply. “Do you hate me? On your own terms?” He pauses then, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looked a tad nervous. “I’m sure I’ve given you enough of a reason to. More than one, I’d bet.” He glances away. “The first time we ever spoke, I spilled beer all over your shoes. I shouldn’t have been holding it anyway— I hate beer.”
“I knew you remembered!” you yell, pointing a finger at him. “I’ve been holding that grudge against you for years now.”
“What? Of course I remember. I apologized immediately,” he says quickly. “Pretty sure I almost got on my knees and everything.”
You click your tongue and shake your head. “The damage was already done.”
The conversation stills for a moment, and you choke over your words before managing a more serious reply.
“For as obnoxious as you are, I don’t hate you. No. I don’t even know you well enough to hate you if I wanted to.”
“Alright, I’ll take it.” Satoru smiles to himself. “I think you’d form a better opinion of me if you let me get to know you. You’re a tough nut to crack, you know— been tryin’ for years.”
You stare at him, and he doesn’t cower in response. Not that he typically would, but you half-expected him to.
“I’m serious,” he says instead. “We should be friends.”
Your laugh comes out sharp. “Absolutely not. My parents would be livid. Beyond livid, actually—they’d probably murder me. And I mean, a true crime podcaster’s wet dream type of murder. No joke.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I think we should definitely be friends,” he says through his laughter. “I’ve always wanted to be in a documentary. Confessionals and all. A face like this is made for the cameras.”
“You’re such a jerk,” you scoff, nudging his side, barely able to fight off your smile.
“Mm-hmm. A big jerk that you’re still talking to,” he replies. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you wanted to be my friend too.”
You don’t reply, which might have just been an answer in and of itself.
For the first time throughout this entire conversation, Satoru turns his body to face you properly. His head tilts down enough to accommodate the height difference between you.
“I think this might be the first argument you’ve ever let me win,” he grins.
You narrow your eyes. “This isn’t a win. It’s more like… a draw. A tie.”
“Sure. A draw, a tie. Potato, potahto. Whatever.” He extends his hand toward you. “So. Friends?”
You take it and shake it. “Yes. Friends.”
He smiles. “See? Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
When your hands fall apart, Satoru’s hand stills at his side—fingers flexing—before he grasps the railing. You straighten, stepping back from it yourself. The night air suddenly feels too thin, as if there isn’t enough of it for the two of you to breathe anymore. More anxiety than anything else.
“I should probably go,” you murmur. “It’s late.”
And you’ve been talking for quite some time now, which only means it’s a matter of time before someone notices and writes a blind item in that stupid newspaper column.
“Right,” he replies. “Need someone to walk you home?”
You shake your head. “I think I’ll manage.”
Satoru nods, his smile slow as it turns up at the corners. “Alright. Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”
“Night,” you reply weakly before reemerging into the party.
You reunite with your friends, who seem even more over the night than you are. The four of you walk back to your dormitory together.
☆
You royally fucked up this time.
To no surprise, you won the student council election with flying colors. No one had the balls—or…clit? You don’t discriminate—to run against you throughout the election cycle.
With some surprise, however, you decided to celebrate your victory with the other board members, taking way too many shots from a bottle that was emptied far too quickly.
On a fucking Tuesday.
You mentally kicked yourself—and you would’ve done the same physically if you weren’t on the verge of blacking out.
Vision splotchy, you glanced around the dorm, only to find that everyone was already passed out cold. You couldn’t stay here—you had a meeting bright and early!
And so, with some difficulty, you finally managed to find your purse—the one you had hidden while sober, back when your only concern was someone stealing the $60 in cash from your wallet.
Widening your eyes, the bright screen was a blur of letters and colors, but you managed to open your contacts app. Typing in an ‘S,’ you clicked Shoko’s contact, praying she was awake and able to come pick you up from the off-campus housing.
The line rang twice before someone answered.
You sigh in relief. “Girl, red alert! Get your sexy ass up and come pick me up!…please.”
“Woah, Prez. I had no idea you thought about me this way. Tell me more.”
Your heart dropped straight to your ass.
“Satoru…?” you whine, more than ask.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m startin’ to think you meant to call someone else. Bit of a blow to my ego, but I can handle it.”
Slumping against the couch, you huff. “Meant to call Shoko. Need a ride.”
Silence filled the line for a moment, then an insufferably attractive laugh broke it. “Are you drunk right now?”
You sniffled. “A little. I mean—a lottle. I-I mean, a lot. Very drunk. Drunk and stranded.”
You heard rustling on the other end, the faint jangle of keys. Your eyes fell shut. You were so damn tired.
“Okay, I just left my apartment. Where are you?”
In any other situation, you would’ve refused Satoru Gojo’s help. You were a strong, independent woman. You didn’t need a man to come to your rescue.
But the longer you sat on this couch, the more you wanted to ditch your mandatory meeting in the A.M. and pass out right here.
Even in this state, you were smart enough to know staying wasn’t an option.
“I’m at off-campus housing down the street. Please hurry. And bring water. And snacks. And a blanket. And—”
“Yes, boss, I’ve already got all of that—along with a partridge in a pear tree. Jeez, you’re needy.” He laughed, and it made you pout. “I’m only a few minutes away. Hang tight.”
⭑
“Watch your head, watch your head!”
Thunk.
“Oww,” you whine, rubbing the top of your head while Satoru busied himself fastening your seatbelt.
Rounding the front of his sports car, he slips into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life a few seconds later, but the car stayed in park. Instead, he reaches for the ice-cold water bottle in the cup holder, twisting off the cap before handing it to you.
“How much did you have to drink?” he asks, sounding almost agonized. “Don’t know if you know this, but it’s Tuesday night.”
It took you about ten seconds, a long drink of water, and a deep sigh of relief before you answered.
“I won the presidency,” you finally say, as if that answered everything.
“Ah.” He reaches for a nearby pack of gummy bears. “This good? That’s all I could find on the way.”
“Yes,” you barely cared, tearing the package open. “Y’know, Gojo…you’re kinda nice.”
He huffs, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, really? What gave you that idea?”
Chewing thoughtfully, you started listing things your sober self would’ve never admitted.
“You came to get me even though I’m such a bitch to you. And you brought me water, and my favorite candy, and—hic!”
“And you tease me all the time, but you aren’t that mean when it comes down to it…” You sniffle. “I honestly wish you were. It’d be easier to hate you.”
He laughs, shaking his head as he finally shifts the car into drive. “Aw, sorry about that. I can be mean to you if you want?”
The drive was quiet, mostly because it was so short—the streets were empty at this ungodly hour. When Satoru parked and killed the engine, he turned to look at you and froze.
You were chewing on gummy bears with tears streaming down your cheeks.
“Are you a sad drunk?” he asks, even though he already knew. “Aw, you are, aren’t you?”
You sniffle. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He shifts toward you, more careful now, lifting the water bottle back to your lips. “‘Cause we’re friends now. I’m nice to my friends. C’mere.”
To his surprise, you let him tip the bottle, drinking without protest.
Swallowing, you frowned. “No, you aren’t.” Sniffle. “You’re mean to Suguru. And Nanami. And Toji…”
Satoru’s smile is lopsided. “You have a point. Guess I’m just nice to you then.”
“But why?” you press, not even realizing it. “You have no reason to be.”
Satoru was the type of man who had never needed to wish on stars to get what he wanted.
All it took was a swipe of one of his many credit cards or the mention of his family name. It worked without fail.
For everything except one thing, and she was sitting right beside him.
Oblivious to the fact that since freshman year, she’d made his heart race every time she was near. From the moment he met her in biology—cut down by her sharp tongue—he’d felt motivated instead of defeated.
He’d gone home that night thinking about her. Stayed up, even, planning ways to talk to you the next day. Ways to make you look at him. Talk to him. Give him the time of day.
You had no idea what you did to him, and right now, he had no place to tell you.
He leans back with a quiet hum. “For someone so smart, you can be a little dense sometimes.”
Your sniffle cut him off. His head snaps toward you, and his chest nearly caved in at the sight of fresh tears welling up.
“No, no, no, no— hey, I was joking! I didn’t mean it, I swear.”
Satoru cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing away your tears. His eyes searched yours, softening despite himself. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“You’re kinda cute when you’re drunk,” he says.
What the fuck?
Why would he say that out loud? Right now? Of all times?
“You’re kinda cute all the time,” you replied easily, fingers fumbling with the pendant on his necklace. “You smell really nice, too.”
Satoru’s heartbeat doubled, but he forced himself not to read into it. Not now. Not when you’re in this state.
He cleared his throat, pulling his hands away. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”
He stepped out first, then opened your door. Your eyes met his as he reached in to unbuckle you. “Easy,” he murmured.
Getting you out of the car was about ninety-five percent Satoru’s effort; you leaned into him the majority of the way, the two of you making your way toward the side entrance. It felt like it took hours to climb the stairs—but in reality, Satoru carried most of your weight without breaking a sweat.
By the time you reached your room, he helped you onto your bed, carefully slipping off your heels. His hand lingered at your ankle, thumb brushing over the faint mark the strap had left behind. He leaned over you slightly, hand smoothing over your hair.
“Get some sleep, okay?”
You didn’t notice when he set a bottle of aspirin and fresh water on your nightstand. You just curled under your blankets on instinct, heavy with exhaustion. Your eyes cracked open just enough to catch your on-call-Uber-driver-slash-friend retreating toward the door.
“Satoru?” you called.
He paused, one foot already out. “Mm?”
“I like it when you’re nice to me.” You shook your head. “No—I mean… I like being your friend.”
Satoru smiled faintly. “Me too.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
☆
You despise how much you enjoy being friends with Satoru Gojo.
You despise how attentive he is. How he silently hands you a pencil a beat after you realize you’ve come without one. How he holds the seat down for you so you can sit more easily in the lecture hall. How he gives you one of his AirPods whenever you’re in the library together, looking for your own books respectively, yet highly aware of how far you are from him when the music begins to chop up.
You despise how much he’s gotten you to let your guard down. How he makes you laugh whenever one of your student council meetings goes awry, because the high of being reelected as council president only lasts until the first meeting. How he assures you that you can get through whatever issue you’re working through with your boardmates, because, according to him, if you were able to snag his vote, then you can just about do anything. How he references Digimon or whatever video game he’s played last into just about every other conversation, to the point where it borders on endearing and annoying—but the expression he wears when he talks about it makes you easily decide on the former.
You despise how he makes you feel. How a simple nudge to your side whenever you reply with a smartass comment makes your face feel warm. How the scent of his cologne lingers after he leaves, and how you feel disappointed when it finally dissipates. How you’ve now become acutely aware of the length of his eyelashes, the vibrance of his eyes, the smile lines that look more handsome on him than you’d ever like to admit.
But more than anything, you despise that you just can’t find anything to hate about him—no matter how hard you try.
It had only been a little over a month, and yet it’s difficult to remember what it was like when the two of you weren’t friends, or what faulty reason you had to hate him in the first place.
You doodle a bit rougher in your notebook as you wait for instruction to begin, trying to get your mind off it. Off him.
Like clockwork, he plops down into the seat beside you, lazily extending his legs before placing a small white box on your desk.
“What’s this?” you ask, setting your pen down. When you open it, you find your favorite pastry sitting inside, untouched. Your brows knit together. “How’d you know this was my favorite?”
When you look at him, he’s already chewing a bite of the muffin he bought for himself.
“We’ve been to the café twice together and you got the same thing both times. How could I not know by now?”
You take a bite of your own, chewing thoughtfully. You’ve been to the café with Sukuna more times than you can count on both hands, and not once has he remembered what your go-to order is. It shouldn’t mean so much—in the grand scheme of things, it’s just a four dollar pastry—but it does. It feels good to be known, even in the simplest way.
“Well… thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, no prob,” he replies, setting his muffin down. “Your stomach growls when you don’t eat in the morning—I could hear it from three aisles back.”
You shove his shoulder, eyes wide. “Shut up. No, you couldn’t.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” he relents with a grin, glancing your way. “It was four aisles back.”
You roll your eyes, face warm. You glance down at his muffin, and he clutches it closer to himself.
“No looksies,” Satoru says firmly. “Daddy doesn’t like to share.”
You grimace. “Ew. Gross. Don’t call yourself that.”
“Mommy doesn’t like to share?”
“Even worse.”
Satoru sighs in playful defeat, and just in time—before he can try again—your professor addresses the class and starts the lecture.
And no more than five minutes later, he doesn’t even complain when you ask for a bite of his muffin.
☆
You’re nervous about your upcoming Anatomy & Physiology exam.
The air outside is brisk, the cold biting at your cheeks as you speedwalk toward your dormitory. Even though this is nowhere near your first rodeo with the freezing-to-pleasant transition between winter and spring, it never gets easier to manage. Especially not now, with your arms full of flash cards, two folders, an oversupply of fresh scratch paper, and blank scantrons that are just about begging to be practiced on—which means you don’t have a free hand to grab a hot chocolate from the on-campus café. What a great start to your study session this is.
Your steps are quick, and from afar, you probably look like you’re lightly jogging, which isn’t the best look considering you’re wearing a thick, furry winter coat and a pair of fuzzy pajama pants. It isn’t ideal, but you planned for this venture outside your dorm room to be quick.
That is, until you trip on a shift in the sidewalk and tumble forward.
You catch yourself on your hands, which only makes you realize that your supplies are now blowing away. You manage to pick up a few things on your own and reach for a folder—only to realize someone else has already picked it up.
“Nearly gone with the wind,” Satoru sighs. “Good thing I was here to save the day. No need for thanks— it’s all in a day’s work.”
You straighten once you’ve gathered the rest of your things. “You and your gloating. Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, then glances down. “Cute slippers.”
Your eyes follow his gaze to the fuzzy slippers you only ever dare to wear out when your feet are freezing. You shift your feet and nudge his chest. “Shut up. They’re warm!”
“And fashionable,” he lilts, and gestures to the armful in your hands. “What’s all this for?”
“Studying,” you answer, because it’s obvious. “I’m gonna make flashcards for the A&P exam and probably take a few practice tests.” You reach for the folder still in his grasp. “So, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Hey, hey, hey. Slow down a sec.” Satoru lifts the folder out of reach. “Let me help you out, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes. “Why? Don’t you want to score better than me anyway?”
“Oh no,” Satoru says flatly, face blank. “You’ve exposed my master plan once again. Whatever will I do?” Then he grins. “How could you think so little of me? I’ll score better than you without sabotage, you know that.”
“As if,” you retort, averting his gaze.
Satoru raises an eyebrow. “If you’re so confident, prove me wrong.”
You tuck your lips into your mouth, weighing his offer. On one hand, you’re hesitant to let him into your room—afraid that you might not dislike it. That you might even like being alone with him. On the other, you’ve never been one to back down from a challenge like this.
Your pride settles it for you.
“Fine,” you say. “I will. Follow me.”
☆
Rumor has it that this was where it all truly began.
Your bedroom.
It was all rather easy at first. You’d spent about an hour making flashcards, a time primarily spent in silence—save for his voice making noise pollution every so often. Mostly moans and groans about how bored and hungry he is, which fall on deaf ears.
By the time you finish the deck, Satoru’s jacket is hanging on the back of your desk chair, and he’s lazily sprawled across your bed. He’d offered to take the chair, but you insisted that sitting made you focus better. Which it does, but you’re also too nervous to sit beside him on the bed right now.
He tosses a stress ball toward the ceiling, catching it with one hand. “Done yet? I’m dying here. The fun part is supposed to be me quizzing you.”
You straighten the cards before tossing them his way, the deck landing on his stomach. “Yes, now hurry up. I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he chirps, propping himself up against your pillows as he gathers the cards. He clears his throat, glances once at you, then back down. “What are the two primary functions of the skeletal system?”
It doesn’t take you more than a second. “Support the body and protect softer body parts.”
He hums and flicks to the next card. “What three things does the muscular system allow the body to do?”
You hum, rubbing your chin. “Movement, support, and… heat production.”
Another flick. “What about the nervous system?”
“It controls immediate responses to stimuli,” you answer easily.
Satoru huffs, flipping through card after card as you breeze through half the deck. Soon you’re naming the primary functions of individual muscles—temporalis, masseter, sternocleidomastoid, extensor digitorum—you’ve lost count of how many you’ve answered correctly. You’re zoned in, until he looks up at you with a raised eyebrow.
“These are too easy for you,” he declares. “You need something more challenging.”
You squint and lean back in your chair. “What? These are plenty challenging.”
He hums, clearly unconvinced. “Nope. You need more independent practice. Stuff you can’t predict.”
“Like what?” you ask. “Since you’re so smart, I’m assuming you have an alternative method. Put up or shut up.”
Satoru exhales through his nose, meeting your gaze without missing a beat. He’s long since learned your tone, your bite. He grins and sits up straighter, lifting an arm and pointing to his own. “What does the tricep do?”
You blink. “Straightens the arm at the elbow? Duh. I thought this was supposed to be hard.”
“Shh, be patient. A master is at work.” He pauses, then asks, “What about the orbicularis oris?”
Your posture straightens against your will, gaze dropping to his mouth. Your eyes trace the curve of his lips—where that muscle would be—and you watch as the corners of his mouth tug upward. Five seconds pass—longer than any question has taken you so far.
“It allows for movement in the lips,” you finally say.
“Mm,” he sighs. “Only half credit. That’s a little vague. Name three specific functions and I might reconsider.”
The room feels warmer. You clear your throat. “Speech, whistling, and… kissing.” Your eyes flick away to your desk as you fuss with loose papers, trying to come off as busy or distracted. You add quickly, “It’s informally known as the kissing muscle. Everyone knows that.”
A low whistle leaves him as he rises from the bed, stretching his arms over his head before stalking toward your desk. He stops behind your chair, flashcards still in hand.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, still facing forward.
He sets the cards down in front of you and places one hand on the desk, leaning just slightly over you. He isn’t touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel the heat of him at your back, and certainly close enough to make your thoughts scatter.
“Told you,” he murmurs. “I’m helping you study.”
You swallow. “How, exactly?”
He exhales, breath brushing your neck. “Have you practiced for the muscle identification portion yet?”
Shit. You’d nearly forgotten about that. From what you remembered your professor saying, there would be anatomy models stationed around the classroom, highlighted with nothing more than a single muscle on each one. It would be your responsibility to name the muscle and its function on the spot.
“Not really,” you admit, shrugging. Your back brushes his chest, and you clear your throat quickly. “How do you plan on helping with that?”
Satoru brushes your hair off your shoulder, knuckles barely grazing the back of your neck before his thumb presses gently into a muscle along your upper back. “For starters: what muscle just helped you shrug your shoulders?”
You swallow thickly. Your breath leaves you shaky, and you hope he doesn’t notice the goosebumps rising on your skin when his thumb traces again, slow and deliberate. Meant to tease you, you’d imagine.
“Upper trapezius,” you say, breathy despite yourself.
“Good.” You can hear the smile in his voice. His hand moves, thumb sliding to the back of your neck. “Your neck’s tense.”
“Well,” you say, forcing a shaky exhale, “it’s not every day I become a study tool. First day on the job.”
He laughs, and there’s something charged beneath it. “You saying you don’t like my method?”
“No, I’m not saying that at all,” you blurt. You glance up and freeze at how close his face is. “...I’ve liked others less. That’s all.”
A lopsided smile. “So you want to continue?”
Your answer is immediate. “Yes.”
His thumb presses more firmly at your neck. “What muscle is tensed up here?”
“Trick question,” you mutter, “still the upper trapezius.”
“Good.” His hand flattens, gliding down your back, following the natural arch of your spine as your breath catches in your throat. “Now tell me—”
Your heart is pounding.
“—what muscle is making your back arch like that?”
You scoff, trying to straighten. “You’re ridiculous.”
“That’s not an answer,” he tuts. “Don’t know it, huh?”
“Of course I do,” you stammer.
“Then tell me, smart girl.”
Your stomach twists with nerves and something far more dangerous. He shouldn’t excite you. He should make you pull away, push him out, undo whatever this is. And yet, your mind wanders to what it would be like if you didn’t. If you invited him to stay instead.
You shake your head, grounding yourself. “Erector spinae.”
He hums. “See? Not so hard.”
“It was plenty hard,” you murmur, stealing a glance up at him.
He tilts his head, just enough to meet your eyes. Your lashes flutter as you switch between each of his eyes. His nose is nearly brushing yours, and it terrifies you just as much as it intrigues you. No, actually—what you’re feeling now goes beyond simple intrigue. It’s excitement. Bordering on longing.
“What are you doing?” you ask, words tumbling out of your mouth.
“Just lookin’ at you,” he replies easily. “You’re pretty.”
“Wha–? Sh-Shut up.”
He grins. “You’re cute when you’re shy, too.”
From the beginning, Satoru was supposed to be nothing more than a thorn in your side. Someone sharp and irritating. Something to endure. But when given the chance to poke where you were weakest, he’d held you instead.
His hand slides to your waist, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. He still hasn’t pulled away, and you pray that he doesn’t. You don’t want him to.
You lick your bottom lip without thinking. His eyes drop instantly, tracking the movement—and he doesn’t bother hiding it, even after he’s sure you’ve noticed.
And when he’s least expecting it, at least as far as you can tell, you rock up onto your toes, hands fisted into his shirt, and press your lips to his.
Your lips slot into his like two puzzle pieces fitting together. His hands tighten their hold on your waist, and when you force yourself to pull away, to face the music of your decision made on a whim, you find a blushing Satoru staring back at you.
A soft, nervous laugh leaves his lips, breath warm against yours.
“Well, if you thought studying was hard…”
…Oh?
Your gaze dips.
Oh.
He’s hard.
From a single peck.
His sweatpants hang low on his hips, giving you a slight glimpse of the light trail of hair that leads toward the prominent bulge in the fabric. The sight alone makes your mouth water, enough for you to, within the span of a second, wonder what it’d be like to feel it. From sight alone, it looks big. Heavy.
Every warning system inside your head blares all at once, telling you that this is a bad, bad, bad, horrible, horrible, horrible decision. And yet, you lean into him again.
You kiss him once more, hands clutching onto his shirt as you tug him down to meet your mouth, which he does with no hesitation. His lips are softer than you imagined, gentle on yours.
“And which muscle is responsible for that?” you ask against his mouth.
He smiles, you can feel it. “Ischiocavernosus.”
Satoru’s large hands smooth over the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing at all. You’re lying on your bed before you realize it, and he is hovering atop in between your parted legs.
His lips tear away from yours, kisses mapping out a trail of heat along your jaw. Your hand slips into his hair, tugging when his mouth finds the sweet spot just beneath your ear.
Your back arches off the bed as a signifier.
“Found it,” he rumbles against your skin, smiling against it.
His mouth is searing, kissing down your clothed chest until he pushes your shirt up just enough to expose your belly. Open-mouthed kisses mark his exploration of your skin, hot and wet as he traces the curve of your side.
Your stomach flutters when his mouth kisses down your belly, strong hands holding your waist in place while his tongue darts out to get a taste of your skin.
Satoru’s movements, you realize, seem automatic. Like he’s thought about this before, planned for it, even—he was just waiting for you to give him the chance.
Hands suddenly paw at his shoulders, your hips squirming slightly. “Stop teasing me, Satoru.”
Satoru laughs, fingers tugging your fuzzy pajama pants down just enough to kiss your hip bone. “Fine, fine. Under one condition.”
Your heart pounds. “What is it?”
His hands smooth over your thighs as he shifts a bit lower. “Let me taste you.”
You blink a few times, clearly surprised. You’ve never been with a guy whose first move is to go down on you. “Okay… I mean, if you want to—ah!”
His hands are skilled in the way that they pull the hem of your pants down, leaning back just enough to peel them down your legs and toss them aimlessly onto the floor.
Satoru’s eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, focused on the apex of your thighs as he flattens to his stomach. His hands move your legs to rest on his shoulders, his lips already on your inner thigh.
“Fuck, thank you,” he whispers against your skin, wet kisses inching closer to your core.
And when his mouth finds the wet patch on the gusset of your panties, Satoru knows he’s a goner.
His grip tightens on your thighs, pulling you closer to his mouth. Eyes fluttering shut, he flattens his tongue over the fabric. That only lasts a few seconds before his fingers tug the flimsy material down your legs, and his lips are latching onto the true source.
A groan escapes him the moment his tongue laps at your essence. “Tastes so sweet.”
Your fingers slip into his hair, tugging at the root when his lips close around your clit. Your hips would’ve bucked into his mouth if his iron grip wasn’t keeping you in place.
Even with his face buried in your pussy, he manages to speak.
“Mmh— tastes like candy, baby. Thought about this s’many times.”
The confirmation only makes you twitch, which he seems to notice if the firm press of his tongue to your clit is any confirmation.
“Ah— shit, Satoru. Right there.”
Satoru thinks that he could do this forever. Could live and die a happy man, cheeks warmed by your thighs pressing in on them and the taste of you on his tongue.
His nose bumps against your clit, tongue slipping lower to gather more of you on his taste buds. His hips begin to rut into the mattress like a dog in heat, a whimper leaving his throat when you tug particularly hard on his hair.
“S-Sorry,” you manage, fingers releasing the strands of his white hair.
Blue eyes meet yours, and he forces himself to pull his tongue off you just long enough to speak. “Baby, I don’t care. Tug on it even harder if you wanna. Your pleasure feels good to me.”
“Masochist,” you say through a breathy laugh.
His mouth is back on you. “Only for you.”
You’re like sugar on his tongue, the type of ambrosia that men should go to war for. Satoru knows he would in a heartbeat.
The feeling of his tongue kitten licking your clit has your hands shooting down, one sliding back into his hair and the other scratching at the back of his hand on your thigh.
Satoru gives it to you without a second thought, your fingers lacing with his as you press his hand down on your stomach.
His eyes crack open to watch your face, twisted in a pleasure that he’s proud to have given you. He sucks your clit into his mouth before releasing it with a slick pop.
Only, your hand in his hair presses his face back into your pussy, and Satoru is nothing if not willing to please you.
The groan that leaves him travels up your spine, and your hips begin to twitch, thighs closing in on his head. A mewl leaves your lips, clutching his hand before you cry out, the first wave of your orgasm wracking through you.
Satoru flattens his tongue, licking up every drop of your syrupy release, hellbent on committing the taste of you to memory.
His voice is deep and scratchy when he speaks. “You’re beautiful when you cum.”
Your eyes snap open, a newfound heat finding your cheeks. “Shut up.”
He’s crawling up to meet your lips with a smile, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh. Just telling the truth.” He kisses your lips, and you taste yourself on them. “Sweetest pussy. I’d go for seconds if you let me.”
You’re tempted by the offer.
Only, something else tempts you more than it should.
Satoru hisses the moment your palm presses against the bulge in his sweatpants, forehead knocking into yours. His hips twitch against your hand, and when he closes his eyes, you can tell he’s doing his best not to grind into your hand.
A quiet laugh leaves your mouth. “I think I’d rather do something else.”
His hands fist into the bedsheets in an act of restraint. “Like what?” he asks, voice strained.
You huff, free hand taking hold of his chin, forcing him to look at you. “I think you’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“I don’t wanna assume. It’s ungentlemanly, y’know?” His lips press against yours, pulling back before you have the chance to deepen the kiss. “Ah-ah-ah, can’t do anything more ‘til the lady asks.”
He’s so fucking annoying.
The pout on your lips is too cute to handle. Satoru debates kissing it away. Only, your next words stop him in his tracks.
They come out more demanding than you intended, trying to hide how needy you really are. “Stop wasting my time. I want you to fuck me, Satoru.”
His cock twitches against your hand. Maybe bossiness works best with him.
“That’s so hot,” he says, panting.
Satoru immediately reaches for the hem of his sweatpants and boxers, pushing them down his legs in a hurried, uncoordinated manner. He nearly topples over once or twice in his haste.
Soon, though, his erection springs free, slapping against his stomach. It’s somehow even bigger than you initially imagined…lengthy, and flushed a pretty shade of pink at the tip.
This time, Satoru doesn’t tease you like you were expecting him to. Doesn’t gloat.
Instead, he kisses your cheek, then your forehead, until his mouth finally finds yours, a broken sound escaping him the moment he rubs his tip through your folds.
Then, his eyes find yours, and it feels like the world stops on its axis.
Forehead to forehead. Chest to chest. Your hand in his hair, his on your cheek. With Satoru Gojo of all people. The one person in this world whom you should stay away from.
And here he is, looking at you like you’re worth more than your family name and the money bags that come with it, like he wants you for you. Nothing else.
“We don’t have to, baby,” he whispers, sweet and gentle, as if sensing the mental games you’re playing with yourself. “I’m happy to just be here with you. I mean it.”
There it is. An out.
You should stop this before it starts. You should do your best to save the peace between you and your parents—what’s left of it, anyway. You should forget about the way your chest warms up when his thumb strokes over your cheek.
But then, wise words ring out in your mind.
I’d rather disappoint my parents than disappoint myself.
And in this moment, you realize that losing Satoru would far surpass mere disappointment. It isn’t something you can bear, nor do you ever want to.
You shake your head, leaning up to kiss him, nice and soft. “I want this. So… stop making me wait.”
Satoru laughs, lips on your cheek as he notches himself on your entrance. “Yes, ma’am.”
Inch by inch, his length stretches you open, making your hands grasp at his shoulders for purchase, nails sinking into his skin. You whine at the intrusion, not used to his size by any means.
“You’re okay, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, one hand holding your cheek while the other strokes your hip. “Doing so good for me. Just a liiittle more.”
You huff, risking a glance downward, only to see he was only half inside. You throw your head back on the pillow. “Liar.”
He smiles against your lips, kissing you. “Figured a little white lie never hurt anyone.”
A moment later, Satoru pushes his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You both release breathy moans at the same time, grips tightening on each other.
He pulls out, just the tip remaining, before sliding back inside your warmth, creating a slow, languid pace—giving you the chance to adjust to him.
You kiss him then, all teeth and tongue and want, panting hot against his mouth while your hands slip into his hair. “Fuck— faster, Toru. Please.”
The sound of his name on your tongue, so wanton while he’s inside you, spurs him on in a way he’s never felt before. His hands take hold of your hips, angling them up slightly so that he can fuck you deeper, the pace of his hips growing needier with each passing second.
“Mmh, wanted you for so long,” he says, words muffled against your skin while he kisses down your neck. “This—hah—can’t be real, baby. Feels so good.”
You drag his mouth back up to your lips, tongues sliding against each other in a fit of passion that you can hardly comprehend right now with how good he feels.
“So good,” you whimper into his mouth. “Want more, Satoru, please—”
“Shh, I got you,” he says.
And then his hands press down on the back of your thighs, folding them up against your chest. He pounds into you without sense, the new angle opening you up to him in a way that makes you see stars.
The sound of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room, the sounds of your pleasure only adding to the conversation.
Satoru pushes your shirt up, a sound between a whimper and a gasp, leaving him the moment his gaze sets on your breasts. His mouth latches onto your nipple before he can think twice about it.
“You weren’t—mmh—wearing a bra the whole time?”
You whine, trying to drag his mouth back to yours by your grip on his hair, but he doesn’t let up. “Y-You ask stupid questions.”
He flattens his tongue, laving over the underside of your breast, his hips never faltering. He groans against your skin. “C’mon, sweetheart, don’t give me that attitude. Haven’t I been good? Yeah?”
A pout forms on your kiss-bruised lips. “Mm— I’m not giving attitude.”
Satoru laughs, the sound raspy and deep. “You are, pretty girl, but it’s okay. Toru’ll make it all better.”
His lips are back on yours, to your satisfaction, and his hand slips between the two of you, thumbing at your clit. You gasp, stealing the air from his lungs, clinging onto his shoulders and back like a koala bear.
A warmth coils in your stomach, making you squirm against his thrusts. Your nails claw into his back, raking down his skin, surely leaving marks that Satoru will admire for days. A memento of the moment he’s been waiting for.
His cock twitches inside you when you moan again, your pussy clenching around him like a vice, tight and warm.
You whine. “Satoru—”
“Mm-hmm, I know, baby, don’t you worry,” he says, voice slightly smug as he continues to draw circles over your clit, feeling the way it pulses against his thumb. “Give it to me, sweets, know you can do it.”
Your hips buck up against his, your orgasm crashing into you. Your body tenses around him, squeezing him impossibly tighter.
If the way his pace stutters is any clue, you know he’s close. When you pulse against him, he drops his head onto your shoulder.
Satoru whimpers, so lost in his pleasure that he can no longer function. He fucks you shallowly now, and lost in your own mind, you turn your head to whisper in his ear.
“Inside,” you request, voice breathy. “Please, Toru.”
That makes Satoru cum before he can realize it.
Hot spurts shoot inside you, his sounds muffled against your skin while his own climax wracks through him. It seems like it goes on forever, but the moment he kisses the underside of your jaw, you realize that he’s finished, finally slipping out of the post-orgasm delirium you put him in.
When your eyes meet his, both of your eyes widen, expressions almost sheepish.
As if it were finally occurring to you that you just had sex with Satoru fucking Gojo, you feel a bit shy, blinking up at him and absolutely unsure what to say.
“…Hi,” you whisper.
Satoru seems to share your thoughts. He brings his hand to your cheek, knuckles brushing over your flushed skin. “Hey, baby.”
Unsure of what to do, you decide to lean back into your old reliable method. The only way you know how to talk to him is without allowing a hint of affection to seep into your voice. Be mean to him.
“Get off me,” you say, pawing at his chest halfheartedly, “you’re heavy.”
It seems that Satoru has learned you well enough to know exactly what you’re doing. Trying to push him away the moment it all feels like too much to handle, reverting to what you know best.
He lowers his head, brushing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “Mm, no can do, pretty. I like to cuddle after sex, guess you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”
You squirm as he begins to pepper your face with kisses, wet and dry, trying to get a proper reaction from you.
“Okay, okay!” you exclaim, laughing without realizing it. “Fine. We can cuddle…but we have to clean up first.”
Satoru beams at that. He kisses your forehead before practically leaping off your bed, searching for a towel. You aren’t sure why the sight of him prancing around your room in his birthday suit makes you feel so…warm and tingly inside.
God, what has he done to you?
You yawn, rubbing your eyes. “On the left side of the closet. Third drawer down.”
A second later, he’s back and wiping away the mess between your legs, careful with his movements. Once finished, he pokes around in your clothing drawers, managing to find a pair of fresh underwear and a pretty blue shirt that you should've known he’d pick out.
“Matches my eyes,” he preens, doing most of the work as he pulls the panties up your legs and the shirt over your head.
“Of course you’d notice that,” you scoff, trying to ignore how warm this all makes you feel.
With his boxers back on, he climbs back into bed with you, lying on his back. A surprised sound leaves him when you rest your head on his chest, hand draped over his middle.
Satoru wears a smile as he wraps an arm around you, free hand lacing with yours. “Thought you didn’t wanna cuddle.”
“I never said that,” you grumble.
He laughs to himself, the kind that signifies he’s up to no good. “Aww. Just a cute little cuddle muffin you are.”
“I’ll get off you right now if you don’t—”
He immediately stops laughing and tightens his hold on you. “Sorry, sorry. You run a tight ship.”
☆
In your experience, the morning after could go one of two ways.
You could either cringe at yourself and your decisions, make awkward small talk with the person you had shared not only your body but also a bed with, and then tiptoe out of your hookup’s room, or not-so-discreetly kick them out of yours.
Or, you could still make equally awkward small talk upon waking up, limbs still entangled and clothes mostly scattered across the floor, but not feel the gnawing feeling to run away and never speak to this person again.
And so far, you’re in no rush to make him go.
Satoru shifts in his sleep behind you, one arm draped lazily over your middle while the other pillows your head. You blink blearily as you run your fingertips along his forearm, tracing the veins in his hand until you cover it with your own. His fingers slightly twitch until they fill the spaces between yours.
His nose brushes the back of your neck, inhaling indulgently. His arm beneath your head bends and curls inward, his nails gently scratching your scalp. “Morning.”
You feel your heartbeat quicken in your chest. His voice is deep and groggy from sleep, his lips just barely grazing your skin as he speaks. It only gets worse (or better?) when he presses a kiss to the crook of your shoulder and neck, firmer now yet unhurried.
The strap of the camisole you’d thrown on last night after your shower was now pinched between his thumb and forefinger, slowly slipping it down the curve of your shoulder as his lips explored further.
“Good morning,” you manage out, voice slightly weak but not entirely from just waking up. “How’d you sleep?”
You can feel his lips twitch against your skin, probably turning into a smug grin if you had to guess. His hand stopped on your bicep, his chin now resting on your shoulder as he pulls you closer.
“Better than usual,” he says, voice rumbling in his throat. “Even with you stealing the covers from me all night, it’d be worth it every time to wake up to this.” He picks his head up just enough to look down at you. “You?”
Your cheeks are warm, and you bury half of your face into the pillow. “Better than usual. I actually feel rested.”
Reaching an arm out, you turn the clock on your nightstand toward the bed. 2:38 p.m.
“We slept the whole day away!”
Satoru hums behind you, chest rumbling against your back. “Mm, good sex tends to do that to people.”
You smile, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Oh? So that’s why you were snoring into my ear all night?”
“Precisely why,” he replies easily, before pecking your lips. “Pussy put me right to sleep.”
This time, you lean in to kiss him. When you pull away, you freeze.
Oh fuck.
Then you shoot up out of bed, eyes wide and panicked. It’d just dawned on you that, for all the days you could have had sex with your annoying-rival-to-friend, it had to be the day of the Ryomen dinner. And, of course, you had to oversleep with said annoying-rival-to-friend-and-now-hookup still in your bed.
The drive alone would take two and a half hours.
“Holy shit, I need to go,” you say, scatterbrained as you rush into your closet.
Satoru props himself up on his elbow, sounding more panicked than he likely intended. “What? Why?”
You return to his line of sight, already half-clothed in a pristinely ironed dress, bouncing on one leg as you tug your stockings up. “I have to go to dinner with my family and the Ryomens. My mom is going to kill me.”
And he’s left to watch, helpless, as you check yourself in the mirror—putting your earrings on, looking beautiful as ever…to go have dinner with another guy and his family.
Satoru knows he should be relaxed about this. He needs to chill out. You had sex, yes, but it’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything.
(Even though he’d thought about how great that would be as he admired you while you slept.)
“Oh, cool,” he says, forcing a cheery tone into his voice. “What for?”
You press your lips together, hastily applying your makeup lest you show up late with none on. “I’m not really sure. Probably to talk about their plans for us post-graduation. That’s all they talk about these days.”
He bites the inside of his cheek.
Doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Sex between friends can be…casual. Don’t read into it so much.
“Right,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck, doing his best to seem relaxed. “Sounds boring.”
You nod at him through the mirror before turning to face him. “Yeah, it will be.”
A silence settles the moment your eyes meet.
Slowly, you walk over to him—still lying in your bed, clad in nothing but his boxers. “I’m sorry I’m leaving like this.”
He waves a hand through the air, making an exaggerated pshhh sound. “Don’t worry about it. I get it.”
You give him a lopsided smile before leaning down to kiss him. He barely has time to close his eyes—to savor it—before you’re already pulling away.
“I’ll text you, okay?” you say. “You can use my shower again if you want. Make yourself at home while I’m gone. Just don’t use up my body wash—it’s expensive.”
Satoru lets out a laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, no promises. Have fun.”
And then you’re gone, the door clicking shut behind you.
He falls back against the mattress, dragging his hands over his face.
It’s casual, he tries to remind himself. Don’t be a crybaby.
But you kissed him goodbye.
What was casual about that?
☆
The hallways are abnormally crowded today.
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, Shoko’s messages flooding in.
shoko 💗: hi
shoko 💗: how was the dinner?
shoko 💗: did your parents finally come to their senses
shoko 💗: and drop the stupid engagement idea????
you: i wish
you: they seem even more into the idea now
you: mind you, sukuna fell asleep at the dining table with his fork hanging out of his mouth
you: like oh okay i’m seeing it now, total HUSBAND MATERIAL right here
shoko 💗: fuck my chungus life
you: fuck mine too
The sound of hushed voices in the distance distracts you, making you glance in that direction.
Only then do you realize that they’re looking right at you.
Actually, it feels like everyone is looking at you.
No, worse. It feels like everyone can see through you. Like they know exactly what you’ve been up to. What you did when no one was around.
But that’s ridiculous. How could anyone know?
Suddenly hyper-aware of yourself, you glance back down at your phone.
you: i feel like everyone is staring at me today
shoko 💗: maybe because you look sexier than usual?
you: one can only hope
You crash into someone, limbs flailing, only to be steadied by a gentle grip.
“Watch where you’re going, iPad kid,” Satoru teases, a wide smile on his face.
You pocket your phone, huffing out a laugh despite yourself. “I was watching where I was going. You just came out of nowhere.”
“Uh-huh, totally,” he says.
Without thinking, you glance over your shoulder toward the group that had been watching you earlier, the itch still unscratched.
Always observant, Satoru tilts his head. “Hey. What’s up?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” you answer instinctively.
“Talk to me,” he says, nudging your arm softly, still trying to keep things light.
Then your eyes meet his—his blue irises practically begging you to open up.
“It’s just…” Your voice trails off, growing quieter. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you? About…”
Satoru leans back slightly, like the question physically hit him.
“Uh— no,” he says. “No, I didn’t. Promise.”
You catch the shift in his expression—the way it falters, like something just closed off.
Your eyes squeeze shut. Shit. “No, it’s not that I regret it or anything, it’s just that—”
“It’s okay,” he cuts in, rubbing the back of his neck. “Really. It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.” His eyes meet yours again. “I didn’t tell anyone. Don’t worry.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes quickly. “Good. I’m glad we got that figured out.”
“Me too,” you say, though you don’t sound convinced anymore. “Did— did I say something?”
Satoru shakes his head, that boyish smile slipping back into place. “Nah. You’re good.”
You glance around again. “…Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats. “Are you going to the party this weekend? Choso’s frat is throwing.”
You nod. “Yeah, I’ll be there. I assume I’ll see you there too?”
“Yup,” he says with a nod. “Well, I’ve gotta get to class. I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yeah,” you say, turning to watch him walk away down the hallway.
Well… that conversation went well.
Right?
☆
After a few days of Satoru avoiding you like the plague, you’re starting to think your conversation didn’t go so well.
He’s only sent you one Instagram reel over the last three days—and it was about tips and tricks for studying anatomy. Was he doing this on purpose? The last time you studied for anatomy, it ended with you in bed with him.
For what feels like the tenth time this hour, you check your messages.
Satoru :D: Good morning
Satoru :D: Sleep well?
you: good morning
you: yes i did, did you?
And there’s been no response since.
You wonder if you should message him again.
Maybe his phone got swept up in a tornado. (It’s 75°F and sunny outside.)
Maybe he’s currently being attacked by alligators and desperately needs you as a lifeline. (Though you know he wouldn’t even accept your help—he’d be convinced he could take an alligator in a fight.)
Maybe he just hasn’t seen your text. (You saw him repost a TikTok about boba milk tea an hour ago.)
You tap on the text bar, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.
“There’s no way you’re about to double text a man.”
You jump, quickly locking your phone. “Utahime, I was not. I was just checking our messages.”
Utahime hums, clearly unconvinced, scrolling on her own phone. “You keep telling yourself that, girl.”
Rolling onto your back, you stare at the ceiling, hands folded over your chest.
“Are you seriously sulking right now?”
“I’m not sulking!”
(You were definitely sulking.)
Utahime sighs, nudging your side. “Did you read this week’s blind items?”
You shake your head. “No.”
She tilts her head down at you. “Well, I’m pretty sure one is about you.”
“WHAT?!”
You’ve never sat up this fast in your life—lightheaded and dizzy as you reach for Utahime’s phone.
There is going to be an engagement post-graduation between a male and female from two of the most well-known families on campus.
A male who lives on floor three in the Newbrooke dormitory has still been shitting in the showers. (P.S. Can you please stop already?)
A notorious rich student was spotted talking to a girl who comes from a family that begins with the last letter of the alphabet. Are sparks flying?
A male has been making piss-poor SoundCloud music at 4 AM for the past week. (Please stop. You are better off sticking to your career path in accounting.)
A pit forms in your stomach.
Had Sukuna told someone about your situation? You want to say no—but once he’s had enough to drink, anything is possible.
But the one that concerns you more is the third item.
Could Satoru have already moved on? To a girl from the Zenin family?
Utahime presses her thumb between your eyebrows, smoothing out the crease. “Hey. What happened to taking these with a grain of salt? They’re probably not real. Aside from the shower shitter—that one seems pretty legit.”
You let out a weak laugh. “Yeah… you’re probably right.”
Even still, the pit in your stomach doesn’t go away.
☆
Music thrums against the walls, people packed in like sardines, moving with no particular rhyme or rhythm. Smoke fills the air, a thick fog that has no chance of dissipating.
Sukuna’s arm is snug around your shoulder, something that you would have never thought twice about before. Now, though, you notice it like a thorn in your side.
You try to scan the room, in search of your friends who you knew would be here tonight. Only, a hand on your face draws your attention elsewhere, and Sukuna is kissing your cheek in farewell before you can even realize he’s leaving you to fend for yourself.
“Later, girl,” he says, so casually, as if he had the right.
Fucking typical.
You huff and wave your arm through the air, coughing quietly. Once the smoke cleared just enough, your gaze locked in on something in the distance.
Satoru. Standing beside a girl from the Zenin family.
But even as he stands beside her, his glowing eyes are already on you.
Suddenly, it hurts to breathe. The walls are caving in on you. The music fades into a silence that becomes even more overbearing than the bass.
Anger rises in your throat. Anger you have no right to feel.
After all, Satoru wasn’t yours. You weren’t his. He can do what he wants, as can you. How could you forget that? And why did you want to?
If you were a braver person, one who could be honest with herself, you would walk across this room. You’d tell him how you feel. You would say it now, out loud and to his face. At least then, he’d know how you felt.
The problem, though, was that you weren’t any of these things. You were terrified and hesitant—so all you could do was this. Look at him and hope he can put the puzzle pieces together on his own. You can only hope he likes how it looks once it is completed.
Your feet are moving before you can realize it. A moment later, you find yourself in the bathroom, pressing your back against the door to slam it shut.
You release a sharp breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your hands cover your face as you approach the sink, palms pressing against the countertop.
Then, you catch your reflection in the mirror.
You know better than this.
You know better than to wish for something that you have no right to.
You know better than to want Satoru. You know better than to envision a simple life with him. To want him in a way that is uncalculated and real.
Dropping your head, you close your eyes. Squeeze them shut, and hope that you were anywhere else but here, in this dingy bathroom with a flickering lightbulb above your head.
The door opens and shuts behind you.
You pick your head up, and there he is.
Satoru.
His chest presses to your back, his hands bracketing yours on the counter as he dips his chin into the crook of your neck. “Were you not going to come say hi?”
You roll your eyes despite yourself, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror. “No. Seems like you were a little preoccupied.”
Silence stretched thin between you.
Then his hands find your waist, spinning you around to face him.
“Don’t do that,” he says, voice soft and almost pleading.
You swallow. “Don’t do what?”
“You know what,” he replies, “act like… you don’t care. Like you don’t feel anything for me, just because you’re upset.”
You avoid his gaze. “I’m not upset. It’s not like we’re dating. You can do what you want with…whoever you want.”
Satoru huffs, forehead knocking into yours before he pulls back. “How long are we going to keep doing this, baby?” he asks, hands finally coming to settle on your waist. “I don’t want anyone else. Not like how I want you.”
Finally, you tilt your head up, eyes meeting his.
It almost made you want to cry, realizing how easy things with Satoru were. How he opened himself up to you without fear, because he didn’t want an ounce of doubt to live in your head.
Maybe it was your turn to return the message.
“Me neither,” you finally admit.
His expression softens in relief.
“Good,” he murmurs, brushing your hair away from your face.
Your lips press together. “But why’d the blog say you were with a girl from the Zenin family?”
“The same reason that the stupid blog says you and Sukuna are together,” he says with a shrug. “It’s a rumor. People see you standing next to someone—at a very healthy distance, by the way, a very platonic and normal distance—and run with it.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t go around letting my rumored girlfriends kiss me on the cheek, though.”
You tilt your head, knowing full well that Satoru was capable of knowing that there were no feelings between you and Sukuna. “Careful, you almost sound upset.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders, tilting his head in the same direction you did. “Depends. Is he a good kisser?”
Your fingers are still gripping the edge of the counter. “He is.”
Satoru glances over your face, the corner of his mouth twitching once he notices the slight pout on your lips. “Better than me?”
You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you’re not a liar. “No.”
A small smirk. “Good.”
“Maybe you should get back to your friend,” you retort, shaking your head.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” Satoru coos, hand cupping your cheek, thumbing over your bottom lip.
You splutter. “What? I’m not.”
“No?”
“No.”
Satoru’s hand starts to pull away. Panic sparks in you, and your hand shoots up, wrapping around his wrist to keep his palm against your face. He smiles softly, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
“...Only a little,” you finally admit.
Satoru’s fingers thread into your hair, guiding your forehead to his lips. “That’s okay. I was jealous too.”
“Jealous? You?”
“Jealous. Me.”
You clear your throat, and for the first time in your life, you decide to prod for further reassurance.
“Do you like her?” you ask, voice small.
He seems distracted, his lips on your cheek now in a chaste kiss. “Hm?”
“Do you like her?” you repeat, hands prodding at his chest to make him meet your eyes. “That girl you were talking to.”
Satoru scoffs, like the answer was obvious. “No. I’m a one-lady type of guy.”
That answer shouldn’t make your face feel warm, but it does. He’s turned you into mush, putty in his hands.
His thumb brushes over your hip bone. “Did you let Sukuna kiss you because you like him?”
You shake your head. “Maybe I just like kissing people. It’s fun, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he says, nose brushing yours. “But do me a favor, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you murmur, heart rate doubling in your chest.
“The next time you wanna kiss someone, come to me instead,” he murmurs, hands sliding up your sides. “I’m better at it, anyway. Said it yourself.”
You can’t bite back your smile now, nor do you try to. “Okay.”
“Okay, baby.”
You hoped no one noticed how long you’d both been gone from the party, but when you exited the bathroom together—lip gloss smeared on Satoru’s mouth and your hair messier than before—it likely told the entire story for you.
☆
You wake up wrapped in a Digimon throw blanket.
A small, sleepy groan leaves you as you try to move—to stretch your limbs after a night of sleep.
Only, the heavily weighted blanket on top of you, known as Satoru Gojo, doesn’t make it very easy.
His arms are wrapped so tightly around you that you’d think he was afraid you might slip away in the middle of the night—so he set up precautions beforehand. His cheek is pressed against your bare chest, using your breasts as pillows.
The best pillows on the market, he says.
Blinking blearily, you scan his bedroom. Now, after only two months of dating, it looks like a shrine to you.
A framed photo of you hangs on his wall, another propped up on his bedside table. There’s one on his desk too—taken on the first day of your internship—set beside his computer.
Because, as he says, “seeing you smiling in that pretty little dress motivates me to study, ‘cause I need to pay for your tastes somehow.”
You’re smiling now, glancing down at him, his cheek squished against your skin. Your fingers glide through his hair before smoothing down his back, soothing the faint sting of the scratches you’d left the night before.
A quiet whine leaves him, and he fumbles blindly for your hand, guiding it back to his hair so you’ll keep playing with it.
“Good morning to you, too,” you murmur, scratching lightly at his scalp.
“Morning, baby,” he mumbles, voice rumbling against your skin.
Without opening his eyes, he presses a kiss to the underside of your breast, his mouth already trailing down the column of your stomach.
“What’re you doing?” you ask, smiling.
“Eating breakfast,” he replies simply, mouthing at your hip bone.
Just as he reaches for the hem of your panties, his phone begins to buzz on the bedside table. Undeterred, he tugs them down an inch.
“Ignore it.”
Then his phone buzzes again. And again.
A moment later, yours buzzes too.
Slightly concerned now, you reach for it, unlocking the screen to a message from Shoko.
shoko 💗: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP
shoko 💗: [article link]
You tap the link, your eyes widening as you read the headline.
“What?” he asks, already pouting slightly at the interruption. “What is it?”
Wordlessly, you turn the phone toward him.
Satoru Gojo and Y/N L/N were spotted on the Gojo family’s personal yacht, indulging in promiscuous activities.
And to make matters worse, front and center is a picture of you sitting in his lap—his hand squeezing a handful of your ass like he’s afraid it might run away from him.
You press your palm to your forehead. “I told you we shouldn’t have taken the yacht out that day.”
Satoru hums, clearly distracted. “How do I save this picture? You look really sexy in this.”
“Satoru, focus!” you say, lightly swatting his shoulder. “What should we do?”
He shrugs, fingers resuming their slow work of tugging your underwear down your legs. “Right now, I’m thinkin’ I’ll finish my breakfast. We’ll figure the other stuff out later.”
You think you should protest—but the moment his mouth finds you, every argument dies on your tongue.
Because you know that he’ll make good on his promise. This will be figured out, one way or another.
And as long as you have Satoru by your side, you think you’ll be just fine.
Rumor has it you brought him home the next weekend to meet your parents.
Rumor also has it that from that moment on, the arranged engagement with Sukuna was off.
a/n: heyyyy yallll!!! how are you?
me?? posting 2 fics in one month?? #imonaroll #unstoppable
no, but seriously, if you read this all the way through thank you so much!! it’s the longest fic i’ve ever written so it’s a lil experimental for me. this is also my first time writing for gojo in about two years and it’s my second time writing him ever sooo i’m still figuring out how i want to characterize him lol
anyway i hope you enjoyed, as always please let me know your thoughts <3
overview: as the head of the sales department at your company, you can’t help but feel like you should be getting some kind of reward for contributing to revenue doubling since your arrival. a promotion, a raise, even a day off would be better than what you got instead. a week long business trip with a man you have to refrain from strangling every time you’re in the same room. and just as you’re beginning to take being stuck with nanami kento for that long in stride, the receptionist at the hotel tells you there’s only one room left. just fucking great.
cw: mdni, nanami x reader, sales exec/marketing exec, hr nightmare, rivals to lovers, forced proximity, crackish, fluff if you take your glasses off, foot massage, smut, power struggle, fingering, p slapping, edging/denial, unprotected sex, 5.5k words
art by @/thatsallitchief
Kento isn’t nearly as stoic as he makes himself out to be.
He sits in a chair that looks far too small for him. His body a bulky mass of tense energy as he glances at everyone moving about the break room, jaw clenched so tightly you’re surprised he hasn’t chipped a tooth yet. His reaction to the party thrown for your department’s performance would be childish if it weren’t so delightfully amusing.
So much so, your heels carry you over to him, and you sit in the chair beside him.
Dressed in one of his eccentric suits, he almost looks handsome, with his rimless glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose and blonde wisps of hair, usually styled back, coming loose to fall over hollow hazel eyes.
Yes, hollow. Like a shallow grave.
“Nanami.”
Your surname comes as a reluctant greeting, and you have to fight back a smile. You probably don’t do a very good job, because he gives you a blistering glare.
“That was a cute speech,” his dark eyes narrow on you for a moment longer before he looks away. “Apart from your dig at my team, that is. It was a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” Your lips part, but he barrels on. “We all work for the same company after all. There’s no need to make everything about winning.”
In your impromptu thank you speech, you expressed mild surprise at how well sales were doing, even though the company's marketing numbers were falling behind, dipping into dangerously low territory. You suggested that departments could collaborate and learn from each other, but it was clear which one you believed needed more attention.
“Of course,” you say, placing your hand on his arm. You see his eyes flick down to it, then back up again. “I apologise if it came across that way. It wasn’t my intention at all.”
He lifts an ashy brow, looking unimpressed, but he expected a snarky reply or barking laughter. The apology seems to catch him off guard.
“Uh-huh,” he responds, a hint of doubt in his voice.
Then, the remorse in your eyes hardens into something a lot more brittle, and it makes his hackles rise. Still touching his arm, you feign sympathy.
“I mean, you need real competition to win something, so pitting my team against yours just wouldn’t be fair.”
Nanami’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and when he opens his mouth, you take it as your cue to stand.
“I have to go, but please have some more cake? Who knows how long we’ll have to wait until we have something like this for marketing?”
A whispered curse follows you as you leave the room and you nearly cackle out loud. You weren’t usually that snippy, but the blonde-haired man always brought out the worst in you.
You had only joined Kaito Corp—the global conglomerate dealing with all things retail, from food, clothing, and cosmetics—two years ago.
The extensive healthcare benefits, paired with the pay, had you barely skipping a beat when you handed in your resignation at your previous job. And it didn’t hurt that everyone was so welcoming when you arrived either—well, everyone except the six-foot shadow that was propped in the dark corner of the room, watching you with something bordering on indifference.
It took Nanami all of five seconds to decide he didn’t like you. His curt responses to you, contrasted with his quiet, gentlemanly politeness towards everyone else, and it made you dislike him too. So, for the last 24 months, the two of you snarled and clawed at each other like a pair of housecats. Passive aggression hung like a thick halo of smog whenever you interacted, and seeing how uncomfortable it made the rest of the office, you tried to steer clear of him.
But of course, it never worked.
It’s hard to believe there isn’t some higher—or lower—power out to get you. One who forces the two of you together like a pair of helpless magnets and watches the heated exchanges with rapt attention for their own enjoyment. And as you step into your office and get back to work, the email that pops up after a few minutes has you convinced that the sadist fuck of a deity is having a good laugh.
Good day,
I hope this email finds you well.
I have noticed that one of our London branches requires some attention. Fortunately, there is a networking conference scheduled for next week, and I would like to extend an invitation for you to attend.
The conference will expose you to more companies that may be interested in partnering up with us and equip you with the necessary areas of interest for improvement in localisation.
I apologise for writing to you on such short notice, but I am afraid your attendance is mandatory. Kindly adjust your availability as flights are scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.
Please find more details on accommodation and travel with my assistant, Miss C Hani. I look forward to your cooperation.
Best,
Jun Kaito.
The founder of the company emailing you directly is one thing, but the only other recipient that’s addressed is what makes the blood in your veins run cold:
Why was he copied? Surely you weren’t expected to attend the conference with him, right?
Wrong.
If you thought you disliked him before, the man was properly situated in hate territory now.
On your way to the airport, there was a car accident that made you late for your flight, and he tore you a new one for the entire hour he sat prettily at departures, stressing you out further. You were forced to board a later flight, and that was the only moment of respite you got from his constant grumbling, but being stuck in the rental car together fires him up all over again.
“You know we probably lost our reservation at the hotel, right?”
“Would you give it a rest?” Your voice is a lot higher than it should be, and you don’t like that it makes him go quiet. As if he wanted a reaction out of you, and he finally got one. “I couldn’t exactly flip the totalled cars over to get through.”
The soft jazz filtering through the radio is at odds with the tension buzzing around the rest of the car, so potent it makes the windows rattle a little.
“You could have left earlier.”
“I left my house two hours early!”
“Everyone knows you're supposed to arrive at the airport two hours early.”
Your fall quiet at that and at his sidelong look, you bristle. “That’s not a thing.”
“Definitely a thing.” He quips coolly, right in the middle of your sentence.
“If it bothered you so much then why didn’t you go ahead without me?”
The question falls on deaf ears as Nanami pretends he didn’t hear you, and today, you hate that you work together a little more than others. As a myriad of profanities would have slipped out a while ago if you weren’t convinced he’d report you to HR faster than you could blink.
You drive in silence to the hotel. The trip lasts only 20 minutes, but it feels like hours as you seethe in the passenger seat.
Upon arrival, he gives the valet the car keys, grabs his bag from the trunk, and heads to reception.
You scoff, and the valet comes to open your door, a younger man wearing a beanie and an all too wide smile when you thank him. Perspiration beads over your hairline from the effort it takes to heave your suitcase out of the trunk.
You definitely overpacked.
You’re half rolling, half lobbing the bag through the lobby, when you see Nanami’s back as he stands near the front desk, so you head over.
The receptionist behind it is an older woman with salt and pepper hair pulled back in a tight bun and round glasses that frame the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.
“Hello.” It doesn’t feel right to have an elder to call you ma’am as she greets you back, but you smile, nonetheless.
The woman, Marianne her name tag says, darts her eyes between you and the waste of energy at your side and from your peripheral, you see him tip his head heavenward and pinch the bridge of his nose. “Hotel’s fully booked for the rest of the week.”
Your eyes widen, and you look back at Marianne for confirmation. Sadly, it seems like he’s telling the truth.
“I’m afraid so, ma’am. It’s wedding season, so it’s a little packed.”
You pinch your eyes shut, and a furrow forms between your brows when Nanami’s annoying baritone tries to rub salt into the wound.
“If we got here on time—”
“Well, we didn’t.”
A throat clears, and you didn’t even realise the two of you were glowering at each other until you both turned back to the older woman. She types away on her laptop, then a megawatt smile pulls at her lips, beautifully aged wrinkles rippling.
“Ah, the presidential suite should be available in an hour or so. If you and your husband don’t mind waiting—”
“I’m not her husband.”
“Ugh.”
Nanami pauses, head slowly swivelling toward you. While his reply was monotonous, you sound damn near disgusted at the prospect, and your face pulls like you just swallowed a lemon whole.
Just as well. He thinks. He can’t stand being your coworker, so husband is out of the question.
Marianne blanches as she realises her mistake, “Oh, my apologies. Just the way you argue, I would have thought—” she shakes her head. “Never mind that. Will the suite work?”
“Please tell me there isn’t only one bed.”
“You wish.” Nanami can’t help but whisper under his breath. He isn’t your biggest fan either, but did you have to sound that repulsed?
You yank your suitcase to your side, and its wheel rolls over his foot. No doubt crushing his toe under the heavy weight, if the pain-filled grunt that follows is anything to go by. It’s by far the best sound you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.
“No, there are two rooms,” Marianne continues, far too wisened to pay attention to your childish antics longer than necessary. “But they’re adjoining.”
“The doors have locks, right?”
“You’re hilarious,” Nanami supplies dryly and fishes the business credit card out his pocket. “We’ll take it.”
The speedpoint chimes as he pays, and you can’t help but sigh. This was going to be one hell of a week.
And hell, it was.
Between the tedious meetings and constant networking, you’d be weary and practically dragging your feet when you make it back to the hotel room.
On the third day, you fell onto the couch with a groan that would have made people think you were being murdered if they weren’t looking. So tired that you didn’t even blink when Nanami slumped down beside you, and for the first time in the years you’ve known him, also seeming put out as he threw an arm over his face to shield his eyes.
You sit so close that your knees touch, but your body is too heavy to kick him away or snap at him to keep his distance, so you let your eyes fall shut.
It pains you to remember that the two of you fell asleep on the couch that night.
Together.
Somehow going from sitting side by side to him being sprawled along the length of it, and you using him as a makeshift mattress as you lie atop him. A thick arm was loosely looped around your waist when you woke up, and even though it was the best sleep you’ve ever gotten, the embarrassment of it all didn’t stop you from sliding out of his hold as if you were lathered in gallons of butter.
You’re 90% sure he was awake as you all but army crawled to your room, but neither of you brought it up in the following days. You thought that would be the end of it, but you only started tiptoeing around each other more as a new kind of tension settled between you. Not replacing what used to be there entirely, but just making it more charged.
You’d never admit it, but you died a little every time Nanami came out of the shower with the thin white towel wrapped around his hips and trickles of water dripping down plains of muscle his suits never showed. Your ogling lasts until you go to shower right after, only to curse him for finishing all the hot water.
He’s the most inconsiderate person you've ever known, and no amount of sex appeal could change that.
You wonder why he doesn’t change in the bathroom as you did. It's as if he relishes those twenty seconds of strutting from one room to the next like something out of a fitness magazine. When you tell him as much and accuse him of being unprofessional, he merely raises an eyebrow
“You don't hear me complaining about the short nightgowns you insist on wearing.”
What?
“There’s no way you’re trying to compare my pyjamas to you walking around half-naked.”
You scoff with your arms crossing over your chest, and it’s like the action draws his attention there. Clad in one of those gowns as you speak, Nanami leans down until he’s so close the scent of his body wash and shampoo wraps you in an intoxicating whirlwind.
“I caught a flash of your panties when you bent over earlier. I’d say it’s just as bad if not worse.”
You gasp, hand meeting his face, but it’s not a slap, not really. Your palm just smashes over its entirety, and you hear his sharp inhale before you push his head away with all your might (he barely moves).
“You’re a fucking pervert!”
With your cheeks burning, you don’t even give him time to reply, and you could be wrong, but instead of being angry like you intended, you almost think you hear a soft chuckle.
You’d kill him by the end of the trip. You were sure of it.
The next day at the conference, all you can focus on is how incredibly slow the week is going, and thinking it shows on your face, you force a smile when a group of execs walk over.
Judging by the gold bands on their ring fingers, all of them are married, but they definitely don’t act like it. Lecherous eyes look you over as if sizing up prey, and you shuffle from one foot to the other. One of the men keeps your hand in his a little too long after a handshake, and his dry lips pull into a sleazy grin, skin cracking a little from the effort, so he darts his tongue out.
Your many years of experience are the only reason you don’t outwardly grimace when he says your name in a coaxing purr.
“You’re absolutely ravishing. It's no wonder you were chosen to join us this week.”
Right, because it had to be beauty and not all the hard work you put in that could land you in a room like this.
“Thank you?” Your eyes widen when he raises your hand to his lips as if he were about to kiss the back of it, until warmth feathers over the curve of your back, and you feel Nanami long before you hear him.
“Mr Samson.” The man comes up short when his name is called, and the sight of his shiny bald head and the wispy pieces of hair he laid in a forced comb-over disappears as he straightens. You take the opportunity to pull your hand out of his, and his eyes look over your head, then up, up, until he meets those of your blonde tormentor standing behind you.
“Mr Nanami.” Samson greets with that overly friendly expression on his face, nowhere in sight.
“Gentlemen.” A hand lands on the small of your back, and he steps to your side, nodding at the rest of the pack. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal her away for a moment?”
He phrases that as a question, but doesn’t really give them time to answer when he steers you away from them. You can’t help but feel a rush of relief when he walks you to the door, and while it takes everything in you to swallow your pride, you whisper your thanks under your breath.
It may have been too soft for him to hear because he doesn’t even spare you a glance as he closes the car door behind you.
Once again, the drive back to the hotel was quiet, and unlike the awkwardly stiff silence that filled the car every other day, this time it wasn’t that bad.
You know you shouldn’t be this happy to have left early, and some people may mistake that for arrogance on the company’s part, but it is nice to have an early night for once.
You’d do damage control tomorrow.
It would be the last day of mingling before the two of you went back home, and you won’t need to engage with him more than you were already forced to. You think it’s a good thing, but your spurring belly doesn’t seem to agree with you.
When the car stops at the hotel’s entrance, you step out, and you only make it one step before you hear a loud “thwack!”. Your ankle rolls a little, and you stumble forward.
Looking down at your heel, you nearly weep at the sight of the broken stem, dangling precariously even when you lift your foot. You'd never feel comfortable telling anyone how much you spent on them, and now they were broken. Why do these things always happen to you?
“What’s wrong?” Kento asks as he comes to your side of the car. He follows your gaze as you look at your stiletto, and you place a hand against the hood, bending to take it off. “You can't walk around barefoot. You don't know what's on these floors.”
He says almost accusingly. As if you broke your shoe on purpose.
“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
You snipe at him and before your foot can touch the ground, a squeal pipes out when you’re lifted up.
A strong arm circles your back, and the other hooks around the underside of your knees. It happens so quickly, you almost feel like you’ve been sent flying. Trapped in a princess carry within a matter of seconds as has you spluttering in shock. “Have you lost your mind?!”
An arm momentarily leaves you, and you wind yours around his neck so you don’t fall on your ass. There’s a jingle as he hands the car keys over to the valet, and realising that someone else witnessed you being dragged like a sack of potatoes makes you squirm in his hold.
“Put me down.” You force through gritted teeth, and he walks into the lobby.
“In a minute.” He murmurs, not fazed in the slightest as his leather shoes clack over mosaic tiles.
“Now!”
“No.”
The sheer audacity of this man was almost impressive sometimes.
You find a little comfort in the fact that it’s so late no one other than the staff is in the lobby. But you catch sight of Marianne’s silvery hair and her simper as she watches the two of you. Her smile, paired with the feeling of Nanami’s hulking chest heating the side of your body, is enough to make you grip his shoulders, nails digging in warning.
“You’re making a scene.”
“You’re the one yelling.”
Because he was making a scene!
“I swear to god, Kento, if you don’t let me down right now I’m gonna bite you.”
And the idiot has the nerve to smirk in response to the threat. For someone who didn’t want you walking around barefoot, he didn’t seem to care that a human bite could pack so much bacteria the infection would take him out in days.
“Don’t smile at that. What is wrong with you?”
“I’m just surprised we’re on a first-name basis now.”
Your arms tighten around him again when his grip snags to press the elevator’s button. The doors open immediately, and he secures you against him once more and steps inside.
The elevator goes up a level, and your eyes impatiently flicker over his face when he still doesn’t let you down. You take in the sharp slope of his nose and his usually frowning mouth that has an imperceptible smile on it now. His glasses glint under the harsh lighting in the lift, the golden glare trying and failing to match his glossy hair.
“You’re staring.”
You stiffen in his arms, when brown eyes track over to you, you look away.
“As if.”
His chest rumbles against you as he laughs, and you hate yourself for melting a little at the sound.
The elevator dings open, and you give up on wiggling free when he swipes the key card at the door and steps inside the suite. The door is kicked closed behind him and he ambles to the couch. Your arms slide off Nanami’s shoulders when he sets you down with surprising gentleness, and just as you start to gather your bearings, he kneels in front of you.
“What are you doing?” You’re tempted to kick him.
But the man only takes hold of your leg with one hand and slips your shoe off with the other.
“You’re hurt.”
You look down at your foot. You numbed yourself to the ache in your feet around the fourth hour of being in heels, so the little pinch of pain that followed when one of the shoes broke didn’t even register.
Redness blooms near your ankle, so light that you need to squint to see it.
“I’m fine,” you bare your teeth against the brush of his thumb over your instep. Nanami stands up, and a forceful exhalation passes through your lips.
Finally.
He takes a seat next to you.
Nope, spoke too soon.
“Let me see.”
“Huh?” Your head rears, and not wanting to repeat himself, he leans down, and a yodel sounds from you when he snatches your foot into the air.
Your hand pushes your pencil skirt further between your thighs when your legs open a little too wide for comfort, and not having a choice, you rotate your body and lean against the arm of the couch.
“What the fuck is your problem?” A thumb presses the bruise on your foot. “Ow!”
“Shush.” The other stiletto is taken off too, and he adjusts your feet so they’re on his lap. “Tomorrow’s the last day of the conference, I can’t have you sabotage it by hobbling all over the place.”
And there it was. He wasn’t doing this to be nice. He was just worried about how you would look next to him. Vanity, you could handle. Your lips gape to tell him off, but his fingers work into a soft curve that has you faltering.
“Just sit still for a moment.”
That shouldn’t be much of a problem, seeing you’re frozen in place.
Calloused hands feel feather-light as they knead and stroke over your irritated skin. Languid but completely focused as he massages you so skilfully, the numbness fades in seconds. His knuckle skims along your sole, and your foot wiggles, a small giggle bubbling from the unintended tickle. Kento’s eyes lift to yours, a glint of amusement in them as he tickles you again, and your laughter turns into an annoyed grunt.
“Stop that.”
He listens. Partly. Because while he does let go of your foot, his fingers go up to trace over your ankle, and you’re still restless. The little quiver that rocks through you doesn’t go unnoticed.
Hazelnut eyes harden behind square glasses as he takes stock of you from head to toe, and when they find yours again, their shell cracks open to reveal a buttery chocolate centre that almost has you licking your lips.
Nanami’s hand pauses over your skin, and your disappointment must be written all over your face because he tilts his head at you.
“You still want me to stop?”
You don’t. He knows that, but he still doesn’t move. And he won’t until you say it.
“No.” You whisper under your breath, and you get a cocked eyebrow, wordlessly urging you to continue.
“No, what?”
Ugh, why was he being so difficult? He knew exactly what you meant.
Every morsel of arousal you feel gets gobbled up by an unknown force, and you pull your legs away from him.
Fuck this. You’d sooner somersault off the rooftop than beg a man.
“Forget it.”
You stand up and only get half a step in before you’re yanked into his lap. He takes his glasses off, and the wavering breath you take is stolen when he slants his lips over yours. The kiss is demanding, almost punishing, that you weren’t bold enough to voice what you wanted.
He’ll have to remedy that.
“Don’t stop.”
Nanami grins up at you. The man was nothing if not tenacious.
“Oh my god,” you hiccup, legs on either side of his hips as you straddle him on the couch. Your skirt is bunched up to your hips, panties pulled over to the side as lithe fingers thrust in and out of you.
Nanami leans forward and presses a kiss to your chin, a gentle peck that’s nothing like the mean plunge of his fingers into your cunt that has you fluttering pathetically around them. You were getting close again. The third time in a row as he brought you to the brink, and instead of letting you free-fall into unimaginable pleasure, he does something worse. He wrenches you back with all his might.
“Don’t.” You warn when you feel his fingers slow.
“You know the words I want to hear, sweetheart.” He says the petname like it’s an insult and damn you for squeezing around veiny digits harder. “Tell me you like it.”
Your eyes roll back when he hooks his fingers and pushes deeper.
“Tell me you like my fingers stretching you open for me.”
Your head shakes, and you aren’t even shocked when his fingers slide out of you. But the stinging pain of his palm smacking over your twitching clit? That knocks the air out of you and forces it out in nothing more than a soundless gasp.
“Fuck you,” you simmer once you’ve caught your breath, chest heaving painfully.
He only laughs in that rich whiskey quality that implores you to overindulge and drink him whole.
“Keep being a brat, and you won’t get to.”
The heel of his hand covers your clit, nastily rubbing down and smearing glittering sticky wetness everywhere.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Teeth nip at your lips, just shy from drawing blood before he stops himself.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
You’re shaking when he wraps an arm around you, vision flashing to white when he hikes you against him, drawing you to grind over his belt buckle as he carries you to the room. The soft bed resembles a fluffy cloud when he sets you on it and your body wars between feathery weightlessness and sluggishness as you sink into it. A pleasurable buzz looms over you when you draw yourself up to your elbows and find him taking his clothes off. His eyes zero in on the centre of your thighs, and he loosens his tie.
There’s a little tremor in the action, hands momentarily faltering when you pull yourself to sit on your knees and help him. You feel the heat of his stare, then he’s undressing you too and there’s a quiet rasp of fabric ripping as his hands grow hurried. Then with a blink of the eye, all clothes are discarded in a messy bundle on the floor, and you’re both bare.
Nanami tries to lay you back onto the mattress, but unfortunately for him, you hold grudges like a drowning person to a lifeline. You would let yourself sink under the surface, and even as water garbled in your lungs and weighed you down a fraction of what it did to him, you refused to let him leave unscathed.
So when you twist your bodies and his back hits the mattress first, the wide-eyed look he gives you makes delighted goosebumps prick over your skin. You crawl up his body to straddle him, and his hands find your waist when you roll your slit along his cock.
Nanami’s hips twitch up, only to groan when you lift yourself out of reach, withholding the friction he so desperately needs. He blinks up at you, eyes bleary and wild as the cogs turn in his head. Then the gears click into place.
“Ah, this is payback, is it?” His laugh has you grinding harder over his girth, and it turns into a hiss.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your reply, with your voice sickeningly sweet and hunger, makes his eyes glaze over.
You finally allow yourself to look down at his cock, taking in the reddened flush of the length and the creamy drops of precum welling at his tip. As if drawn in by an irresistible force, you circle a hand around it, and the touch elicits something between a moan and a gasp from him.
The sound is so soft, so ruined, it doesn’t even sound like him anymore.
Your hand bops up and down over the heavy girth, and only after drawing out a moan do you line him up with your hole. But you don’t slide him inside just yet.
All the muscles in Nanami’s body bulge, then ripple as he struggles to stay still under you, and you casually glide the mushroom tip up and down your slit.
“Feel good?”
Only a noncommittal hum escapes, and he folds his lip between his teeth, captivated as he watches you slide the crown of his head between puffy folds then pull it out again.
Holy fuck.
“Say it.”
Sandy brows furrow. He’s just as stubborn as you were, if not more. That’s why the two of you clashed like two bulls in an all too small enclosure. But with how sadistic you were at times, he fears you may actually leave him like this. Nanami stammers, and when you let an inch of his cock glide into you, he blurts the words out in a barely coherent blabber.
“Feels good, baby. Too good. You know it does—” and that’s all you needed.
You bear down on him, and his words break off. Twin moans fill the lavish room as you sink further, and his cock bullies itself into you like it’s trying to make more room. Slippery walls flutter around it when you take him to the hilt, clit rolling into the fine dusting of hair at his base. Your head tips back when he meets you halfway with a shaky thrust of his hips upwards.
The denied orgasms have you a little delirious as you bounce on him like your life depends on it, pausing when he nudges a spot that has you seeing white, only to slam down harder.
The last spindles of Nanami’s patience unravel like a thread's frayed edge, and his hands seal around you, crushing you to his chest as his hips snap up to meet your thighs in loud slaps.
“Ken,” His name is a fervent curse on your lips. A beseeching prayer that echoes through the room and seeks atonement as his balls draw up.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
It’s like his words bodily thrust you over first and leave you crying out with your release. Nanami buries his face in your hair when your cunt pulses hard around him, greedily trying to milk him of every drop he has. And you know you’ve won when heat spurs low in your belly as he empties himself into you with praises whispered into the soft tresses of your hair.
You fall limp on top of him, and he holds you until both your bodies stop shaking.
You pull back first, stomach churning, and while you’re not sure what emotions you were expecting to see on his face, the dopey-eyed look as he sports certainly isn’t one of them.
A warm hand settles over your cheek as his eyes search yours.
“You good?”
Heart thumping hard in your chest, you only manage to give him a small nod. So, he cards a hand into your hair and settles you back against his broad chest. Eyes fluttering as they welcome the sort of deep sleep that only seems to blanket you when you’re with him.
And soon enough, the lascivious haze of sex dissipates to leave a sliver of anxiety in its place.
The two of you were an HR nightmare just waiting to happen. And the manager of that department, being the hell-bent bloodhound he was, would sniff out the scent of sex and deceit on your skin in a matter of seconds when you returned.
You’ll definitely have to steer clear of him until you improve your poker face by a couple thousand notches.
But the office building was relatively big, so surely, Hiromi couldn’t be that difficult to avoid.
a/n: now that’s done let me get back to studying so i can bag this second degree (i say bouncing off the walls and pulling my hair out in panic) let me know if you saw errors.
adult fire lord zuko x fire lady firebender reader | mdni.
summary: in which the gaang orchestrates a fake diplomatic summit to force the fire lord and fire lady into taking a break.
content: adult!fire lord zuko x fire lady!firebender reader, established marriage, featuring the gaang (+ suki obvi), humour, element bending (sokka back bends duh), emotional intimacy, light angst, suggestive content, post-war, fluff.
note: no smut this installment! just exhausted married idiots and the gaang deciding enough is enough. pls ignore any accidental lore inconsistencies, i had to fill some restoration era/island worldbuilding gaps with my own interpretations hehe. finally proofread. welcome to whaletail island. ♡
𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The royal ship cut steadily through the waters surrounding Whaletail Island, its crimson sails shifting beneath the midday wind while sunlight scattered gold across the waves below. Ahead, the island rose gradually from the sea through layers of pale mist and dark cliffs wrapped in cedar forests and hanging bridges barely visible between drifting steam rising from somewhere higher in the mountains.
The closer the ship drew, the quieter the sea seemed to become.
Above deck, Appa rested across the reinforced platform built specially into the center of the vessel, one enormous paw twitching lazily in his sleep while Momo curled comfortably between his horns with complete confidence that no one would dare disturb him there. Nearby, the rest of the Gaang had long since abandoned any attempt at productivity.
Unfortunately, the Fire Lord and Fire Lady had not.
“They’ve been in there for hours,” Sokka complained from where he leaned dramatically against the railing near the stern of the ship, gesturing toward the private cabin below deck with a piece of candied ginger he’d stolen from the kitchens earlier. “I’m serious. At this point I miss when they used to lock themselves away for more… entertaining reasons.”
Toph tilted her head toward him. “You’re such a creep.”
“I’m not a creep,” Sokka defended. “I’m nostalgic for when they acted like newlyweds instead of exhausted diplomats.”
“That’s not helping your case,” Katara muttered, though the amusement tugging at her voice betrayed her.
Nearby, Aang rested against Appa’s side. “I get what he means, though,” he admitted. “They used to relax more. Now every time we see them they’re discussing trade routes or council meetings, which is fair, but seems tiring.”
“Mm,” Toph hummed knowingly. “And their heartbeats are awful lately.”
Katara’s expression softened as she glanced toward the closed cabin door, where muffled voices could still occasionally be heard beneath the creaking of the ship. “I think they’ve both forgotten how to stop.”
Nobody joked after that.
“Do you think they’ll get mad when they find out?” Toph asked.
“She won’t,” Katara replied confidently.
“Zuko, on the other hand…” Aang muttered.
“Good thing we’ll have his wife on our side,” Sokka said brightly.
“And if we don’t?” Aang asked.
Sokka pointed toward Appa without hesitation. “Then you grab Appa and we leave before the entire Restoration work burns down.” He straightened abruptly. “Alright. I’m going to get them.”
Before anyone could stop him, Sokka shoved himself away from the railing and disappeared down the staircase toward the lower deck.
Inside the royal cabin, warmth drifted through the polished wooden walls from the ship’s heating vents while sunlight poured through the round windows overlooking the sea. Scrolls covered nearly every available surface, spread across the low table between you and Zuko, stacked beside ink brushes, tucked carelessly beneath official maps that had slowly begun overtaking the room throughout the journey.
Across from you, Zuko let out an annoyed sigh.
“Did you sign the harbor authorization for the eastern fleet?” you asked while skimming another line of the document in your hands.
“Yesterday,” Zuko replied without looking up. “I left it on your desk.”
You hummed before taking a sip of tea, absentmindedly warming the porcelain between your palms with a flicker of firebending. Amber light glowed briefly beneath your fingertips before fading back into the warmth of the cabin.
“And did you bring everything from my desk?”
He set one scroll aside in favor of another. “Of course.”
“I think you didn’t, my lord.” You lifted your gaze toward him over the edge of the paper. “You’re becoming forgetful already...”
One dark brow lifted as he finally leaned back far enough to look at you properly instead of the paperwork surrounding both of you. Light from the cabin windows caught against the gold threading of his robes, while loose strands of dark hair had begun escaping around his face beneath his royal headpiece.
“I definitely did.”
You lowered the document slowly. “Well, I cannot find the council seal or the information packet for this summit.”
His expression narrowed thoughtfully for a second before he gestured vaguely toward the growing stacks of scrolls crowding the cabin table, the nearby shelves, and somehow even part of the floor now.
“Maybe you moved them—” His eyes lifted back toward you. “Did you just call me old?”
“I didn’t,” you answered smoothly, allowing yourself a small smile at last. “Move them, I mean. I did call you old.”
That finally pulled a quiet laugh from him, soft enough you nearly missed it beneath the distant crash of waves against the hull outside.
The cabin door burst open.
“There you are, my favorite busy friends,” Sokka announced dramatically.
Neither of you even flinched. Zuko had already reached for another document before Sokka finished speaking while you continued shifting papers around the table in search of the missing packet.
“You say that like we disappeared,” Zuko replied flatly.
“It feels like you did,” Sokka informed him while crossing the cabin, only to stop short in visible horror at the amount of paperwork surrounding both of you. “It somehow looks worse in here now.”
“Sorry, Sokka,” you said while carefully setting another scroll aside. “We’re a little busy trying to find the information packet for the summit.” Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you even send it?”
Sokka visibly froze.
“Oh. Right,” he said quickly. “I forgot.”
You stared at him flatly.
“You forgot?”
“See? Not me,” Zuko muttered. “I’m perfectly in my youth...”
Your gaze snapped toward him just as the candle beside the cabin window flared unexpectedly brighter. A drifting bonsai leaf brushed too close to the flame and blackened instantly at the edges before curling into ash.
Sokka swallowed.
“It was complicated,” he defended quickly.
You pressed two fingers briefly against your temple before exhaling through your nose. “Don’t worry,” you said with the sort of composure that only existed because you had practiced it for years now. “We’ll manage. Like always.” Your eyes lifted back toward him. “Can you at least tell us more about it?”
Sokka snatched a loose sheet of paper from the crowded table and immediately began scribbling across it at alarming speed.
“I can…” He squinted down at the page. “Rewrite it.”
“By memory?” you asked.
“Duh.” He dipped the brush back into ink without hesitation. “I’m the best, if you haven’t figured that out already.”
Zuko finally looked up again, entirely unimpressed. “I’m still waiting for the day.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, quiet but genuine enough that Zuko’s attention shifted toward you at the sound.
Sokka pointed accusingly between the two of you. “See? This is exactly why you both need this.”
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “Need what?”
“The…” Sokka gestured vaguely toward the ceiling, the cabin, the island waiting beyond the windows. “Important political gathering trip.”
“Nothing excites me more than a royal trip,” you replied with exhausting sincerity while finally leaning back in your chair. The movement pulled tension visibly through your shoulders as you closed your eyes for one brief second before opening them again. “Truly. I can already feel myself relaxing.”
Without looking away from the document in his hand, Zuko leaned over just enough to press a quick kiss against your temple before returning his attention to whatever impossibly important report had captured it.
Across the cabin, Sokka opened his mouth to answer, only for Aang to appear suddenly in the doorway behind him with sunlight and sea wind spilling into the room around him.
“We’re here!” he announced brightly. “You should come see this.”
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹
Whaletail Island rose from the sea in sweeping layers of dark volcanic cliffs softened by dense cedar forests and pale ribbons of steam drifting through the mountainside. Sunlight spilled across hanging bridges suspended between narrow stone paths while clusters of wooden cabins disappeared into drifting fog higher along the cliffs.
The entire place looked impossibly peaceful.
Which immediately made you suspicious.
“You picked a very dramatic location for a summit,” Zuko observed beside you, one hand resting at the small of your back while the ship slowed toward the docks below.
Sokka visibly brightened. “Thank you.”
“Not a compliment.”
Far beneath the ship, harbor workers moved along the docks while pulley lifts carried supplies toward the retreat overlooking the sea. A few Air Acolytes crossed the upper terraces before disappearing between the trees.
“It’s beautiful,” Katara admitted.
“And isolated,” Toph added approvingly. “I like it already.”
You remained near the railing beside Zuko as the ship finally settled against the docks with a deep groan of wood and steel beneath the waves. Your attention shifted toward the harbor below, instinctively searching for diplomatic ships, royal insignias, or waiting representatives.
“Where are the delegates?”
Aang answered first.
“They’ll probably arrive later.”
Zuko’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.
Sokka jumped in right afterward. “Yeah! Diplomats love arriving late. It’s part of being diplomatic.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” you murmured.
Before either you or Zuko could press further, Katara stepped smoothly between all of you.
“Why don’t we at least settle in first?” she suggested. “We’ve been traveling for hours.”
There wasn’t much room to argue after hours at sea. Judging by the tension still drawn through Zuko’s shoulders, he knew it too.
Eventually, after entirely too much unloading, Appa complaining loudly while being guided toward the upper terraces, and Sokka somehow nearly falling directly into the harbor within the first ten minutes of arrival, the group finally reached the retreat itself.
The cabins rested high above the cliffs where sea wind moved constantly through the surrounding cedar trees. Steam drifted across the stone walkways connecting the buildings while shallow volcanic streams ran beneath narrow wooden bridges.
Directly in the center of the retreat stood the largest cabin of all. Painted near the entrance in elegant gold lettering were the words:
THE SHINY BUG.
You stopped walking.
“…why is it called that?”
Sokka looked deeply, profoundly proud of himself already.
“Isn’t it majestic?”
Zuko stared at the sign for a long moment before continuing toward the entrance without changing expression.
“I already want to leave.”
The cabin itself was beautiful.
Warm cedar walls framed an enormous central living space centered around a sunken sitting area layered with cushions and low tables already set with tea, fruit, and enough food to feed Appa twice over. Tall windows overlooked the ocean below while soft amber light flickered across the room.
For one moment, everyone seemed uncertain what to do next.
Your friends had clearly expected relief, or relaxation, maybe even gratitude. Instead, the second you and Zuko sat down, both of you reached automatically for work again out of pure instinct.
You had barely unrolled another scroll when Zuko finally spoke without looking up from his own.
“We should probably review the delegate list again once they arrive.”
“Mm.” You nodded distractedly while reaching for a brush. “And if the Northern representatives are attending, we still need to discuss the harbor proposal before tomorrow.”
Around the room, the rest of the Gaang visibly deflated.
Toph groaned loudly enough for it to echo against the ceiling beams.
“Oh, for rock’s sake. They brought the stress with them.”
Aang had just opened his mouth to respond when a loud crash suddenly sounded somewhere deeper inside the cabin.
Zuko was on his feet before the noise fully settled, fire flashing sharply to life across one hand while sparks danced instinctively at your own fingertips beside him. Across the room, Katara bent water from her cup into a suspended ribbon while Toph planted one bare foot against the floorboards, expression sharpening beneath the vibrations traveling through the cabin. Even Aang straightened, air stirring uneasily around his sleeves. Meanwhile, Sokka grabbed a decorative serving tray like it might somehow function as a weapon.
“Who’s there?” Zuko snapped.
“Come out,” you added, pulse jumping as another loud clatter sounded near the kitchen.
Sokka yelped somewhere behind you. “WHY DOES THE SHINY BUG HAVE INTRUDERS?”
A cabinet door swung shut.
“…you’re all very tense.”
Suki stepped casually out from the kitchen holding a bowl of fruit in one hand and what looked suspiciously like ice cream in the other.
Katara burst into laughter.
Sokka nearly collapsed against the nearest table in relief. “SPIRITS, SUKI.”
“What?” she asked innocently while stealing a piece of fruit from the bowl. “I got hungry.”
Despite everything, warmth spread through your chest at the sight of her. Nearby, Aang grinned while Katara crossed the room to hug her properly, and even Toph looked noticeably less annoyed than usual.
Meanwhile, Sokka looked seconds away from emotionally combusting.
“You brought ice cream?” he asked, staring at the bowl in Suki’s hand like she had descended from the spirits themselves.
Suki smirked faintly before holding out the spoon toward him. “I know what matters in a crisis.”
Sokka accepted the bite with alarming sincerity. “You understand me on a spiritual level.”
Laughing under her breath, Suki caught the front of his tunic and pulled him down just enough to press a quick kiss against his cheek before he could keep talking.
Suki finally noticed both you and Zuko still standing there fully prepared for combat and straightened at once, lowering the bowl slightly before offering a respectful bow.
“My lord. My lady.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” you sighed, crossing the room toward her. “Come here!”
You pulled her into a quick embrace before she could protest while behind you, Zuko extinguished the fire still flickering across his hand.
“What are you doing here?” you asked once you pulled back, suspicion already returning.
Suki blinked once.
“Oh,” she answered casually. “Just joining your rest time!”
You slowly lowered your arms.
“Our what?”
From somewhere behind you, Toph muttered, “Uh oh.”
Sokka moved first.
In his rush forward, he nearly slipped on the edge of one of the cushions, catching himself awkwardly against the low table hard enough to rattle half the teacups while still clutching Suki’s ice cream spoon in one hand.
“No one said rest time,” he said quickly, waving the spoon vaguely through the air while panic spread visibly across his face. “Nobody said that. Weird phrase, honestly. Maybe it’s like… a Kyoshi Warrior expression. Right, Suki?”
Beside him, Suki looked genuinely fascinated by how aggressively he was unraveling.
“Uhhh…”
“Sokka,” you said.
He straightened so fast it almost looked painful, nearly dropping the spoon before hastily hiding it behind his back.
“Yes, your ladyship?” he asked nervously, shoulders pulling tighter the moment you crossed your arms.
“Give us the information sheet.”
For one brief second, Sokka looked like he was seriously reconsidering his earlier evacuation plan involving Appa. Beside him, Suki pressed her lips together hard enough to hide a laugh. With deep resignation, he reached into his satchel and carefully handed over the page he had been “rewriting” aboard the ship earlier.
Zuko took the page first while you leaned closer to read over his shoulder. The room gradually fell silent as both of your eyes moved down the document.
Most of it was complete nonsense.
Half the page read like Sokka had attempted to recreate an official summit proposal entirely from memory after sustaining a head injury. Still, buried between badly phrased diplomatic jargon and several aggressively underlined words, there were just enough believable details about Whaletail Island’s harbor restoration and coastal trade routes to explain how this disaster had managed to fool you for several hours.
Then, halfway down the page, your eyes caught the name of the summit:
Southern
Oceanic
Knowledge
Assembly
You looked very slowly toward Sokka.
“We were supposed to believe we’d been invited to an event whose initials spell… SOKA?” Zuko asked, lifting the page slightly between two fingers like perhaps distance alone would make it less ridiculous.
Toph made one strangled noise before dissolving into laughter.
“You even missed a K, genius,” you said flatly.
Across the room, Katara dragged both hands down her face.
“I mean, it worked until now, you actually believed it—” Sokka started quickly, only to falter the moment your expression hardened further.
He raised both hands in surrender. “I panicked under pressure!”
Beside you, Zuko continued staring at the page in silence. Slowly, the last traces of humor disappeared from his expression. His thumb pressed harder against the edge of the paper until it bent slightly beneath the force while his eyes traced once more across the absurdly written title.
“You made us waste our time and come here?”
“It wasn’t just me!” Sokka defended, pointing wildly around the room. “It was a group effort!”
Zuko stood abruptly.
The movement was sharp enough to send several nearby scrolls sliding across the low table while the untouched tea beside them rippled inside its cup. He dropped the paper beside it with visible restraint, though the sound still landed harder than it should have inside the sudden silence of the cabin.
That kind of restraint was never a good sign. Not with Zuko.
“Zuko—”
Without another word, he turned and strode out.The cabin shook with the force of the slammed door.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹
By the time all of you stepped outside, the ocean wind had turned colder.
Farther below, attendants still moved back and forth from the harbor lifts carrying royal trunks, scroll cases, and ceremonial robes toward the upper cabins completely unaware that the summit they were preparing for did not actually exist.
Zuko had stopped near the edge of the main terrace overlooking the cliffs below, one hand braced against the railing while the sea crashed endlessly beneath him.
“This is ridiculous,” he said the moment the rest of you approached. He turned sharply, whatever restraint he’d been holding onto finally snapping. “Do you have any idea how much we left behind to come here? How many things are waiting for us back home while we stand on this island for a summit that doesn’t even exist? And all of you just stood there laughing.”
“Nobody was laughing at you,” Aang tried carefully.
“You forged diplomatic documents.”
“You barely read them!” Sokka blurted out before visibly regretting it.
Katara closed her eyes. “Sokka.”
“What? It’s true!”
Zuko stared at him in complete disbelief. “That’s supposed to help your argument?”
“No, actually,” Sokka admitted quickly, “that one got away from me.”
You crossed your arms tightly against your chest, irritation still burning hot beneath your skin as the cold mountain breeze lifted strands of hair around your face. “You could’ve just asked us to come.”
“And you would’ve said yes?” Katara asked.
The question caught harder than you expected, your first instinct had been to answer at once.
But somewhere between palace schedules, council meetings, and waking before sunrise beside Zuko only to spend entire days separated by responsibilities before collapsing into bed exhausted long after midnight, you realized you genuinely couldn’t remember the last time either of you had agreed to rest.
The ocean roared faintly beneath the cliffs while familiar faces watched you from across the terrace: Katara watching carefully, Aang trying very hard not to look guilty, Suki lingering near the steps with her arms crossed loosely, and Toph leaning comfortably against one of the wooden posts with the sort of expression that suggested she already knew exactly what everyone in the group was feeling.
“We didn’t do this because we thought it would be funny,” Katara said finally. “We did it because every time we see you lately, you both look exhausted.”
“You barely sleep,” Aang added. “And when you do, you’re still working.”
“You answer council messages during dinner,” Toph said.
“We are very busy,” Zuko said.
Katara exchanged a look with Aang before turning back toward Zuko.
“That’s… exactly the problem,” she said, lifting a brow.
Your frustration didn’t disappear all at once. It still sat there stubbornly beneath your ribs, tangled together with embarrassment and irritation and the absurdity of standing on an island because Sokka had forged a summit named after himself. Looking at them now, it became impossible not to see how carefully this entire disaster had actually been planned.
The fact that all of them had crossed half the world to orchestrate this ridiculous scheme because somewhere along the way they had started worrying about you, about both of you… Suddenly the whole thing felt less like a prank and more like a desperate attempt from people who missed their friends.
However, Zuko still looked furious.
“I have to work hard because I’m the Fire Lord,” he said, pacing away from the railing before turning back again. “I’m supposed to fix. I cannot keep disappearing every time people decide I look tired.”
“You’re not disappearing,” Aang said carefully. “You’re resting.”
Zuko laughed once under his breath, though there wasn’t any humor in it. “You say that like the world politely pauses while I do.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Katara answered, her expression softening as she looked between both of you. “But somewhere along the way, it started feeling like you two forgot you’re people before titles.”
Behind him, heat rippled unevenly through the terrace braziers as he turned back toward the others.
“We’re leaving.” His gaze moved toward the attendants still unloading belongings farther below. “Stop carrying everything up and bring it back to the ship.”
A few attendants paused mid-step.
Zuko reached for your hand instinctively after years beside each other, his fingers curling firmly around yours as he turned to leave with every expectation that you would follow him without hesitation.
You didn’t move, and the resistance stopped him short.
Surprise crossed his face as he turned back toward you, your joined hands still caught between you. You stepped a little closer instead, tightening your grip around his hand instead of letting go.
“It isn’t wise to travel back now,” you said, lowering your voice now that you stood closer to him. “The sea paths are darker after sunset, and the fog near the cliffs will only worsen overnight.”
His jaw tightened.
“And although I understand why you’re angry,” you continued, thumb brushing once against the back of his hand, “they didn’t do this to mock us.”
Behind you, the group remained suspiciously silent, all of them pretending not to stare while very obviously staring.
“We should stay until tomorrow morning at least,” you finished.
Zuko looked at you for a long moment, frustration still written plainly across his expression, though no longer burning quite as sharply as before.
He looked away before loosening his grip on your hand.
“…fine,” he muttered at last.
Toph grinned immediately. “The rest of us almost died and she got him down with one sentence...”
Sokka cleared his throat.
“So. Hypothetically speaking. How opposed are we to group activities?”
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹
The back terrace behind the cabin overlooked the cliffs directly, quieter than the rest of the retreat below. Stacks of firewood rested beside the enormous stone firepit at the center of the terrace, and half-unpacked crates filled with blankets, decorations, and cooking supplies had been left scattered near the steps after Sokka insisted the attendants leave the rest to them.
Katara had decided this meant everyone should “make themselves useful.”
Which was how Sokka and Aang conveniently vanished while Katara ended up hanging lights along the cedar beams overhead, guiding each hook neatly into place with small currents of water. Loose strands of hair kept escaping around her face whenever the wind shifted too sharply. Nearby, Suki balanced effortlessly along the railing bordering the terrace, passing decorations down one by one with the kind of ease that made it seem physically impossible for her to ever lose balance. Toph remained sprawled across one of the benches beside the firepit, contributing absolutely nothing.
You found yourself caught somewhere in the middle of all of it: stacking blankets near the firepit, steadying swaying decorations whenever the wind threatened to pull them sideways again, and trying very hard not to think too much about the argument from earlier.
Above the terrace, unnoticed entirely, the upper balcony doors slid open overhead. Zuko stepped outside intending only to clear his head for a moment, until he heard your laugh below him.
“For the record,” Suki said, “most Fire Ladies probably don’t carry firewood.”
You bent to grab another log from beside the firepit, brushing sawdust from your hands against your robes afterward. “Most Fire Ladies probably don’t get kidnapped into fake summits named after Sokka.”
Suki laughed as she stepped back down onto the terrace stones. “Okay, that’s fair enough.”
Toph stretched lazily across the bench with her arms folded behind her head.
“You know, Toph,” Katara called while adjusting another hanging light overhead with a curl of water, “earthbending the wood closer would actually be helpful.”
Toph tilted her head in her direction. “I’m not intending to be helpful. I’m supervising.”
You glanced over your shoulder at her while setting another blanket beside the firepit. “Remarkable leadership strategy. Truly inspiring for the nation.”
Suki nearly doubled over laughing while Katara looked away with obvious surrender.
“There it is!” Suki said at once, pointing accusingly at you as she leaned against the railing. “That terrifying Fire Lady voice.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You absolutely have one now. And the stare too.”
Katara nodded without hesitation. “It’s true.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” Suki insisted, grinning. “With Toph just now. And earlier with Sokka? You looked ready to exile him from the nation.”
Toph tilted her head thoughtfully from the bench. “Respect.”
“That wasn’t intentional,” you defended, though the laughter in your voice ruined most of the argument.
Katara shook her head fondly. “We haven’t seen that expression in years.”
“Oh, spirits,” you sighed.
“No, it’s not bad,” Suki assured, sidestepping in front of you. “Do the scary Fire Lady thing again.”
“I’m not performing for you.”
“Boring.”
You scoffed and sent a quick spark skidding toward the edge of her boot.
Suki dodged with a laugh. “Oh, so now we’re bending at each other…”
Katara pointed a warning finger between both of you while another lantern floated beside her shoulder. “No fire near anything hanging overhead.”
You opened your mouth to defend yourself right as one of the hooks overhead snapped loose with a sharp crack.
The lantern tipped sideways at once. Katara reacted first, pulling water upward from the nearby volcanic stream in a quick arc meant to catch it before it hit the floor. Toph reacted second. The stone beneath the lantern shot upward beneath her bending, knocking it safely back into the air directly toward you.
You caught it instinctively, fire blooming between your hands just enough to keep the flame inside from dying out. Heat spread across your palms as the lantern spun once before the dangling cords tangled immediately around your wrists.
Suki had to grab the railing to steady herself through another burst of laughter.
“Agni, help me...”
“If only the council could see the Fire Lady now,” Katara managed through her own laughter while unsuccessfully trying to untangle one of the cords.
Suki grinned wickedly. “I have a feeling Zuko would love this view.”
“If he hasn’t seen it before,” Toph added.
“Oh, shut up—”
Embarrassment flared through your bending before you could stop it. The cords blackened beneath a burst of heat far stronger than intended.
“You’re hot…” Suki started to say, only for her eyes to widen. “Wait—”
The edge of the lantern suddenly caught fire. A second later, part of your sleeve ignited too, flames racing upward fast enough to send immediate panic across your face.
“You’re on fire!” Katara shouted.
“I CAN SEE THAT!”
Suki lunged toward you, smacking at the flames climbing the lantern while laughing far too hard to be genuinely useful.
“STOP MOVING.”
“I’m not moving!”
Katara pulled water upward from the nearby stream in a narrow twisting current before sending it crashing toward the burning lantern to stop the flames from spreading across the beams.
Suki turned just in time to realize she was directly in the path of it. The wave crashed into both of you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs.
Suki let out a startled shriek while you sputtered hard enough to nearly lose hold of the lantern, water streaming down your hair and soaking through the front of your robes as the last traces of smoke curled weakly from your sleeve.
Toph had to brace one hand against the bench through another fit of laughter.
“This,” she declared between helpless cackles, “is the best vacation I’ve ever had.”
“You’re not helping!” Katara protested, though by now she was laughing almost as hard herself while water splashed uselessly across the floor.
Toph lifted her chin from where she leaned against the bench, sounding far too confident for everyone else’s comfort.
“I can help.”
You barely had time to turn toward her before she tilted her head in your direction.
“Extend your arms.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Trust me and do as I say.”
The instant your sleeves lifted, the stone beneath the terrace answered her bending with a sharp grinding crack. A narrow slab of volcanic tile shot upward between all of you in one clean movement, slicing neatly through the still-burning cords before the flames could spread farther across the beams.
Another section of stone rose beside Katara at the same time, Toph clearly trying to stop the burning lantern from crashing directly onto her.
The entire terrace tilted with it, the floor tilting sideways hard enough to throw everyone off balance.
Suki slipped first on the soaked terrace boards, grabbing your shoulders as her footing vanished beneath her. The motion yanked you sideways just as Katara lunged forward to catch both of you.
“Careful with the pregnant one!” Suki yelped as Katara nearly collided into both of you trying to stop the fall.
Your own footing disappeared a second later. For one horrifying instant, the soaked boards rushed up beneath you before the earth shifted beneath the impact. Toph’s bending rippled through the stone fast enough to soften the ground before any of you hit it. Mud surged upward in a thick uneven mound that caught all three of you in one thoroughly undignified heap instead of against the hard volcanic stone.
You landed first with a startled noise half swallowed by laughter, Suki collapsing sideways beneath you while Katara tumbled into both of you moments later hard enough to send muddy water splashing across the floor.
Mud streaked across Katara’s sleeves and cheek, loose strands of hair plastered against her face. Suki’s dark hair clung damply to her neck and shoulders while muddy water soaked through the front of her clothes. Your own sleeve remained singed at the cuff beneath fresh smears of mud across your hands and knees.
Suki rolled onto her back beside you, breathless with laughter. She pushed wet hair from her forehead.
“Technically speaking…” she managed between breaths, “the fire’s out.”
You stared upward at the swaying lanterns for one disbelieving second before the realization hit you all at once.
“I could’ve literally just put it out myself,” you gasped, laughing hard enough your stomach hurt as you covered part of your face with one muddy hand. “What even happened? You’re all insane!”
“Says the woman married to Zuko,” Toph shot back, sending all of you into a round of laughter.
Eventually, the laughter softened into smiles and breathless sighs, the kind of quiet closeness that only existed between people who had known each other long enough to survive embarrassment together.
“You have no idea how much I missed this,” you admitted after a while, turning your head enough to look at all of them sprawled across the mud beside you. “And all of you.”
Katara reached across the mud between you to squeeze your hand once.
“We missed you too.”
Warmth spread through your chest so suddenly it almost hurt. Without thinking, you leaned sideways into them, and Katara and Suki shifted closer too, arms wrapping loosely around you in a tangled mess of damp robes, muddy sleeves, and lingering laughter.
Above you, Toph made a dramatic sound of disgust from the bench.
“I might be blind,” she informed the night air, “but I can absolutely tell you’re hugging.”
Suki lifted her head. “You should join.”
“Absolutely not.”
Katara grinned. “Toph…”
“No. I already know you all look emotional. I don’t need to experience it physically too.”
You laughed. “Come here!”
Toph crossed her arms stubbornly for approximately three seconds before releasing an enormous sigh.
“I guess,” she said reluctantly, “if I accidentally fell on top of all of you because I can’t see where I’m going, that would technically be acceptable.”
Before anyone could stop her, Toph planted one bare foot against the bench and launched herself forward with no hesitation.
She landed fully across the group with enough force to nearly knock the breath from your lungs while muddy water splashed across the grass. Katara collapsed into horrified laughter beside you, Suki wheezing so hard she could barely breathe while one of Toph’s elbows dug directly into your ribs.
“TOPH!”
“What?” Toph asked innocently from somewhere in the middle of the pile. “I fell.”
“You elbowed me!”
Katara laughed so hard she nearly curled into herself again while you clung helplessly to all of them, breathless beneath the stars.
After a moment, Suki lifted her head slightly from where she’d half collapsed against Katara’s shoulder.
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “this feels like a great moment to tell us the baby’s name.”
Katara blinked at her. “What part of this situation says name reveal time to you?”
“Think about it,” Suki insisted. “The baby could have a meaningful name inspired by tonight.”
“Muddy,” Toph suggested immediately.
“Mud-tara,” Suki added.
“Mudpie,” you offered weakly through another laugh.
Katara groaned into her hands while the rest of you lost control again.
“You’ll know the name when Aang and I are ready.”
You reached over to grab her hand dramatically. “As long as you don’t name the baby something spelling AANG, I think we’ll survive.”
Toph nearly rolled off the pile laughing.
By then, night had settled fully around the retreat, laughter still carrying faintly through the trees below.
High above the terrace, Zuko stood quietly against the balcony railing overlooking the grounds below. One hand rested loosely against the wood while his gaze remained fixed on you below.
The frustration from earlier still weighed heavily on him, worn raw by days of travel, paperwork, expectations, and responsibilities that never truly released either of you. Yet watching you muddy, breathless, tangled in your friends’ arms while laughter lit up your entire face, eased something in him anyway. Not even the grandest Fire Nation celebrations or the most carefully planned palace entertainments had ever drawn a smile from you quite like this one.
Zuko could no longer look at the retreat as time stolen from his duties, and finally began to understand what the others had been trying to give both of you all along.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹
“What are you looking at?”
Your voice pulled Zuko from whatever thoughts had held his attention beyond the balcony doors. He turned, shoulders still carrying traces of the tension from earlier.
His gaze dropped to your dirt-stained robes.
Yours followed a second later.
“… I asked first,” you said.
You stepped farther into the room, moving behind the folding screen beside the bed, already pulling apart the ruined layers of your clothes.
“The moon,” he answered simply after a moment.
You heard the lid of one of the travel chests open at the foot of the bed.
A laugh escaped you from behind the screen while fabric rustled around you. “The moon?” you repeated in disbelief. “It’s worse than I thought. Fire Lord Zuko driven to moon-gazing by sheer irritation.” You paused. “Would you mind—oh. Thank you.”
Your nightgown appeared neatly draped over the top of the screen before you could finish asking.
“I think the moon is beautiful,” he said while crossing somewhere behind the screen, his footsteps against the wooden floorboards. “Don’t tell Sokka that, though.”
Another laugh escaped you while slipping the nightgown over your head.
“How have you found this… whole thing?” Zuko asked after a moment.
“The retreat?” you asked, stepping out in your nightgown and moving toward the vanity near the door. You dragged a brush through your freshly washed hair while he disappeared behind the screen to change in turn.
“And the betrayal.”
His tone remained serious enough that you had to bite back another laugh.
“First of all, I like this place,” you said, reaching for one of the incense sticks resting atop the vanity and lighting it with a flick of your finger before setting it carefully into the holder beside the mirror, “What they’ve done with Whaletail Island is beautiful. Honestly, I regret not coming sooner.”
You turned just as he stepped fully back into the room, dark hair still slightly damp around his face while thin ribbons of incense smoke drifted through the space between you.
“As for what you insist on calling betrayal…” Your lips curved faintly. “I think it deserves another name.” You held his gaze, standing from the vanity. “And I think this is highly necessary, Zuko.”
To your surprise, he nodded.
He crossed the room and lowered himself onto his usual side of the bed before patting the empty space beside him.
The gesture surprised you enough that you hesitated before walking over and settling beside him atop the blankets. The mattress dipped beneath your weight.
His hand settled over yours where it rested against your stomach.
“I… think so too.”
Your head turned toward him fast enough to pull the beginning of a smile from him.
“What?”
“I think they were right.”
You stared at him in complete alarm before leaning closer onto your knees and pressing the back of your hand against his forehead.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
He laughed.
Which somehow worried you more.
“Zuko, this is serious—”
You grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together until his lips puckered awkwardly.
“I’m going to call Katara. Maybe she can heal whatever this is.”
His eyes narrowed into slits beneath your hands before he caught both your wrists and pulled you forward. The movement sent you falling halfway across him with a startled laugh, your hands trapped loosely behind his head while his own hands found your waist to steady you.
“Don’t be ridiculous, my lady,” he murmured, though the smile lingering across his face made the title sound softer than teasing.
This close, you could see he truly meant it. His thumb moved absently against your waist beneath the fabric of your nightgown.
“I think…” He exhaled, staring somewhere past you for a moment. “I’ve been so focused on keeping everything together that I stopped noticing how exhausted you are too. And maybe I’ve been unfair about this trip. But you deserve to be happy. Spirits know we both needed to step away before this became too much.”
His golden eyes lifted back to yours.
“And…” he added after a beat, “I suppose I appreciate the others trying to take care of us. Even if Sokka’s methods are questionable.”
You smiled.
“And I think,” he continued with visible reluctance at admitting any of this aloud, “that maybe I needed this too.”
You pressed your nose lightly against his. When you opened your eyes again, he was already watching you.
One of your hands eased from his grasp to rest gently against his cheek.
“You don’t know how much I appreciate hearing you say that,” you whispered. “And how much you’ll appreciate it too.” Your thumb traced the edge of his scar. “I’m exhausted, Zuko. And don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change being the Fire Lady at your side for anything. But we’re constantly under pressure. Even if it’s understandable… we’re still allowed to rest. We matter too.”
As the words left your lips, Zuko looked entirely defenseless against whatever he felt for you. He would have damned Agni himself before waiting another second to kiss you.
One hand rose to your jaw as he leaned down, capturing your lips with a kind of desperation that made your chest ache. You kissed all the time, it was nearly impossible not to when you had a husband like him, but somewhere between royal meetings, traveling schedules, and interrupted mornings, kisses like this had become rare.
It tasted different, sweeter somehow, not because the island was beautiful or the night was warm, but because for the first time in far too long, neither of you seemed to be waiting for the next obligation to pull you apart. There was no pressure lingering behind the touch, no expectation beyond simply being together, and somehow that made the kiss feel more consuming than any you had shared in months.
Your fingers slipped into his hair while his hand spread wider against your waist, pulling you closer against him as though he’d been waiting far too long to hold you properly again.
You smiled against his lips when you finally pulled back enough to breathe again.
“So…” you murmured, unable to hide your excitement, “does this mean we’ll participate in the activities Sokka planned tomorrow?”
Zuko rolled his eyes, yet the smile tugging at his mouth ruined any attempt at annoyance.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
Your expression lit up so quickly it made him laugh.
Before he could react, you kissed him again. And again. And once more after that until his laugh disappeared against your mouth while your hands pushed lightly at the collar of his night robes. His hands slid to steady you as you climbed fully atop him.
“If this is the result of Sokka’s dumb decisions,” he muttered as your lips trailed distractedly along his jaw, “I might owe him one.”
You laughed softly against his chest before lifting your head again, fingers wandering lower across warm skin beneath the loosened fabric.
“Careful,” you warned. “You’re starting to sound forgiving.”
“Maybe he—”
“THAT WAS A WARNING SHOT, SUKI!”
The shout rang through the terrace loudly enough to make both of you freeze. A heartbeat later came Suki’s unimpressed voice.
“You dropped the fish before throwing it, genius!”
Then came a loud splash from somewhere below the balcony, followed by Sokka’s yell.
“MY SANDALS!”
You buried your face against Zuko’s chest laughing while he stared at the ceiling in complete disbelief.
“I’ll just close the balcony doors,” you managed between laughs, climbing reluctantly off him.
Zuko let out a long, deeply offended grunt at the loss of contact.
“Never mind,” he declared. “Not forgiven. Enemy number one.”
Still laughing, you moved back toward your side of the bed after shutting the doors. You barely made it halfway across the mattress before he tugged you straight back against him, rolling you beneath him this time.
“No,” he said firmly, settling over you with unmistakable intent. “You come back here.”
His mouth brushed yours once more.
“Now… where were we?”
Part 2.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹
note: im so happy with this oneee, cannot wait for your to read the next parts! huge shoutout to @magnificentlyrainythunder for the request that inspired me ♡ - lmk what you think, and if you want to be tagged in part 2&3! Xx
hehe, I love that trope/idea of an animal that’s like resting intop of their love interest and then somehow the animal turns into a human. I also love cat-toru and his silly tongue sticking out with his ridiculous glasses. And I also love your workkkk
“You gotta be kitten me?!” - cat!gojo.
“You’ve gotta be kidding.” You deadpanned, staring at your student and the white fluff ball with ridiculous glasses on trying to escape his grasp.
“Shoko said this was probably a side effect from that cursed spirit, and it’ll pass eventually.” Megumi sighed, eyebags prominent and cat hair all over his uniform. “Fushiguro, how is Gojo’s reckless actions my problem?” You asked, still confused why your first years were at your apartment door with the most insufferable man cat ever. “Shoko is allergic to cats, Nanami-san’s in Malaysia with his wife and… then there’s that..” and he gestures behind him where Nobara and Yuji were arguing again.
“He’d look so much better in a pink poofy dress!” “No! He’d look better in blue with his blue eyes!” “He’s wearing glasses, you can’t even see his eyes!” “You can’t see your eyes!” “The hell does that mean?” And you turned back to Megumi. “I can’t take care of him anymore, I’m sorry sensei.”
And he shoves the cat into your arms before shutting the door and taking his arguing cat fashionistas away with him, also running away. So now you were stuck with the guy you loathe, except now as a fat cat.
“Meow.” He purrs teasingly.
“You can’t talk, you’re a cat.” You snapped.
He leapt from your arms and made a b-line to your fridge. “Gojo!” Turns out, cats can’t eat mochi.
So you spent the rest of the evening to try and get Satoru to throw up.
But of course, it seems the strongest sorcerer is also the strongest cat. So of course he didn’t hack anything up. “Great. You probably poisoned yourself.” You slumped back onto the wall, arms crossed.
Satoru meows innocently before leaping into your lap. You yelp. “Oh my gosh, SATORU YOU’RE SO FAT!” But the little devil only just settled down, curling into himself. “Seriously, you could’ve decided to sleep anywhere. But no, you chose the bathroom.” The next day, with little to no sleep from Gojo’s zoomies, you poured out cat food in a random bowl you had.
“Okay, you have to stay. Don’t go wandering anywhere, don’t touch my couch or fridge. I’ll be back before bedtime.” You peered from the door while his glasses and a small pink tongue out stared back at you.
“Stay.”
You almost closed the door when you saw his paw move the tiniest bit. You clicked your tongue.
“I SAID STAY.”
Needless to say, you were an hour late. Because of Gojo’s state, you were stuck with covering his classes. But of course, the second you started opening your mouth, a white fluff ball strutted in.
“Oh, hey kitty gojo sensei!” Yuji brightly said. “I told you to stay at home!” You hissed, but all he did was paw at your leg. “Awww, he wants your attention!” Nobara gushed.
You almost put your hand to pet his head because despite it was Satoru Gojo, he was a really cute cat. Well, he was until he pushed his food bowl towards you.
“Ah. He wanted food. Of course.”
“How did you even-“ and then Cat Gojo was gone.
Because he fucking teleported.
“Oh my god, what does he have, six whiskers?” You groaned. (Yuji snorted). But to be fair, while “Cat-toru” was a menace, he did have his moments.
Like the time when you slumped back home, exhausted and half-dead. Because of Gojo’s conditions, you were forced to take more missions, even ones beyond your level. You really wanted to cry out of frustration, and you started wiping your very evident tears away once your cat strutted in with his food bowl.
“Oh yeah, your food because that’s all I’m good for, huh?” You chuckle with no real laugh and the fluff ball drops the bowl. Now, he never meant that. He crawled towards you and nuzzled your leg, purring. You looked down and sighed before kneeling to his level. “Hm? What is it?” You whispered.
He jumped into your arms and nuzzled you, giving you a sense of odd comfort. You leaned back onto the kitchen wall and just started sobbing, in front of your the cat. You could see Satoru’s whiskers droop as he tried comforting you in the best way a cat could, bringing a dead mouse.
When you screamed, poor Cat-toru jumped and scampered away sad that you didn’t appreciate his gift. You had to later end up comforting him.
As the weeks grew, you ended up having a fondness for your feline friend, by clicking your tongue and petting him more often, to which he happily leaned into your affection. Whenever people asked how was taking care of Satoru Gojo as a cat, instead of grumbling and dismissing the question, you giggled while showing photos of the predicaments he got himself into.
Or you spent more money on finding better cat food for him, researching what he could or couldn’t eat (though he could eat everything), and then the cuteness aggression you got from him.
One of the major ones was when you were getting ready for a fancy dinner you were forced to attend, and Gojo sulked the whole time, eyes in awe on how you looked ethereal, but you had the audacity to leave him?!
He meowed disapproving and you turned to him, still fixing your earrings. “No? The colour too bright?” You asked. He shook his head and was sullen, and you caught on, smiling as you reached your bed where he was perched. You scratched behind his ears and his chin before booping his nose.
“Ah. I’ll come in an hour’s time, don’t really wanna be there.” And you left, leaving him.
But good things, like him being a cute menace didn’t last forever. Or well, it could’ve. Satoru was sitting like a loaf of bread on your chest underneath your blanket while you cradled him.
“You’re so cute!” You cooed, and Gojo relished in the attention as you stroked him and scratched his ears. He purred happily with his eyes closed and glasses carelessly on the floor.
“A menace, but cute. Even as a human, sometimes.” You added the sometimes to make the message very clear. He nuzzled into your neck, and that did it for you, as you squished his face before pecking him on his tiny nose.
And all of a sudden, POOF.
Once the light blue smoke cleared, your eyes met the azure eyes of an all-too familiar sorcerer, you was on top of your chest, in his birthday suit.
You squealed, and without his RCT on, poor Satoru was thrown onto the other side of the bed as you laid frozen.
“You think I’m cute?” He smiled sleazy without missing a beat.
“WHERE’S YOUR CLOTHES?” he propped his head up with his arm on the mattress. “Well, wasn’t I supposed to get princess dresses or something? It’s not like I wore anything as a cat, anyways. It was very freeing, not gonna lie.” Before you protested he shushed.
But his hand found your face, and cradled it. “What are you-“
“you really think I’m cute?” He asked again, more quieter. You blushed, embarrassed. “More annoying than cute.” You mumbled. He gave a soft smile.
“You could’ve just booted me out to the streets, or gave it to Nanami. I could’ve survived anyway.”
“I could’ve.”
“But you didn’t. Because you care, don’t you?” You looked away. Because yes, you did care. Maybe not directly, but in a roundabout way you cared.
“I always annoyed you because I’ve had a stupid crush on you since like.. first year.”
“You’re lying.”
“I swear on my nine lives.”
“You’re not even a cat anymore!” You huffed a laugh.
He smiled before leaning in, and nuzzling into your neck. “Hm, will I get the same affection from you, though?” He looked up with you, his wispy ivory locks spiking everywhere messily, and his azure irises gleaming up at you. You sighed, loudly
. “Put some clothes on so you can take me on a date.” And you pecked his nose before throwing the blanket on top of him and left to use the washroom, and leaving him wonder-struck.
Huh, maybe that cat potion he deliberately drinked for thus 3xact thing to happen did work. Who knew?
“KITTYYYYYYYYY!” as CaseOh says it. I’M SORRY IVE BEEN PROCRASTINATUNG IM EMPLOYED AND A STUDENT!
SUMMARY your ex and frat vp, satoru gojo, has decided his time without you is just too much! but sadly, you’ve blocked him on literally everything :(( naturally, he turns to your dorm mailbox with (what he thinks are romantic) handwritten letters to get you back
The last thing you expected to see in your dorms mailbox was a handwritten letter in a heart stamped envelope. Especially not from your ex boyfriend, Satoru. Yet you still open the folded letter and read out the scribbly ink handwriting with tear stains along the edges.
‘To My Dearest,
I’m stupid, you know this. I’m stupid and it was super ultra mega stupid of me to break up with you but please hear me out on why you, the love of my life, need to take me, the love of your life, back.
#1. I know you better than ANY other guy
I’ve been inside your dorm like a million times and can probably name all the posters you have up from memory, I’ve met your parents and they love me, and I’ve literally been inside you. I deadass know you inside and out!
#2. I give you good dick ;)
I make you cum every single time and you yourself even said I’m the best you’ve ever had. I’d like to say my pullout game is also pretty good if I don’t say so myself… aside from that one time I almost got you pregnant.
#3. Everyone wants us back together
Believe it or not we were actually the campus favorite couple. Now that we’re not together, everybody and their mother seems to be asking about you. I told my frat we were on a break and they stopped believing me after 2 weeks :/
Even worse, you know how your parents love me? My parents love you. When I told her we split she hit me with a wooden spoon and said I ‘better grovel to get you back’ (ironic) because she ‘wants actually pretty grandkids’
#4. Nobody finds me funny anymore :,(
I know a lot of your laughs at my jokes were fake but they were still laughs. Now that you don’t go to movie night at the house, every time I say something I just get told to shut up and stop interrupting. It’s a lot worse than hearing your cute giggle.
#5. We already bought matching outfits for my cousin’s wedding
I bought you that dress already and I have a matching tie. I also may or may not have flexed on my cousin that we’ll last way longer than her and her husband so…please come with me.
#6. I’m STUPID now
Without you to force me to study and use your fine, sexy body as a reward… I’m DUMB. My GPA’s dropped 0.4 points. I miss having my smart girl to make me do work.
#7. I’m lonely
I keep calling other girls your name so none of them wanna fuck me. Plus, it doesn’t help that a lot of them are spreading rumors that I ‘cheated on you’, NOT TRUE!!! I’d never, sweetheart >:(
So if you’re worried about me being a “manwhore” while we weren’t together, know I never even got past second base. Still wouldn’t be the same if it wasn’t you though…
#8. I’ll be an even WAY better boyfriend
I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll drive you wherever, you can call me whatever (preferably daddy but I digress) ANYTHING. I’ll be the goodest most best boy ever for you I swear.
Please. Please take me back. You don’t even have to reply to this letter, just unblock me on anything. Even Sugu says we should get back together and he used to swear that you were out of my league. Just take it into consideration how sorry I am (and possibly remember that you think I’m hot).
Your lovestrucken, terribly sad, favorite boy,
Satoru “Still yours BTW” Gojo
P.S: I know you’re kind of a grammar shark so I tried my best to be wary of any typos (writingos?).
Double P.S: Toji said he’s trying to shoot his shot with you and if you fuck him I’ll kms’
SUGURU | 2 NEW MESSAGES | 9:37PM
Satoru sent you a stupid ass letter don’t read it
I had to proofread it it was fucking pathetic
YOU | 10:23PM
i just did
it really was
but it was kinda cute
You’re getting back together with him after that?
Self respect??
shut up i love him
also i’m assuming he added in that daddy part himself right?
What do you think?
‘To My Dearest,
THANK YOU. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH PLEASE KNOW THAT.
Also my mother’s very pleased we’re back together! She wants to have dinner with you again next week so please let me buy you a new dress for the occasion !!
ㅤꨄ︎
Your favorite boy again,
Satoru “Yours” Gojo
MESSAGES | 3:12PM
satoru stop writing me fucking letters i unblocked you days ago
୨୧ megumi fushiguro can’t stop kissing you during sex
megumi would kiss you all day if he could.
it’s the highlight of his day, he just loves your kisses. before he leaves the house, he always leans down to kiss you gently to not wake you if you’re still sleeping. if you wake up before he does, he will definitely not hesitate to pull you in closer, giving you a loving kiss even with your morning breath. he never cared, that’s how much he loves to kiss you.
whenever the two of you cuddle in down time, wether that be on the couch watching tv, or just sitting outside together, his lips always seem to find themselves on yours. he always kisses you with love and care, he knows that he always gets a bit flustered whenever he expresses his love for you, so his kisses makes up for it. a silent way of saying ‘i love you so much’
since he spends so much time kissing you, megumi is naturally a great kisser. he tends to get a little carried away when he makes out with you, always starting off soft and gentle, then shifting to passionate and greedy. lips almost swallowing yours, pressing you into the closest surface as his tongue invades your mouth.
at any opportunity he gets to kiss you, he takes it. he loves to kiss you anywhere, your forehead while he sits outside your bathtub while you soak, your cheek whenever he sees you concentrating on your phone. kissing down your shoulders whenever you show him your pretty outfits, gentle kisses on your thighs before and after eating you out.
megumi never knows how to let up when he gets to kiss you like that, always leaving you breathless every time you manage to pull away for a breather. he only allows a few seconds to pass before his lips needly slot against yours once more, letting out subtle moans into your mouth as his hard on pokes your thigh.
he’s especially the same in bed, getting lost in your lips as he pulls orgasm after orgasm from you. he’s got you in missionary, body leaning over yours, practically shielding you from the outside word as his tip pressing into your sweet spot with every deep thrust into your cunt.
he let out a drawn out moan into your mouth, pulling back mere inches to catch his breath. “s’fucking pretty..” mchh! “my pretty baby…” mchh! “love you so much.” he mumbled against your lips between kisses, hips speeding up and fucking his aching cock into you quicker.
the little space between you was sticky and sloppy, his precum mixing with your arousal as he hiked your thigh higher up, holding onto you gently compared to his rough thrusts. you could hardly catch your breath, his constant kisses making you dizzy with pleasure as his cock slid in and out of your soaked cunt, his tip bulging in your tummy every time he fucked into you to the hilt.
your nails raked down his back, moaning weakly into his mouth as his tongue traced yours, kisses growing more messy by the second. as much as you loved his kisses, you needed to catch your breath. you pulled on his hair, your agreed upon silent way of saying ‘i need a breather.’ megumi let out a small whine in protest, reluctantly pulling away to let you catch your breath.
the sight below him almost made him cum.
your lips were kiss swollen, plush tits rising and falling rapidly with each breath you took, subtle bump forming in your lower tummy from his deep and languid thrusts. “you feel so fucking good—baby…you feel that?” he muttered filthy, gripping onto your hand and pressing it into the cock print. you clenched around him impossibly tighter, whining as he pressed your hand into it, pleasure washing over you as squelches filled the room.
megumi’s lips crashed back onto yours, desperate to feel your lips on his once more as he reached up to cup your tit, kneading the supple skin as he continued to fuck you onto his cock with fervor, thrusts almost losing rhythm from how good you felt wrapped around him.
you wrapped your legs around his waist tighter, cunt sucking him in impossibly deeper every time he pulled his cock back, almost like it didn’t want him to leave. the hand that held your thigh snaked down to your clit, rubbing dizzying and intoxicating circles on your clit, eager to feel you come undone around him.
your back arched off the bed, chest flush against his as the kisses grew messy and sloppy, lips moving against each other desperately as your moans grew in pitch in his mouth. the lack of oxygen made your pleasure increase by tenfold, pussy throbbing and spasming around him as your orgasm approached rapidly.
megumi continued drawing figure eights on yours sensitive clit as his cock twitched and leaked pre into your cunt obscenely, taking everything in him to not cum before you just by kissing you. heat bloomed between your legs, your body locking up as an intense orgasm washed over you, your legs trembling around megumi’s hips as your slick cum soaking the both of you and the sheets below, moaning his name breathlessly into his mouth.
his hips lost complete rhythm, now moving on base instinct as he chased his orgasm, leaving short and desperate kisses on your lips between moans. his cum spurt into you deeply with thick, warm ropes filling you to the brim as his orgasm washed over him, cock fucking into you slowly and gently as he rode out his orgasm.
megumi finally pulled up, leaving one last lingering kiss on your now kiss swollen and worn lips, allowing you to catch your breath as he cupped your facd gently, his cum beginning to drip out around the two of you from the sheer amount of it.
he mumbled mindless praises as his hands gently soothed over your body, easing your body out of your intense orgasm with words of affirmation. his eyes fell from your face to your neck, leaning down to place soft kisses along your neck despite your playful whines and protests.
when it comes to kissing you, megumi would never be satisfied.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: tim drake is in love with his best friend. small problem, he’s unable to tell her. luckily, gotham’s unbareable summer is there to help!
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 1000 words, they’re both idiots, kissing, condom mentioned— kind of related to a sexual innuendo? not edited you know the drill 🚬
You stare at the ceiling of Tim's room, the ventilator spinning round and round in an endless cycle, exuding cool air for each rotation it completes. This time of the year in Gotham is deadly; the sweltering heat that muddles your head, moistens your skin with pearly sweat, and has you looking for random—no matter how brief—crooks of respite.
The sheets beneath you are cool where the fan hits them, soft cotton tangled around your legs from how many times you've shifted around trying to get comfortable. Tim lays beside you, shoulder barely brushing yours every now and then whenever either of you moves. It should feel normal. You’ve spent years like this—sleepovers, movie nights, late patrol debriefs that turned into accidental naps.
There’s still a careful inch between your bodies, still enough not to radiate more heat bu at the same time close enough to soak up in each other. (Tim thinks you two are like magnets; always gravitating close to each other). He can feel your heat through the fabric of his t-shirt anyway, can smell your sweet shampoo every time the fan blows your hair toward him.
Because if summer feels like this for you, summer feels like you to Tim.
The sultriness of your sole presence made it arduous to keep pretending he doesn't feel what he does for you. So when you start talking about the date you went on last week, he's two seconds away from throwing all risks and fears out the window and finally telling you what he feels.
"He was such a dick," you drawl, stretching your arms over your head. The motion makes your knee bump his thigh carelessly. His heart stops. “Only talked about himself for two hours."
Tim hums.
You groan. "Oh my god, when we got to his car he pulled out a condom and—"
He cannot help the noise of utter disgust that is ripped out of him. And it’s not only the jealousy. Because fine, he is jealous; it’s as present as the low trickle of air from the fan. But also because those boys don't know how incredibly lucky they are to have you, even if it's for just one night.
Beside him, you laugh softly at his reaction, turning your head toward him on the pillow. Tim immediately regrets looking because now your face is inches away from his. His heart stops yet again.
"What's your type anyways?" He tries to say it as nonchalantly as possible, hoping you don't notice the underlying intention hiding behind the question. He quickly trains his eyes on the uninteresting plaster, only relaxing when he knows you're not looking at him anymore.
You hum. "I don't know. I don't care much about peole's physiques."
"No?" Last week's guy was blonde, so that's good, that means he has a chance. Well, that guy had the same shade of blue eyes as his, so maybe you unconsciously like blue eyes.
Stupid, you know you aren't going to act on it. Why does it matter?
"But if you could have your dream man, how would he be?"
You laugh, and Tim's stomach bursts with fluttering butterflies. A twisted part of him hopes you can hear them.
"Smart," you say off the bat, "kind and conscientious—I hate when they have no care for the world we live in."
Um, are you sure Tim isn't your dream man?
"Languages are sexy," you state, "the more he knows the sexier."
Tim can even understand freaking hieroglyphics.
"And... hmm, those are the ones that first come up to mind." Your eyes flutter against your cheeks, sweeping eyelashes brushing against your skin. From this close, Tim notices every detail: the shine of sweat near your temple from the heat, the lazy curve of your mouth, the way your fingers absentmindedly toy with the edge of the blanket between you both.
Tim wonders how it would feel to reach over and lace his hand with yours beneath the sheets. He wishes to be the sun—just briefly, and because heat makes everyone a little stupid—so he could constantly kiss your skin, to be with you in that unfiltered way.
"But this guy was stupid, and the last one asked where Italy was."
You laugh, your eyes still closed in bliss. "I know, but they all kind of looked like you."
The world stops.
And Tim's heart? Boom fucking boom.
At first he can't even believe what he's hearing.
"What?" he manages out.
"Uh-huh," you sigh, rolling onto your side to face him fully now. The mattress dips beneath your weight, pushing you just slightly closer. “With the heat and everything it was easier to pretend they were you. I know it's terrible and whatever, I only realized I was doing it by the third guy." You shrug, but he knows you better than he knows himself, all of your nervous tics are present... the slight pout of your bottom lip, the brief twisting of the sheets and how you force yourself to not blink.
Tim wastes no time; he turns toward you immediately, the sheets twisting around his legs.
"Tim!" You laugh.
He captures your lips in an all-consuming kiss. Fireworks explode in the distance and all those butterflies morph into an expression of passion he wants to convey with his lips alone.
"Tim?" You sound out of breath and he smirks.
"I'm in love with you too."
"What?"
Tim takes a gulp of air, his poor heart finally catching up to the euphoria of his mind. "I was too scared to say anything because I didn't want to lose you—but I can't help feeling what I do and if you let me I'll be the best—"
This time it's you who kisses him. "So we're both idiots then."
He smiles against your face. "We are."
"Hey," you nudge him, "it's a good thing the heat makes me a big mouth, if not it would've taken us longer."
"Wait," pause, "I spent months overthinking this for that to be the solution?”
You laugh and a blissed-out smile forms on his lips.
— Gotham's newest it girl makes the mistake of going after something that's yours: Jason Todd. It takes two failed plans to learn what it takes to deal with her and your jealousy.
— brief angst, jealousy, pda, batboy shenanigans, fluff, r can wear Jason's clothes; 3.0k+ words
— Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info
There are a few rules to make it as a model in Gotham. The top three are:
3 – Don’t accept any bookings from Oswald Cobblepot (no matter how good the pay).
2 – Use peppermint oil under your nose during outdoor shoots to eliminate unsightly scrunching or grimacing at the smell of Gotham.
1, the most important rule of all – Bruce Wayne and his children are off limits.
Though rule number one has many subsets – don’t flirt with Dick Grayson even if he starts it; Tim Drake already has your headshots and don’t ask how; the little one bites; etc. – it comes down to a simple sentence: The Wayne boys may be eligible, but they aren’t available, so look, don’t touch.
Every year or so, a new group of models come into town. They’re either devastated that they didn’t make it to New York or even Metropolis, or overeager to take the chance and make a name for themselves. This year’s center of attention, the model everyone wants to see, is Arabella Carnegie. She’s pretty, always smiling, and is apparently easy to work with.
Even from across the ballroom, you can tell that you don’t like her. She exudes an air of insufferable nepotism and a superiority complex that makes you wonder how she got into a career that requires her to take instruction from people ‘below her.’
“Thelma Baumgardner.”
Your brows lift, though you’re unsurprised by Tim’s sudden appearance at your side. “Is that someone you’re looking for or just a name you’re trying out?” you inquire.
Tim shakes his head, jutting his chin toward the crowd on the other side of the gala. “Arabella Carnegie, born Thelma Baumgardner. Daddy is old money rich and paid to legally change her name when she turned nine and decided she wanted to be a model.”
“Nine?” you repeat, twisting a champagne flute on the table. “When I was nine I think I still wanted to be an astronaut… Or a vet, or a vet in space for astronaut dogs.”
Tim snorts a laugh at your response, then moves closer to the table. “She’s already broken two of the model rules.”
“Model rules?” you repeat.
“You’ve heard the rumors, don’t play dumb with me.”
You tip your head, conceding the point. “I get summoned to the manor a few times of year,” you grumble, “of course I’ve heard whispers about the rules.”
“Well, Arabella is the new face of the Iceberg Lounge and she’s currently attempting to drape herself on the arm of an heir to the Wayne fortune.”
You freeze, the ballroom seeming too quiet as you ask, “Who?”
“When I was over there, Dick was the target. I think she’s moved on.”
“Tim,” you warn carefully.
“Not yours,” he assures you.
“Not your what?” another person asks before two strong arms snake around your waist, tugging you against a strong chest.
“That’s my cue,” Tim mumbles before he slinks into the corner.
“Hi,” you greet when Jason drops his chin to your shoulder.
“Hi,” he repeats, kissing your neck when your fingers find his forearms. “Ready to get out of here?”
“You promised Bruce an hour.” You hold Jason’s left hand to look at his watch, pointing out, “It hasn’t been an hour.”
Something shatters across the room, and Jason promises, “He won’t even notice.”
You hear an obnoxious giggle, following the sound to the one and only Arabella. You’re not one to get jealous easily, well aware of how committed Jason is. But this girl feels like a threat. So, you nod against Jason and let him whisk you out through the kitchen.
The Iceberg Lounge billboard down the street from Jason’s apartment is new, and you feel a bit nauseous as he drives by it. Until he reaches across the center console and takes your hand, at least.
“Oh,” Alfred exclaims as he steps onto the balcony. “Did Master Damian find you?”
“He did,” you assure him. “Sorry, I just… just wanted to watch the rain.”
“I see. Do be sure to come in before you get too cold, dear.”
You nod, thanking Alfred for the offer to make you tea. Wrapping your arms around your waist, you stare out into the misty field behind Wayne Manor. Bruce had insisted everyone stay for dinner after a meeting about the next fundraiser. What was supposed to be an outdoor dinner was moved inside by the rain, but you needed the break before facing your boyfriend’s family.
“Alfred said you were out here moping,” Jason muses, softly closing the door behind him. “I told him there was no way, but now that I’m looking at you…”
Jason trails off, dragging his thumb beneath your bottom lip. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, doesn’t invite you to talk, just drapes his big, warm jacket over your shoulders and stands beside you.
“Do you want to go home?” Jason asks after a few minutes.
You shake your head and turn toward him. He immediately knows what you want and pulls you into his arms.
“The last gala was stressful,” you say against his arm. “Sorry.”
“I get it,” Jason promises, rubbing your back. “We can skip.”
“And leave Damian to fend for himself?”
“Who?” Jason jokes. “Definitely moping,” he confirms, “but still pretty.”
You laugh, then take his hand and walk inside, sitting beside your boyfriend and laughing with his family. It isn’t always like this, so you have to savor it while it’s happening.
“I’m gonna kill him,” Jason seethes, staring at his phone. “Who does Bruce think he is?”
“Billionaire and father,” you answer, leaning toward the mirror to fix your lip gloss.
“If I want to leave early, I’m going to leave,” Jason says. “What’s the point of threatening us?”
“Keeping up appearances, probably.”
Jason sighs, wandering into the bathroom and watching you in the mirror. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”
You nod, smiling when Jason tips his head to look at your outfit. The stress of the last gala is forgotten when Jason offers his arm.
“Good evening. My name is Arabella.”
“Yeah, we’ve met,” Dick replies, shaking her hand quickly.
“Right, right,” she giggles, smiling too perfectly. “I didn’t think you’d remember. You meet so many amazing people.”
Dick nods, glancing across the table to shoot Tim a tired look. You shift beside Jason, trying not to focus on Arabella but unable to ignore how perfect she looks, like she climbed out of a magazine, still glossy from the page. Your boyfriend watched you get ready, claiming he was mesmerized by you, but there’s still an underlying sense of insecurity in the jealousy tightening your chest.
“Yes, I met several of you at the last gala,” Arabella remembers. “It’s nice to see you all again. I wasn’t expecting Gotham to have such exciting events so often.”
“Oh, well if Bruce can find an excuse to spend money,” Duke jokes.
You reach toward your hair, fidgeting in your discomfort. Jason notices your movement and takes your other hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he watches your profile.
“I don’t think we met,” Arabella continues. “You’re Tim and Jason, right?”
Mr. Drake to you, you think. And they’re all off-limits.
“Yeah,” Tim answers flatly.
“I heard you got Lilly Waterson a job in a tv commercial,” she gushes. “That’s so impressive, Tim.”
He shrugs, mumbling, “I just made a few calls.”
“Well, she was very lucky to have someone like you in her corner. I’m hoping to build a support system like that here in Gotham.”
Jason tugs your fingers, so you turn and look at him. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak, but everything he wants to say is perfectly clear in his eyes, already locked on you. You nod to tell him you’re okay, squeezing his hand as you smile. You look at Dick, who is squinting like he’s fighting off a headache as Arabella continues talking.
Jason shifts, turning his body toward you as he reluctantly looks away from you. He shares a look with Tim, and then someone walks onto the stage and the room silences.
Except for Arabella, who keeps talking. “What about you, Jason?” she asks. “What do you do?”
Whatever I want, you think but don’t say. It’s your first experience with jealousy like this, and you hate it. Telling Jason would be the smart thing to do, but admitting that you feel like this is terrifying, too.
Arabella is invited to the stage, and Dick is the first to leave the table. The rest of his brothers follow close behind. Jason pulls you with them, none of them caring about Bruce's wrath as they sneak out, moving tiredly after less than ten minutes with Arabella Carnegie.
It isn’t a conscious decision to cling to Jason when you return home after the gala, but he’s warm and loving and all yours. Wearing one of his shirts over your favorite pajama bottoms, you tuck yourself under his arm and press your ear over his heart.
“Bruce called Dick and asked where we all went. Apparently the first thing that popped into birdbrain’s head was that Damian threw up on all of us,” Jason tells you, twisting the collar of your shirt around his fingers. “So, if you could back us up, that would be great.”
“Of course,” you answer, smiling. “Where is Damian? I didn’t even see him.”
“He was beside Dick the whole time, went home with him.”
You nod, shifting closer to Jason. He relaxes beneath you, and the movie on the television is quickly forgotten. Jason wants to ask why you’ve been so much more affectionate recently, but then he risks losing it. Whatever changed, he doesn’t mind the outcome, he thinks. After years of being scared of touch, and people being scared to touch him, Jason elects to relish in it rather than question it, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you softly.
“You look like Gar,” Dick muses, tapping his elbow against your back.
“Excuse me?” you question, snapping out of your reverie to turn toward him.
“You’re practically green.”
Your jaw tightens as you shake your head and look away again. Arabella has found a new ‘target’ – Tim’s words, not yours. She is currently standing between Jason and Bruce, leaning a little too far toward your boyfriend.
“Tim,” you say carefully.
“Wrong brother,” Dick jokes.
“No.” Turning toward Dick, you curl your hands into fists and say, “I need you to find me Tim.”
Dick steps back as his eyes widen comically. He nods, then disappears. Less than a minute later, he returns, pulling Tim behind him.
“You said Carnegie’s dad was old money rich,” you remember.
“He is,” Tim agrees.
“Has the family made any donations to the charities she claims to support?”
“No.”
“So – hypothetically – if something were to scare her out of Gotham, we wouldn’t know the difference?”
“I for one,” Dick interrupts, “support your decision.”
Tim smiles, pulling a flask of coffee from his pocket. “How can we help?”
Duke lures Bruce away from the table – He’s the least suspicious; Bruce won’t question it, Tim had explained while you created the plan – and then you allow Dick to escort you to Jason’s side.
“Good evening,” Dick greets.
“Hi!” Arabella greets, her arm inches from Jason’s side.
Yet, he only sees you. He looks at your hand on Dick’s arm, then your face, torn between confusion and amusement.
“Have you ladies met?” Dick asks, gesturing between you and Arabella.
“I don’t think so,” she sighs. She reaches past Jason’s chest, invading his space easily as she says, “I’m Arabella.”
You introduce yourself and shake her hand, then wipe your palm on your dress. Jason’s jaw twitches as he observes your movements.
“You’re not a model,” she muses. “I haven’t seen you at any shoots.”
“No, I’m not a model,” you agree.
“How do you get invited to these events then?”
You glance at Dick, undecided whether she’s asking innocently or making a dig at you.
“Oh!” she exclaims. “Is your boyfriend someone really important?”
“You could say that,” you answer.
Jason shakes his head, and then Dick releases your arm and pulls Jason away. Arabella watches them go, longing in her eyes.
“Arabella,” you begin, “can I ask a weird question?”
“Sure,” she answers, still watching Jason’s back.
“Is there really a list of rules for Gotham models?”
She laughs, tipping her head and sending her sleek, shiny hair cascading down her back. “Yes, but it’s all just a silly joke.”
“Except for the Waynes, right?”
Arabella sobers, but is still smiling when she leans forward and says, “A secret? I’m going to get myself a Wayne boy.”
“Oh?”
Your fists clench beneath the table, and you have to walk away when she adds, “I’m thinking the strong, protective one: Jason.”
Tim follows you up the stairs to ask, “How’d it go?”
“Does Bruce’s no killing rule apply to future in-laws?” you question.
Tim hesitates, then yells, “Dick!”
Jason is perfectly oblivious; you realize after he finds you hiding in his childhood room. He pulls you into his arms, kisses you easily, and cracks a joke about the bookshelf behind you. Despite how obvious you thought your feelings were, Jason hasn’t realized that you’re jealous. Worse, you’re jealous of a model who has no chance with Jason because he’s wholly committed to you.
“Gala season is almost over,” he says against your temple, his arms wrapped around you.
“Don’t sound so excited,” you tease.
“Right, because having our nights back to ourselves is awful.”
“Back to ourselves is generous. You’ll still go on patrol.”
“Of my own volition,” Jason corrects.
“No more overpriced outfits,” you add.
He hums, then admits, “Some things will be missed.”
You roll your eyes and turn in Jason’s hold, pressing a kiss to his forehead before he tugs you down in his lap, kissing you the way you deserve to be kissed.
“Jason,” Arabella purrs, laying her hand on his forearm, where his arms are crossed over his chest.
His eyes drop quickly, her unwelcome touch the only thing drawing his attention from you. You’re dancing with Damian, laughing, beautiful, and happy.
“We should go on a date,” she adds.
Jason steps back, his brows lifting when her hand slips from his arm. “No,” he replies.
“What?” she whispers, stepping toward him. “Why?”
“Why?” Jason repeats incredulously. “I’ve said fifteen words to you since we met. Wickham said more to Lydia before she decided she loved him!”
“I- I don’t know what that means,” Arabella admits. “Why won’t you go out with me?”
“You don’t get an explanation,” Jason answers, “no should be sufficient.”
Arabella steps forward again, reaching for Jason as she pouts. “But we’d be so good together, everyone can see it.”
“Thelma,” Jason snaps, “I said no.”
Arabella’s eyes drop at his use of her real name, but then she straightens her shoulders and smiles. Your dance with Damian has ended, Jason notices, and you’re bringing him back to the table. Damian’s hand clutches yours tightly, his eyes on the floor as you answer for him, turning down dances with Bruce’s biggest donors. When you exit the crowd, you look up with a relieved smile. When you see Jason and Arabella, your smile falls, your lips in a flat, grim line.
“You want a reason?” Jason asks as you approach. “Here’s your reason.”
He grabs your waist and pulls you against his chest, kissing you without a care that an entire ballroom of people is watching. His arm circles your waist as Arabella rushes away, and you hum against him before he pulls back.
“That’s all it took?” Tim whispers to Dick on the other side of the room.
“Took him long enough,” Dick grumbles.
“I’m sorry,” Jason says on the balcony. His hands are warm as they wander your waist and hips, his forehead dropped against yours.
“For what?” you question softly.
“I shouldn’t have just kissed you like that, not in front of everybody. I… I guess I got jealous? I don’t know came over me.”
At the word jealous, you laugh, then press your lips together.
“What?” Jason asks, straightening to see you better.
You shake your head and reach up to brush his hair off his forehead.
“What?” he repeats, squeezing your waist.
“I’ve been jealous since the first time Arabella walked up to you,” you confess. “It’s why I wanted to leave early or stayed right beside you all night. I know you’d never do anything, but the way she looked at you, her obsession with getting with you, it bothered me.”
“Obsession?”
You sigh, then tell him about your plan at the last gala. What you, Tim, and Dick thought would scare her away from Jason actually made you uncomfortable, because she attempted to stake a claim in something that was already yours.
“You do know, right?” Jason checks. “That I’d never-“
“I know,” you promise.
“You get cuddly when you’re jealous,” Jason muses. “Maybe galas aren’t all bad.”
You groan as he laughs, slumping against his chest. “Just ask for cuddles, Mr. big bad Red Hood.”
“Just tell me when you want to makeout in front of a crowd.”
The second groan trails off into a laugh when Jason lifts you off the ground, smiling against your cheek before he kisses you again.
“Thank you for understanding me,” Jason murmurs.
“You’re welcome,” you reply. “You’re as close to Mr. Darcy as I could get, so…”
Jason laughs, tightening his arm around your shoulders. “Oh, I love you.”
Bonus:
“My sincerest apologies, Mr. Luthor,” Tim says over the phone, tapping on his Wayne Enterprises desk. “I didn’t mean to poach your new assistant. I do hope Thelma will suit your needs – she was our top pick prior to hiring your former employee.”
“She’s gone?” Jason asks when the call ends.
“You thoroughly disillusioned her with Gotham,” Tim affirms.
“How’s our future sister-in-law?” Dick asks.
Bruce barges into the office and drops a newspaper on the desk. He points to the picture of you and Jason at the gala. “I hope it was worth it, boys. You’re officially off the guest list for the rest of this year’s galas.”
“That’s all it took?” Dick, Tim, and Jason exclaim.
Summary: Tim gets injected with truth serum. Fluff, mentions of smut.
Nightwing delivered Tim through your window like a very expensive, very irritated parcel.
He landed in a crouch, immediately straightened, and pointed at you with absolute conviction. “There she is.”
You blinked. “Hi?”
Nightwing rubbed the back of his neck. “So. Long story short: he got injected with truth serum during a mission. Not dangerous. Should wear off by morning. B ran some tests and gave him a sedative. But he’s…chatty.”
“I am fine,” Tim announced loudly. “I just want to be with my girlfriend. Is that a crime?”
Dick winced. “Good luck,” he said sincerely, and then he was gone, leaving you alone with Red Robin, helmet under one arm, eyes a little too bright, smile a little too loose.
You took a careful step closer. “Tim?”
He looked at you like he’d just been handed the meaning of life.
“Oh wow,” he said. “You’re real. That’s good. Sometimes when I’m dizzy I hallucinate you, but usually you’re wearing less.”
“Okay,” you said, already guiding him toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you to bed.”
He went willingly, too willingly, hands drifting to your hips like that was simply where they belonged.
“Did I ever tell you,” he said conversationally, “how good your ass looks in those shorts?”
You snorted despite yourself. “Yes. Many times. Mostly inside your head, probably.”
“I don’t like inside my head right now,” Tim replied earnestly. “Also, your legs are unfair. I think about them on patrol. It’s distracting.”
You pushed the bedroom door open and steered him inside. He flopped onto the bed without resistance, sprawling like a cat that trusted gravity completely.
You reached for his boots.
“I really love your mouth,” Tim added thoughtfully, staring at the ceiling. “Especially when you’re analyzing something. You get that little line between your eyebrows. Or when you’re...”
“Tim,” you warned.
“...being affectionate,” he finished, smiling innocently. “Very versatile mouth. Big fan.”
You pressed your lips together, hands stilling on his laces. “You’re going to sleep.”
“Can I tell you things before I sleep?” he asked.
“You’re doing that anyway.”
“True,” he said, nodding. “Efficiency.”
You got his boots off, his jacket next, working carefully around his gear. He watched you the entire time, gaze warm and unfocused.
“I love you,” he said suddenly, softly. “Never leave me. I already checked: legally, financially, logistically. We’re compatible long-term. I’ll give you my bank account info if you want.”
You laughed, unable to help it, and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “You’re not allowed to make life decisions right now.”
“That’s fair,” he agreed. “But I still mean it.”
You guided him to lie back properly, tugged a blanket over him. He caught your wrist before you could pull away.
“Babe, sweetheart,” he said, eyes serious even through the haze. “Stay. Just until I fall asleep.”
You melted instantly, curse of your life.
You curled in beside him. He wrapped around you immediately, nose pressed to your hair, sighing like he’d finally been calibrated correctly.
“Good,” he murmured. “Everything’s right when you’re here.”
Within minutes, his breathing evened out, the truth serum finally losing its grip and the sedative kicking in.
You lay there smiling, stroking his hair.
You’d never let him live this down. But you’d treasure it forever.
cw ⭑.ᐟ NSFW, 18+ MDNI, college AU, angst & smut & eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, mean & bratty nerd gojo, unsafe motorcycle riding (WEAR PROPER SAFETY GEAR PLS), heavy pining (one sided), unrequited -> requited love, teasing & banter, a lot of "fuck you" "fuck you too" exchanges, POV switch, fingering, oral s*x (f & m rec.), unprotected piv s*x, more warnings released w/ each part
summary ⭑.ᐟ You're no stranger to competition with Gojo Satoru—a dork with an un-earned ego bigger even than his DnD figurine collection. So what the hell is he doing on a motorcycle? This can't be the same Gojo you've butted heads with for three years, because if it is... has he always looked like that under the giant glasses and stupid Digimon hoodies? How much—or how little do you actually know about this nerd?
series masterlist: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | | part 5 | bonus — playlist (yeah, i did a fucking playlist. listen to it hoes)
a/n ⭑.ᐟ its done and its a miniseries!! i genuinely can't believe i finished this but I did TᴗT sorry i made u all wait 500 years. part 1 is short bc it's the preview from...3 months ago(whoops) comment here to be tagged! <3 | art in the header by the insanely talented @/aliyartss on insta, dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics-archive <3
